What Happens When a Japanese Woodblock Artist Depicts Life in London in 1866, Despite Never Having Set Foot There

Life in London Woodblock

The affini­ties between Eng­land and Japan go far beyond the fact that both are tea-lov­ing nations with a devo­tion to gar­dens; far beyond the fact that both dri­ve on the left, are the world’s lead­ing over­seas investors, and are rainy islands stud­ded with green vil­lages. They go even beyond the fact that both have an astrin­gent sense of hier­ar­chy, sub­scribe to a code of social ret­i­cence, and are, in some respects, proud, iso­lat­ed monar­chies with more than a touch of xeno­pho­bia. The very qual­i­ties that seem so for­eign, even men­ac­ing, to many Amer­i­cans in Japan — the fact that peo­ple do not invari­ably mean what they say, that uncer­tain dis­tances sep­a­rate polite­ness from true feel­ings, and that every­thing is couched in a kind of code in which nuances are every­thing — will hard­ly seem strange to a cer­tain kind of Eng­lish­man.

That astute com­par­i­son comes from an essay called “For Japan, See Oscar Wilde” by Pico Iyer, a writer unique­ly well-placed to sense this sort of thing by virtue of his child­hood in Eng­land and long­time res­i­dence as an adult in Japan. His Indi­an her­itage and pen­chant for world trav­el have also equipped him to write with clar­i­ty about the ways — some­times grotesque, some­times delu­sion­al, some­times aspi­ra­tional, some­times fan­tas­ti­cal — in which one coun­try can per­ceive anoth­er.

In the case of the some­how sep­a­rat­ed-at-birth nations of Eng­land and Japan, we have some direct doc­u­men­ta­tion of the for­mer as dreamed of by the lat­ter in Uta­gawa Yoshitora’s 1866 trip­tych Igirisukoku Ron­don no zu.

LeftLondon.jpg.CROP.original-original

“Togeth­er, the three images depict a street scene near the Riv­er Thames, com­plete with throng­ing Eng­lish pedes­tri­ans, two sail­ing ships, hors­es, oxen, and car­riages,” writes Slate’s Rebec­ca Onion: “The images would have sold fair­ly cheap­ly, in the thriv­ing mar­ket in wood­block (ukiyo‑e) prints in 19th-cen­tu­ry Japan. Uta­gawa, a rel­a­tive­ly minor artist from an exten­sive lin­eage of wood­block print­ers, also pro­duced por­traits of Kabu­ki actors, trip­tychs of his­tor­i­cal bat­tle scenes, and images of for­eign­ers in Yokohama—one of the only places in Japan where they were allowed to trade at the time. (Here’s an 1861 print titled ‘Two Amer­i­cans.’) Uta­gawa prob­a­bly did not vis­it Lon­don, and was instead work­ing from sec­ond­hand reports.”

RightLondon.jpg.CROP.original-original

That would make him a per­fect sub­ject for Iyer, who has tend­ed to spe­cial­ize in writ­ing not just about the places of the world but the places of the mind. While the peo­ple of Uta­gawa’s Lon­don of the mind dis­play a sim­pli­fied typ­i­cal Eng­lish style of dress, and do so before a proud domed build­ing and a mighty-look­ing, elab­o­rate­ly rigged sail­ing ship, their com­po­si­tion remains some­how quin­tes­sen­tial­ly Japan­ese. But then, how much sep­a­rates the quin­tes­sen­tial­ly Japan­ese from the quin­tes­sen­tial­ly Eng­lish? “The actu­al peo­ple who live in Japan,” said Oscar Wilde as quot­ed in Iyer’s essay, “are not unlike the gen­er­al run of Eng­lish peo­ple.”

