Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph of the Will Wasn’t a Cinematic Masterpiece; It Was a Staggeringly Effective Piece of Propaganda

Tri­umph of the Will,” says Dan Olson of the ana­lyt­i­cal video series Fold­ing Ideas, “is not a tri­umph of cin­e­ma.” Already the propo­si­tion runs counter to what many of us learned in film stud­ies class­es, whose pro­fes­sors assured us that Leni Riefen­stahl’s 1935 glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of Nazi Ger­many, despite its thor­ough­ly pro­pa­gan­dis­tic nature, still counts as a seri­ous achieve­ment in film art. “None of the ideas or tech­niques were new,” Olson explains. “It is sim­ply that no one had pre­vi­ous­ly thrown enough mon­ey and resources at pro­pa­gan­da on this scale before.”

If it has val­ue as noth­ing but sheer spec­ta­cle, does Tri­umph of the Will (watch it below) amount to the Trans­form­ers of its day — and with motives that make Michael Bay block­busters look like noble, altru­is­tic endeav­ors at that? Despite doing noth­ing new with its medi­um, the film does still show­case cer­tain qual­i­ties of pro­pa­gan­da that, more than 70 years after the fall of the Third Reich, we’d all do well to keep in mind and keep an eye on.

Olson quotes “Ur-Fas­cism,” an essay by Umber­to Eco (who spent a cou­ple for­ma­tive years “among the SS, Fas­cists, Repub­li­cans, and par­ti­sans shoot­ing at one anoth­er”) explain­ing that, for fas­cist lead­ers to con­vince peo­ple to fol­low them,

the fol­low­ers must feel humil­i­at­ed by the osten­ta­tious wealth and force of their ene­mies. When I was a boy I was taught to think of Eng­lish­men as the five-meal peo­ple. They ate more fre­quent­ly than the poor but sober Ital­ians. Jews are rich and help each oth­er through a secret web of mutu­al assis­tance. How­ev­er, the fol­low­ers must be con­vinced that they can over­whelm the ene­mies. Thus, by a con­tin­u­ous shift­ing of rhetor­i­cal focus, the ene­mies are at the same time too strong and too weak. Fas­cist gov­ern­ments are con­demned to lose wars because they are con­sti­tu­tion­al­ly inca­pable of objec­tive­ly eval­u­at­ing the force of the ene­my.

Here we have sum­ma­rized both a mes­sage that Tri­umph of the Will wants to con­vey and the intel­lec­tu­al Achilles’ heel of fas­cist pro­pa­gan­da. It must imply the strength of the ene­mies even as it makes the strength of the regime crush­ing­ly explic­it. “To the mod­ern view­er it may seem aim­less and shod­di­ly paced,” says Olson, “with mon­tages that just go on and on and on long after the point has been made, but that’s the point: it is not mere­ly a demon­stra­tion of pres­ence, but of vol­ume. The indul­gence of it, the con­spic­u­ous cost, is as much a mes­sage of the film as any oth­er.”

The words of Han­nah Arendt, who once called sci­ence “only a sur­ro­gate for pow­er,” also enter into the analy­sis. Olson uses the quote to get into the idea that “one of the main mech­a­nisms of pro­pa­gan­da is to plant the idea of prece­dent, to alter the audi­ence’s own sense of his­to­ry and the world and appeal to the seem­ing­ly objec­tive author­i­ties of god, his­to­ry and sci­ence” in order to, through what Eco called the “cult of tra­di­tion,” make “new insti­tu­tions seem old­er than they real­ly are.”

We might find all this a bit fun­ny, giv­en the high­ly pre­ma­ture ter­mi­na­tion of a reign the Nazis insist­ed could endure for a thou­sand years, but in some sense their pro­pa­gan­dists had the last laugh. What­ev­er its cin­e­mat­ic mer­its or lack there­of, Riefen­stahl’s film remains essen­tial­ly effec­tive. “To this day we con­tin­ue to use Tri­umph of the Will as a ref­er­ence point for our men­tal con­struct of the Nazi regime,” says Olson. “Our idea of the Nazis is deeply informed by a pro­pa­gan­da film pro­duced by the Nazis for the explic­it pur­pose of cre­at­ing that men­tal con­struct.” When we think of the Nazis, in oth­er words, we still think of the images man­u­fac­tured more than eighty years ago by Tri­umph of the Will — “exact­ly the image they want­ed you to think of when you thought of them.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Lam­beth Walk—Nazi Style: The Ear­ly Pro­pa­gan­da Mash Up That Enraged Joseph Goebbels

