When East Meets West: Hear What Happened When Ravi Shankar & Philip Glass Composed Music Together

There were the Beats, with their inter­est in Bud­dhism and East­ern phi­los­o­phy. Then the Bea­t­les and Rolling Stones mined East­ern music and tra­di­tions for their psy­che­del­ic head trips, and turned a lot of peo­ple on to the sitar and the Nehru jack­et. But in many sig­nif­i­cant East meets West moments, the empha­sis skewed heav­i­ly toward West­ern artists. These cul­tur­al moments cre­at­ed some tru­ly inspired rock and roll and writ­ing, but not much in the way of a gen­uine con­gress of artists of equal recog­ni­tion.

Though we might expect to find some­thing like this in the Col­lab­o­ra­tions box set, cred­it­ed to Ravi Shankar and George Har­ri­son, what we get instead are four discs of most­ly Shankar com­po­si­tions and clas­si­cal Indi­an inter­pre­ta­tions, which Har­ri­son pro­duced and played on as a guest artist. These albums refresh­ing­ly reverse the usu­al dynam­ic: “The music here,” writes the Bea­t­les Bible, “is far from West­ern pop musi­cians dab­bling with sitars in the 1960s.” But for a tru­ly col­lab­o­ra­tive work, we should look else­where, and we’ll per­haps find few fin­er exam­ples than Shankar’s work with Philip Glass.

The two giants of their respec­tive musi­cal worlds first met in Paris in 1965, but it was only 25 years lat­er that they decid­ed to work togeth­er on an album. You can hear the result, Pas­sages, at the top of the post and in the Spo­ti­fy playlist just above. Although it took over two decades for Glass and Shankar to record togeth­er, their col­lab­o­ra­tion began even “before The Bea­t­les had met Ravi,” remem­bered Glass in a lec­ture at the Red Bull Music Acad­e­my. “This music would’ve been very exot­ic, at that time… in the ‘60s, this was the first time this kind of music had been heard. At least in the West.”

In his mid-twen­ties at the time, Glass was hired to tran­scribe Shankar’s score for the cult film Chap­paqua. He began to com­bine what he had been learn­ing in his master’s pro­gram at Juil­liard “with the work I had been doing with Ravi Shankar. Almost imme­di­ate­ly I began doing that.” And so audi­ences heard Shankar’s influ­ence on West­ern min­i­mal­ism before they heard it in pop music. “It was through Shankar’s music,” NPR notes, “that the Amer­i­can com­pos­er came to real­ize that music could be con­struct­ed with rhythm as its very foun­da­tion…. That real­iza­tion became a cor­ner­stone of Glass’ own work.”

Since his first meet­ing with Glass, Shankar influ­enced and col­lab­o­rat­ed with many oth­er West­ern musi­cians in his long and var­ied career, inspir­ing John Coltrane and oth­er jazz greats and releas­ing three albums with vio­lin­ist Yehu­di Menuhin, each called West Meets East, in 1967, 1968, and 1976. Pas­sages is a shar­ing of both musi­cal vocab­u­lar­ies and com­po­si­tion­al meth­ods: Shankar and Glass each com­posed themes that the oth­er arranged. “There is a great deal of tech­ni­cal data involved here,” writes Jim Bren­holts at All­mu­sic. “Both of these artists have long tak­en intel­lec­tu­al approach­es to music.”

The­o­ry aside, “the music is bril­liant,” whether we under­stand its vir­tu­os­i­ty or not, though it trends large­ly in a sym­phon­ic direc­tion. Those inter­est­ed in a more beat-ori­ent­ed but also bril­liant “East meets West” col­lab­o­ra­tion would do well to check out table play­er Zakir Hus­sain and bassist Bill Laswell’s project Tabla Beat Sci­ence, which, All­mu­sic writes, fus­es the “rich and time-hon­ored tra­di­tion of the tabla” with “con­tem­po­rary elec­tron­i­ca stu­dio wiz­ardry.” And, of course, don’t miss Hus­sain’s work with gui­tarist extra­or­di­naire John McLaugh­lin.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ravi Shankar Gives George Har­ri­son a Sitar Les­son … and Oth­er Vin­tage Footage

‘The Bal­lad of the Skele­tons’: Allen Ginsberg’s 1996 Col­lab­o­ra­tion with Philip Glass and Paul McCart­ney

Watch “Geom­e­try of Cir­cles,” the Abstract Sesame Street Ani­ma­tion Scored by Philip Glass (1979)

