Albert Einstein Explains How Slavery Has Crippled Everyone’s Ability to Think Clearly About Racism

Image by Fer­di­nand Schmutzer, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

“Should we allow celebri­ties to dis­cuss pol­i­tics?” goes one vari­a­tion on an ever­green head­line and sup­pos­ed­ly legit­i­mate pub­lic debate. No amount of pub­lic dis­ap­proval could have stopped some of the most out­spo­ken pub­lic fig­ures, and we’d be the worse off for it in many cas­es. Muham­mad Ali, John Lennon, Nina Simone, George Car­lin, Roger Waters, Mar­garet Cho, and, yes, Meryl Streep—millions of peo­ple have been very grate­ful (and many not) for these artists’ polit­i­cal com­men­tary. When it comes to sci­en­tists, how­ev­er, we tend to see more base­less accu­sa­tions of polit­i­cal speech than over­whelm­ing evi­dence of it.

But there have been those few sci­en­tists and philoso­phers who were also celebri­ties, and who made their polit­i­cal views well-known with­out reser­va­tion. Bertrand Rus­sell was such a per­son, as was Albert Ein­stein, who took up the caus­es of world peace and of racial jus­tice in the post-war years. As we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly not­ed, Einstein’s com­mit­ments were both phil­an­thropic and activist, and he formed close friend­ships with Paul Robe­son, W.E.B. Du Bois, Mar­i­an Ander­son, and oth­er promi­nent black lead­ers.

Ein­stein also co-chaired an anti-lynch­ing cam­paign and issued a scathing con­dem­na­tion of racism dur­ing a speech he gave in 1946 at the alma mater of Langston Hugh­es and Thur­good Mar­shall in which he called racism “a dis­ease of white peo­ple.” That same year, notes On Being’s exec­u­tive edi­tor Trent Gilliss, Ein­stein “penned one of his most artic­u­late and elo­quent essays advo­cat­ing for the civ­il rights of black peo­ple in Amer­i­ca.” Titled “The Negro Ques­tion” and pub­lished in the Jan­u­ary 1946 edi­tion of Pageant mag­a­zine, the essay, writes Gilliss, “was intend­ed to address a pri­mar­i­ly white read­er­ship.”

Ein­stein begins by answer­ing the inevitable objec­tion, “What right has he to speak about things which con­cern us alone, and which no new­com­er should touch?” To this, the famed physi­cist answers, “I do not think such a stand­point is jus­ti­fied.” Ein­stein believed he had a unique per­spec­tive: “One who has grown up in an envi­ron­ment takes much for grant­ed. On the oth­er hand, one who has come to this coun­try as a mature per­son may have a keen eye for every­thing pecu­liar and char­ac­ter­is­tic.” Speak­ing freely about his obser­va­tions, Ein­stein felt “he may per­haps prove him­self use­ful.”

Then, after prais­ing the country’s “demo­c­ra­t­ic trait” and its cit­i­zens’ “healthy self-con­fi­dence and nat­ur­al respect for the dig­ni­ty of one’s fel­low-man,” he plain­ly observes that this “sense of equal­i­ty and human dig­ni­ty is main­ly lim­it­ed to men of white skins.” Antic­i­pat­ing a casu­al­ly racist defense of “nat­ur­al” dif­fer­ences, Ein­stein replies:

I am firm­ly con­vinced that who­ev­er believes this suf­fers from a fatal mis­con­cep­tion. Your ances­tors dragged these black peo­ple from their homes by force; and in the white man’s quest for wealth and an easy life they have been ruth­less­ly sup­pressed and exploit­ed, degrad­ed into slav­ery. The mod­ern prej­u­dice against Negroes is the result of the desire to main­tain this unwor­thy con­di­tion.

The ancient Greeks also had slaves. They were not Negroes but white men who had been tak­en cap­tive in war. There could be no talk of racial dif­fer­ences. And yet Aris­to­tle, one of the great Greek philoso­phers, declared slaves infe­ri­or beings who were just­ly sub­dued and deprived of their lib­er­ty. It is clear that he was enmeshed in a tra­di­tion­al prej­u­dice from which, despite his extra­or­di­nary intel­lect, he could not free him­self.

