When Pink Floyd Tried to Make an Album with Household Objects: Hear Two Surviving Tracks Made with Wine Glasses & Rubber Bands

There are bands one casu­al­ly encoun­ters through great­est hits or break­through albums, on which they sound exact­ly like them­selves and no one else. It’s impos­si­ble to imag­ine any­one but Fleet­wood Mac mak­ing Rumors or Tusk. Or any­one but Pink Floyd record­ing Wish You Were Here or Dark Side of the Moon. But just like Fleet­wood Mac, when we look back before Floyd’s best-known work, we find, as Mark Blake writes at Team Rock, that “they were a very dif­fer­ent propo­si­tion.”

And yet it was­n’t that Pink Floyd rad­i­cal­ly shuf­fled the lineup—though they had, since their first album, lost found­ing singer and gui­tarist Syd Bar­rett to men­tal ill­ness and tak­en on David Gilmour to replace him. It’s that the same four musi­cians who re-invent­ed psych-rock in the ear­ly 70s with “Mon­ey,” “Time,” and “Great Gig in the Sky,” sound­ed noth­ing like that blues/funk/disco/prog hybrid in the late 60s. Some of the same ele­ments were there—the sar­don­ic sense of humor, love for sound effects and extend­ed jam sessions—but they cohered in much more alien and exper­i­men­tal shapes.

The title track of 1968’s Saucer­ful of Secrets, for exam­ple, opens with four min­utes of dis­so­nant hor­ror-movie organ drones, which give way to pri­mal drum­ming around which piano chords and sci-fi nois­es fall hap­haz­ard­ly, then resolve in a clos­ing word­less choral pas­sage. Not a sin­gle, cyn­i­cal lyric about the pains of mod­ern life to be found. The fol­low­ing year’s Ummagum­ma con­tin­ued to build the band’s exper­i­men­tal foun­da­tions, and in-between these projects, they record­ed film sound­tracks that, again, do not make one think of laser-lit are­na rock shows.

But there is plen­ty of con­nec­tive tis­sue between the var­i­ous phas­es of Floyd, much of it, like the bulk of their 1970 sound­track for Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point, offi­cial­ly unre­leased. We can add to that list an attempt­ed album called House­hold Objects, which they began in 1970 and aban­doned in ’74. The project, drum­mer Nick Mason admit­ted, rep­re­sents the then-large­ly-instru­men­tal band “still look­ing for a coher­ent direc­tion,” and in so doing, aban­don­ing instru­ments alto­geth­er. On House­hold Objects, they made serendip­i­tous dis­cov­er­ies using—as the title clear­ly stated—found sounds, in the vein of John Cage or the avant-garde com­posers of musique con­crete.

In 1971, Abbey Road stu­dios tape oper­a­tor John Leck­ie, who went on to pro­duce the heav­i­ly Floyd-influ­enced Muse, remem­bers the band “mak­ing chords up from the tap­ping of beer bot­tles, tear­ing news­pa­pers for rhythm, and let­ting off aerosol cans to get a hi-hat sound.” Key­boardist Richard Wright recalls spend­ing “days get­ting a pen­cil and a rub­ber band till it sound­ed like a bass.” The idea began two years ear­li­er when the band per­formed a com­po­si­tion called Work that “involved,” writes Blake, “saw­ing wood and boil­ing ket­tles on stage.”

House­hold Objects record­ing ses­sions, writes Rolling Stone, “con­sist­ed of Pink Floyd play­ing songs on hand mix­ers, light bulbs, wood saws, ham­mers, brooms and oth­er home appli­ances. Record­ing in this man­ner was excru­ci­at­ing.” Wright and Gilmour grew exas­per­at­ed and the band moved on to oth­er things, name­ly Wish You Were Here. All that seem­ing­ly remains of House­hold Objects are the two tracks here, “The Hard Way” (an instance where rub­ber bands sound like a bass) and “Wine Glass­es,” the lat­ter employ­ing, you guessed it, wine glass­es. But like so much of Floyd’s less­er-known or for­got­ten exper­i­men­tal work, these ses­sions cre­at­ed the back­drop for their more acces­si­ble hits. “Wine Glass­es” sur­vived in “Shine on You Crazy Dia­mond.” In the video just above, you can see David Gilmour work out the glass arrange­ments for his per­for­mance of the song in the 2006 Roy­al Albert Hall con­cert film Remem­ber That Night.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The “Lost” Pink Floyd Sound­track for Michelan­ge­lo Antonioni’s Only Amer­i­can Film, Zabriskie Point (1970)