Edu­ca­tion for Death: The Mak­ing of the Nazi–Walt Disney’s 1943 Pro­pa­gan­da Film Shows How Fas­cists Are Made

Umber­to Eco Makes a List of the 14 Com­mon Fea­tures of Fas­cism

Han­nah Arendt Explains How Pro­pa­gan­da Uses Lies to Erode All Truth & Moral­i­ty: Insights from The Ori­gins of Total­i­tar­i­an­ism

Noam Chom­sky on Whether the Rise of Trump Resem­bles the Rise of Fas­cism in 1930s Ger­many

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. 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.

Watch Umberto Eco Walk Through His Immense Private Library: It Goes On, and On, and On!

When Umber­to Eco died last year at the age of 84, he left behind a siz­able body of work and a vast col­lec­tion of books. He wrote such hefty and much-read nov­els as The Name of the Rose and Fou­cault’s Pen­du­lum as well as sto­ries for chil­dren, pieces of lit­er­ary crit­i­cism, aca­d­e­m­ic texts on semi­otics, stud­ies of every­thing from medieval aes­thet­ics to mod­ern media, and much else besides, but as we recent­ly not­ed, he also advised against becom­ing too pro­lif­ic. Not for him the life of “those nov­el­ists who pub­lish a book every year,” thus miss­ing out on the “plea­sure of spend­ing six, sev­en, eight years to tell a sto­ry.”

Still, the man wrote a lot. He also read a lot, as a glance at a chap­ter or two from any one of his own nov­els will attest. An avowed fan of James Joyce and Jorge Luis Borges, Eco wove into his work count­less threads pulled from the lit­er­ary and intel­lec­tu­al his­to­ry of a host of dif­fer­ent places, cul­tures, and lan­guages — evi­dence of a well-stocked mind indeed, but a well-stocked mind requires a well-stocked library, or libraries.

We can only imag­ine how many such citadels of knowl­edge Eco vis­it­ed in his trav­els all over the world, but we don’t have to imag­ine the one he built him­self, since we can see it in the video above. Though not infi­nite like the library of all pos­si­ble books imag­ined by Borges, Eco’s pri­vate home library looks, from cer­tain angles, near­ly as big. The cam­era fol­lows Eco as he pass­es shelf after packed shelf, some lin­ing the walls and oth­ers stand­ing free, even­tu­al­ly find­ing his way to one vol­ume in par­tic­u­lar — despite the fact that he appar­ent­ly shelved very few of his books with their spines fac­ing out­ward.

Accord­ing to Nas­sim Nicholas Taleb, quot­ed by Maria Popo­va at Brain Pick­ings, Eco’s library con­tained 30,000 books and tend­ed to sep­a­rate vis­i­tors into two cat­e­gories: ‘those who react with ‘Wow! Sig­nore pro­fes­sore dot­tore Eco, what a library you have! How many of these books have you read?’ and the oth­ers — a very small minor­i­ty — who get the point that a pri­vate library is not an ego-boost­ing appendage but a research tool. Read books are far less valu­able than unread ones.” By that mea­sure, Eco might have amassed an even more valu­able library than his fans would assume.

via 9gag.com

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Umber­to Eco Dies at 84; Leaves Behind Advice to Aspir­ing Writ­ers

Umber­to Eco Makes a List of the 14 Com­mon Fea­tures of Fas­cism

Umber­to Eco Explains the Poet­ic Pow­er of Charles Schulz’s Peanuts

21 Artists Give “Advice to the Young:” Vital Lessons from Lau­rie Ander­son, David Byrne, Umber­to Eco, Pat­ti Smith & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. 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 Carl Sagan Artfully Refute a Creationist on a Talk Radio Show: “The Darwinian Concept of Evolution is Profoundly Verified”

It takes a spe­cial kind of per­son to calm­ly debate those who pre­fer dog­ma to rea­son and who insist on ignor­ing or dis­tort­ing evi­dence to suit their pre­con­cep­tions. Carl Sagan was such a per­son. Among his many oth­er sci­en­tif­ic accom­plish­ments, he became leg­endary for his skill as an edu­ca­tor and sci­ence advo­cate. Sagan com­mu­ni­cat­ed not only his knowl­edge, but also his awe and won­der at the beau­ty and intri­ca­cy of the uni­verse, bring­ing to his expla­na­tions an unri­valed enthu­si­asm, clar­i­ty, and tal­ent for poet­ic expres­sion. And when faced with inter­locu­tors who were less than intel­lec­tu­al­ly hon­est, Sagan kept his cool and car­ried on.