Like the ancient Greeks, Amer­i­cans’ prej­u­dices are “con­di­tioned by opin­ions and emo­tions which we uncon­scious­ly absorb as chil­dren from our envi­ron­ment.” And racist atti­tudes are both caus­es and effects of eco­nom­ic exploita­tion, learned behav­iors that emerge from his­tor­i­cal cir­cum­stances, yet we “rarely reflect” how pow­er­ful the influ­ence of tra­di­tion is “upon our con­duct and con­vic­tions.” The sit­u­a­tion can be reme­died, Ein­stein believed, though not “quick­ly healed.” The “man of good will,” he wrote, “must have the courage to set an exam­ple by word and deed, and must watch lest his chil­dren become influ­enced by this racial bias.”

Read the full essay at On Being, and learn more about Einstein’s com­mit­ted anti-racist activism from Fred Jerome and Rodger Taylor’s 2006 book Ein­stein on Race and Racism.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Albert Ein­stein Called Racism “A Dis­ease of White Peo­ple” in His Lit­tle-Known Fight for Civ­il Rights

Lis­ten as Albert Ein­stein Calls for Peace and Social Jus­tice in 1945

Albert Ein­stein Express­es His Admi­ra­tion for Mahat­ma Gand­hi, in Let­ter and Audio

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

How the French New Wave Changed Cinema: A Video Introduction to the Films of Godard, Truffaut & Their Fellow Rule-Breakers

You could describe every act of film­mak­ing as an act of film crit­i­cism, and for no group of direc­tors has that held truer than those of the French New Wave. In one of the most excit­ing chap­ters of cin­e­ma his­to­ry thus far, the late 1950s and 1960s saw such new­ly emer­gent auteurs as Jean-Luc Godard, François Truf­faut, Agnès Var­da, Jacques Demy, Claude Chabrol, Éric Rohmer, Jacques Riv­ette, and André Bazin turn away from the estab­lished prac­tices of film­mak­ing and, by a mix­ture of incli­na­tion and neces­si­ty, start a few of their own.

They fol­lowed these new rules to come up with pic­tures like Le Beau Serge, Breath­lessThe 400 Blows, Last Year at Marien­badCléo from 5 to 7, and La Jetée. Those and the oth­er movies of the Nou­velle Vague star­tled view­ers with their bold­ness of form and con­tent, but what of impor­tance do they have to say in film cul­ture today? Lewis Bond of Chan­nel Criswell, source of video essays pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here about film­mak­ers like Andrei Tarkovsky and Aki­ra Kuro­sawa, looks at the last­ing achieve­ments of the move­ment in “Break­ing the Rules.”

The mem­bers of the French New Wave told per­son­al sto­ries that reflect­ed per­son­al philoso­phies, shoot­ing doc­u­men­tary-style with hand­held cam­eras, cut­ting those shots togeth­er with pre­vi­ous­ly unheard of con­spic­u­ous­ness, and using a vari­ety of oth­er visu­al and nar­ra­tive tech­niques to estab­lish a new rela­tion­ship between films and their view­ers. “If you’re still skep­ti­cal as to whether the nou­velle vague inten­tion­al­ly toyed with the audi­ence’s expec­ta­tions,” says Bond over a selec­tion of fourth-wall-break­ing shots, “just look at how many times their movies direct­ly acknowl­edge them. The nou­velle vague want­ed to have the audi­ence test­ed as to what could be a movie and how they could push the bound­aries of sto­ry­telling, not just with their tech­niques but with their con­tent too.”

And what do we jad­ed 21st-cen­tu­ry view­ers and film­mak­ers still have to learn from all this? “Just watch the films. They’re so ahead of their time, it’s not dif­fi­cult to see” the influ­ence of their edit­ing on the Scors­eses of the world, their con­cept of the auteur on the Taran­ti­nos, and their cam­era move­ment on the Luzbekis of today. “The thing that the film­mak­ers of la nou­velle vague did was uti­lize one of the most impor­tant process­es I think there is for an artist: look at what works in your medi­um and think, ‘How can it be done dif­fer­ent­ly?’ Because if you don’t have any­thing new to say, what’s the point of say­ing any­thing?” And, now as in the mid-2oth-cen­tu­ry as in the cen­turies before cin­e­ma itself, if you do have some­thing new to say, you can’t say it by fol­low­ing the old rules.