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

A Digital Archive of Modernist Magazines (1890 to 1922): Browse the Literary Magazines Where Modernism Began

The sto­ry of lit­er­ary mod­ernism in the Eng­lish-speak­ing world is most often told through a small col­lec­tion of Great Works of Art. These poems and nov­els appeared sud­den­ly after the shock and car­nage of World War I, as Euro­peans and Amer­i­cans faced the psy­cho­log­i­cal after­math of mech­a­nized mod­ern com­bat and its sense­less capac­i­ty for mass destruc­tion. T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land sur­veyed the wreck­age of Euro­pean cul­ture and tra­di­tion, James Joyce’s Ulysses showed us his­to­ry as a “night­mare” from which its pro­tag­o­nist is “try­ing to awake,” Vir­ginia Woolf’s Jacob’s Room showed the mod­ern self as noth­ing more than a col­lec­tion of mem­o­ries and per­cep­tions, emp­tied of sol­id exis­tence….

These so-called “high mod­ernist” works all appeared in 1922, when “most schol­ars con­sid­er mod­ernism to be ful­ly fledged.” So writes the Mod­ernist Jour­nals Project (MJP), a joint effort by Brown Uni­ver­si­ty and the Uni­ver­si­ty of Tul­sa, with a num­ber of grants and awards from local sources and the Nation­al Endow­ment for the Human­i­ties.

The project start­ed small in 1996 and has since bloomed into a major resource for schol­ars and read­ers. As the MJP’s mot­to has it, mod­ernism began not with the major works that have come to define it most; “mod­ernism began in the mag­a­zines,” small pub­li­ca­tions with lim­it­ed read­er­ships that often piqued lit­tle inter­est out­side their com­mu­ni­ties.

In many of these mag­a­zines, such as Har­ri­et Monroe’s Poet­ry—still around today—we can see bridges between Vic­to­ri­an and mod­ernist poet­ry. The first issue of Poet­ry from 1912 (top), for exam­ple, fea­tures famous Vic­to­ri­an poet William Vaugh­an Moody next to emerg­ing lit­er­ary dynamo Ezra Pound, who edit­ed Eliot’s The Waste Land ten years lat­er. Although the expo­nents of mod­ernism are often divorced from a polit­i­cal con­text, many mod­ernist writ­ers appeared ear­ly in “lit­tle mag­a­zines” like The Mass­es, fur­ther up, “per­haps the most vibrant and inno­v­a­tive mag­a­zine of its day.”

Found­ed in 1911 as an illus­trat­ed social­ist month­ly, The Mass­es’ pol­i­cy was “to do as it Pleas­es and Con­cil­i­ate Nobody, not even its Read­ers.” The mag­a­zine pub­lished Carl Sand­burg, Louis Unter­mey­er, Amy Low­ell, Upton Sin­clair, and Sher­wood Ander­son, among many oth­ers. But mod­ernism took root on var­ied ter­rain, such that at the same time as The Mass­es rep­re­sent­ed major lit­er­ary change, so too did The Smart Set, found­ed in 1900 “as a mag­a­zine for and about New York’s social elite.” This mag­a­zine soon “evolved into some­thing much more important—an expres­sion of pop­u­lar mod­ernism,” pub­lish­ing F. Scott Fitzger­ald, Joseph Con­rad, James Joyce and oth­ers.

The edi­tor­ship in 1913 of Willard Hunt­ing­ton Wright “estab­lished The Smart Set’s high lit­er­ary cre­den­tials” with fig­ures like Pound and W.B. Yeats. Wright “would up near­ly bank­rupt­ing the jour­nal” before H.L. Menck­en and George Jean Nathan took over the fol­low­ing year. Next to The Smart Set in con­tem­po­rary impor­tance are mag­a­zines like The Ego­ist, which grew out of an ear­li­er short-lived “week­ly fem­i­nist review,” The Free­woman.

Begun in 1913 as The New Free­woman by Free­woman edi­tor Dora Mars­den, and lat­er edit­ed by Har­ri­et Weaver, The Ego­ist is only one exam­ple of the cru­cial impor­tance female edi­tors and writ­ers had in bring­ing lit­er­ary mod­ernism to fruition. The Ego­ist even­tu­al­ly took on Eliot as its lit­er­ary edi­tor and pub­lished his sem­i­nal essay “Tra­di­tion and the Indi­vid­ual Tal­ent.”