This could be dif­fi­cult. In the audio from a radio call-in show above, we hear Sagan answer ques­tions from a caller with a clear, and rather fool­hardy agen­da: to best the astronomer, astro­physi­cist, and astro­bi­ol­o­gist in a debate over Dar­win­ian evo­lu­tion. He begins right away with some ad hominem, call­ing Sagan and his wife Ann Druyan “true believ­ers, who are no more will­ing to ques­tion the the­o­ry that you base your beliefs on than were the min­is­ters of the 19th cen­tu­ry who you reg­u­lar­ly crit­i­cize as being close-mind­ed.” The irony of accu­sa­tions like these should be obvi­ous. Though the caller doesn’t announce him­self as a cre­ation­ist, it’s abun­dant­ly clear to Sagan from his talk­ing points that he’s defend­ing a cre­ation­ist par­ty line.

Sagan attempts to answer his first ques­tion, but before he can fin­ish, the caller leaps to anoth­er bul­let point, the “gaps in the the­o­ry” or “gap­ing hole” of “fos­sils in tran­si­tion.” Sagan press­es his claim, with evi­dence, that “the Dar­win­ian con­cept of evo­lu­tion and nat­ur­al selec­tion is pro­found­ly ver­i­fied.” The insis­tent caller again inter­rupts and Sagan almost gives up on him, say­ing he “rather reminds me of Pon­tius Pilate. He asks, ‘what is truth?’ but does not stay for the answer.’” Then Sagan, with­out hes­i­ta­tion, patient­ly makes a case in brief:

Con­sid­er arti­fi­cial selec­tion. There is some­thing par­tic­u­lar­ly implau­si­ble about nat­ur­al selec­tion, par­tic­u­lar­ly if you think that the world is only a few thou­sand years old, as the Bib­li­cal chronol­o­gy would have it. Then the idea of one species flow­ing into anoth­er is absurd, we nev­er see that in our every­day life, we are told. But con­sid­er, for exam­ple, the vari­ety of dogs on the plan­et… We humans made them… by con­trol­ling which dogs shall mate with which…. In the short peri­od of 8 or 10,000 years, we pro­duce this immense vari­ety of dogs. Now com­pare that with four bil­lion years of bio­log­i­cal evo­lu­tion, not arti­fi­cial selec­tion, but nat­ur­al selec­tion, which goes into not just the over­all per­son­al­i­ty and char­ac­ter­is­tics of the dog, but the bio­chem­istry and inter­nal organs… and then it is clear that the beau­ty and diver­si­ty of life on earth can emerge. But if you don’t buy four bil­lion years, you don’t buy evo­lu­tion.

Sagan fre­quent­ly cit­ed this fig­ure of 4 bil­lion years for the ori­gin of life on Earth. Dur­ing his huge­ly pop­u­lar pro­gram Cos­mos, for exam­ple, he used the num­ber in an accel­er­at­ed evo­lu­tion­ary his­to­ry, which you can hear him nar­rate accom­pa­nied by a nifty ani­ma­tion in the video below. Most sci­en­tists have used that fig­ure or a few mil­lion years ear­li­er. For some time, the actu­al num­ber was thought to be between 3.6 and 3.8 bil­lion years. Recent­ly, as Tim Marcin reports at the Inter­na­tion­al Busi­ness Times, some sci­en­tists have con­clud­ed that “liv­ing organ­isms may have exist­ed on Earth as long as 4.1 bil­lion years ago.”