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:

An Intro­duc­tion to Jean-Luc Godard’s Inno­v­a­tive Film­mak­ing Through Five Video Essays

How Truf­faut Became Truf­faut: From Pet­ty Thief to Great Auteur

Watch a Video Essay on the Poet­ic Har­mo­ny of Andrei Tarkovsky’s Film­mak­ing, Then View His Major Films Free Online

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

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 American Novel Since 1945: A Free Yale Course on Novels by Nabokov, Kerouac, Morrison, Pynchon & More

Taught by pro­fes­sor Amy Hunger­ford, The Amer­i­can Nov­el Since 1945 offers an intro­duc­tion to the fer­tile lit­er­ary peri­od that fol­lowed World War II. The course descrip­tion reads:

In “The Amer­i­can Nov­el Since 1945” stu­dents will study a wide range of works from 1945 to the present. The course traces the for­mal and the­mat­ic devel­op­ments of the nov­el in this peri­od, focus­ing on the rela­tion­ship between writ­ers and read­ers, the con­di­tions of pub­lish­ing, inno­va­tions in the nov­el­’s form, fic­tion’s engage­ment with his­to­ry, and the chang­ing place of lit­er­a­ture in Amer­i­can cul­ture. The read­ing list includes works by Richard Wright, Flan­nery O’Con­nor, Vladimir Nabokov, Jack Ker­ouac, J. D. Salinger, Thomas Pyn­chon, John Barth, Max­ine Hong Kingston, Toni Mor­ri­son, Mar­i­lynne Robin­son, Cor­mac McCarthy, Philip Roth and Edward P. Jones. The course con­cludes with a con­tem­po­rary nov­el cho­sen by the stu­dents in the class.

You can watch the 26 lec­tures from the course above, or find them on YouTube and iTunes (videoaudio). To get more infor­ma­tion about the course, includ­ing the syl­labus, vis­it this Yale web­site.

The main texts used in this course include:

The Amer­i­can Nov­el Since 1945 will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties. There you can find a spe­cial­ized list of Free Online Lit­er­a­ture Cours­es.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Vladimir Nabokov Names the Great­est (and Most Over­rat­ed) Nov­els of the 20th Cen­tu­ry

Flan­nery O’Connor Reads ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ in Rare 1959 Audio

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

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Hear Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters” Covered in Unexpected Styles: Gregorian Choir, Cello Ensemble, Finnish Bluegrass, Jazz Vocal & More

They may have arrived on the scene in the 80s as one of the four horse­men of thrash metal—kin to such cud­dly acts as Anthrax, Megadeth, and Slayer—but believe or not, Metal­li­ca had some seri­ous crossover appeal from the start. Grant­ed, that appeal was lim­it­ed to a small sub­set of punks and skaters who came to appre­ci­ate met­al thanks to Metallica’s cov­ers of hor­ror-punks The Mis­fits on their 1987 Garage Days Revis­it­ed EP. Nonethe­less, it showed that the band always had a sense of humor and an appre­ci­a­tion for other—albeit very closely-related—genres.

Since then, Metal­li­ca has grown up, some­times awk­ward­ly. We watched them do it with the help of a ther­a­pist in the 2003 doc­u­men­tary Some Kind of Mon­ster. We lis­tened to their grown-up angst on that bum­mer of an album, St. Anger.  That year, they also took on a fourth mem­ber, bassist Robert Tru­jil­lo, whose extra-genre affini­ties are broad and deep—from his love for Motown, funk, and the ath­let­ic fusion of Jaco Pas­to­rius to his dab­bling in fla­men­co. The band may have returned to their thrash roots with 2008’s Death Mag­net­ic and this year’s Hard­wired… to Self-Destruct, but they’ll like­ly take a few more weird excur­sions (like their puz­zling 2011 col­lab­o­ra­tion with Lou Reed) in com­ing years.