MiddleLondon.jpg.CROP.original-original

And the affin­i­ty goes both ways. When Prince Fushi­mi Sada­naru made a state vis­it to Eng­land forty years after Uta­gawa made his prints, he hoped to catch a per­for­mance of The Mika­do, Gilbert and Sul­li­van’s hit com­ic opera set very much in the Japan of the Eng­lish mind (and one that faces accu­sa­tions of cul­tur­al impe­ri­al­ism to this day). Alas, the British gov­ern­ment had pre­emp­tive­ly can­celed all per­for­mances dur­ing the Prince’s stay for fear of offend­ing him. This prompt­ed a Japan­ese jour­nal­ist in Lon­don to lat­er see the show him­self. He went on to write of his dis­ap­point­ment: he’d gone in expect­ing “real insults” to his home­land, only to find “bright music and much fun.”

via Slate’s The Vault/Two Nerdy His­to­ry Girls

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lon­don Mashed Up: Footage of the City from 1924 Lay­ered Onto Footage from 2013

2,000 Years of London’s His­tor­i­cal Devel­op­ment, Ani­mat­ed in 7 Min­utes

Prize-Win­ning Ani­ma­tion Lets You Fly Through 17th Cen­tu­ry Lon­don

1927 Lon­don Shown in Mov­ing Col­or

Down­load Hun­dreds of 19th-Cen­tu­ry Japan­ese Wood­block Prints by Mas­ters of the Tra­di­tion

The Best Writ­ing Advice Pico Iyer Ever Received

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear a Radio Drama of George Orwell’s 1984, Starring Patrick Troughton, of Doctor Who Fame (1965)

Take two of the most promi­nent Eng­lish cul­tur­al prop­er­ties of the past sev­er­al decades, bring them togeth­er, and what have you got? You’ve got Patrick Troughton, bet­ter known as the Sec­ond Doc­tor in TV’s Doc­tor Who, in a 1965 BBC Radio adap­ta­tion of George Orwell’s 1984. Troughton was not yet the Doc­tor; the hon­or would not fall to him until the fol­low­ing year when he replaced William Hart­nell (with the latter’s full approval, it seems). But he was a well-known char­ac­ter actor, the first to play Robin Hood on tele­vi­sion (in a 1953 BBC mini-series), and a fig­ure who inspired a good deal of respect in the British enter­tain­ment indus­try. Troughton was also a dec­o­rat­ed World War II vet­er­an (who, when the year 1984 final­ly arrived, suf­fered his sec­ond major heart attack).

Troughton brings to the role of every­man Win­ston Smith a grav­i­tas shared by a num­ber of actors who have inher­it­ed the role since the very first radio adap­ta­tion in 1949, star­ring David Niv­en. Of course Orwell’s sto­ry is not an ongo­ing series like Doc­tor Who, but it has remained remark­ably rel­e­vant to every gen­er­a­tion post-World War II, and like the Doctor’s char­ac­ter, has been con­stant­ly re-imag­ined in adap­ta­tions on radio, film, and tele­vi­sion. The con­di­tions of gov­ern­ment repres­sion, cen­sor­ship, and mass sur­veil­lance Orwell fore­saw have seemed immi­nent, if not ful­ly real­ized, in the decades fol­low­ing the nov­el’s 1948 pub­li­ca­tion, though the adjec­tive “Orwellian” and many of the novel’s coinages have suf­fered a good deal through overuse and mis­ap­pli­ca­tion.

Just as the first radio play of 1984 warned of a “dis­turb­ing broad­cast,” this 1965 ver­sion begins, “The fol­low­ing play is not suit­able for those of a ner­vous dis­po­si­tion.” It’s inter­est­ing that even this long after the novel’s pub­li­ca­tion, and in the midst of the swing­ing six­ties, Orwell’s dystopi­an fable still had the pow­er to shock. Or at least the pro­duc­ers of this broad­cast thought so. Per­haps we’ve been so thor­ough­ly inured to the prospects Orwell warned of that rev­e­la­tions of the NSA’s mas­sive data col­lec­tion, or of the glob­al expro­pri­a­tion dis­closed by the Pana­ma Papers, or of any num­ber of nefar­i­ous gov­ern­ment deal­ings often elic­it a cyn­i­cal shrug from the aver­age per­son. Those who do express alarm at such doc­u­ment­ed abus­es are often brand­ed… well, alarmists.