Marcin quotes UCLA pro­fes­sor of geo­chem­istry Mark Har­ri­son, who spec­u­lates, “life on Earth may have start­ed almost instan­ta­neous­ly” (rel­a­tive­ly speak­ing) after the planet’s for­ma­tion some 4.6 bil­lion years ago. These esti­mates come from car­bon dat­ing, not fos­sils, but just yes­ter­day, Sarah Kaplan writes at The Wash­ing­ton Post, dis­cov­er­ies of “tiny, tubu­lar struc­tures uncov­ered in ancient Cana­di­an rocks” may be evi­dence of ancient microbes thought to be 3.77 bil­lion years old, “mak­ing them the old­est fos­sils ever found.”

Like all new sci­en­tif­ic dis­cov­er­ies, these recent find­ings have been con­test­ed by oth­er sci­en­tists in these fields. And like some dis­cov­er­ies, their ques­tions may nev­er be resolved in our life­times. Sci­ence depends on meth­ods of data col­lec­tion, eval­u­a­tion and inter­pre­ta­tion of evi­dence, peer review, and many oth­er process­es sub­ject to human error. Sci­en­tists must often revise their con­clu­sions and recon­sid­er the­o­ries. No sci­en­tif­ic expla­na­tion is con­clu­sive­ly defin­i­tive in all its par­tic­u­lars. Nonethe­less, Sagan believed that only through the sci­en­tif­ic method could we obtain knowl­edge about the cos­mos and the ori­gin of life on earth that was in any way reli­able. He admired reli­gious ethics and the space reli­gions held for the big ques­tions. Sagan even declared in his 1985 Gif­ford Lec­tures (pub­lished posthu­mous­ly as The Vari­eties of Sci­en­tif­ic Expe­ri­ence) that “the objec­tives of reli­gion and sci­ence… are iden­ti­cal or very near­ly so.” But he did not think reli­gions could answer the ques­tions they asked.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Carl Sagan Presents a Mini-Course on Earth, Mars & What’s Beyond Our Solar Sys­tem: For Kids and Adults (1977)

Carl Sagan Explains Evo­lu­tion in an Eight-Minute Ani­ma­tion

Watch Episode #2 of Neil deGrasse Tyson’s Cos­mos: Explains the Real­i­ty of Evo­lu­tion (US View­ers)

Carl Sagan, Stephen Hawk­ing & Arthur C. Clarke Dis­cuss God, the Uni­verse, and Every­thing Else

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

Icelandic Folk Singers Break Into an Impromptu Performance of a 13th Century Hymn in a Train Station, and It’s Delightful

Ice­landic folk group Árstíðir know a good acoustic cathe­dral when they see one, even when it’s in a train sta­tion. In the above video, the sex­tet was return­ing from a con­cert in Wup­per­tal, Ger­many, when they were struck by the acoustic prop­er­ties of this one sec­tion of the train ter­mi­nal.

Indeed, this was a fine place to stop and offer a spe­cial encore to their show, a per­for­mance of the ear­ly 13th cen­tu­ry Ice­landic hymn “Heyr him­na smiður” (“Hear, Smith of Heav­ens”) by Kol­beinn Tuma­son.

Hear­ing this music strips away the con­crete and the indus­tri­al rev­o­lu­tion and we are sud­den­ly back in the mists of time…even when the tan­noy speak­ers in the back­ground announce a train depar­ture. In fact, it just adds anoth­er lay­er of atmos­phere to this beau­ti­ful work. The sparse crowd stops and just lis­tens. It’s a beau­ti­ful video that has earned over six mil­lion views in the near­ly four years it has been online.

Com­pos­er Kol­beinn Tuma­son is best known for this hymn–you can see a trans­la­tion of the lyrics here–and was both a deeply reli­gious man and one of the most pow­er­ful chief­tains in Ice­land. He met his mak­er at age 34 in a bat­tle between reli­gious and sec­u­lar clans, where his head was bashed in by a rock. Still, the his­to­ry goes, he held on long enough to write this hymn on his deathbed, and it remains an oft-per­formed work.

Hope­ful­ly no such bat­tle­field fate awaits the group Árstíðir, who formed in Reyk­javik in 2008 and con­tin­ue to per­form, though their style is clos­er to Fleet Fox­es than this 13th cen­tu­ry times­lip might indi­cate.