Oth­er pub­li­ca­tions crit­i­cal to the growth of mod­ernist lit­er­a­ture were The Lit­tle Review, Des Imag­istes—a series of antholo­gies orga­nized and edit­ed by Pound—and the W.E.B. Du Bois-edit­ed The Cri­sis, the NAACP’s offi­cial jour­nal, which pub­lished work from Jessie Faucet, Charles Ches­nutt, Coun­tee Cullen, Langston Hugh­es, James Wel­don John­son, Jean Toomer, and many oth­er fig­ures cen­tral to the Harlem Renais­sance. You’ll find dozens of issues of these and many oth­er mod­ernist jour­nals from the peri­od, rep­re­sent­ed as scanned images and PDFs at the Mod­ernist Jour­nals Project. At the MJP home­page, you also find biogra­phies of the authors and artists who appear in these jour­nals’ pages, as well as book excerpts and essays about the peri­od of the “lit­tle mag­a­zines,” when the mod­ernists who became famous in the twen­ties, and house­hold names decades lat­er, dis­cov­ered new forms and cre­at­ed new lit­er­ary com­mu­ni­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Exten­sive Archive of Avant-Garde & Mod­ernist Mag­a­zines (1890–1939) Now Avail­able Online

Down­load Influ­en­tial Avant-Garde Mag­a­zines from the Ear­ly 20th Cen­tu­ry: Dadaism, Sur­re­al­ism, Futur­ism & More

Down­load 336 Issues of the Avant-Garde Mag­a­zine The Storm (1910–1932), Fea­tur­ing the Work of Kandin­sky, Klee, Moholy-Nagy & More

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

All of the Music from Martin Scorsese’s Movies: Listen to a 326-Track, 20-Hour Playlist

Mar­tin Scors­ese’s cin­e­mat­ic real­i­ty, pop­u­lat­ed by hus­tlers, wise guys, prize fight­ers, vig­i­lantes, law­men, mad­men, and moguls, demands set­tings as vivid as its char­ac­ters. His movies, often peri­od pieces root­ed in par­tic­u­lar parts of 20th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca (and increas­ing­ly, ear­li­er eras and far­ther-flung lands), evoke their times and places most notably with songs. Among their twen­ty great­est musi­cal moments Indiewire lists War­ren Zevon’s “Were­wolves of Lon­don” in The Col­or of Mon­ey, The Clash’s “Janie Jones” in Bring­ing out the Dead, Mick­ey & Sylvi­a’s “Love Is Strange” in Casi­no, and the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shel­ter” in The Depart­ed (one of its three uses so far in Scors­ese’s fil­mog­ra­phy).

But Scors­ese’s involve­ment with music goes far beyond lay­er­ing it below, or indeed above, the scenes he shoots. In addi­tion to direct­ing his wide­ly acclaimed fea­tures from the “New Hol­ly­wood” 1970s to the present day, he’s also led some­thing of a par­al­lel career mak­ing films whol­ly ded­i­cat­ed to music and musi­cians, includ­ing 1978’s The Last Waltz, which cap­tured The Band’s “farewell con­cert appear­ance”; the 2003 mul­ti-direc­tor doc­u­men­tary series The Blues on that ven­er­a­ble Amer­i­can musi­cal tra­di­tion; 2005’s No Direc­tion Home on Bob Dylan, 2008’s Rolling Stones bio­graph­i­cal con­cert film Shine a Light, and 2011’s Liv­ing in the Mate­r­i­al World on George Har­ri­son.

Some of the pow­er of Scors­ese’s musi­cal selec­tions owes to his long friend­ship with The Band’s gui­tarist Rob­bie Robert­son, which began with The Last Waltz and con­tin­ues to this day. “We’ve always had this rela­tion­ship going back and forth,” a Telegram arti­cle on their qua­si-col­lab­o­ra­tion quotes the direc­tor as say­ing. “We start­ed a kind of rela­tion­ship in which we’d touch base as to every film I was doing and the type of music I was using.”

In his new mem­oir Tes­ti­mo­ny, Robert­son touch­es on a par­tic­u­lar­ly impor­tant job in Scors­ese’s career that sure­ly did some­thing to shape his friend’s musi­cal-cin­e­mat­ic con­scious­ness: assis­tant-direct­ing and par­tial­ly edit­ing his NYU film school class­mate Michael Wadleigh’s Wood­stock. “We were all, nat­u­ral­ly, pas­sion­ate about film-mak­ing, but Wad­leigh and I were equal­ly pas­sion­ate about rock music,” Scors­ese writes in the fore­word to Wood­stock: Three Days that Rocked the World. “I thought then, and I still think, that it formed the score for many of our lives; we moved through the days to its swag­ger­ing rhythms.”