But then again, we keep return­ing to Orwell.

Con­tin­u­ing in the tra­di­tion begun by David Niv­en and car­ried for­ward by Patrick Troughton (and on film by Edmond O’Brien and John Hurt), anoth­er respect­ed British actor recent­ly took on the role of Win­ston Smith in a BBC 4 radio adap­ta­tion three years ago. This time the actor was Christo­pher Eccle­ston, who also, it turns out, once played Doc­tor Who.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Very First Adap­ta­tion of George Orwell’s 1984 in a Radio Play Star­ring David Niv­en (1949)

What “Orwellian” Real­ly Means: An Ani­mat­ed Les­son About the Use & Abuse of the Term

The Cov­er of George Orwell’s 1984 Becomes Less Cen­sored with Wear and Tear

Mon­ty Python’s John Cleese Wor­ries That Polit­i­cal Cor­rect­ness Will Lead Us into a Humor­less World, Rem­i­nis­cent of Orwell’s 1984

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

Hermeneutics of Toilets by Slavoj Žižek: An Animation About Finding Ideology in Unlikely Places

It’s been part of Slavoj Žižek’s schtick for years. He’s men­tioned it in talks about Don­ald Rums­feld and Amer­i­ca’s mis­ad­ven­tures in Iraq. In lec­tures about archi­tec­ture in Spain. In Eng­lish-lan­guage talks. And oth­er lan­guages too. Maybe you’ve nev­er heard Žižek’s spiel about find­ing ide­ol­o­gy in the unlike­li­est of places. Yes, toi­lets. If you’ve missed out, this new ani­ma­tion has you cov­ered.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

via Phi­los­o­phy Mat­ters 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Slavoj Žižek Calls Polit­i­cal Cor­rect­ness a Form of “Mod­ern Total­i­tar­i­an­ism”

Slavoj Žižek: What Ful­fils You Cre­ative­ly Isn’t What Makes You Hap­py

Slavoj Žižek Names His Favorite Films from The Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion

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Download 6600 Free Films from The Prelinger Archives and Use Them However You Like

Fea­tures, com­mer­cials, art pieces, stock footage, home movies, pro­pa­gan­da: the his­to­ry of cin­e­ma so far has pro­duced count­less indi­vid­ual forms, all of which also count as doc­u­men­taries. Watch any kind of film made suf­fi­cient­ly long ago and you look through a win­dow onto the atti­tudes, aes­thet­ics, and accou­trements of anoth­er time.

And if it’s one made long enough ago or of obscure enough own­er­ship to fall into the pub­lic domain, you can incor­po­rate that piece of his­to­ry into your own mod­ern, era-span­ning work in any way you like. Now, Prelinger Archives has made that eas­i­er than ever by mak­ing more than 6600 films free on the Inter­net Archive to down­load and use.

“Prelinger Archives was found­ed in 1983 by Rick Prelinger in New York City,” says the col­lec­tion’s about page. “Over the next twen­ty years, it grew into a col­lec­tion of over 60,000 ‘ephemer­al’ (adver­tis­ing, edu­ca­tion­al, indus­tri­al, and ama­teur) films. In 2002, the film col­lec­tion was acquired by the Library of Con­gress, Motion Pic­ture, Broad­cast­ing and Record­ed Sound Divi­sion,” and now holds “approx­i­mate­ly 11,000 dig­i­tized and video­tape titles (all orig­i­nal­ly derived from film) and a large col­lec­tion of home movies, ama­teur and indus­tri­al films acquired since 2002.” Its mis­sion? “To col­lect, pre­serve, and facil­i­tate access to films of his­toric sig­nif­i­cance that haven’t been col­lect­ed else­where.”