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.

via Atlas Obscu­ra

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Learn What Old Norse Sound­ed Like, with UC Berkeley’s “Cow­boy Pro­fes­sor, Dr. Jack­son Craw­ford

Wear­able Books: In Medieval Times, They Took Old Man­u­scripts & Turned Them into Clothes

The Mys­ti­cal Poet­ry of Rumi Read By Til­da Swin­ton, Madon­na, Robert Bly & Cole­man Barks

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

10 Hours of Ambient Arctic Sounds Will Help You Relax, Meditate, Study & Sleep

Not too long ago, we fea­tured for you 4 hours of ambi­ent music cre­at­ed by Moby, all of which you can down­load for free, and use to sleep, med­i­tate, do yoga and gen­er­al­ly not pan­ic. Sound time­ly? Then down­load away.

Per­haps tak­ing a cue from Moby, the Relax Sleep ASMR YouTube chan­nel has also assem­bled a “video” offer­ing 10 hours of Arc­tic ambi­ent music, fea­tur­ing the sounds of the frozen ocean, ice crack­ing, snow falling, [an] ice­break­er idling and [a] dis­tant howl­ing wind sound.”

Click play above and you can enjoy “white noise sounds gen­er­at­ed by the wind and snow falling, com­bined with deep low fre­quen­cies with delta waves from the pow­er­ful … idling engines” of a Polar Ice­break­er. Very chill.

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!

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.

via Boing Boing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Moby Lets You Down­load 4 Hours of Ambi­ent Music to Help You Sleep, Med­i­tate, Do Yoga & Not Pan­ic

Dr. Weil’s 60-Sec­ond Tech­nique for Falling Asleep

Music That Helps You Sleep: Min­i­mal­ist Com­pos­er Max Richter, Pop Phe­nom Ed Sheer­an & Your Favorites

Dai­ly Med­i­ta­tion Boosts & Revi­tal­izes the Brain and Reduces Stress, Har­vard Study Finds

The Pow­er of Pow­er Naps: Sal­vador Dali Teach­es You How Micro-Naps Can Give You Cre­ative Inspi­ra­tion

10 Hours of Ambi­ent Arc­tic Sounds Will Help You Relax, Med­i­tate, Study & Sleep

Music That Helps You Sleep: Min­i­mal­ist Com­pos­er Max Richter, Pop Phe­nom Ed Sheer­an & Your Favorites

240 Hours of Relax­ing, Sleep-Induc­ing Sounds from Sci-Fi Video Games: From Blade Run­ner to Star Wars

How a Good Night’s Sleep — and a Bad Night’s Sleep — Can Enhance Your Cre­ativ­i­ty

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Hear a Rare Poetry Reading by Captain Beefheart (1993)

When I find myself in times of musi­cal trou­ble, Cap­tain Beef­heart comes to me. His Mar­cel Duchamp-meets-James Brown shtick goes places no oth­er exper­i­men­tal prog-blues-jazz artist ever has—places of absur­dist vir­tu­os­i­ty where the gap between the artist and the mask dis­ap­pears, where words and music have rela­tion­ships that defy phys­i­cal laws. Many have tried, but few have so well suc­ceed­ed in the wild ambi­tion to make sur­re­al­ist verse cohere in songs that defy all tra­di­tion­al arrange­ments. For my exper­i­men­tal rock dime, no one has mas­tered the art so well as Beef­heart and his Mag­ic Band.

In fact, every musi­cian, I believe, should some­times ask them­selves, “what would Cap­tain Beef­heart do?” But what about Beefheart’s rela­tion­ship with the oth­er arts? We prob­a­bly know that the man also named Don Van Vli­et was a pro­lif­ic abstract painter through­out his career, the medi­um he chose for the last 28 years of his life after he hung up his sax­o­phone in 1982. But did his “strange uncle of post-punk” musi­cal sen­si­bil­i­ties trans­late into poet­ry, a relat­ed but quite dif­fer­ent art than that of even the most abstract song­writ­ing?

Well, if Bob Dylan can win a Nobel Prize—and why not?—I see no rea­son why we can’t con­sid­er the work of Cap­tain Beef­heart lit­er­ary art. And in addi­tion to his extra­or­di­nary Dadaist songs, Beef­heart penned restrained, mas­ter­ful­ly imag­is­tic poems with wry humor and crys­talline intel­li­gence. His work sure­ly belongs in Alan Kaufman’s Out­law Bible of Amer­i­can Poet­ry right next to that of Dylan, Tom Waits, Pat­ti Smith, Tupac Shakur, Gil Scott-Heron, Jim Mor­ri­son, the Beats, and dozens more non-musi­cal writ­ers. But it seems that Beefheart’s lit­er­ary genius has been most­ly over­looked.

