Roberto Bolaño’s 12 Tips on “the Art of Writing Short Stories”

Bolano Advice

For some cer­tain roman­tic rea­sons, a seg­ment of the Eng­lish-lan­guage read­ing pop­u­la­tion fell in love with Rober­to Bolaño in the first few years of this mil­len­ni­um. One invari­ably glimpsed Bolaño’s award-win­ning 1998 nov­el The Sav­age Detec­tives on end­ta­bles and night­stands after its trans­la­tion in 2007, with or with­out book­marks. When 2666—the Chilean writer’s dizzy­ing­ly enor­mous work on the dark­est of events in 1990’s North­ern Mexico—appeared, it did so posthu­mous­ly, fur­ther ele­vat­ing Bolaño’s lit­er­ary out­law mythos. In addi­tion to being a hard-bit­ten Trot­sky­ist nomad, Bolaño—who died of liv­er fail­ure in 2003—was said to have been a hero­in addict and alco­holic. Nei­ther was the case, writes Hec­tor Tobar in the LA Times, quot­ing a Mex­i­co City-based jour­nal­ist on the author: “He had a super bor­ing dai­ly life. It was a life built around his own writ­ing rit­u­als and habits.”

For all his leg­endary exploits as a glo­be­trot­ting jour­nal­ist and poet, Bolaño also seems to have built his life around read­ing. “Read­ing,” Bolaño has said, “is more impor­tant than writ­ing.” He finds much com­pa­ny with this state­ment among fel­low writ­ers. Pat­ti Smith, for exam­ple, who urges read­ing “any­thing by Bolaño,” could also “rec­om­mend a mil­lion” books to any­one who asks. A much short­er but still chal­leng­ing list of hers reveals a deep and broad invest­ment in lit­er­a­ture. William S. Bur­roughs, who prob­a­bly did­n’t read Bolaño but worked in a sim­i­lar­ly hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry vein, taught a class on “Cre­ative Read­ing” that was only sec­on­dar­i­ly a class on writ­ing, filled with exam­ple after exam­ple from writer after trea­sured writer. The best writ­ing advice writ­ers can dis­pense, it seems, is this: Read.

Such is the approach of Bolaño him­self, in a short, pithy essay on how to write short sto­ries. He begins in a per­func­to­ry way, almost with a sigh: “Now that I’m forty-four years old, I’m going to offer some advice on the art of writ­ing short sto­ries.” The advice, found in the graph­ic form above on The Paris Review’s Tum­blr and reprint­ed in a non-fic­tion col­lec­tion titled Between Paren­the­sis, quick­ly becomes exu­ber­ant­ly pedan­tic, per­me­at­ing the bound­aries of its neat­ly ordered list form with tongue mov­ing from cheek to cheek. Does he real­ly mean that we should read “the notable Pseu­do-Long­i­nus” on the sub­lime? Or to suggest—after insis­tent ref­er­ence to sev­er­al essen­tial Latin Amer­i­can writ­ers’ writers—that “with Edgar Allan Poe, we would all have more than enough good mate­r­i­al to read”? Prob­a­bly. But the gist, with more than enough sin­cer­i­ty, is this: Read the greats, who­ev­er they are, and read them often.

See Bolaño’s com­plete text here at Elec­tric Cere­al and an excerpt­ed ver­sion below.

 

(1) Nev­er approach short sto­ries one at a time. If one approach­es short sto­ries one at a time, one can quite hon­est­ly be writ­ing the same short sto­ry until the day one dies. 

(2) It is best to write short sto­ries three or five at a time. If one has the ener­gy, write them nine or fif­teen at a time.

(4) One must read Hora­cio Quiroga, Felis­ber­to Hernán­dez, and Jorge Luis Borges. One must read Juan Rul­fo and Augus­to Mon­ter­roso. Any short-sto­ry writer who has some appre­ci­a­tion for these authors will nev­er read Cami­lo José Cela or Fran­cis­co Umbral yet will, indeed, read Julio Cortázar and Adol­fo Bioy Casares, but in no way Cela or Umbral. 

