200,000 Photos from the George Eastman Museum, the World’s Oldest Photography Collection, Now Available Online

stravinsky-1921

There was a time when any­one with even the remotest inter­est in pho­tog­ra­phy knew the name East­man, if not the life and work of George East­man him­self. East­man Kodak—the com­pa­ny found­ed in 1888 by that entre­pre­neur, phil­an­thropist, and Great Amer­i­can Suc­cess Story—once held a dom­i­nant share of the cam­era and film mar­ket. Gen­er­al­ly known in lat­er decades just by the name “Kodak,” Eastman’s com­pa­ny seems to have near­ly dis­ap­peared from the mar­ket in the dig­i­tal age (though it may be poised for a come­back).

first-kodak-manual

Yet many of the devices and mate­ri­als East­man’s com­pa­ny invent­ed saw dai­ly use in film and pho­tog­ra­phy through­out all of the pre­vi­ous cen­tu­ry. East­man bought the patents for and man­u­fac­tured the first roll film, indis­pens­able in both indus­tries until recent­ly. (He has two stars on the Hol­ly­wood walk of fame for his tech­ni­cal con­tri­bu­tions.) With the ease of roll film, Eastman’s com­pa­ny also cre­at­ed and sold the first cam­era for con­sumer use in 1888, sim­ply called the Kodak.

“The cam­era was a great suc­cess,” writes a Kodak his­to­ry, “and many peo­ple, among them a lot of women, start­ed tak­ing pho­tographs. When the 100 pic­tures of the film were shot, the pho­tog­ra­ph­er could mail the cam­era to East­man Kodak, where all the tech­ni­cal work would be done by skilled peo­ple.”

hauron-self-portrait

Eastman’s lega­cy lives on in anoth­er impor­tant capac­i­ty as well: since the 40s, his Rochester, NY man­sion housed one of the largest, the old­est, and per­haps the most impres­sive col­lec­tions of pho­tog­ra­phy in the world, the East­man Muse­um. “In 1989,” the muse­um tells us, it “com­plet­ed con­struc­tion of a 73,000-square-foot build­ing (more than 70 per­cent of which is below ground lev­el) that includ­ed cli­mate-con­trolled col­lec­tion vaults, exhi­bi­tion gal­leries, libraries, offices, and pho­to­graph­ic con­ser­va­tion and film preser­va­tions labs.” And now, over a quar­ter of a mil­lion of the East­man Museum’s hold­ings are avail­able online in search­able gal­leries of “thou­sands of pho­tographs that date back to the medium’s ear­li­est years,” notes Claire Voon at Hyper­al­ler­gic, “as well as “objects from its mas­sive library of arti­facts that togeth­er chron­i­cle the his­to­ry of image-mak­ing.”

no-soap

You’ll find the 1921 por­trait of Igor Stravin­sky, at the top, and the front cov­er of an 1888 Kodak man­u­al (“Part First”), below it. You’ll see exper­i­men­tal odd­i­ties like the 1889 “Self-Por­trait ‘Trans­for­ma­tion’” by Louis Docos du Hau­ron, fur­ther up; and strik­ing por­traits like Lewis W. Hine’s “No Soap, Pitts­burgh Steel Work­er Child 1909,” above. “The muse­um holds the col­lec­tions of Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre,” writes Voon, “Lewis Hine, Alvin Lang­don Coburn, Nick­o­las Muray, and Edward Ste­ichen, so their works are avail­able here for you to eas­i­ly browse.” You’ll sure­ly rec­og­nize at least one of those names. Before East­man, Daguerre became one of the fathers of pho­tog­ra­phy in the ear­ly 19th cen­tu­ry. Just below, see an 1844 por­trait of the artist and inven­tor by a con­tem­po­rary, Jean Bap­tiste Sabati­er-Blot, “among the most famous por­traitists of the Parisian daguerreo­type of the 1840s,” as Mono­skop describes him.