Now you can move to all the rhythms of Scors­ese’s days, and there­fore of his fil­mog­ra­phy to date, in a 326-Track, 20-Hour Spo­ti­fy playlist. (If you don’t have Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, you can down­load it here.) It comes assem­bled by Thril­list, whose Anna Sil­man writes that, “as might be expect­ed, The Rolling Stones take the crown for most fea­tured artist with a total of 14 appear­ances,” but “Ray Charles, Eric Clap­ton, and Louis Pri­ma all put up some decent num­bers, too.” She sug­gests you enjoy it “on shuf­fle with some egg noo­dles and ketchup,” and if you get the ref­er­ence right away, the playlist will cer­tain­ly bring back some of your most vivid cin­e­mat­ic mem­o­ries — and maybe even a few his­tor­i­cal ones.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mavis Sta­ples and The Band Sing “The Weight” In Mar­tin Scorsese’s The Last Waltz (1978)

The Film­mak­ing of Mar­tin Scors­ese Demys­ti­fied in 6 Video Essays

Mar­tin Scors­ese Reveals His 12 Favorite Movies (and Writes a New Essay on Film Preser­va­tion)

Mar­tin Scorsese’s Very First Films: Three Imag­i­na­tive Short Works

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.

Sinclair Lewis’ Chilling Play, It Can’t Happen Here: A Read-Through by the Berkeley Repertory Theatre

As a num­ber of com­men­ta­tors have not­ed, it has already hap­pened here in the past—that is, the fer­vid nativism, immi­gra­tion bans, and mass depor­ta­tions, the nation­al­ist, fanat­i­cal­ly reli­gious, anti-demo­c­ra­t­ic mil­i­tan­cy… many of the char­ac­ter­is­tics of Amer­i­can author­i­tar­i­an­ism, in oth­er words. In the polit­i­cal cli­mate we face today, these strains have come togeth­er in some very overt ways, under the lead­er­ship of a pur­port­ed­ly charis­mat­ic leader who swayed mil­lions of fol­low­ers with the promise of renewed “great­ness.”

The ques­tions that now arise are those once asked by It Can’t Hap­pen Here, the 1935 nov­el by Sin­clair Lewis that imag­ined the elec­tion of a charis­mat­ic leader who promis­es great­ness, “then quick­ly becomes a dic­ta­tor,” writes the Amer­i­can Library Association’s Pub­lic Pro­grams Office, “enact­ing mar­tial law and throw­ing dis­senters into labor camps.” The nov­el res­onat­ed with a pub­lic increas­ing­ly con­cerned about ris­ing dic­ta­tor­ships in Europe, as well as the grow­ing pow­er of the pres­i­den­cy at home. “Short­ly after it was pub­lished,” the ALA notes, “the nov­el was recre­at­ed as a play and opened in 21 cities nation­wide on Octo­ber 27, 1936.”

You can see some still images of an orig­i­nal It Can’t Hap­pen Here pro­duc­tion in the video above about the Fed­er­al The­ater Project. Last year—almost eighty years after the play’s debut and just days before the pres­i­den­tial election—several dozen the­aters, uni­ver­si­ties, and libraries across the coun­try held read­ings of Lewis’ the­atri­cal adap­ta­tion. See one such read­ing at the top of the post, per­formed on Octo­ber 24 at the Yolo Coun­ty Library in North­ern Cal­i­for­nia by the Berke­ley Reper­to­ry The­atre, who at the time also staged a full, two part pro­duc­tion of It Can’t Hap­pen Here that was both “thrilling and grim,” as Alexan­der Nazaryan writes at The New York­er. (See a trail­er below)

The Berke­ley Rep’s pro­duc­tion sig­nif­i­cant­ly rewrote Lewis’ adap­ta­tion, which they decid­ed was “ter­ri­ble.” But the nov­el itself is not quite a lit­er­ary mas­ter­piece. “Lewis was nev­er much of an artist,” Nanaryan notes, “but what he lacked in style he made up for with social obser­va­tion.” While his skills as a close observ­er of Amer­i­can polit­i­cal ten­den­cies may still be unmatched, the pre­science of his nov­el in imag­in­ing the sit­u­a­tion we find our­selves in today may have as much to do with Lewis’ abil­i­ties as with the recur­rence of cer­tain depress­ing themes in Amer­i­can polit­i­cal life. As Alex Wag­n­er writes at The Atlantic, the mass depor­ta­tions and raids on immi­grant pop­u­la­tions that have now increased in cities nation­wide saw a chill­ing prece­dent in the 1920s and 30s, “a time of eco­nom­ic strug­gle, racial resent­ment and increas­ing xeno­pho­bia.”