And yes, they gained a rep­u­ta­tion as being stingy with their cat­a­log dur­ing that whole Nap­ster dust-up. But as you can hear James Het­field and Kirk Ham­mett dis­cuss in a recent Nerdist pod­cast (stream it at the bot­tom of this post), their “cre­ative rest­less­ness” has made them very appre­cia­tive of what oth­er artists have done with their music, stretch­ing it into alien gen­res and unex­pect­ed instru­men­ta­tion and arrange­ments.

In his self-dep­re­cat­ing way, Het­field con­fess­es, “there’s a lot of bet­ter ver­sions of ‘Noth­ing Else Mat­ters’ than ours.” Ham­mett agrees, and here you’ll find most of those they mention—from Scott D. Davis on solo piano at the top of the post, to a choir at San­ti­a­go de Com­postela with their Gre­go­ri­an Chant ver­sion below it, and, just above, Finnish cel­lo ensem­ble Apoc­a­lyp­ti­ca.

It may not be many people’s favorite Metal­li­ca song, but I think the vast range of wor­thy inter­pre­ta­tions speaks to the strengths of its com­po­si­tion. “Noth­ing Else Mat­ters” has even trans­lat­ed to blue­grass, thanks to Finnish pick­ers Steve ‘N’ Seag­ulls, who spe­cial­ize in such tongue-in-cheek coun­try met­al cov­ers. And Het­field and Ham­mett both men­tion with awe Macy Gray’s smoky lounge-jazz cov­er, below. “That’s an hon­or,” says Het­field, “that is a huge com­pli­ment, when some­one takes your song and legit­i­mate­ly does it their style.… It’s real­ly cool to think that the song is that good it can work in any dif­fer­ent genre.”

Indeed. Have a lis­ten to SHEL’s haunt­ing cov­er of anoth­er Metal­li­ca dirge, “Enter Sand­man” or Stary Olsa’s riff on the most­ly dirge-like “One.” And it doesn’t only work with the slow tunes either. Just check out this killer ban­jo ver­sion of “Mas­ter of Pup­pets.”

Hear Metal­li­ca talk cov­er ver­sions (around 50:00), the joys and woes of still tour­ing after all these years, and more at the Nerdist pod­cast just above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Metal­li­ca Play­ing “Enter Sand­man” on Class­room Toy Instru­ments

Metallica’s Bassist Robert Tru­jil­lo Plays Metal­li­ca Songs Fla­men­co-Style, Joined by Rodri­go y Gabriela

With Medieval Instru­ments, Band Per­forms Clas­sic Songs by The Bea­t­les, Red Hot Chili Pep­pers, Metal­li­ca & Deep Pur­ple

Finnish Musi­cians Play Blue­grass Ver­sions of AC/DC, Iron Maid­en & Ron­nie James Dio

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

David Bowie Offers Advice for Aspiring Artists: “Go a Little Out of Your Depth,” “Never Fulfill Other People’s Expectations”

Jan­u­ary 10th, 2017–David Bowie died one year ago today. Revis­it­ing my own mem­o­ries of him, it so often seemed impos­si­ble that he could grow old, much less pass away, even as we all watched him age over the decades. He did it much bet­ter than most, that’s for sure, and grew into the role of elder states­man with incred­i­ble poise and grace, though he also didn’t let that role be his last one.

What else should we have expect­ed from the artist who wrote “Changes”—the defin­i­tive cre­ative state­ment on fac­ing time and mortality—at the age of 24, before he’d even achieved the inter­na­tion­al super­star­dom that Zig­gy Star­dust brought him? Bowie was always an old soul. “It’s not age itself,” he told the BBC in 2002. “Age doesn’t both­er me. So many of my heroes were old­er guys.… I embrace that aspect of it.” And so, in his lat­er years, he became an old­er guy hero to mil­lions.