(5) I’ll repeat this once more in case it’s still not clear: don’t con­sid­er Cela or Umbral, what­so­ev­er.

(6) A short-sto­ry writer should be brave. It’s a sad fact to acknowl­edge, but that’s the way it is.

(9) The hon­est truth is that with Edgar Allan Poe, we would all have more than enough good mate­r­i­al to read. 

(10) Give thought to point num­ber 9. Think and reflect on it. You still have time. Think about num­ber 9. To the extent pos­si­ble, do so on bend­ed knees. 

(12) Read these books and also read Anton Chekhov and Ray­mond Carv­er, for one of the two of them is the best writer of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pat­ti Smith’s List of Favorite Books: From Rim­baud to Susan Son­tag

Junot Díaz’s Syl­labi for His MIT Writ­ing Class­es, and the Nov­els on His Read­ing List

Pre­dict Which 21st Cen­tu­ry Nov­els Will Enter the Lit­er­ary Canon? And Which Over­rat­ed Ones Won’t?

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

2,200 Radical Political Posters Digitized: A New Archive

labadiecollectionposter07

I recent­ly heard some­one say his col­lege-bound nephew asked him, “What’s a union?” Whether you love unions, loathe them, or remain indif­fer­ent, the fact that an osten­si­bly edu­cat­ed young per­son might have such a sig­nif­i­cant gap in their knowl­edge should cause con­cern. A his­toric labor con­flict, after all, pro­vid­ed the occa­sion for Ronald Rea­gan to prove his bona fides to the new con­ser­v­a­tive move­ment that swept him into pow­er. His crush­ing of the Pro­fes­sion­al Air Traf­fic Con­trollers Orga­ni­za­tion (PATCO) in 1981 set the tone for the ensu­ing 30 years or so of eco­nom­ic pol­i­cy, with the labor move­ment fight­ing an uphill bat­tle all the way. Pri­or to that defin­ing event, unions held sway over pol­i­tics local and nation­al, and had con­sol­i­dat­ed pow­er blocks in the Amer­i­can polit­i­cal land­scape through decades of strug­gle against oppres­sive and dehu­man­iz­ing work­ing con­di­tions.

In prac­ti­cal terms, unions have stood in the way of cap­i­tal’s unceas­ing search for cheap labor and new con­sumer mar­kets; in social and cul­tur­al terms, the pol­i­tics of labor have rep­re­sent­ed a for­mi­da­ble ide­o­log­i­cal chal­lenge to con­ser­v­a­tives as well, by way of a vibrant assem­blage of anar­chists, civ­il lib­er­tar­i­ans, anti-colo­nial­ists, com­mu­nists, envi­ron­men­tal­ists, paci­fists, fem­i­nists, social­ists, etc. A host of rad­i­cal isms flour­ished among orga­nized work­ers espe­cial­ly in the decades between the 1870s and the 1970s, find­ing their voice in newslet­ters, mag­a­zines, pam­phlets, leaflets, and posters—fragile medi­ums that do not often weath­er well the rav­ages of time. Thus the advent of dig­i­tal archives has been a boon for stu­dents and his­to­ri­ans of work­ers’ move­ments and oth­er pop­ulist polit­i­cal groundswells. One such archive, the Joseph A. Labadie Col­lec­tion at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Michi­gan Library, has recent­ly announced the dig­i­ti­za­tion of over 2,200 posters from their col­lec­tion, a data­base that spans the globe and the spec­trum of left­ist polit­i­cal speech and iconog­ra­phy.