That’s unfor­tu­nate. In tense, vivid­ly observed poems like “A Tin Peened Rein­deer,” he approach­es the ellip­ti­cal mys­tery of Wal­lace Stevens and the baroque lan­guage of John Ash­bery. Late songs like “The Thou­sandth and Tenth Day of the Human Totem Pole” con­dense the grotesque imag­i­nary of Dali into a few stag­ger­ing lines. Yet we don’t get a col­lec­tion of Beef­heart read­ings until 1993, when he appeared in a short doc­u­men­tary by Anton Cor­bi­jn called Some Yo Yo Stuff.

You can watch that film at the top of the post, and in the videos below it, hear Van Vli­et read poems and song lyrics in record­ings from his time with Cor­bi­jn. Both in the film and in the read­ings, it is evi­dent that the mul­ti­ple scle­ro­sis that killed Beef­heart in 2010 had ren­dered speech dif­fi­cult for him. But with patient lis­ten­ing, we hear that his sparkling wit and absur­dist genius remained at full strength, as in anoth­er, long 1993 inter­view with Dutch radio host Co De Kloet.

Beef­heart earned a rep­u­ta­tion as an auto­crat­ic-yet-capri­cious band­leader (record­ing a tongue-in-cheek spo­ken word piece on the sub­ject in ear­li­er years). But in inter­views, he came across as hum­ble, sweet-tem­pered, and gen­tle, and as an artist whose work was an authen­tic out­growth of his per­son­al­i­ty. These qual­i­ties shine through in even the goofi­est, most out-there poems and lyrics.

Fur­ther up, hear Beef­heart read the poems and songs “Fallin’ Ditch,” “The Tired Plain,” “Skele­ton Makes Good,” “Safe Sex Drill,” and “Gill,” and in the playlist below, he reads all of those plus his poem, “Tulip,” a short mod­ernist gem rem­i­nis­cent of both Ezra Pound and William Car­los Williams:

It could be
a tremen­dous black upside-down tulip
it could be
a black fish­es’ tail
it could be a day, artis­ti­cal­ly crimped
and buoy­ant
in its taped togeth­er way

Cap­tain Beef­heart’s poems will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

via Ubuweb

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cap­tain Beef­heart Issues His “Ten Com­mand­ments of Gui­tar Play­ing”

The Night Frank Zap­pa Jammed With Pink Floyd … and Cap­tain Beef­heart Too (Bel­gium, 1969)

Hear Pat­ti Smith Read 12 Poems From Sev­enth Heav­en, Her First Col­lec­tion (1972)

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

How Cormac McCarthy Became a Copy-Editor for Scientific Books and One of the Most Influential Articles in Economics

Cre­ative Com­mons image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

I first came to know the work of Cor­mac McCarthy through the 1973 nov­el Child of God, a por­trait of a ter­ri­fy­ing­ly alien­at­ed lon­er who becomes a ser­i­al killer. The book so immers­es read­ers in the dank, claus­tro­pho­bic world of its pro­tag­o­nist, Lester Bal­lard, that one can almost smell the dirt and rot­ting flesh. Next, I read Blood Merid­i­an, McCarthy’s psy­che­del­i­cal­ly bru­tal epic about a mer­ce­nary band of scalp hunters who mas­sa­cred Native Amer­i­cans in the mid-nine­teenth cen­tu­ry South­west. In McCarthy’s avalanche of prose—which lacks com­mas, apos­tro­phes, quo­ta­tion marks, and most every oth­er mark of punctuation—long pas­sages of grim death and car­nage become hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry trance-induc­ing incan­ta­tions.

It’s nev­er a good idea to iden­ti­fy an author too close­ly with their fic­tion; the most dis­turbing­ly effec­tive works of hor­ror and mad­ness have very often been designed by writ­ers of the high­est emo­tion­al sen­si­tiv­i­ty and crit­i­cal intel­li­gence. This is cer­tain­ly the case with McCarthy, whose work plumbs the deep­est exis­ten­tial abysses. Nev­er­the­less, I har­bored cer­tain anx­ious expec­ta­tions of him, unsure if he was a writer I’d ever actu­al­ly want to meet. So like many oth­ers, I was more than a lit­tle puz­zled by McCarthy’s deci­sion to give his first and only TV inter­view in 2007 on Oprah Win­frey’s wild­ly pop­u­lar plat­form.