daguerre-portrait

“Objects from the museum’s pho­tog­ra­phy, tech­nol­o­gy and George East­man Lega­cy col­lec­tions are now search­able,” the East­man Muse­um writes in its press release, “and more objects from the museum’s vast hold­ings are being added on an ongo­ing basis.” And, to hon­or Eastman’s con­sid­er­able lega­cy in motion pic­tures, “objects from the mov­ing image col­lec­tion will become acces­si­ble in the com­ing months.” For now, we can see work by pio­neer­ing Eng­lish pho­tog­ra­ph­er Ead­weard Muy­bridge, who began con­duct­ing motion stud­ies in the 1870s, which con­tributed to the devel­op­ment of Eastman’s film and Thomas Edison’s cam­eras. See Muy­bridge’s 1877 “Man in der­by rid­ing horse” below, and enter the online East­man Muse­um col­lec­tion here.

muybridge-man-in-derby

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ead­weard Muybridge’s Motion Pho­tog­ra­phy Exper­i­ments from the 1870s Pre­sent­ed in 93 Ani­mat­ed Gifs

Behold the Very First Col­or Pho­to­graph (1861): Tak­en by Scot­tish Physi­cist (and Poet!) James Clerk Maxwell

See the First Known Pho­to­graph Ever Tak­en (1826)

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

John Berger (RIP) and Susan Sontag Take Us Inside the Art of Storytelling (1983)

“Some­body dies,” says John Berg­er. “It’s not just a ques­tion of tact that one then says, well, per­haps it is pos­si­ble to tell that sto­ry,” but “it’s because, after that death, one can read that life. The life becomes read­able.” His inter­locu­tor, a cer­tain Susan Son­tag, inter­jects: “A per­son who dies at 37 is not the same as a per­son who dies at 77.” True, he replies, “but it can be some­body who dies at 90. The life becomes read­able to the sto­ry­teller, to the writer. Then she or he can begin to write.” Berg­er, the con­sum­mate sto­ry­teller as well as thinker about sto­ries, left behind these and mil­lions of oth­er mem­o­rable words, spo­ken and writ­ten, when he yes­ter­day passed away at age 90 him­self.

This con­ver­sa­tion aired 35 years ago as “To Tell a Sto­ry,” an hour­long episode of Chan­nel 4’s Voic­es, “a forum of debate about the key issues in the world of the arts and the life of the mind.” Though Berg­er and Son­tag sure­ly agreed in life on more than they dis­agreed (“not since [D.H.] Lawrence has there been a writer who offers such atten­tive­ness to the sen­su­al world with respon­sive­ness to the imper­a­tives of con­science,” the lat­ter once said of the for­mer), they here enter into a kind of debate about sto­ry­telling itself: why we do it, how we do it, when we can do it. Berg­er, for his part, char­ac­ter­izes all fic­tion as “a fight against the absurd,” against “that end­less, ter­ri­fy­ing space in which we live.”

Son­tag, in the words of Lily Dessau at Berg­er’s pub­lish­er Ver­so, “con­sid­ers the sto­ry­teller as inven­tor, in con­trol of the mate­r­i­al, out of which the ‘peo­ple come.’ Berg­er con­verse­ly takes the form of the sto­ry as the result of the lan­guage com­ing out of the peo­ple — but he does char­ac­ter­ize their dif­fer­ing views as arriv­ing at the same place — the scene of the text.” While both of them wrote fic­tion as well as essays, “Berg­er con­sid­ers the sto­ry and essay in one breath, both as a form of strug­gle to mod­el the unsayable,” while “for Son­tag the two are entire­ly sep­a­rate, although the strug­gle per­sists in both.”

Or, as Berg­er puts it in high­light­ing anoth­er aspect of the dif­fer­ence in their per­spec­tives, “You say you want to be car­ried away by the sto­ry. I want the sto­ry to stop things being car­ried away into obliv­ion, into indif­fer­ence.” The many trib­utes already paid to him, espe­cial­ly by influ­en­tial cre­ators formed in part by the influ­ence of his work, indi­cate that Berg­er’s lega­cy hard­ly finds itself now on the brink of an indif­fer­ent obliv­ion. Now that his long life has reached the end of its final chap­ter, well, per­haps we can begin to read, and to tell, his sto­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Til­da Swin­ton Gets a Por­trait Drawn by Art Crit­ic John Berg­er

Susan Sontag’s 50 Favorite Films (and Her Own Cin­e­mat­ic Cre­ations)

48 Hours of Joseph Camp­bell Lec­tures Free Online: The Pow­er of Myth & Sto­ry­telling

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.