And what can you find amid these 6000-odd pieces of ephemera host­ed on Archive.org? At first glance, they may real­ly strike you as 6000 odd pieces. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured 1958’s Have I Told You Late­ly That I Love You?, a UCLA stu­dent short Ayun Hal­l­i­day described as the tale of “a white-col­lar dad and house­wife mom… marooned in their indi­vid­ual exis­ten­tial hells, unable to con­nect” due to the labor-sav­ing devices of the day. 1965’s equal­ly cau­tion­ary (as well as often unin­ten­tion­al­ly hilar­i­ous) Per­ver­sion for Prof­it, offers a stern two-part warn­ing against the “pornog­ra­phy which may appear at the local news­stand, malt shop or drug­store.”

Mid­cen­tu­ry moral­ism man­i­fests in count­less enter­tain­ing forms across the Prelinger Archives col­lec­tion, includ­ing in Make Mine Free­dom, a Cold War car­toon treat­ment of the var­i­ous treach­er­ous “-isms” out to under­mine truth, jus­tice, and the Amer­i­can Way. That came out in 1948, just as fears start­ed roil­ing again after the Unit­ed States’ vic­to­ry in the Sec­ond World War. The year before, the hus­band-and-wife exper­i­men­tal film­mak­ing team of Alexan­der Ham­mid and Maya Deren com­plet­ed The Pri­vate Life of a Cat“Using their own cats in their own apart­ment,” writes Dan­ger­ous Minds’ Amber Frost, “they chron­i­cle the inte­ri­or world of a cat ‘fam­i­ly,’ and it’s just insane­ly com­pelling, even out­side of the cat-lady milieu!” Fur­ther down, we have House in the Mid­dle (1954), which sug­gests that a clean, tidy house can help you sur­vive an atom­ic blast.

But you don’t have to watch every­thing you dig up from the Prelinger Archives col­lec­tion in an iron­ic or avant-garde frame of mind. Some pieces, like ama­teur film­mak­er and inven­tor Tul­lio Pel­le­grini’s 1955 Cin­e­mas­cope homage to the city of San Fran­cis­co just above, offer much in the way of pure his­tor­i­cal inter­est. You can find a few more sug­ges­tions about where to start from Tim Brookes at MakeUse­Of, who high­lights even ear­li­er footage of the City by the Bay, per­haps the most gener­ic film ever made, and instruc­tions on what to do on a date as well as what to do in the event of a nuclear attack — all valu­able mate­r­i­al for those of us remix­ing his­to­ry, one ephemer­al clip at a time.

One final thing worth keep­ing in mind, the Archive comes with this invi­ta­tion:

You are warm­ly encour­aged to down­load, use and repro­duce these films in whole or in part, in any medi­um or mar­ket through­out the world. You are also warm­ly encour­aged to share, exchange, redis­trib­ute, trans­fer and copy these films, and espe­cial­ly encour­aged to do so for free. Any deriv­a­tive works that you pro­duce using these films are yours to per­form, pub­lish, repro­duce, sell, or dis­trib­ute in any way you wish with­out any lim­i­ta­tions.

If you hap­pen to get cre­ative with the films in the Archive, please feel free to share your cre­ations in the com­ments sec­tion below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

Have I Told You Late­ly That I Love You?: A 1958 Look at How Mod­ern Gad­gets & Con­ve­niences Lead to Exis­ten­tial Hell

This is Cof­fee!: A 1961 Trib­ute to Our Favorite Stim­u­lant

Free: British Pathé Puts Over 85,000 His­tor­i­cal Films on YouTube

1,000,000 Min­utes of News­reel Footage by AP & British Movi­etone Released on YouTube

The Pub­lic Domain Project Makes 10,000 Film Clips, 64,000 Images & 100s of Audio Files Free to Use

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Walter Benjamin Jots in His Notebook Every Book He’s Read Since He Was 18

benjamin gallery 4

If you’re in Berlin, stop by the Galerie Max Het­zler, which is cur­rent­ly stag­ing an exhi­bi­tion where the Jew­ish mys­tic philoso­pher Wal­ter Ben­jamin plays a promi­nent role. Here’s how the gallery sets the scene:

[British artist British artist Edmund] De Waal first came to know the city of Berlin through the writ­ings of Wal­ter Ben­jamin, par­tic­u­lar­ly his auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal frag­ments in A Berlin Child­hood around 1900. The exhi­bi­tion title, Irrkun­st, has been tak­en from Benjamin’s con­cept of the art of get­ting lost, the art of notic­ing what has been dis­re­gard­ed.