labadiecollectionposter06

We have clev­er­ly-designed visu­al puns like the Chica­go Indus­tri­al Work­ers of the World poster just above, titled “What is what in the world of labor?” Pro­mot­ing itself as “One Big Union of All Labor,” the IWW made some of the most ambi­tious pro­pa­gan­da, like the 1912 poster (mid­dle) in which an “Indus­tri­al Co-Oper­a­tive Com­mon­wealth” replaces the tyran­ny of the cap­i­tal­ist, who is told by his “trust man­ag­er” peer, “Our rule is end­ed, dis­mount and go to work.” In this post-rev­o­lu­tion­ary fan­ta­sy, the IWW promis­es that “A few hours of use­ful work insure all a lux­u­ri­ous liv­ing,” though it only hints at the details of this utopi­an arrange­ment. Up top, we have an ornate May Day poster from 1895 by Wal­ter Crane, hop­ing for a “Mer­rie Eng­land” with “No Child Toil­ers,” “Pro­duc­tion for Use Not For Prof­it,” and “The Land For the Peo­ple,” among oth­er, more nation­al­ist, sen­ti­ments like “Eng­land Should Feed Her Own Peo­ple.”

labadiecollectionposter05

“While all of the posters were scanned at high res­o­lu­tion,” writes Hyper­al­ler­gic, “they appear online as thumb­nails with nav­i­ga­tion to zoom.” You can down­load the images, but only the small­er, thumb­nail size in most cas­es. These hun­dreds of posters rep­re­sent “just a por­tion of the mate­r­i­al in the Labadie Collection”—named for a “Detroit-area labor orga­niz­er, anar­chist, and author” who “had the idea for the social protest archive at the uni­ver­si­ty in 1911.” You can view oth­er polit­i­cal arti­facts in the UMich library’s dig­i­tal col­lec­tions here, includ­ing anar­chist pam­phlets, polit­i­cal but­tons, and a dig­i­tal pho­to col­lec­tion. The col­lec­tion as a whole gives us a poten­tial­ly inspir­ing, or infu­ri­at­ing, mosa­ic of polit­i­cal thought at its bold­est and most graph­i­cal­ly assertive from a time before online peti­tions and hash­tag cam­paigns took over as the pri­ma­ry cir­cu­la­tors of pop­u­lar rad­i­cal thought.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic (where you can find some oth­er big, visu­al­ly strik­ing posters)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Red Men­ace: A Strik­ing Gallery of Anti-Com­mu­nist Posters, Ads, Com­ic Books, Mag­a­zines & Films

Won­der­ful­ly Kitschy Pro­pa­gan­da Posters Cham­pi­on the Chi­nese Space Pro­gram (1962–2003)

Free Online Polit­i­cal Sci­ence Cours­es

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

An 18-Hour Playlist of Readings by the Beats: Kerouac, Ginsberg & Even Bukowski Too

beat generation

Plen­ty of us get tuned in to the Beats through print — maybe a yel­lowed copy of Howl, a mass-mar­ket Naked Lunch, a fifth- or sixth-hand On the Road — but some­times the verse or prose that so thrills us on those pages fair­ly demands to be spo­ken aloud, prefer­ably by the Beat in ques­tion. That may have proven a tricky desire to ful­fill in decades past, but now Spo­ti­fy has made it near­ly effort­less to hear the Beats when­ev­er we like: you can find over eigh­teen hours of mate­r­i­al on a playlist called, straight­for­ward­ly enough, The Beats.

These 249 tracks include not just fig­ures like the pre­vi­ous­ly allud­ed to Allen Gins­berg, William S. Bur­roughs, and Jack Ker­ouac, but oth­er beloved Beats such as Gre­go­ry Cor­so, Peter Orlovsky — and Charles Bukows­ki, not a fig­ure one nec­es­sar­i­ly asso­ciates close­ly with that move­ment. Some Bukows­ki and/or Beat enthu­si­asts will tell you that each would have noth­ing to do with the oth­er. Yet the hard-liv­ing poet and self-con­fessed “dirty old man” occa­sion­al­ly admit­ted to some­thing approach­ing fond­ness for cer­tain mem­bers of the sup­pos­ed­ly high­er-mind­ed coun­ter­cul­ture: “He’s bet­ter to have around than not to have around,” Bukows­ki once said of Gins­berg. “With­out his com­ing through, none of us would be writ­ing as well as we are doing now, which is not well enough, but we hang on.”