Hear Lost Record­ing of Pink Floyd Play­ing with Jazz Vio­lin­ist Stéphane Grap­pel­li on “Wish You Were Here”

Pink Floyd’s “Echoes” Pro­vides a Sound­track for the Final Scene of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey

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

A New Mural Pays Tribute to John Coltrane in Philadelphia

Image by WRTI.ORG

Ear­li­er this sum­mer, artists paint­ed a 10-sto­ry high mur­al of Mud­dy Waters in the heart of Chica­go. Now, Philadel­phia answered with a mur­al of its own, right at the cor­ner of 29th and Dia­mond. There, you’ll find a giant paint­ing of John Coltrane by artist Ernel Mar­tinez, which takes visu­al cues from anoth­er Coltrane mur­al that graced the side of a Philly build­ing from 2002 until 2014.

The new mur­al is not far from where Coltrane bought his Philadel­phia home in 1952. (It’s now a nation­al land­mark, by the way.) The jazz web site, wrti.org, has more on the new mur­al.

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 and BlueSky.

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 @TedGioia

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Her­bie Han­cock to Teach His First Online Course on Jazz

John Coltrane Draws a Pic­ture Illus­trat­ing the Math­e­mat­ics of Music

The Secret Link Between Jazz and Physics: How Ein­stein & Coltrane Shared Impro­vi­sa­tion and Intu­ition in Com­mon

John Coltrane’s Hand­writ­ten Out­line for His Mas­ter­piece A Love Supreme

John Coltrane’s ‘Giant Steps’ Ani­mat­ed

The Complex Geometry of Islamic Art & Design: A Short Introduction

When you think of the accom­plish­ments of the Islam­ic world, what comes to mind? For most of this cen­tu­ry so far, at least in the West, the very notion has had asso­ci­a­tions in many minds with not cre­ation but destruc­tion. In 2002, math­e­mati­cian Kei­th Devlin lament­ed how “the word Islam con­jures up images of fanat­i­cal ter­ror­ists fly­ing jet air­planes full of peo­ple into build­ings full of even more peo­ple” and “the word Bagh­dad brings to mind the unscrupu­lous and decid­ed­ly evil dic­ta­tor Sad­dam Hus­sein.” Iron­i­cal­ly, writes Devlin, “the cul­ture that these fanat­ics claim to rep­re­sent when they set about try­ing to destroy the mod­ern world of sci­ence and tech­nol­o­gy was in fact the cra­dle in which that tra­di­tion was nur­tured. As math­e­mati­cians, we are all chil­dren of Islam.”

You don’t have to dig deep into his­to­ry to dis­cov­er the con­nec­tion between Islam and math­e­mat­ics; you can sim­ply see it. “In Islam­ic cul­ture, geom­e­try is every­where,” says the nar­ra­tor of the brief TED-Ed les­son above. “You can find it in mosques, madrasas, palaces, and pri­vate homes.”

Script­ed by writer and con­sul­tant on Islam­ic design Eric Broug, the video breaks down the com­plex, abstract geo­met­ric pat­terns found every­where in Islam­ic art and design, from its “intri­cate flo­ral motifs adorn­ing car­pets and tex­tiles to pat­terns of tile­work that seem to repeat infi­nite­ly, inspir­ing won­der and con­tem­pla­tion of eter­nal order.”

And the tools used to ren­der these visions of eter­ni­ty? Noth­ing more advanced than a com­pass and a ruler, Broug explains, used to first draw a cir­cle, divide that cir­cle up, draw lines to con­struct repeat­ing shapes like petals or stars, and keep intact the grid under­ly­ing the whole pat­tern. The process of repeat­ing a geo­met­ric pat­tern on a grid, called tes­sel­la­tion, may seen famil­iar indeed to fans of the math­e­mat­i­cal­ly mind­ed artist M.C. Esch­er, who used the very same process to demon­strate what won­drous artis­tic results can emerge from the use of sim­ple basic pat­terns. In fact, Escher’s Dutch coun­try­man Broug once wrote an essay on the con­nec­tions between his art and that of the Islam­ic world for the exhib­it Esch­er Meets Islam­ic Art at Ams­ter­dam’s Tropen­mu­seum.