In 1997, after his drum and bass-inspired Earth­ling, Bowie gave an inter­view in which he offered the time­less wis­dom to younger artists in the clip above:

Nev­er play to the gallery.… Nev­er work for oth­er peo­ple in what you do. Always remem­ber that the rea­son that you ini­tial­ly start­ed work­ing was that there was some­thing inside your­self that you felt that if you could man­i­fest in some way, you would under­stand more about your­self and how you co-exist with the rest of soci­ety.… I think it’s ter­ri­bly dan­ger­ous for an artist to ful­fill oth­er people’s expec­ta­tions.

It’s advice we’ve like­ly heard some ver­sion of before—perhaps even from one of Bowie’s own old­er-guy heroes, William S. Bur­roughs (here by way of Pat­ti Smith). But I’ve nev­er heard it stat­ed so suc­cinct­ly and with so much con­vic­tion and feel­ing. We nat­u­ral­ly asso­ciate David Bowie with art­ful inau­then­tic­i­ty, with a suc­ces­sion of masks. He encour­aged that impres­sion at every turn, even telling a grad­u­at­ing Berklee Col­lege of Music class in 1999, “it seemed that authen­tic­i­ty and the nat­ur­al form of expres­sion wasn’t going to be my forte.”

But in hind­sight, and espe­cial­ly in the rapt, posthu­mous atten­tion paid to Bowie’s final work, Black­star, it can seem that his embrace of pos­es was often itself a pose. Bowie has always been can­did, in var­i­ous moments of self-reflec­tion, about his mis­steps and excess­es. But not to have tak­en the risks he did, not to have placed him­self in uncom­fort­able sit­u­a­tions, would have meant impov­er­ish­ing his work. “The oth­er thing I would say,” he goes on, “is that if you feel safe in the area you’re work­ing in, you’re not work­ing in the right area. Always go a lit­tle fur­ther into the water than you feel you are capa­ble of being in. Go a lit­tle bit out of your depth. When you don’t feel that your feet are quite touch­ing the bot­tom, you’re just about in the right place to do some­thing excit­ing.”

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:

David Bowie Gives Grad­u­a­tion Speech At Berklee Col­lege of Music: “Music Has Been My Door­way of Per­cep­tion” (1999)

The Sto­ry of Zig­gy Star­dust: How David Bowie Cre­at­ed the Char­ac­ter that Made Him Famous

Pat­ti Smith Shares William S. Bur­roughs’ Advice for Writ­ers and Artists

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

Hear a 9,000 Year Old Flute—the World’s Oldest Playable Instrument—Get Played Again

Clas­si­cal music enthu­si­asts seem to agree that the renew­al of inter­est in peri­od instru­ments made for a notice­able change in the sound of most, if not all, orches­tral per­for­mances. But does­n’t the repli­ca­tion and use of vio­ls, oph­i­clei­des, and fortepi­anos from the times of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart raise a curios­i­ty about what peo­ple used to make music gen­er­a­tions before them, and gen­er­a­tions before that? How ear­ly can we get into ear­ly music and still find tools to use in the 21st cen­tu­ry? Since the end of the 20th, we’ve had the same answer: about nine mil­len­nia.

“Chi­nese arche­ol­o­gists have unearthed what is believed to be the old­est known playable musi­cal instru­ment,” wrote Hen­ry Foun­tain in a 1999 New York Times arti­cle on the dis­cov­ery of “a sev­en-holed flute fash­ioned 9,000 years ago from the hol­low wing bone of a large bird.”

Those holes “pro­duced a rough scale cov­er­ing a mod­ern octave, begin­ning close to the sec­ond A above mid­dle C,” and the fact of this “care­ful­ly select­ed tone scale indi­cates that the Neolith­ic musi­cians may have been able to play more than sin­gle notes, but actu­al music.”

You can hear the haunt­ing sounds of this old­est playable musi­cal instru­ment known to man in the clip above. When would those pre­his­toric humans have heard it them­selves? Foun­tain quotes eth­no­mu­si­col­o­gist Fred­er­ick Lau as say­ing that these flutes “almost cer­tain­ly were used in rit­u­als,” per­haps “at tem­ple fairs, buri­als and oth­er rit­u­al­is­tic events,” and pos­si­bly even for “for per­son­al enter­tain­ment.” 9,000 years ago, one sure­ly took one’s enter­tain­ment where one could find it.