In the Bleib­treustrasse gallery, offer­ing a room with a view on Wal­ter Ben­jam­in’s for­mer school, [De Waal] will show works that reflect Ben­jam­in’s child­hood, his pas­sion for gath­er­ing objects and the idea of col­lect­ing as mem­o­ry work. Here, amongst oth­ers, de Waal will present a major new series of vit­rines. Fur­ther­more, a selec­tion of orig­i­nal notes and man­u­scripts from the Wal­ter Ben­jamin archive in Berlin will be on view at Bleib­treustrasse and illus­trate Ben­jam­in’s own way of work­ing as well as de Waal’s deep fas­ci­na­tion with the œuvre of this thinker.

One such item on dis­play, we dis­cov­ered through Julia Michal­ska’s Twit­ter stream, is “Wal­ter Ben­jam­in’s note­book in which he not­ed all the books he read since he was 18”–a pic­ture of which you can find above. When I zoomed into the image, I could­n’t make out the books on the list. But I did get this detail: By 1931/32, the 40-year-old Ben­jamin had amassed 1200 books on his list, which means he was read­ing, on aver­age, 54 books per year. No doubt, they weren’t light ones. If any­one stops by Galerie Max Het­zler and iden­ti­fies actu­al titles in the note­book, we’d love it if you could note some in the com­ments sec­tion below.

Update: Some titles were added to the com­ments below–books by Cocteau, Hem­ing­way, Mal­raux and more. Check them out.

Look­ing for free, pro­fes­­sion­al­­ly-read audio books from Audible.com? Here’s a great, no-strings-attached deal. If you start a 30 day free tri­al with Audible.com, you can down­load two free audio books of your choice. Get more details on the offer here.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wal­ter Benjamin’s 13 Orac­u­lar Writ­ing Tips

Wal­ter Benjamin’s Radio Plays for Kids (1929–1932)

Wal­ter Benjamin’s Philo­soph­i­cal Thought Pre­sent­ed by Two Exper­i­men­tal Films

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T.S. Eliot Reads From “The Waste Land,” “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” & “The Hollow Men”: His Apocalyptic Post WWI Poems

The T.S. Eliot of the post-World War I peri­od was a poet who stood Janus-faced on the thresh­old of old and new worlds. He looked back­ward to the moun­tain ranges of Euro­pean tra­di­tion and mar­veled at their alpine peaks. At the same time, he seemed acute­ly aware of what a ridicu­lous fig­ure he some­times cut in his self-seri­ous, pedan­tic ven­er­a­tion for the past. Eliot acknowl­edged the inex­orable move­ment of time in poems like “The Waste Land,” “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” and “The Hol­low Men,” even if time only moved for­ward into entropy and medi­oc­rity. When Eliot looked ahead, after the hor­rors of war and the increas­ing speed of mod­ern­iza­tion, what he saw was frag­men­ta­tion, wreck­age, and waste. I have heard his strat­e­gy in “The Waste Land” described as a “ter­mi­nal aesthetic”—a beau­ti­ful­ly destruc­tive poet­ics, and one which could go no fur­ther.

Eliot’s high mod­ernist poems stand in very dif­fer­ent rela­tion to the post-WWI world than the work of for­ward-look­ing 20th cen­tu­ry avant-garde artists of the peri­od. As James Mar­tin Hard­ing notes in Adorno and “A Writ­ing of the Ruins,” what “dis­tin­guish­es Eliot from the avant-garde is that… the pol­i­tics of the avant-garde evinced a faith in rev­o­lu­tion­ary progress…. One would have to ally Eliot’s imagery with the dawn­ing of the postmodern”—with ideas, that is, of the “end of his­to­ry.” In terms of form—characterized by pas­tiche, irony, self-ref­er­en­tial­i­ty, and a blend­ing of high and low culture—Eliot’s poet­ics were dis­tinct­ly post-mod­ern.