Esch­er first encoun­tered tes­sel­la­tions on a trip to the Islam­ic world him­self, in the “col­or­ful abstract dec­o­ra­tions in the 14th cen­tu­ry Alham­bra, the well-known palace and fortress com­plex in South­ern Spain,” writes Al.Arte’s Aya Johan­na Daniëlle Dürst Britt. “Although he vis­it­ed the Alham­bra in 1922 after his grad­u­a­tion as a graph­ic artist, he was already inter­est­ed in geom­e­try, sym­me­try and tes­sel­la­tions for some years.” His fas­ci­na­tions includ­ed “the effect of col­or on the visu­al per­spec­tive, caus­ing some motifs to seem infi­nite — an effect part­ly caused by sym­me­try.” His sec­ond vis­it to Alham­bra, in 1936, solid­i­fied his under­stand­ing of the prin­ci­ples of tes­sel­la­tion, and he would go on to base about a hun­dred of his own pieces on the pat­terns he saw there. Those who seek the door to infin­i­ty under­stand that any tra­di­tion may hold the keys.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Ara­bic Trans­la­tors Helped Pre­serve Greek Phi­los­o­phy … and the Clas­si­cal Tra­di­tion

Learn Islam­ic & Indi­an Phi­los­o­phy with 107 Episodes of the His­to­ry of Phi­los­o­phy With­out Any Gaps Pod­cast

Ancient Maps that Changed the World: See World Maps from Ancient Greece, Baby­lon, Rome, and the Islam­ic World

Watch M.C. Esch­er Make His Final Artis­tic Cre­ation in the 1971 Doc­u­men­tary Adven­tures in Per­cep­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, 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.

Lynda Barry on How the Smartphone Is Endangering Three Ingredients of Creativity: Loneliness, Uncertainty & Boredom

The phone gives us a lot but it takes away three key ele­ments of dis­cov­ery: lone­li­ness, uncer­tain­ty and bore­dom. Those have always been where cre­ative ideas come from. — Lyn­da Bar­ry

In the spring of 2016, the great car­toon­ist and edu­ca­tor, Lyn­da Bar­ry, did the unthink­able, pri­or to giv­ing a lec­ture and writ­ing class at NASA’s God­dard Space Flight Cen­ter.

She demand­ed that all par­tic­i­pat­ing staff mem­bers sur­ren­der their phones and oth­er such per­son­al devices.

Her vic­tims were as jan­gled by this prospect as your aver­age iPhone-addict­ed teen, but sur­ren­dered, agree­ing to write by hand, anoth­er anti­quat­ed notion Bar­ry sub­scribes to:

The delete but­ton makes it so that any­thing you’re unsure of you can get rid of, so noth­ing new has a chance. Writ­ing by hand is a rev­e­la­tion for peo­ple. Maybe that’s why they asked me to NASA – I still know how to use my hands… there is a dif­fer­ent way of think­ing that goes along with them.

Barry—who told the Onion’s AV Club that she craft­ed her book What It Is with an eye toward bored read­ers stuck in a Jiffy Lube oil-change wait­ing room—is also a big pro­po­nent of doo­dling, which she views as a cre­ative neu­ro­log­i­cal response to bore­dom:

Bor­ing meet­ing, you have a pen, the usu­al clowns are yakking. Most peo­ple will draw some­thing, even peo­ple who can’t draw. I say “If you’re bored, what do you draw?” And every­body has some­thing they draw. Like “Oh yeah, my lit­tle guy, I draw him.” Or “I draw eye­balls, or palm trees.” … So I asked them “Why do you think you do that? Why do you think you doo­dle dur­ing those meet­ings?” I believe that it’s because it makes hav­ing to endure that par­tic­u­lar sit­u­a­tion more bear­able, by chang­ing our expe­ri­ence of time. It’s so slight. I always say it’s the dif­fer­ence between, if you’re not doo­dling, the min­utes feel like a cheese grater on your face. But if you are doo­dling, it’s more like Bril­lo.  It’s not much bet­ter, but there is a dif­fer­ence. You could han­dle Bril­lo a lit­tle longer than the cheese grater.