Then, Her­bert Hoover, “promised jobs for Americans—and made good on that promise by slash­ing immi­gra­tion by near­ly 90 per­cent” and deport­ing as many as “1.8 mil­lion men, women and chil­dren” of Mex­i­can descent or with “a Mex­i­can-sound­ing name.” As many as six­ty per­cent of those deport­ed were U.S. cit­i­zens. We’ve seen in recent months numer­ous com­par­isons of our cur­rent polit­i­cal sit­u­a­tion to Nazi Ger­many and Fas­cist Italy. While these may be war­rant­ed in many respects, they may also be super­flu­ous. To under­stand the ori­gins of racist author­i­tar­i­an­ism in Amer­i­ca, we need only look back to sev­er­al moments in our own his­to­ry, those that Lewis close­ly observed and sat­i­rized in a nov­el that once again shows us an image of the coun­try that many peo­ple have cho­sen not to see.

This read­ing will be added to our list, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Rec­og­nize a Dystopia: Watch an Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Dystopi­an Fic­tion

George Orwell’s Final Warn­ing: Don’t Let This Night­mare Sit­u­a­tion Hap­pen. It Depends on You!

Philoso­pher Richard Rorty Chill­ing­ly Pre­dicts the Results of the 2016 Elec­tion … Back in 1998

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

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

Free Download: The Book Lover’s Guide to Coffee

FYI: Cour­tesy of Pen­guin Ran­dom House, you can down­load The Book Lover’s Guide to Cof­fee. This free guide–a “cel­e­bra­tion of ideas that make cof­fee and lit­er­a­ture inseparable”–features:

  • 6 authors on cof­fee’s cul­tur­al sig­nif­i­cance ;
  • The rit­u­als of 7 famous cof­fee-obsessed authors;
  • Info­graph­ics rich with caf­feinat­ed, book­ish data;
  • Tips on tak­ing the per­fect cof­fee;
  • Brew­ing guides from Birch Cof­fee.

You can down­load the cof­fee guide here. (They do require an email address.) Mean­while, find more good cof­fee items in the Relat­eds below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Rol­lick­ing French Ani­ma­tion on the Per­ils of Drink­ing a Lit­tle Too Much Cof­fee

Hon­oré de Balzac Writes About “The Plea­sures and Pains of Cof­fee,” and His Epic Cof­fee Addic­tion

Philoso­phers Drink­ing Cof­fee: The Exces­sive Habits of Kant, Voltaire & Kierkegaard

David Lynch Directs a Mini-Sea­son of Twin Peaks in the Form of Japan­ese Cof­fee Com­mer­cials

J.S. Bach’s Com­ic Opera, “The Cof­fee Can­ta­ta,” Sings the Prais­es of the Great Stim­u­lat­ing Drink (1735)

“The Virtues of Cof­fee” Explained in 1690 Ad: The Cure for Lethar­gy, Scurvy, Drop­sy, Gout & More

Black Cof­fee: Doc­u­men­tary Cov­ers the His­to­ry, Pol­i­tics & Eco­nom­ics of the “Most Wide­ly Tak­en Legal Drug”

10 Essen­tial Tips for Mak­ing Great Cof­fee at Home

800 Free eBooks for iPad, Kin­dle & Oth­er Devices

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

Enchanting Video Shows How Globes Were Made by Hand in 1955: The End of a 500-Year Tradition

The first globe–a spher­i­cal rep­re­sen­ta­tion of our plan­et Earth–dates back to the Age of Dis­cov­ery. Or 1492, to be more pre­cise, when Mar­tin Behaim and painter Georg Glock­endon cre­at­ed the “Nürn­berg Ter­res­tri­al Globe,” oth­er­wise known as the “Erdapfel.” It was made by hand. And that tra­di­tion con­tin­ued straight through the 20th cen­tu­ry, until machines even­tu­al­ly took over.