But among the many things we learned from their pleas­ant con­ver­sa­tion is that McCarthy doesn’t care much for lit­er­ary soci­ety. He doesn’t like writ­ers so much as he loves writ­ing and think­ing, of all kinds. He spends most of his time with sci­en­tists, keeping—as we not­ed in a post last week—an office at a think tank called the San­ta Fe Insti­tute and doing most of his writ­ing there on a noisy old type­writer. While devel­op­ing rela­tion­ships with physi­cists, McCarthy took an inter­est in their writ­ing, and vol­un­teered to copy-edit sev­er­al sci­en­tif­ic books. He over­hauled the prose in physi­cist Lawrence Krauss’s Quan­tum Man, a biog­ra­phy of Richard Feyn­man, promis­ing, says Krauss, that he “could excise all the excla­ma­tion points and semi­colons, both of which he said have no place in lit­er­a­ture.”

In 2005, McCarthy read the man­u­script of the Har­vard physi­cist Lisa Randall’s first book, Warped Pas­sages: Unrav­el­ing the Mys­ter­ies of the Universe’s Hid­den Dimen­sions. He “gave it a good copy-edit,” Ran­dall said, and “real­ly smoothed the prose.” Lat­er he did the same for her sec­ond book, Knock­ing on Heaven’s Door. Dur­ing that expe­ri­ence, she notes, “we had some nice con­ver­sa­tions about the mate­r­i­al. In fact, I saw a quote where he used a physics exam­ple I had giv­en in response to a ques­tion about truth and beau­ty.”

Per­haps McCarthy sees this avo­ca­tion as a chal­lenge and an oppor­tu­ni­ty to learn. Per­haps he’s also doing research for his own work. His lat­est project, The Pas­sen­ger, includes a char­ac­ter who is a Los Alam­os physi­cist. But what about anoth­er, sur­pris­ing­ly out-of-the-blue edi­to­r­i­al job he took on in 1996? Before he applied his aus­ter­i­ties to Krauss and Randall’s work, he received an arti­cle from the­o­ret­i­cal econ­o­mist and friend W. Bri­an Arthur. The piece, sched­uled to be pub­lished in the Har­vard Busi­ness Review, was titled “Increas­ing Returns and the New World of Busi­ness.”

After mail­ing McCarthy the arti­cle, Arthur called and asked him how he liked it. “There was a silence on the line,” he tells Rick Tet­zeli in an inter­view for Fast Com­pa­ny, “and then he said, ‘Would you be inter­est­ed in some edi­to­r­i­al help on that?’” The two spent four hours going over the writ­ing. “Let’s say the piece was bet­ter for all the hours Cor­mac and I spent por­ing over every sen­tence,” Arthur says, not­ing that his edi­tor called in a “slight pan­ic” after hear­ing about the col­lab­o­ra­tion. You can read the full arti­cle here. It’s “a lot punchi­er and more sharply word­ed than you might expect, giv­en its sub­ject mat­ter,” writes The Onion’s A.V. Club. It also con­tains a lot more punc­tu­a­tion than we might expect, giv­en its copy-edi­tor’s phi­los­o­phy.

“Increas­ing Returns and the New World of Busi­ness” became one of Har­vard Busi­ness Review’s “most influ­en­tial arti­cles” Tet­zeli writes. “Even now, the the­o­ry of increas­ing returns is as impor­tant as ever: it’s at the heart of the suc­cess of com­pa­nies such as Google, Face­book, Uber, Ama­zon, and Airbnb.” Did McCarthy’s encounter with Arthur’s the­o­ry appear in his lat­er fic­tion? Who knows. Per­haps where Arthur’s vision of eco­nom­ic growth pre­dict­ed the mas­sive tech giants to come, McCarthy’s keen mind saw the ever-increas­ing prof­its of busi­ness savvy drug car­tels like those in No Coun­try for Old Men and his Rid­ley Scott col­lab­o­ra­tion The Coun­selor.