If this lis­ten­ing expe­ri­ence has giv­en you a taste for the real oldies — not just the AM-radio but the his­to­ry-of-mankind sense — you can also hear in our archive the 43,000-year-old “Nean­derthal flute” (found only in frag­ments, but recon­struct­ed) as well as such ancient songs as 100 BC’s “Seik­i­los Epi­taph,” a com­po­si­tion by Euripi­des from a cen­tu­ry before that, and a 3,400-year-old Sumer­ian hymn known as the old­est song in the world, all of which rais­es an impor­tant ques­tion: what will the peo­ple of the year 11000 think when they unearth our DJ rigs, those arti­facts of so many of our own rit­u­al­is­tic events, and give them a spin?

You can get more infor­ma­tion on this ancient flute here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the “Seik­i­los Epi­taph,” the Old­est Com­plete Song in the World: An Inspir­ing Tune from 100 BC

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

Hear the World’s Old­est Sur­viv­ing Writ­ten Song (200 BC), Orig­i­nal­ly Com­posed by Euripi­des, the Ancient Greek Play­wright

Lis­ten to the Old­est Song in the World: A Sumer­ian Hymn Writ­ten 3,400 Years Ago

Hear the World’s Old­est Instru­ment, the “Nean­derthal Flute,” Dat­ing Back Over 43,000 Years

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.

How The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band Changed Album Cover Design Forever

I am old­er than Evan Puschak, The Nerd­writer, one of a hand­ful who have mas­tered the online video essay. But I still find myself agree­ing with his take on the music video as most­ly unnec­es­sary and dis­tract­ing. At least at first. Then I get nos­tal­gic and remem­ber some of the videos of my youth, like, say The Cure’s “Pic­tures of You” or Boyz II Men’s “It’s So Hard to Say Good­bye to Yes­ter­day”—both bit­ter­sweet tracks about nostalgia—and I feel dif­fer­ent­ly. The video can have a pow­er­ful emo­tion­al pull on us. But its pow­er to sell music has per­haps nev­er matched that of the album cov­er, even after the death of the record store. Puschak makes the case that The Bea­t­les for­ev­er changed the form, mak­ing it into the “almost lim­it­less” art we know today.

Anoth­er crit­ic besides Puschak—one who remem­bers buy­ing a first press­ing of Sgt. Pepper’s Lone­ly Hearts Club Band—might be alleged to have fall­en vic­tim to a rever­ie. But there is nos­tal­gia and there are qual­i­ta­tive his­tor­i­cal argu­ments, and Puschak, a con­sum­mate­ly care­ful, if exceed­ing­ly con­cise, essay­ist, makes the lat­ter. In times past, he informs us, dur­ing the first few decades of the indus­try, record cov­ers were more or less util­i­tar­i­an brown paper bags, with some excep­tions. Then came Colum­bia Records design­er Alexan­der Stein­weiss in 1938 to rev­o­lu­tion­ize album art, ini­ti­at­ing a “huge boom in sales.” The mar­ket fol­lowed suit and record shops bloomed with col­or as album cov­ers became lit­tle bill­boards for their con­tents.

“Since music has no spa­tial dimen­sion,” and we can’t hold it in our hands, “the album cov­er emerged as the stand-in for the com­mod­i­ty to be pur­chased. This explains the so-called “per­son­al­i­ty cov­er” fea­tur­ing promi­nent band pho­tos that look like por­traits of actors’ troupes. It’s a con­ven­tion The Bea­t­les duti­ful­ly observed on their first few sleeves in the ear­ly six­ties. As their stature increased, how­ev­er, the band “seemed to become dark­ly aware of their sta­tus as com­modi­ties.” (Thus the glum looks on the cov­er of their unsub­tly titled 1964 Bea­t­les for Sale.)