Above, you can watch the tail end of a 500-year tra­di­tion. Some­where in North Lon­don, in 1955, “a woman takes one of the moulds from a shelf and takes it over to a work­bench. She fix­es it to a device which holds it steady whilst still allow­ing it to spin.” “Anoth­er girl,” notes British Pathe, “is stick­ing red strips onto a larg­er sphere.” After that, “coloured print­ed sec­tions show­ing the map of the world are cut to shape then past­ed onto the sur­face of the globes.” Through that “skilled oper­a­tion,” the Lon­don-based firm pro­duced some 60,000 globes each year.

Here, you can also watch anoth­er globe-mak­ing mini-doc­u­men­tary, this one in black & white, from 1949. It gives you a glimpse of a process that takes 15 hours, from start to fin­ish.

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:

Buck­min­ster Fuller’s Map of the World: The Inno­va­tion that Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Map Design (1943)

Japan­ese Design­ers May Have Cre­at­ed the Most Accu­rate Map of Our World: See the Autha­Graph

How Vinyl Records Are Made: A Primer from 1956

How Ani­mat­ed Car­toons Are Made: A Vin­tage Primer Filmed Way Back in 1919

The Mak­ing of Japan­ese Hand­made Paper: A Short Film Doc­u­ments an 800-Year-Old Tra­di­tion

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How Mindfulness Makes Us Happier & Better Able to Meet Life’s Challenges: Two Animated Primers Explain

The West has very rich con­tem­pla­tive tra­di­tion. Monas­tics of the ear­ly Chris­t­ian church prac­ticed forms of med­i­ta­tion that have been adopt­ed by many peo­ple seek­ing a deep­er, more serene expe­ri­ence of life. Giv­en the wealth of con­tem­pla­tive lit­er­a­ture and prac­tice in Euro­pean his­to­ry, why have so many West­ern peo­ple turned to the East, and toward Bud­dhist con­tem­pla­tive forms in par­tic­u­lar?

The answer is com­pli­cat­ed and involves many strains of philo­soph­i­cal and coun­ter­cul­tur­al his­to­ry. Some of the great­est influ­ence in the U.S. has come from Tibetan monks like the Dalai Lama and Chö­gyam Trung­pa Rin­poche, one­time teacher of Allen Gins­berg, and founder of Naropa Uni­ver­si­ty and the ecu­meni­cal Shamb­ha­la school of Bud­dhism. Trung­pa Rin­poche con­trast­ed the­is­tic forms of med­i­ta­tion, both Hin­du and Chris­t­ian, with the mind­ful­ness and con­cen­tra­tion prac­tices of Bud­dhism, writ­ing that the first one, focused on a “high­er being” or beings, is “inward or intro­vert­ed” and dual­is­tic.

Bud­dhist mind­ful­ness med­i­ta­tion, on the oth­er hand, is “what one might call ‘work­ing med­i­ta­tion’ or extro­vert­ed med­i­ta­tion. This is not a ques­tion of try­ing to retreat from the world.” Mind­ful­ness  “is con­cerned with try­ing to see what is,” he writes, and to do so with­out prej­u­dice: “there is no belief in high­er and low­er; the idea of dif­fer­ent lev­els, or of being in an under­de­vel­oped state, does not arise.” In oth­er words, all of the import­ed con­cepts that push us one way or anoth­er, dri­ve our rigid opin­ions about our­selves and oth­ers, and make us feel supe­ri­or or infe­ri­or, become irrel­e­vant. We take own­er­ship of the con­tents of our own minds.

How is this rel­e­vant for the mod­ern per­son? Con­sid­er the videos here. These explain­ers,  like many oth­er con­tem­po­rary uses of the word “mind­ful­ness,” peel the con­cept away from its Bud­dhist ori­gins. But sec­u­lar and Bud­dhist ideas of mind­ful­ness are not as dif­fer­ent as some might think. “Mind­ful­ness,” says Dan Har­ris in the video at the top, “is the abil­i­ty to know what’s hap­pen­ing in your head at any giv­en moment with­out get­ting car­ried away by it.” (Some might pre­fer the more suc­cinct Vipas­sana def­i­n­i­tion “non­judg­men­tal aware­ness.”) With­out mind­ful­ness, “there’s no buffer between the stim­u­lus and your reac­tion.” With it, how­ev­er, we “learn to respond wise­ly” to what hap­pens to us instead of being pushed and pulled around by habit­u­al reac­tiv­i­ty.