With the Beats’ Spo­ti­fy playlist, you can judge for your­self not only whether they and Bukows­ki wrote “well enough” (though lit­er­ary his­to­ry seems to have proven that piece of self-dep­re­ca­tion wrong), but also whether they spoke well enough — or rather, whether they per­formed their own work in the way you’d always imag­ined it in your head. What­ev­er your assess­ment, rest assured you won’t hear voic­es like Gins­berg’s, Bur­roughs’ and espe­cial­ly Bukowski’s any­where else. If you don’t have the Spo­ti­fy soft­ware itself yet, no prob­lem: you can down­load it free here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Naropa Archive Presents 5,000 Hours of Audio Record­ings of Allen Gins­berg, William Bur­roughs & Oth­er Beat Writ­ers

Rare Footage of Allen Gins­berg, Jack Ker­ouac & Oth­er Beats Hang­ing Out in the East Vil­lage (1959)

A Read­ing of Charles Bukowski’s First Pub­lished Sto­ry, “After­math of a Lengthy Rejec­tion Slip” (1944)

Lis­ten to Charles Bukows­ki Poems Being Read by Bukows­ki Him­self & the Great Tom Waits

Hear 130 Min­utes of Charles Bukowski’s First-Ever Record­ed Read­ings (1968)

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A Look Inside Martin Scorsese’s Vintage Movie Poster Collection

thetalesofhoffmann

When Mar­tin Scors­ese isn’t mak­ing films, he’s busy pre­serv­ing them, from help­ing fund the restora­tion of clas­sics to col­lect­ing the ephemera of his youth, espe­cial­ly posters. A selec­tion of his movie poster col­lec­tion, rep­re­sent­ing the height of film adver­tis­ing from the 1930’s to the 1960s, cur­rent­ly hangs at MoMA through Octo­ber 25, 2015.

The pow­er that a poster held in the imag­i­na­tion decades ago should not be under­stat­ed. For many it was the only knowl­edge they had about the film they were about to see, and many artists, hired in house by the stu­dios, hyped up the sex­i­est parts of the films. It sold tick­ets.

The MoMA exhib­it is cen­tered on the bill­board sized poster for Pow­ell and Pressburger’s Tales of Hoff­mann (1951), a stun­ning work when seen large. (For an under­stand­ing about the impres­sive size of most posters, check out this graph­ic.)

Imacon Color Scanner

It’s only because of col­lec­tors like Scors­ese and Ira. M. Resnick (for whose book Scors­ese wrote an intro­duc­tion) that the artists behind these posters have been named and rec­og­nized.

Although the MoMA web page pro­mot­ing the exhi­bi­tion is sur­pris­ing­ly stingy when it comes to nam­ing all the artists in the show, some inter­net sleuthing brings up some names. The illus­tra­tor behind the Hoff­mann poster, Marc Stone, was also a painter of World War II pro­pa­gan­da posters in the UK.

The min­i­mal, Risko-esque ren­der­ing of Veron­i­ca Lake for Sullivan’s Trav­els (1941) is cred­it­ed to Mau­rice Kallis, though an anony­mous com­ment on the movie poster blog Cit­i­zen K. cred­its it to Fritz Siebel, the commenter’s father. Siebel, who immi­grat­ed to the U.S. from Vien­na, wound up illus­trat­ing A Fly Went By for Dr. Seuss’ children’s book imprint and cre­at­ing the famous Yul Bryn­ner-looka­like and clean­ing prod­uct mas­cot Mr. Clean.