Meet­ings and class­rooms are among the few remain­ing venues in which screen-addict­ed moths are expect­ed to force them­selves away from the phone’s invit­ing flame. Oth­er settings—like the Jiffy Lube wait­ing room—require more ini­tia­tive on the user’s part.

Once, we were keen­er stu­dents of minor changes to famil­iar envi­ron­ments, the books strangers were read­ing in the sub­way, and those strangers them­selves. Our sub­se­quent obser­va­tions were known to spark con­ver­sa­tion and some­times ideas that led to cre­ative projects.

Now, many of us let those oppor­tu­ni­ties slide by, as we fill up on such fleet­ing con­fec­tions as Can­dy Crush, fun­ny videos, and all-you-can-eat serv­ings of social media.

It’s also tempt­ing to use our phones as defac­to shields any time social anx­i­ety looms. This dodge may pro­vide short term com­fort, espe­cial­ly to younger peo­ple, but remem­ber, Bar­ry and many of her car­toon­ist peers, includ­ing Daniel Clowes, Simon Hansel­mann, and Ariel Schrag, toughed it out by mak­ing art. That’s what got them through the lone­li­ness, uncer­tain­ty, and bore­dom of their mid­dle and high school years.

The book you hold in your hands would not exist had high school been a pleas­ant expe­ri­ence for me… It was on those qui­et week­end nights when even my par­ents were out hav­ing fun that I began mak­ing seri­ous attempts to make sto­ries in comics form.

Adri­an Tomine, intro­duc­tion to 32 Sto­ries

Bar­ry is far from alone in encour­ag­ing adults to peel them­selves away from their phone depen­den­cy for their cre­ative good.

Pho­tog­ra­ph­er Eric Pickersgill’s Removed imag­ines a series of every­day sit­u­a­tions in which phones and oth­er per­son­al devices have been ren­dered invis­i­ble. (It’s worth not­ing that he removed the offend­ing arti­cles from the mod­els’ hands, rather that Pho­to­shop­ping them out lat­er.)

Com­put­er Sci­ence Pro­fes­sor Calvin Newport’s recent book, Deep Work, posits that all that shal­low phone time is cre­at­ing stress, anx­i­ety, and lost cre­ative oppor­tu­ni­ties, while also doing a num­ber on our per­son­al and pro­fes­sion­al lives.

Author Manoush Zomoro­di’s recent TED Talk on how bore­dom can lead to bril­liant ideas, below, details a week­long exper­i­ment in bat­tling smart­phone habits, with lots of sci­en­tif­ic evi­dence to back up her find­ings.

But what if you wipe the slate of dig­i­tal dis­trac­tions only to find that your brain’s just… emp­ty? A once occu­pied room, now devoid of any­thing but dim­ly recalled memes, and gen­er­al­ized dread over the state of the world?

The afore­men­tioned 2010 AV Club inter­view with Bar­ry offers both encour­age­ment and some use­ful sug­ges­tions that will get the tem­porar­i­ly par­a­lyzed mov­ing again:

I don’t know what the strip’s going to be about when I start. I nev­er know. I often­times have—I call it the word-bag. Just a bag of words. I’ll just reach in there, and I’ll pull out a word, and it’ll say “ping-pong.” I’ll just have that in my head, and I’ll start draw­ing the pic­tures as if I can… I hear a sen­tence, I just hear it. As soon as I hear even the begin­ning of the first sen­tence, then I just… I write real­ly slow. So I’ll be writ­ing that, and I’ll know what’s going to go at the top of the pan­el. Then, when it gets to the end, usu­al­ly I’ll know what the next one is. By three sen­tences or four in that first pan­el, I stop, and then I say “Now it’s time for the draw­ing.” Then I’ll draw. But then I’ll hear the next one over on anoth­er page! Or when I’m draw­ing Marlys and Arna, I might hear her say some­thing, but then I’ll hear Marlys say some­thing back. So once that first sen­tence is there, I have all kinds of choic­es as to where I put my brush. But if noth­ing is hap­pen­ing, then I just go over to what I call my decoy page. It’s like decoy ducks. I go over there and just start mess­ing around.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Infor­ma­tion Over­load Robs Us of Our Cre­ativ­i­ty: What the Sci­en­tif­ic Research Shows