But post­mod­ernists have gen­er­al­ly cel­e­brat­ed the frag­ment­ing of tra­di­tion and the loss of grand nar­ra­tives. Eliot cher­ished the old, destroyed world, and most­ly despaired of any­thing of val­ue replac­ing it. His imme­di­ate pre­de­ces­sors, whom he imi­tat­ed and ref­er­enced often, were the French sym­bol­ists and deca­dents; mod­ernist aes­thetes who mourned unnamed cat­a­stro­phes and cat­a­logued absurd cor­re­spon­dences. Crit­ic Cleanth Brooks sin­gles out one poem that Eliot quotes at the end of “The Waste Land,” Ger­ard de Nerval’s “El Des­dicha­do,” for its sug­ges­tion that “the pro­tag­o­nist of the poem has been dis­in­her­it­ed, robbed of his tra­di­tion.” Even in trans­la­tion, we can hear in Nerval’s lines the dark­ly com­ic, cos­mi­cal­ly iron­ic, despair of Eliot’s Prufrock:

My very supernova’s been snuffed out, and my one
shiny-ten­doned lute has been silenced by DEPRESSION.

I think you can hear that same world-weary depres­sion and sense of cul­tur­al exhaus­tion in Eliot’s voice as he reads from both “The Waste Land” and “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” above and from “The Hol­low Men” below (unfor­tu­nate­ly drowned out near the end by some added music). I don’t mean to sug­gest that Eliot him­self suf­fered from some form of clin­i­cal depres­sion. But his poet­ic speakers—and in the case of “The Waste Land” his jum­ble of com­pet­ing voices—all join in an apoc­a­lyp­tic cho­rus as though wit­ness­ing the world’s end. Per­haps the poet­ry exag­ger­ates Eliot’s own per­son­al atti­tudes for effect, per­haps it acts as a series of guis­es for the philo­soph­i­cal and crit­i­cal ideas he explained with­out arti­fice in his essays.

This is how many peo­ple have read Eliot’s poems, myself includ­ed: as con­tain­ers for abstract ideas about cul­tur­al decay and the nature of art and tra­di­tion. But Eliot and his some­time edi­tor and friend Ezra Pound would like­ly object to this kind of approach to poet­ry. Added at the insis­tence of his pub­lish­er, Eliot’s foot­notes to “The Waste Land” seem to mock read­ers anx­ious to leap to inter­pre­ta­tion. Instead, the poet would ask us to attend not to ideas, but to the images, and the emo­tions they evoke—and in this case, to attend also to the poet­’s voice.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free

Lis­ten to T.S. Eliot Recite His Late Mas­ter­piece, the Four Quar­tets

Young T.S. Eliot Writes “The Tri­umph of Bullsh*t” and Gives the Eng­lish Lan­guage a New Exple­tive (1910)

Grou­cho Marx and T.S. Eliot Become Unex­pect­ed Pen Pals, Exchang­ing Por­traits & Com­pli­ments (1961)

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

Hear “Starlight,” Michael Jackson’s Early Demo of “Thriller”: A Version Before the Lyrics Were Radically Changed

The defin­i­tive block­buster albums of an 80s child­hood… maybe you weren’t there, but the Inter­net has made it so you might as well have been. Prince’s 1999 and Pur­ple Rain, Van Halen’s 1984, Michael Jackson’s Mid­night Man, the best-sell­ing album of all time and biggest thing to hap­pen to pop music since Off the Wall. Sure­ly you remem­ber the hit sin­gle “Starlight.” Its smooth grooves have bur­rowed into the brain of any­one who has ever seen a radio. Hit play above and tell me you don’t imme­di­ate­ly start singing the cho­rus:

We need some starlight starlight sun
There ain’t no sec­ond chance we got to make it while we can
You need the starlight some starlight sun
I need you by my side you give me starlight starlight tonight yeah

But this sounds an awful lot like that oth­er song, the one you actu­al­ly remem­ber singing—and dancing—along to every Hal­loween. In fact, it sounds exact­ly like “Thriller.” But what’s with these lyrics?