The Largest Historical Dictionary of English Slang Now Free Online: Covers 500 Years of the “Vulgar Tongue”

greens-dictionary-of-slang

“The three vol­umes of Green’s Dic­tio­nary of Slang demon­strate the sheer scope of a life­time of research by Jonathon Green, the lead­ing slang lex­i­cog­ra­ph­er of our time. A remark­able col­lec­tion of this often reviled but end­less­ly fas­ci­nat­ing area of the Eng­lish lan­guage, it cov­ers slang from the past five cen­turies right up to the present day, from all the dif­fer­ent Eng­lish-speak­ing coun­tries and regions. Total­ing 10.3 mil­lion words and over 53,000 entries, the col­lec­tion pro­vides the def­i­n­i­tions of 100,000 words and over 413,000 cita­tions. Every word and phrase is authen­ti­cat­ed by gen­uine and ful­ly-ref­er­enced cita­tions of its use, giv­ing the work a lev­el of author­i­ty and schol­ar­ship unmatched by any oth­er pub­li­ca­tion in this field.”

If you head over to Amazon.com, that’s how you will find Green’s Dic­tio­nary of Slang pitched to con­sumers. The dic­tio­nary is an attrac­tive three-vol­ume, hard-bound set. But it comes at a price. $264 for a used edi­tion. $600 for a new one.

Now comes the good news. In Octo­ber, Green’s Dic­tio­nary of Slang became avail­able as a free web­site, giv­ing you access to an even more updat­ed ver­sion of the dic­tio­nary. Col­lec­tive­ly, the web­site lets you trace the devel­op­ment of slang over the past 500 years. And, as Men­tal Floss notes, the site “allows lookups of word def­i­n­i­tions and ety­molo­gies for free, and, for a well-worth-it sub­scrip­tion fee, it offers cita­tions and more exten­sive search options.” If you’ve ever won­dered about the mean­ing of words like kid­ly­wink, gol­lier, and lint­head, you now know where to begin.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cab Calloway’s “Hep­ster Dic­tio­nary,” A 1939 Glos­sary of the Lin­go (the “Jive”) of the Harlem Renais­sance

Oh My God! Win­ston Churchill Received the First Ever Let­ter Con­tain­ing “O.M.G.” (1917)

Free Online Eng­lish Lessons

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Why We Need to Teach Kids Philosophy & Safeguard Society from Authoritarian Control

Sev­er­al friends and rel­a­tives of mine teach phi­los­o­phy, writ­ing, and crit­i­cal think­ing to under­grad­u­ate col­lege stu­dents. And many of those peo­ple have con­fessed their dis­may in recent months. Threats and McCarthyite attacks on high­er edu­ca­tors have increased (and in places like Turkey esca­lat­ed to full-on war against aca­d­e­mics). Many edu­ca­tors are also filled with doubt about the mean­ing of their pro­fes­sion. How can they stand in the pul­pits of high­er learn­ing, many won­der, extolling the virtues of clear expres­sion, log­ic, rea­son and evi­dence, ethics, etc., when the world out­side the class­room seems to be telling their stu­dents none of these things mat­ter?

But then there are some with a more opti­mistic bent, who see more rea­son than ever to extol said virtues, with even more rig­or and urgency. Phi­los­o­phy improves our men­tal and emo­tion­al lives in every pos­si­ble sit­u­a­tion. While mil­lions of peo­ple in sup­pos­ed­ly demo­c­ra­t­ic coun­tries have decid­ed to put their trust in auto­crat­ic, author­i­tar­i­an lead­ers, mil­lions more have deter­mined to resist the cur­tail­ing of civ­il lib­er­ties, demo­c­ra­t­ic rights, and social progress. Edu­ca­tors see the tools of lan­guage and crit­i­cal think­ing as inte­gral to those of polit­i­cal action and civ­il dis­obe­di­ence. And not only do col­lege stu­dents need these tools, argue the exec­u­tives of UK’s Phi­los­o­phy Foun­da­tion, but chil­dren do as well, and for many of the same rea­sons.