thelostsquadron

René Péron, who cre­at­ed the beau­ti­ful Expres­sion­is­tic design for Erich von Stroheim’s The Lost Squadron (1932) start­ed his career with posters for silent clas­sics like Abel Gance’s Napoleon and Carl Theodor Dreyer’s The Pas­sion of Joan of Arc (1928). But he’s prob­a­bly best known for the icon­ic car­i­ca­ture of Jacques Tati grac­ing the poster for Mr. Hulot’s Hol­i­day.

onthewaterfront

Both the poster for Pow­ell and Pressburger’s Black Nar­cis­sus and Kazan’s On the Water­front are by one of the Ital­ian kings of movie posters, Ansel­mo Ballester. His style is lurid and pulpy, and if there is one dame in dis­tress in a movie, he would make her the sell­ing point of the poster. He was also known for his love of Rita Hay­worth, for whom he would pro­duce his best work. (Just look at this poster for Salome, which is way more inter­est­ing than the pic­ture it rep­re­sents.)

mean-streets

Last­ly, Scors­ese has added one of his own film’s posters: Peter Straus­feld’s stun­ning wood­block poster for Mean Streets. The British artist had a very par­tic­u­lar style (text on one side, graph­ic on the oth­er), and was hired by the Acad­e­my Cin­e­ma in Lon­don as their design­er. (Now, *that’s* a job.)

The fact that we can watch trail­ers on our tele­vi­sions and now iPhones has long dimin­ished the pow­er of the poster. How­ev­er, there are still signs of life in the indus­try, and the amount of artists cre­at­ing beau­ti­ful lim­it­ed edi­tion prints of posters for their favorite films increas­es every year.

via Quartz

Relat­ed con­tent:

50 Film Posters From Poland: From The Empire Strikes Back to Raiders of the Lost Ark

100 Great­est Posters of Film Noir

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

Gaze at Glob­al Movie Posters for Hitchcock’sVertigo: U.S., Japan, Italy, Poland & Beyond

The Strange and Won­der­ful Movie Posters from Ghana: The Matrix, Alien & More

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Wes Anderson & Yasujiro Ozu: New Video Essay Reveals the Unexpected Parallels Between Two Great Filmmakers

At first blush, Yasu­jiro Ozu and Wes Ander­son would seem to be miles apart. Ozu is the “most Japan­ese” of all direc­tors. His films are small, qui­et, fine­ly cal­i­brat­ed works that doc­u­ment the slow reorder­ing of the fam­i­ly unit in the face of Japan’s rapid mod­ern­iza­tion. Anderson’s movies are twee and whim­si­cal, filled with wry humor and a shock­ing amount of vio­lence against dogs.

Yet video essay­ist Anna Cat­ley in her piece Wes Ander­son & Yasu­jiro Ozu: A Visu­al Essay makes a pret­ty com­pelling case that these two auteurs are more sim­i­lar than you might think. Both film­mak­ers have a clear and high­ly styl­ized man­ner of con­struct­ing their movies: Ozu’s films are char­ac­ter­ized by sym­met­ri­cal com­po­si­tions and an unmov­ing cam­era that remains about two and a half feet off of the ground. Anderson’s movies are marked by sym­met­ri­cal com­po­si­tions, long com­plex cam­era moves and lots of over­head shots. Both Ozu and Ander­son have a sta­ble of actors that they work with repeat­ed­ly — Chishu Ryu and Set­suko Hara for Ozu, Jason Schwartz­man and Bill Mur­ray for Ander­son. Both film­mak­ers’ movies are about the com­plex, often fraught, rela­tion­ships between par­ents and chil­dren. And both direc­tors often employed the point of view of chil­dren to high­light adult hypocrisy and dis­ap­point­ment.

Ozu’s movies, how­ev­er, were rel­a­tive­ly free of Cat Stevens songs.