The Case for Delet­ing Your Social Media Accounts & Doing Valu­able “Deep Work” Instead, Accord­ing to Prof. Cal New­port

Lyn­da Barry’s Illus­trat­ed Syl­labus & Home­work Assign­ments from Her New UW-Madi­son Course, “Mak­ing Comics”

Lyn­da Bar­ry, Car­toon­ist Turned Pro­fes­sor, Gives Her Old Fash­ioned Take on the Future of Edu­ca­tion

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

20 Free Business MOOCs (Massive Open Online Courses) That Will Advance Your Career

Art, phi­los­o­phy, lit­er­a­ture and history–that’s main­ly what we dis­cuss around here. We’re about enrich­ing the mind. But we’re not opposed to help­ing you enrich your­self in a more lit­er­al way too.

Recent­ly, Busi­ness Insid­er Italy asked us to review our longer list of 1600 MOOCs (Mas­sive Open Online Cours­es) and cre­ate a short list of 20 cours­es that can help you advance your career. And, with the help of Cours­era and edX, the two top MOOC providers, we whit­tled things down to the fol­low­ing list.

Above, you’ll find the intro­duc­to­ry video for Design Think­ing for Inno­va­tion, a course from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­ginia. Oth­er cours­es come from such top insti­tu­tions as Yale, MIT, the Uni­ver­si­ty of Michi­gan and Colum­bia Uni­ver­si­ty. Top­ics include every­thing from busi­ness fun­da­men­tals, to nego­ti­a­tion and deci­sion mak­ing, to cor­po­rate finance, strat­e­gy, mar­ket­ing and account­ing.

One tip to keep in mind. If you want to take a course for free, select the “Full Course, No Cer­tifi­cate” or “Audit” option when you enroll. If you would like an offi­cial cer­tifi­cate doc­u­ment­ing that you have suc­cess­ful­ly com­plet­ed the course, you will need to pay a fee. Here’s the list:

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 and BlueSky.

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!

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Hear Classic Readings of Poe’s “The Raven” by Vincent Price, James Earl Jones, Christopher Walken, Neil Gaiman, Stan Lee & More

It can seem that the writ­ing of lit­er­a­ture and the the­o­ry of lit­er­a­ture occu­py sep­a­rate great hous­es, Game of Thrones-style, or even sep­a­rate coun­tries held apart by a great sea. Per­haps they war with each oth­er, per­haps they stu­dious­ly ignore each oth­er or oblique­ly inter­act at tour­na­ments with acronymic names like MLA and AWP. Like Thomas Pynchon’s char­ac­ter­i­za­tion of the polit­i­cal right and left, schol­ars and writ­ers rep­re­sent oppos­ing poles, the hot­house and the street. That rare beast, the aca­d­e­m­ic poet, can seem like some­thing of a uni­corn, or drag­on.

…Or like the omi­nous talk­ing raven in Edgar Allan Poe’s most famous of poems.

The divide between the­o­ry and prac­tice is a recent devel­op­ment, a prod­uct of state bud­get­ing, polit­i­cal brinks­man­ship, the relent­less pub­lish­ing mills of acad­e­mia that force schol­ars to find a pigeon­hole and stay there.… In days past, poets and scholar/theorists fre­quent­ly occu­pied the same place at the same time—Wal­lace Stevens, T.S. Eliot, Samuel Tay­lor Coleridge, Per­cy Shel­ley, and, of course, Poe, whose peren­ni­al­ly pop­u­lar “The Raven” serves as a point-by-point illus­tra­tion for his the­o­ry of com­po­si­tion just as thor­ough­ly as Eliot’s great works bear out his notion of the “objec­tive cor­rel­a­tive.”