Cre­at­ed in 2007 to con­duct “philo­soph­i­cal enquiry in schools, com­mu­ni­ties, and work­places,” the Foun­da­tion works with both chil­dren and adults. In the Aeon Mag­a­zine video above, COO and CEO Emma and Peter Wor­ley explain the spe­cial appeal of phi­los­o­phy for kids, mak­ing the case for teach­ing “think­ing well” at a young age. Rather than lec­tur­ing on the his­to­ry of ideas or pre­sent­ing a the­sis, their approach involves get­ting chil­dren “think­ing about things togeth­er, work­ing togeth­er col­lab­o­ra­tive­ly, com­ing up with counter-exam­ples… real­ly doing phi­los­o­phy in the true sense.” Young stu­dents see prob­lems for them­selves and apply their own philo­soph­i­cal solu­tions, using the nascent rea­son­ing fac­ul­ties most of us can access as soon as we’ve reached school age.

The Foun­da­tion has shown that the teach­ing of phi­los­o­phy to chil­dren “has an impact on affec­tive skills and also on cog­ni­tive skills.” In oth­er words, kids become more emo­tion­al­ly intel­li­gent as they become bet­ter thinkers, devel­op­ing what Socrates called “the silent dia­logue” with them­selves. These ben­e­fits are goods in their own right, argues Emma Wor­ley, and as valu­able as the arts in our lives. “We need phi­los­o­phy because it’s a human thing to do,” she says, “to think, to rea­son, to reflect.” But there is a decid­ed social util­i­ty as well. Phi­los­o­phy can “safe­guard against the ways in which edu­ca­tion might some­times be used to con­trol peo­ple,” says Peter Wor­ley: “If we have some­thing like phi­los­o­phy with­in the sys­tem, some­thing that steps out­side that sys­tem and asks ques­tions about it, then we have some­thing to pro­tect us” against author­i­tar­i­an means of thought and lan­guage con­trol.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es, a sub­set of our col­lec­tion 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Noam Chom­sky Defines What It Means to Be a Tru­ly Edu­cat­ed Per­son

Why Socrates Hat­ed Democ­ra­cies: An Ani­mat­ed Case for Why Self-Gov­ern­ment Requires Wis­dom & Edu­ca­tion

Hen­ry Rollins Pitch­es Edu­ca­tion as the Key to Restor­ing Democ­ra­cy

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

What Does the World’s Oldest Surviving Piano Sound Like? Watch Pianist Give a Performance on a 1720 Cristofori Piano

Imag­ine your favorite works for the piano—the del­i­cate and haunt­ing, the thun­der­ing and pow­er­ful. The min­i­mal­ism of Erik Satie, the Roman­ti­cism of Claude Debussy or Mod­est Mus­sorgsky, the rap­tur­ous swoon­ing of Beethoven’s con­cer­tos. Maybe it’s Jer­ry Lee Lewis or Lit­tle Richard; Thelo­nious Monk or Duke Elling­ton. Tom Waits, Tori Amos, Rufus Wain­wright, Prince… you get the idea.

Now imag­ine all of it nev­er exist­ing. A giant hole opens up in world cul­ture. Cat­a­stroph­ic! Or maybe, I sup­pose, we’d nev­er know the dif­fer­ence. But I’m cer­tain we’d be worse off for it, some­how. The piano seems inevitable when we look back into music his­to­ry. Its imme­di­ate pre­de­ces­sors, the clavi­chord and harp­si­chord, so resem­ble the mod­ern piano that they must have evolved in just such a way, we think. But it needn’t have been so.

The harp­si­chord, writes Geor­gia State University’s Hyper­physics, “has a shape sim­i­lar to a grand piano,” but its oper­a­tion pre­vents one crit­i­cal musi­cal prop­er­ty: dynamics—“the play­er has no con­trol over the loud­ness and qual­i­ty of the tone.” On the whole, every inno­va­tion of the harpsichord’s design aimed to solve this prob­lem. Over the instrument’s 400-year his­to­ry, none of them did so as ele­gant­ly as the piano, invent­ed around 1700 by Bar­tolomeo Cristo­fori. In the video above, you can hear a slight­ly lat­er ver­sion of his instru­ment from 1720 played by pianist Dong­sok Shin—an excerpt from one of the first pieces of music ever writ­ten for the instru­ment.