You can watch the full video above. It might just make you watch a dou­ble fea­ture of Ohayo and Moon­rise King­dom.

via Indie Wire

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch 7 New Video Essays on Wes Anderson’s Films: Rush­moreThe Roy­al Tenen­baums & More

Wes Anderson’s Favorite Films: Moon­struckRosemary’s Baby, and Luis Buñuel’s The Exter­mi­nat­ing Angel

Watch Wes Anderson’s Charm­ing New Short Film, Castel­lo Cav­al­can­ti, Star­ring Jason Schwartz­man

Wes Anderson’s First Short Film: The Black-and-White, Jazz-Scored Bot­tle Rock­et (1992)

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

Venice in Beautiful Color Images 125 Years Ago: The Rialto Bridge, St. Mark’s Basilica, Doge’s Palace & More

Venice 1

A few months ago, Men­tal Floss put up a post of “Fan­tas­tic 120-Year-Old Col­or Pic­tures of Ire­land.” Fan­tas­tic pic­tures indeed, although the nature of the tech­nol­o­gy that pro­duced them seems as inter­est­ing to me as the 19th-cen­tu­ry Irish life cap­tured in the images them­selves. They came from the Library of Con­gress’ geo­graph­i­cal­ly orga­nized archive of pho­tocrom prints, a method per­haps known only to die-hard his­tor­i­cal pho­tog­ra­phy enthu­si­asts. For the rest of us, the Library of Con­gress’ page on the pho­tocrom process explains it: “Pho­tochrom prints are ink-based images pro­duced through ‘the direct pho­to­graph­ic trans­fer of an orig­i­nal neg­a­tive onto litho and chro­mo­graph­ic print­ing plates.’ ”

Venice 2

Its inven­tor Hans Jakob Schmid came up with the tech­nique in the 1880s, a decade that began with col­or pho­tog­ra­phy con­signed to the realm of the­o­ry. While Pho­tocrom prints may look an awful lot like col­or pho­tographs, look at them through a mag­ni­fy­ing glass and “the small dots that com­prise the ink-based pho­to­me­chan­i­cal image are vis­i­ble.” “The pho­to­me­chan­i­cal process per­mit­ted mass pro­duc­tion of the vivid col­or prints,” each col­or requir­ing “a sep­a­rate asphalt-coat­ed lith­o­graph­ic stone, usu­al­ly a min­i­mum of six stones and often more than ten stones.”

But that unwieldy-sound­ing tech­nol­o­gy and labo­ri­ous-sound­ing process has giv­en us, among oth­er strik­ing pieces of visu­al his­to­ry, these lush images of fin de siè­cle Venice, which the writer of place Jan Mor­ris once described as “less a city than an expe­ri­ence.”

Venice 3

At the top of the post, we have a view of the Rial­to Bridge, which spans one of the city’s famous canals; below that a scene of pigeon-feed­ing in St. Mark’s Piaz­za; the image just above leaves the pigeons behind to view the inte­ri­or of St. Mark’s Basil­i­ca.

Venice 4

The pho­tos below, all also tak­en between 1890 and 1900, depict the exte­ri­or and inte­ri­or of the Doge’s Palace, as well as its view of San Gior­gio Island by moon­light.

Venice 5

We may not con­sid­er these “real” col­or pho­tographs, but the col­ors they present, vivid­ly applied in the print­ing process, some­how more accu­rate­ly rep­re­sent the spir­it of late 19th-cen­tu­ry Europe — one of his­to­ry’s tru­ly vivid peri­ods, in one of its endur­ing­ly vivid human envi­ron­ments. More col­or images of fin-de-siecle Venice can be viewed here.