As the video above has it—using the Chero­kee para­ble of the two wolves—mind­ful­ness pro­vides us with the space we need to observe our sen­sa­tions, emo­tions, and ideas. From a crit­i­cal dis­tance, we can see caus­es and effects, and cre­ate dif­fer­ent con­di­tions. We can learn, in short, to be hap­py, even in dif­fi­cult cir­cum­stances, with­out deny­ing or fight­ing with real­i­ty. The Dalai Lama refers to this as observ­ing “the prin­ci­ple of causal­i­ty… a nat­ur­al law.” “In deal­ing with real­i­ty,” he says, “you have to take that law into account…. If you desire hap­pi­ness, you should seek the caus­es that give rise to it.” Like­wise, we must under­stand the men­tal caus­es of our suf­fer­ing if we want to pre­vent it.

How do we do that? Is there an app for it? Well, yes, and no. One app is Hap­pi­fy—who pro­duced these videos with ani­ma­tor Katy Davis, med­i­ta­tion instruc­tor Sharon Salzberg, and Har­ris, cre­ator of the mind­ful­ness course (and app) 10% Hap­pi­er. Hap­pi­fy offers “Sci­ence-based Activ­i­ties and Games, and “a high­ly sec­u­lar­ized, some might say decon­tex­tu­al­ized, form of mind­ful­ness training—including the “Med­i­ta­tion 101” primer video above. For those who reject every­thing that smacks of reli­gion, sec­u­lar mind­ful­ness prac­tices have been rig­or­ous­ly put to many a peer-reviewed test. They are wide­ly accept­ed as evi­dence-based ways to reduce anx­i­ety and depres­sion, improve focus and con­cen­tra­tion, and man­age pain. These prac­tices have been used in hos­pi­tals, med­ical schools, and even pub­lic ele­men­tary schools for many years.

But whether we are Bud­dhists or oth­er reli­gious peo­ple prac­tic­ing mind­ful­ness med­i­ta­tion, or sec­u­lar human­ists and athe­ists using mod­i­fied, “science-based”—or app-based—techniques, the fact remains that we have to build the dis­ci­pline into our dai­ly life in order for it to work. No app will do that for us, any more than a fit­ness app will make us toned and healthy. Nor will read­ing books or arti­cles about med­i­ta­tion make us med­i­ta­tors. (To para­phrase Augus­tine, we might say that end­less read­ing or star­ing at screens amounts to an atti­tude of “give me mind­ful­ness, but not yet.”)

Har­ris, in char­ac­ter as a mouse in a V‑neck sweater, says in the video above that med­i­ta­tion is “exer­cise for your brain.” And like exer­cise, Trung­pa Rin­poche writes, med­i­ta­tion can be “painful in the begin­ning.” We may not always like what we find knock­ing around in our heads. And yet with­out acknowl­edg­ing, and even befriend­ing, the feel­ings and thoughts that make us feel ter­ri­ble, we can’t learn to nur­ture and “feed” those that make us feel good. If you’re inspired to get start­ed, you’ll find sev­er­al free online guid­ed med­i­ta­tions at the links below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philoso­pher Sam Har­ris Leads You Through a 26-Minute Guid­ed Med­i­ta­tion

Free Guid­ed Med­i­ta­tions From UCLA: Boost Your Aware­ness & Ease Your Stress

Stream 18 Hours of Free Guid­ed Med­i­ta­tions

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

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

Talking Heads Featured on The South Bank Show in 1979: How the Groundbreaking New Wave Band Made Normality Strange Again

“I think sub­ur­ban life is some­thing that almost any Amer­i­can can under­stand,” says Talk­ing Heads drum­mer Chris Frantz near the begin­ning of The South Bank Show’s 1979 episode on the band. “They might dis­like or like it, but they can relate to it. It’s a nice metaphor, or what­ev­er, for mod­ern life.” That obser­va­tion func­tions as well as any as an intro­duc­tion to the band who, after hav­ing debuted as open­ers for the Ramones just four years ear­li­er at CBGB, went on to build a world­wide fan base enthralled with the way their music, their per­for­mances, and even their self-pre­sen­ta­tion ren­dered Amer­i­can nor­mal­i­ty and banal­i­ty new and strange.