“Starlight” is the song writer Rod Tem­per­ton orig­i­nal­ly penned. And the album title? Tem­per­ton tells The Tele­graph that after Quin­cy Jones gave him the assign­ment, he went back to his hotel room, “wrote two or three hun­dred titles, and came up with the title ‘Mid­night Man.’” It didn’t last long. The next morn­ing, Tem­per­ton had an epiphany:

I woke up, and I just said this word… Some­thing in my head just said, this is the title. You could visu­al­ize it on the top of the Bill­board charts. You could see the mer­chan­dis­ing for this one word, how it jumped off the page as “Thriller.”

The rest is a his­to­ry so thor­ough­ly embed­ded in the pop cul­ture matrix that it’s near­ly impos­si­ble to think things could have been oth­er­wise. “Imag­in­ing ‘Thriller’ as any­thing else,” writes Patrick Rivers at Amer­i­can Music Review, “can be puz­zling, even unfath­omable.” In his short, but com­pre­hen­sive sur­vey of Thriller’s cre­ation, Rivers won­ders “whether unpol­ished prod­ucts of pop­u­lar artists should be made avail­able.” Do such demos com­pro­mise or enhance our appre­ci­a­tion of the final, com­mer­cial prod­uct? “ ‘Starlight’ can real­ly dis­turb pri­or under­stand­ings of Jackson’s career and image,” Rivers con­cludes; it “does not fit the prod­uct or artist that is Michael Jack­son.”

And yet, such record­ings almost invari­ably become pub­lic even­tu­al­ly: “While years of pop­u­lar music cre­ation remain behind the bliss­ful cur­tain, the pres­ence of ‘Starlight’ on social and peer-to-peer net­works demon­strates an appetite for this con­tent.” While no sim­i­lar appetite may exist in the case of great lit­er­ary works, the shock and sur­prise at hear­ing “Starlight” (read­i­ly avail­able on YouTube) is akin to that feel­ing many stu­dents of T.S. Eliot’s poet­ry expe­ri­ence when they dis­cov­er that his mas­ter­piece The Waste Land was orig­i­nal­ly titled “He Do the Police in Dif­fer­ent Voic­es” and was a very dif­fer­ent work of art before it was heav­i­ly edit­ed and even rewrit­ten by Ezra Pound.

The com­par­i­son illu­mi­nates an impor­tant point about all art, com­mer­cial or oth­er­wise: that it is very often the prod­uct of many hands and the result of many pri­or ver­sions, and its suc­cess depends upon an often ungain­ly, tri­al-and-error process that might have led to very dif­fer­ent results. “Starlight,” Rivers writes, “elu­ci­dates the cal­cu­lat­ed deci­sions made in the cre­ation of com­mer­cial pop­u­lar music.” Sure­ly we knew this, yet when it comes to an artist like Michael Jack­son at the height of his cre­ative pow­ers, we assume a kind of instant pop per­fec­tion, rather than the hit-by-com­mit­tee process Rivers describes in his arti­cle.

In the case of “Thriller,” the com­mit­tee most­ly con­sist­ed of Temperton—whose “Starlight” demo had been cho­sen from hun­dreds sub­mit­ted by others—and Quin­cy Jones, who gen­tly pushed the song­writer toward an edgi­er theme and secured the great Vin­cent Price for the song’s out­ro (writ­ten by Tem­per­ton in a taxi on the way to the stu­dio; Hear a stu­dio out­take of Price’s voiceover above.) Album engi­neer Bruce Swe­di­an remem­bers “the words ‘Edgar Allan Poe’ going between Quin­cy and Rod. Quin­cy say­ing it should be more Edgar Allan Poe. And that ‘Starlight’ isn’t, ‘Thriller’ is.”