Venice 6

via Men­tal Floss

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Venice (Its Streets, Plazas & Canals) with Google Street View

How Venice Works: A Short Film

Venice in a Day: From Day­break to Sun­set in Time­lapse

Venice is Way Under Water…

Hand-Col­ored Pho­tographs of 19th Cen­tu­ry Japan

The First Col­or Pho­tos From World War I: The Ger­man Front

The Old­est Col­or Movies Bring Sun­flow­ers, Exot­ic Birds and Gold­fish Back to Life (1902)

Col­in Mar­shall writes on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Two Documentaries Introduce Delia Derbyshire, the Pioneer in Electronic Music

With her but­toned-up style, work with the UN, and name like a plucky char­ac­ter in a cer­tain Eng­lish wiz­ard series, Delia Der­byshire may not seem a like­ly pio­neer of exper­i­men­tal elec­tron­ic music. But her work in the six­ties and sev­en­ties indeed made her a fore­run­ner of so much con­tem­po­rary elec­tron­ic music that most every cur­rent leg­end in the business—from Aphex Twin and the Chem­i­cal Broth­ers to Paul Hart­noll of Orbital, who calls her work “quite amaz­ing” and “time­less”—cred­its her in some way or anoth­er. If you’ve nev­er heard of Der­byshire, you can learn about her life and work in the 2010 BBC Radio 4 doc­u­men­tary above, “Sculp­tress of Sound.”

As we recent­ly not­ed in an ear­li­er post, Der­byshire occu­pies a promi­nent place in the his­to­ry of women in the field. She has also worked with every­one from Doc­tor Who com­pos­er Ron Grain­er (who took sole cred­it for their work togeth­er) to Paul McCart­ney. Well almost. McCartney—a huge fan of Der­byshire’s work with the BBC’s Radio­phon­ic Workshop—considered col­lab­o­rat­ing with her on an ear­ly ver­sion of “Yes­ter­day,” then went with strings instead. But her near hit with the Bea­t­les showed just how far she had come since join­ing the BBC as a trainee stu­dio man­ag­er in 1960. The pre­vi­ous year, Dec­ca records reject­ed her appli­ca­tion, telling her point blank that they did not hire women for stu­dio work.

For con­trac­tu­al rea­sons, Der­byshire made many of her radio com­po­si­tions under pseu­do­nyms, and she may have been frus­trat­ed by her near-obscu­ri­ty. She did with­draw from music in the mid-sev­en­ties, not to reap­pear until a few years before her death in 2001. But per­haps her depar­ture had noth­ing to do with lack of fame. Der­byshire had the high­est of tech­ni­cal stan­dards and a math­e­mat­i­cal approach to mak­ing music. Once com­mer­cial syn­the­siz­ers became avail­able, she felt that mak­ing elec­tron­ic music had become too easy and her enthu­si­asm waned. The new music bored her, and instead of try­ing to hold on to her rel­e­vance, she made a grace­ful exit.

It’s only in recent years that Der­byshire has become rec­og­nized for the pio­neer she was. See her above pro­filed in a 2009 short doc­u­men­tary, “The Delian Mode,” by Kara Blake. Fea­tured are Der­byshire’s inno­v­a­tive tech­niques with manip­u­lat­ed tape machines and found sounds for her TV and film scores and her orig­i­nal com­po­si­tions under her own name and with influ­en­tial ear­ly elec­tro-pop band White Noise. The Guardian called Der­byshire’s way of mak­ing music “an ana­lyt­i­cal approach to synthesiz[ing] com­plex sounds from elec­tron­ic sources.” Her degree in math­e­mat­ics informed her way of work­ing, as did her con­cep­tion of her­self not pri­mar­i­ly as a com­pos­er, but also as a sci­en­tist. “I sup­pose in a way,” she said of her painstak­ing­ly-cre­at­ed scores, “I was exper­i­ment­ing in psy­cho-acoustics.” Many of her exper­i­ments sound as fresh today as they did at the time, ready to inspire sev­er­al more gen­er­a­tions of com­posers and musi­cians.

You can dip into an archive of Der­byshire’s music over at UBU.com.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Sev­en Hours of Women Mak­ing Elec­tron­ic Music (1938- 2014)

Meet the Dr. Who Com­pos­er Who Almost Turned The Bea­t­les’ “Yes­ter­day” Into Ear­ly Elec­tron­i­ca

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness.

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