Cristo­fori called his design the grave­cem­ba­lo col piano et forte, “key­board instru­ment with soft and loud” sounds. This soon short­ened to sim­ply pianoforte. It’s inter­est­ing that the word for “soft” even­tu­al­ly became its sole name. For all its grandeur and thun­der­ous capa­bil­i­ty, it’s the piano’s soft­ness that so often cap­tures our attention—the abil­i­ty of this lum­ber­ing beast of an instru­ment to pull its punch­es and move with qui­et grace. As you’ll prob­a­bly note in Shin’s demon­stra­tion, the ear­li­est pianos still retained a bit of the harpsichord’s twang, but we can also clear­ly dis­cern the woody thumps, rum­bles, and tin­kling highs of mod­ern pianos. (Com­pare it to this, for exam­ple.)

True to its name, the “qui­et nature of the piano’s birth around 1700,” writes the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art, “comes as some­thing of a sur­prise.” It was invent­ed “almost entire­ly by one man,” Cristo­fori, whose exper­tise had made him stew­ard of Flo­ren­tine Prince Fer­di­nan­do d’Medici’s entire col­lec­tion of harp­si­chords and oth­er musi­cal instru­ments. The first men­tion comes from a 1700 Medici inven­to­ry describ­ing a harp­si­chord-like instru­ment “new­ly invent­ed by Bar­tolomeo Cristo­fori with ham­mers and dampers, two key­boards, and a range of four octaves, C‑c.” The first pianos had 54 keys rather than 88, and used “small wood­en ham­mers cov­ered with deer­skin.”

Oth­er mak­ers tried dif­fer­ent mech­a­nisms, but “Cristo­fori was an art­ful inven­tor,” the Met remarks, “cre­at­ing such a sophis­ti­cat­ed action for his pianos that, at the instrument’s incep­tion, he solved many of the tech­ni­cal prob­lems that con­tin­ued to puz­zle oth­er piano design­ers for the next sev­en­ty-five years of its evo­lu­tion.” These design­ers made short­cuts, since Cristofori’s “action was high­ly com­plex and thus expen­sive.” But noth­ing matched his design, and those fea­tures were “grad­u­al­ly rein­vent­ed and rein­cor­po­rat­ed in lat­er decades.”

Cristofori’s inge­nious inno­va­tions includ­ed an “escape­ment” mech­a­nism that enabled the ham­mer to fall away from the string instant­ly after strik­ing it, so as not to damp­en the string, and allow­ing the string to be struck hard­er than on a clavi­chord; a “check” that kept the fast-mov­ing ham­mer from bounc­ing back to re-hit the string; a damp­en­ing mech­a­nism on a jack to silence the string when not in use; iso­lat­ing the sound­board from the ten­sion-bear­ing parts of the case, so that it could vibrate more freely; and employ­ing thick­er strings at high­er ten­sions than on a harp­si­chord.

The piano Shin plays above is the old­est sur­viv­ing instru­ment of Cristofori’s design, and it resides at the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art. Only “two oth­er Cristo­fori pianos sur­vive today,” notes CMuse, “in Rome and anoth­er at Leipzi Uni­ver­si­ty.” This instru­ment might have rep­re­sent­ed an ele­gant dead end in musi­cal evo­lu­tion. Though Baroque com­posers at the time, includ­ing Johann Sebas­t­ian Bach, “were aware of it,” most, like Bach, har­bored doubts. “It was only with the com­po­si­tions of Haydn and Mozart” decades lat­er “that the piano found a firm place in music.” A place so firm, it’s near­ly impos­si­ble to imag­ine the last 250 years of music with­out it.

via CMuse

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Musi­cian Plays the Last Stradi­var­ius Gui­tar in the World, the “Sabionari” Made in 1679

Why Vio­lins Have F‑Holes: The Sci­ence & His­to­ry of a Remark­able Renais­sance Design

Musi­cians Play Bach on the Octo­bass, the Gar­gan­tu­an String Instru­ment Invent­ed in 1850

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

205 Big Thinkers Answer the Question, “What Scientific Term or Concept Ought to Be More Widely Known?”

question-mark

Image by Ben­jamin Reay, via Flickr Com­mons

It’s a new year, which means it’s time for the Edge.org to pose its annu­al ques­tion to some of the world’s finest minds. The 2017 edi­tion asks, “What sci­en­tif­ic term or con­cept ought to be more wide­ly known?” And the ques­tion comes pref­aced by this thought:

Richard Dawkins’ “meme” became a meme, known far beyond the sci­en­tif­ic con­ver­sa­tion in which it was coined. It’s one of a hand­ful of sci­en­tif­ic ideas that have entered the gen­er­al cul­ture, help­ing to clar­i­fy and inspire.