Orig­i­nal­ly called “The Artis­tics,” the band found its true name through a dis­so­lu­tion, ref­or­ma­tion, and glance at the pages of TV Guide. “All of us could imme­di­ate­ly relate to that name,” says bassist Tina Wey­mouth. “We also thought it could have many con­no­ta­tions, the most impor­tant of which was that it had no con­no­ta­tion with any exist­ing music form. It’s TV, video — sup­pos­ed­ly the most bor­ing for­mat.” This ethos extend­ed to the song­writ­ing pro­ce­dure of lead vocal­ist and gui­tarist David Byrne, who delib­er­ate­ly used lan­guage and ref­er­ences “that were no more inter­est­ing than nor­mal speech and no more dra­mat­ic and yet some­how, in the song con­text, might become more inter­est­ing.”

The result: albums like 1978’s More Songs About Build­ings and Food. From a dis­tance of near­ly forty years, the Talk­ing Heads of those days look a bit like pio­neers of “norm­core,” the fash­ion, much dis­cussed in recent years, of delib­er­ate­ly look­ing as aes­thet­i­cal­ly aver­age as pos­si­ble. “I’m glad we don’t have to dress up in uni­forms every day,” says Frantz of their refusal of the duel­ing “punk” and “glam” modes of dress sport­ed by so many rock­ers at the time. Byrne speaks of orig­i­nal­ly want­i­ng to wear the most nor­mal out­fits pos­si­ble, as deter­mined by observ­ing peo­ple out on the street, but it turned out that “a lot of aver­age clothes require more upkeep than I’m will­ing to do. Like, they need iron­ing and things like that.”

The idea of norm­core draws its pow­er from the con­tra­dic­tion at its core, and Talk­ing Heads nev­er feared con­tra­dic­tion. “We write songs that have a par­tic­u­lar point of view, and we’re not wor­ried if the next song has the oppo­site point of view,” says key­board and gui­tar play­er Jer­ry Har­ri­son. “We feel that peo­ple have dif­fer­ent ideas, feel dif­fer­ent at dif­fer­ent times of the day as well as at dif­fer­ent times of their life, and we don’t real­ly want to have a man­i­festo or, you know, an ide­ol­o­gy.” (“We’ve gone through so many ide­olo­gies late­ly,” he adds.)

Despite that, Talk­ing Heads always seemed to adhere to cer­tain prin­ci­ples: “I believe a lot of those moral clich­es,” admits Byrne, “like ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right’ or ‘There’s no free lunch’ or ‘If you do bad things it’ll come back to you,’ and all those sort of stu­pid things.” But they nev­er real­ly inhab­it­ed main­stream Amer­i­ca; cul­tur­al­ly hyper-aware urban­ites made up much of their audi­ence, and the band mem­bers them­selves — play­ers, one says, of quin­tes­sen­tial­ly “city music” — were very much denizens of pre-gen­tri­fi­ca­tion Man­hat­tan. “It’s stim­u­lat­ing to go out and see dirt every­where and peo­ple falling over,” says Byrne. “I lived out in the sub­urbs and had a nice place with a big lawn or what­ev­er — although I can’t afford that — if I did live some­where like that, I would be afraid that I would get too com­fort­able and would­n’t work.”

But work they did, so dili­gent­ly and whol­ly with­out the extrav­a­gances of the rock star lifestyle that Frantz, after describ­ing his ear­ly-to-rise lifestyle, says he some­times con­sid­ers him­self “just a glo­ri­fied man­u­al labor­er, and that if any­body it’s the oth­er mem­bers of the band that are that artists. Anoth­er day I’ll think, wow, these peo­ple, the Talk­ing Heads, work­ing togeth­er — some day it’s going to be remem­bered in music his­to­ry, and I think it’s a very artis­tic thing we’re doing. I’m not try­ing to sound high­fa­lutin’, but this is the way I real­ly feel some­times.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Talk­ing Heads’ First TV Appear­ance Was on Amer­i­can Band­stand, and It Was Pret­ty Awk­ward (1979)

Watch Talk­ing Heads Play Live in Dort­mund, Ger­many Dur­ing Their Hey­day (1980)

Watch Talk­ing Heads Play a Vin­tage Con­cert in Syra­cuse (1978)

Hear the Ear­li­est Known Talk­ing Heads Record­ings (1975)

Talk­ing Heads Live in Rome, 1980: The Con­cert Film You Haven’t Seen

Talk­ing Heads Play CBGB, the New York Club that Shaped Their Sound (1975)

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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