Tem­per­ton recalled lat­er in his com­men­tary for the 2001 Thriller: Spe­cial Edi­tion that as “Thriller” took shape along with “Bil­lie Jean” and “Wan­na be Start­ing Some­thing,” the pro­duc­tion team “were kind of giv­ing the whole thing an edge and a direc­tion that some of the oth­er tracks didn’t have.” It was an edge, Rivers notes, “intend­ed to rep­re­sent Jackson’s unveil­ing as an adult record­ing artist,” jump­start­ing his tran­si­tion from child star and the boy­ish twen­ty-year-old of Off the Wall.

Deliv­er­ing to the world a grown-up Michael Jack­son in the artist’s next mas­sive hit record was cer­tain­ly Jones’ intent, though it was Jack­son who penned most of album’s edgi­er songs. Hits like “Bil­lie Jean” and “Beat It” arrived near­ly ful­ly formed. (Hear “Bil­lie Jean” in a home demo above and an a cap­pel­la demo of “Beat It” below.) But it took the bril­liance of Quin­cy Jones and his pro­duc­tion “A‑Team” to bring these songs to the pop music mar­ket­place, sup­ply­ing just the right embellishments—like Eddie Van Halen’s “Beat It” solo—to etch these tunes into our col­lec­tive con­scious­ness for­ev­er.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ori­gins of Michael Jackson’s Moon­walk: Vin­tage Footage of Cab Cal­loway, Sam­my Davis Jr., Fred Astaire & More

Miles Davis Cov­ers Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature” (1983)

Hear the 1962 Bea­t­les Demo that Dec­ca Reject­ed: “Gui­tar Groups are on Their Way Out, Mr. Epstein”

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

Sir Ian McKellen Releases New Apps to Make Shakespeare’s Plays More Enjoyable & Accessible

tempest app

FYI: Ian McK­ellen, who first made his rep­u­ta­tion per­form­ing at the Roy­al Shake­speare Com­pa­ny in the 1970s and 80s, has just released the first of a series of iPad apps meant to make Shake­speare’s plays more acces­si­ble, espe­cial­ly for high school and col­lege stu­dents.

As McK­ellen explains above, Shake­speare’s plays were orig­i­nal­ly meant to be seen per­formed live in a the­atre, not read as books. And so these apps fea­ture actors per­form­ing dra­mat­ic scenes from the plays, while text scrolls by. They’ve just launched the first of 37 apps. It’s devot­ed to The Tem­pest, runs $5.99 on iTunes, and frankly seems well worth the price. Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch likes it. See below.

The app also includes these fea­tures:

  • The full text of The Tem­pest as pub­lished in the First Folio.
  • A full dig­i­tal ver­sion of Arden Shake­speare The Tem­pest.
  • The abil­i­ty to switch between three dif­fer­ent lev­els of notes depend­ing on the lev­el of reader’s needs.
  • A full break­down and expla­na­tion of every char­ac­ter and all of their lines across every scene.
  • A linked his­tor­i­cal time line of Shake­speare’s life, his plays, his the­atres, and con­tem­po­rary con­text to put it all into per­spec­tive.
  • Video expla­na­tions and dis­cus­sions by both Sir Ian McK­ellen and Pro­fes­sor Sir Jonathan Bate on char­ac­ters, themes, and the mean­ing of the play.
  • A full “play at a glance” with illus­tra­tions and sum­maries to explain the play’s plot with key quotes and events.
  • A his­to­ry of all the major pro­duc­tions of The Tem­pest from the 17th cen­tu­ry to the present day.
  • The option to make notes, copy and high­light text that can be col­lect­ed, cor­re­lat­ed and export­ed for lat­er use.
  • The option to search the play’s full text and essays.

Keep your eye on Heuris­tic Shake­speare’s iTunes site for new Shake­speare apps down the line.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ian McK­ellen Stars in King Lear

Sir Ian McK­ellen Puts on a Daz­zling One-Man Shake­speare Show

A 68 Hour Playlist of Shakespeare’s Plays Being Per­formed by Great Actors: Giel­gud, McK­ellen & More

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