Their evo­lu­tion from the teen­pop “per­son­al­i­ty cov­er” to the broody and sur­re­al is self-evi­dent, from Rub­ber Soul’s groovy band shot and psy­che­del­ic let­ter­ing to Revolver’s take on Aubrey Beard­s­ley, cour­tesy of Klaus Vor­mann, “The Bea­t­les were lead­ers in expand­ing an album cover’s func­tion from a mar­ket­ing tool to a work of art in its own right.” Then we come to Sgt. Pepper’s, and the shift is cement­ed. The album cover’s design­er, Peter Blake, explic­it­ly thought of the cov­er as “a piece of art rather than an album cov­er. It was almost a piece of the­ater design.” And the band them­selves had a direct hand in its cre­ation. “We all chose our own colours and our own mate­ri­als,” not­ed McCart­ney.

They also chose most of the peo­ple on the cov­er (out of many who turned them down or didn’t make the final cut). By “jux­ta­pos­ing high­brow artists and thinkers with pop icons,” says Puschak, “The Bea­t­les sig­nal the break­down and mix­ing of high and low cul­ture that they them­selves exem­pli­fied.” What’s bril­liant about the cov­er is that it taps into the band and the record buyer’s nos­tal­gia with an open acknowl­edge­ment of the music as com­merce. “We liked the idea of reach­ing out to the record-buy­er,” McCart­ney recalled, “because our mem­o­ries of spend­ing our own hard-earned cash and real­ly lov­ing any­one who gave us val­ue for mon­ey.”

But, as Puschak points out, the Sgt. Pepper’s cov­er also serves as its own cri­tique. “By stag­ing the scene as a per­for­mance and an audi­ence,” he says, “the band chal­lenges us to deal with the func­tion of both.” That this mes­sage coin­cides with their deci­sion to stop tour­ing sug­gests that the band was using the album cov­er as they were using their music to draw the audi­ence clos­er and give them the pri­vate emo­tion­al and aes­thet­ic expe­ri­ences so many invit­ing album cov­ers now rou­tine­ly promise. Design­er Blake and the band encour­aged lis­ten­ers to have an intel­lec­tu­al rela­tion­ship with the record from the very start, with the cryp­tic who’s‑who puz­zle pho­tomon­tage of famous peo­ple and the lyrics print­ed direct­ly on the back. In so doing, they announced that although record­ed music was inescapably a com­mod­i­ty, it was also, insep­a­ra­bly, a mod­ern art.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

7 Rock Album Cov­ers Designed by Icon­ic Artists: Warhol, Rauschen­berg, Dalí, Richter, Map­plethor­pe & More

Andy Warhol Cre­ates Album Cov­ers for Jazz Leg­ends Thelo­nious Monk, Count Basie & Ken­ny Bur­rell

Clas­sic Jazz Album Cov­ers Ani­mat­ed, or the Re-Birth of Cool

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

The Corkscrew: The 700-Pound Mechanical Sculpture That Opens a Wine Bottle & Pours the Wine

We’ve shown you a very sim­ple way to open a bot­tle of wine, with noth­ing but a wall and a shoe. (Try it at your own risk.) Now comes the most art­ful­ly com­plex.

Above, watch Rob Hig­gs demo his mechan­i­cal sculp­ture, “The Corkscrew.” Cre­at­ed with found objects from scrap­yards and farm­steads, the sculp­ture has 382 mov­ing parts and weighs 700+ pounds, reports the BBC. Designed to pull a cork from a bot­tle and pour the wine, the steam­punk sculp­ture is not just beau­ti­ful. It actu­al­ly works.

Accord­ing to the Dai­ly Mail, you could buy “The Corkscrew” for some­where bew­teen $90,000 and $120,000.

via Devour

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Open a Wine Bot­tle with Your Shoe

Jane Austen Writes a Let­ter to Her Sis­ter While Hung Over: “I Believe I Drank Too Much Wine Last Night”

Christo­pher Hitchens, Who Mixed Drink­ing & Writ­ing, Names the “Best Scotch in the His­to­ry of the World”

How to Clean Your Vinyl Records with Wood Glue

Vin­tage Wine in our Col­lec­tion of 1100 Free Online Cours­es

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