via The A.V. Club

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cor­mac McCarthy Explains Why He Worked Hard at Not Work­ing: How 9‑to‑5 Jobs Lim­it Your Cre­ative Poten­tial      

Cor­mac McCarthy’s Three Punc­tu­a­tion Rules, and How They All Go Back to James Joyce

Wern­er Her­zog and Cor­mac McCarthy Talk Sci­ence and Cul­ture

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

What Is Apocalypse Now Really About? An Hour-Long Video Analysis of Francis Ford Coppola’s Vietnam Masterpiece

The dis­tort­ed sounds of heli­copter blades. The drunk­en punch that shat­ters the mir­ror. The “Ride of the Valkyries” attack. “I love the smell of napalm in the morn­ing.” The slaugh­ter­ing of the water buf­fa­lo. “The hor­ror… the hor­ror.” In the near­ly three-hour run­time of its orig­i­nal cut, Apoc­a­lypse Now deliv­ers these and many more of the most vivid cin­e­mat­ic moments of the 1970s, the era of “New Hollywood”—when young auteurs like its direc­tor Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la swept in and demol­ished the bound­aries of main­stream Amer­i­can cinema—and that of the Viet­nam War the film depicts as well.

Yet for all its artis­tic and cul­tur­al impact, the film has­n’t received quite as much scruti­ny as you might imag­ine. Or at least that’s how it looked to pro­fes­sion­al cinephile Lewis Bond, known for his work on Chan­nel Criswell, when he first took stock of Apoc­a­lypse Now’s ana­lyt­i­cal video essay land­scape.

Dis­cus­sions of Cop­po­la’s Viet­nam mas­ter­piece tend to focus on its leg­en­dar­i­ly ardu­ous pro­duc­tion and the one mil­lion feet of film famous­ly shot dur­ing it, a prece­dent per­haps set by the 1991 behind-the-scenes doc­u­men­tary Hearts of Dark­ness: A Film­mak­er’s Apoc­a­lypse.

These appraisals shy away from one seem­ing­ly impor­tant ques­tion in par­tic­u­lar: what is the movie about? On one lev­el, the answer to that ques­tion comes eas­i­ly: a mod­ern adap­ta­tion of Joseph Con­rad’s 1899 nov­el Heart of Dark­ness, Apoc­a­lypse Now trans­plants and trans­forms Con­rad’s sto­ry of a jour­ney up the Con­go Riv­er to the strong­hold of an ivory trad­er into the con­text of 1969 Viet­nam. The riv­er jour­ney remains, now led by a Unit­ed States Army cap­tain charged with the “ter­mi­na­tion with extreme prej­u­dice” of an Army Spe­cial Forces colonel gone rogue, and prob­a­bly insane, in Cam­bo­dia, sur­round­ed by ex-sol­diers and natives who report­ed­ly wor­ship him as a “demigod.”

Bond ref­er­ences the stan­dard inter­pre­ta­tion of Apoc­a­lypse Now’s riv­er jour­ney as “a metaphor for descent into mad­ness,” but in his two-part, hour-long video essay ana­lyz­ing the themes of the film, he posits “a more appro­pri­ate descrip­tion of the riv­er” as “a reflec­tion of the char­ac­ters’ inner jour­ney, show­ing us the indoc­tri­na­tion of evil.” Along the way, Cop­po­la and his col­lab­o­ra­tors offer a sin­gu­lar cin­e­mat­ic expe­ri­ence about not one thing but many: “It’s about the destruc­tion of peo­ple’s morals. It’s about the way Amer­i­ca oper­at­ed dur­ing Viet­nam as well as the con­fused val­ues that Amer­i­ca pushed upon the world. It’s about war. It’s about peo­ple” — and every­thing else before which our inter­pre­tive instincts ulti­mate­ly fall pow­er­less.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Apoc­a­lypse Now’s “Ride of the Valkyries” Attack: The Anato­my of a Clas­sic Scene

The Mak­ing of Apoc­a­lypse Now Remixed/Revisited

How Aki­ra Kurosawa’s Sev­en Samu­rai Per­fect­ed the Cin­e­mat­ic Action Scene: A New Video Essay

How Stan­ley Kubrick Made His Mas­ter­pieces: An Intro­duc­tion to His Obses­sive Approach to Film­mak­ing

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. 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.

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