Poe’s object, the tit­u­lar crea­ture, is an “arche­typ­al sym­bol,” writes Dana Gioia, in a poem that aims for what its author calls a “uni­ty of effect.” In his 1846 essay “The Phi­los­o­phy of Com­po­si­tion,” Poe the poet/theorist tells us in great detail how “The Raven” sat­is­fies all of his oth­er cri­te­ria for lit­er­a­ture as well, such as achiev­ing its intent in a sin­gle sit­ting, using a repeat­ed refrain, and so on.

Should we have any doubt about how much Poe want­ed us to see the poem as the delib­er­ate out­come of a con­cep­tu­al scheme, we find him three years lat­er, in 1849, the year of his death, deliv­er­ing a lec­ture on the “Poet­ic Prin­ci­ple,” and con­clud­ing with a read­ing of “The Raven.”

John Mon­cure Daniel of the Rich­mond Semi-Week­ly Exam­in­er remarked after attend­ing one of these talks that “the atten­tion of many in this city is now direct­ed to this sin­gu­lar per­for­mance.” At that point, Poe, who hard­ly made a dime from “The Raven,” had to suf­fer the indig­ni­ty of hav­ing all of his work go out of print dur­ing his brief, unhap­py life­time. Mon­cure and the Exam­in­er there­by fur­nished read­ers “with the only cor­rect copy ever pub­lished,” pre­vi­ous appear­ances, it seems, hav­ing con­tained punc­tu­a­tion errors.

Nonethe­less, for all of Poe’s pedantry and penury, “The Raven“ ‘s first appear­ances made him semi-famous. His read­ings were a sen­sa­tion, and it’s a sure bet that his audi­ences came to hear him read the poem, not deliv­er a lec­ture on its prin­ci­ples. Oh, for some pro­to-Edi­son in the room with an ear­ly record­ing device. What would it be like to hear the mourn­ful, grief-strick­en, alco­holic genius—master of the macabre and inven­tor of the detec­tive story—intone the raven’s enig­mat­ic “Nev­er­more”?

While Poe’s speak­ing voice has reced­ed irre­triev­ably into his­to­ry, his poet­ic voice may live close to for­ev­er. So mes­mer­iz­ing are his meter and dic­tion that many great actors known espe­cial­ly for their voic­es have become pos­sessed by “The Raven.”

Like­ly when we think of the poem, what first comes to the mind’s ear is the voice of Vin­cent Price, or James Earl Jones, Christo­pher Lee, or Christo­pher Walken, all of whom have giv­en “The Raven” its due.

And so have many oth­er nota­bles, such as the great Stan Lee, Poe suc­ces­sor Neil Gaiman, orig­i­nal Gomez Addams actor John Astin, and ven­er­a­ble Beat poet/scholar Anne Wald­man (lis­ten here). You will find those recita­tions here at this round-up of notable “Raven” read­ings, and if this some­how doesn’t sati­ate you, then check out Lou Reed’s take on the poem, the Grate­ful Dead’s musi­cal trib­ute, “Raven Space,” or a read­ing in 100 dif­fer­ent celebri­ty impres­sions.

Final­ly, we would be remiss not to men­tion The Simp­sons’ James Earl Jones-nar­rat­ed par­o­dy, a wor­thy teach­ing tool for dis­tract­ed young visu­al learn­ers. Is it a shame that we now think of “The Raven” as a Hal­loween yarn fit for the Tree­house of Hor­ror or any num­ber of enjoy­able exer­cis­es in spooky oratory—rather than the the­o­ret­i­cal thought exper­i­ment its author seemed to intend? Does Poe rotis­serie in his grave as Homer snores in a wing­back chair? Prob­a­bly. But as the author told us him­self at length, the poem works! It still nev­er fails to excite our mor­bid curios­i­ty, enchant our goth­ic sen­si­bil­i­ty, and maybe send a chill or two down the spine. Maybe we nev­er real­ly need­ed Poe to explain it to us.