Of course, not every­one likes the idea of spread­ing sci­en­tif­ic under­stand­ing. Remem­ber what the Bish­op of Birmingham’s wife is reput­ed to have said about Darwin’s claim that human beings are descend­ed from mon­keys: “My dear, let us hope it is not true, but, if it is true, let us hope it will not become gen­er­al­ly known.”

So what estab­lished sci­en­tif­ic idea should we try to get out there? What con­cept should, at all costs, see the light of day? The replies — 205 in total — fea­ture thoughts by Richard Dawkins, of course, who’d have us learn more about the notion of “Genet­ic Book of the Dead.” You will also find selec­tions by Bri­an Eno (“Con­fir­ma­tion Bias”), Jared Dia­mond (“Com­mon Sense”),  Jan­na Levin (“The Prin­ci­ple of Least Action”)Steven Pinker (“The Sec­ond Law of Ther­mo­dy­nam­ics”) and more. Access the com­plete col­lec­tion of respons­es 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!

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Kill the Wabbit!: How the 1957 Bugs Bunny Cartoon, “What’s Opera, Doc?,” Inspired Today’s Opera Singers to First Get Into Opera

It comes as no sur­prise that many Amer­i­can children’s first, and often only expo­sure to opera comes com­pli­ments of Bugs Bun­ny. One of the ras­cal­ly rab­bit’s most endur­ing turns is as Brünnhilde oppo­site Elmer Fudd’s Siegfried in “What’s Opera, Doc?,” a 1957 car­toon spoof­ing Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelun­gen.

Oth­er well known names, includ­ing Mar­i­lyn Horne and Placido Domin­go have assayed these parts over the years, but thanks to the mir­a­cle of syn­di­ca­tion, Bugs and Elmer are the ones who tru­ly own them, as a cel­e­brat­ed part of their reper­toire for six decades and count­ing.

The law of aver­ages dic­tates that a percentage—a very small percentage—of their bil­lions of child view­ers would grow up to become opera pro­fes­sion­als.

The Wall Street Jour­nal recent­ly con­firmed that for sev­er­al promi­nent Wag­ne­r­i­ans, includ­ing the exec­u­tive direc­tor of the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Opera’s Lin­de­mann Young Artist Devel­op­ment Pro­gram, “What’s Opera, Doc?” and an ear­li­er work, 1949’s “Rab­bit of Seville,” had a pro­found impact.

And no dis­re­spect to direc­tor Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la, who deployed Ride of the Valkyries so mem­o­rably in Apoc­a­lypse Now, but no one will ever use it to greater effect than the cartoon’s writer, Michael Mal­tese, author of the immor­tal lyrics:

Kiww the wab­bit! Kiww the wab­bit!

It’s a phrase even the least opera-inclined child can remem­ber and sing, well into adult­hood.

Read the com­plete Wall Street Jour­nal arti­cle here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Strange Day When Bugs Bun­ny Saved the Life of Mel Blanc

The Evo­lu­tion of Chuck Jones, the Artist Behind Bugs Bun­ny, Daffy Duck & Oth­er Looney Tunes Leg­ends: A Video Essay

Stephen Fry Hosts “The Sci­ence of Opera,” a Dis­cus­sion of How Music Moves Us Phys­i­cal­ly to Tears

Stream Brian Eno’s “Magnificently Peaceful” New Album Reflection: A Thoughtful Way to Start 2017

Brian_Eno_2008

Cre­ative Com­mons image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

“The con­sen­sus among most of my friends seems to be that 2016 was a ter­ri­ble year, and the begin­ning of a long decline into some­thing we don’t even want to imag­ine.” Per­haps you find your­self, here at the dawn of 2017, think­ing the very same thing. But Bri­an Eno, who wrote those words in a new year’s Face­book mes­sage to his fans, won­ders if 2016 marked “the end — not the begin­ning — of a long decline.” Amid all the sound and fury, he’s also noticed “a qui­eter but equal­ly pow­er­ful stir­ring: peo­ple are rethink­ing what democ­ra­cy means, what soci­ety means and what we need to do to make them work again.”

If share and reac­tion counts are any indi­ca­tion, Eno’s assess­ment of the cur­rent human sit­u­a­tion has res­onat­ed with peo­ple, many of whom must sim­ply feel relieved to hear that at least one of their favorite musi­cal lumi­nar­ies has made it into 2017 unscathed.

Not only has he sur­vived, he’s put out a brand new album called Reflec­tion which, in an essay on his web site, he calls “the lat­est work in a long series” that includes 1975’s Dis­creet Music, 1985’s Thurs­day After­noon, 1993’s Neroli, 2012’s Lux, and “the first orig­i­nal piece of music I ever made, at Ipswich Art School in 1965 — record­ings of a met­al lamp­shade slowed down to half and quar­ter speed, all over­laid.”

Eno refers, broad­ly speak­ing, to the sort of music now known as “ambi­ent,” though “I don’t think I under­stand what that term stands for any­more.” He more accu­rate­ly describes this thread of his work as “gen­er­a­tive music,” which means music where the pieces “make them­selves. My job as a com­pos­er is to set in place a group of sounds and phras­es, and then some rules which decide what hap­pens to them. I then set the whole sys­tem play­ing and see what it does, adjust­ing the sounds and the phras­es and the rules until I get some­thing I’m hap­py with.” The album ver­sion of Reflec­tion, which you can stream on Spo­ti­fy (after down­load­ing Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware here) or pur­chase on Ama­zon or iTunes, rep­re­sents just one “record­ing of one of those unfold­ings.”

Reflec­tion’s sin­gle track, writes the Guardian’s Kit­ty Empire, “unfurls very grad­u­al­ly over 54 min­utes (and one sec­ond), its thrums and oscil­la­tions rever­ber­at­ing at a pace you might call glacial if the glac­i­ers weren’t all melt­ing in such a hur­ry. At sev­en min­utes in, the tones gath­er momen­tum. At 21 min­utes, there’s some­thing like the twit­ter of an elec­tron­ic bird. It gets going again at the 47-minute mark, when the bell-like nuances once again turn up a notch. The over­all effect is deeply, mag­nif­i­cent­ly peace­ful, med­i­ta­tive, even; ambi­ent cer­tain­ly monop­o­lis­es cer­tain sec­tions of the the­saurus. Naysay­ers may liken ambi­ent music to watch­ing paint dry, but this is paint dry­ing on a Mark Rothko can­vas.”

Just as a Rothko can­vas pro­vides a visu­al envi­ron­ment con­ducive to thought, so an ambi­ent Eno album pro­vides a son­ic one. “Reflec­tion is so called because I find it makes me think back. It makes me think things over,” Eno writes on his notes on the album. “It seems to cre­ate a psy­cho­log­i­cal space that encour­ages inter­nal con­ver­sa­tion. And exter­nal ones actu­al­ly — peo­ple seem to enjoy it as the back­ground to their con­ver­sa­tions.” This goes just as much, pre­sum­ably, for the the app ver­sion, which pro­vides the gen­er­a­tive sys­tem for a dif­fer­ent Reflec­tion lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ence each time. We need the kind of space it cre­ates more than ever, now that, as Eno put it in his opti­mistic New Year’s dis­patch, “peo­ple are think­ing hard, and, most impor­tant­ly, think­ing out loud, togeth­er.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bri­an Eno Cre­ates a List of His 13 Favorite Records: From Gospel to Afrobeat, Shoegaze to Bul­gar­i­an Folk

Bri­an Eno on Why Do We Make Art & What’s It Good For?: Down­load His 2015 John Peel Lec­ture

The Genius of Bri­an Eno On Dis­play in 80 Minute Q&A: Talks Art, iPad Apps, ABBA, & More

Bri­an Eno Once Com­posed Music for Win­dows 95; Now He Lets You Cre­ate Music with an iPad App

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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