You can find oth­er lit­er­ary read­ings in our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Simp­sons Present Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Teach­ers Now Use It to Teach Kids the Joys of Lit­er­a­ture

When Charles Dick­ens & Edgar Allan Poe Met, and Dick­ens’ Pet Raven Inspired Poe’s Poem “The Raven”

7 Tips from Edgar Allan Poe on How to Write Vivid Sto­ries and Poems

Down­load The Com­plete Works of Edgar Allan Poe on His Birth­day

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

54 Cats Riding Out Hurricane Irma in Ernest Hemingway’s Key West Home

The Ernest Hem­ing­way Home and Muse­um pro­vides a sanc­tu­ary to 54 poly­dactyl (six-toed) cats.  Accord­ing to the muse­um, a ship cap­tain once gave Ernest a white six-toed cat, and now some of its descen­dents live in the Hem­ing­way Home and Muse­um locat­ed in Key West–precisely where Hur­ri­cane Irma is now mak­ing land­fall.

As cura­tor David Gon­za­les explains above, he and the 54 Hem­ing­way cats have no plans to evac­u­ate. They’re going to ride out the storm and pro­tect the nov­el­ist’s his­toric home. We wish them all the best. The same goes to all of our friends in Flori­da. We’ll see you when the storm pass­es.

You can see some of the Hem­ing­way poly­dactyl cats here.

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sev­en Tips From Ernest Hem­ing­way on How to Write Fic­tion

Ernest Hem­ing­way Cre­ates a Read­ing List for a Young Writer, 1934

Hem­ing­way, Fitzger­ald, Faulkn­er: A Free Yale Course

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Follow Cartoonist Lynda Barry’s 2017 “Making Comics” Class Online, Presented at UW-Wisconsin

Pro­fes­sor Skeletor—aka car­toon­ist and edu­ca­tor Lyn­da Bar­ry—is at it again. Mak­ing Comics (& oth­er Graph­ic For­ma­tions), her fall offer­ing at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Wisconsin’s Insti­tute for Dis­cov­ery is just get­ting under­way.

Those of us who can’t study in per­son with an edu­ca­tor whose depart­ment chair called her “the best class­room teacher” that he’s ever seen can hap­pi­ly fol­low along online.

As always, her hand­writ­ten home­work assign­ments will be post­ed to her Near­sight­ed Mon­key tum­blr account, along with in-class reflec­tions and inspi­ra­tional bits and bobs pulled off the Inter­net.

The first task, famil­iar to read­ers of her Syl­labus work­book, is to begin a dai­ly diary prac­tice, fill­ing in a tem­plate frame of Barry’s own devis­ing.

Begin by putting your phone on air­plane mode. “The phone gives us a lot but it takes away three key ele­ments of dis­cov­ery: lone­li­ness, uncer­tain­ty and bore­dom,” she stat­ed last year, on a vis­it to NASA’s God­dard Space Flight Cen­ter. “Those have always been where cre­ative ideas come from.”

Amen.

Any one of the exer­cis­es will renew your pow­ers of obser­va­tion and sense of con­nec­tion with the world around you. Don’t be sur­prised if you find your­self get­ting up ear­ly or skip­ping some must-see TV in order to ful­ly com­ply with Pro­fes­sor Skeletor’s feel-good assign­ments. There are no wrong answers, pro­vid­ed you go at the assign­ments with ener­gy and a will­ing­ness to play. As Bar­ry said in an inter­view:

Because we tend to give up on the arts so ear­ly in life, I became real­ly inter­est­ed in what would hap­pen if we rein­tro­duce the arts with­out the thought of ‘you’re going to do this to become a great writer or painter,’ but rather that it might help peo­ple with the oth­er work in their field.

For added val­ue, com­plete your first dai­ly diary frame to an audio record­ing of Barry’s timed instruc­tion here. (Ignore the back­ground noise of your teacher’s life—her sneez­ing cat, her hap­py pet birds—or bet­ter yet, let her household’s zesty ener­gy seep into your work.)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Lyn­da Barry’s Illus­trat­ed Syl­labus & Home­work Assign­ments from Her New UW-Madi­son Course, “Mak­ing Comics”

Lyn­da Barry’s Won­der­ful­ly Illus­trat­ed Syl­labus & Home­work Assign­ments from Her UW-Madi­son Class, “The Unthink­able Mind”

Join Car­toon­ist Lyn­da Bar­ry for a Uni­ver­si­ty-Lev­el Course on Doo­dling and Neu­ro­science

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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