What’s the Origin of Time Travel Fiction?: New Video Essay Explains How Time Travel Writing Got Its Start with Charles Darwin & His Literary Peers

The idea of time trav­el is prob­a­bly as old as the feel­ing of regret, but the desire to go back in time is not the same as the the­o­ret­i­cal notion that it might actu­al­ly be pos­si­ble to do so. Where, the Nerd­writer won­ders above, did this idea orig­i­nate? And where did time trav­el nar­ra­tives come from in gen­er­al? Time trav­el, he argues, “as a device to tell sto­ries, is a rel­a­tive­ly recent phe­nom­e­non.” And time trav­el as a spe­cif­ic genre of lit­er­a­ture is just a lit­tle over a hun­dred years old.

An impor­tant point of clar­i­fi­ca­tion: We find instances of time travel—or at least a kind of parallax—in many ancient texts, where some char­ac­ters expe­ri­ence time dif­fer­ent­ly in dif­fer­ent realms and dimen­sions and can thus see the past or future in our world. In the Ramayana, a fig­ure named Kakb­hushub­di lives like the Watch­ers in the Mar­vel Comics’ universe—outside of time, observ­ing mil­len­nia pass­ing. (It is said he sees the same events hap­pen over and over, with dif­fer­ent out­comes each time.)

This is not strict­ly what we mean by time trav­el. Yet many ancient sto­ries do show humans going back in time, or going to sleep and wak­ing up in the future, through divine agency. In the Bud­dhist Pali texts, we learn that the Devas expe­ri­ence one hun­dred human years as a sin­gle day (an idea echoed in the Bible). In the Japan­ese leg­end of Urashima Taro, a man vis­its the palace of the Drag­on God, and when he comes back 300 years have passed. But the Nerd­writer is talk­ing about some­thing dif­fer­ent than these many nar­ra­tive instances of time dila­tion (hun­dreds of years before Ein­stein elab­o­rat­ed the con­cept), though the same devices appear in mod­ern time trav­el sto­ries.

A sig­nif­i­cant dis­tinc­tion, the video sug­gests, lies in the very con­cept of time. Many ancient peo­ple believed that time was cyclical—hence the many vari­a­tions on the same themes in Kakbhushubdi’s experience—or that time was mal­leable, sub­ject to divine inter­rup­tion and dis­rup­tion. After Darwin’s Ori­gin of Species and the rapid accep­tance of evo­lu­tion (if not nat­ur­al selec­tion), pop­u­lar notions of time changed. The mod­ern time trav­el genre begins with broad­ly Dar­win­ian ideas as a cen­tral premise. In the pop­u­lar imag­i­na­tion, evo­lu­tion meant inevitable, lin­ear progress, and thus was born a form of lit­er­a­ture called the Utopi­an Romance.

One such nov­el, Edward Bellamy’s 1888 Look­ing Back­ward, has the dis­tinc­tion of being the third-largest best­seller of its time, after Uncle Tom’s Cab­in and Ben Hur, with over one mil­lion copies sold. Why haven’t you heard of it before? Prob­a­bly because the book envi­sions a char­ac­ter who falls asleep and wakes up in a social­ist utopia 113 years in the future (the year 2000). It exert­ed sig­nif­i­cant influ­ence on the many social­ist move­ments of the time, and “Bel­lamy clubs” sprang up around the coun­try, advo­cat­ing for the nation­al­iza­tion of pri­vate prop­er­ty. Few Amer­i­cans, at least, have learned about the wide­spread pop­u­lar­i­ty of social­ism in the U.S. dur­ing the late 19th cen­tu­ry because… well, you tell me.

But Bellamy’s ideas are embed­ded in the genre, in work after work we are famil­iar with (take the par­o­dy ver­sion in Futu­ra­ma). In the mod­ern time trav­el nov­el, utopias “are no longer on a lost island or a dif­fer­ent world, they were in the future.” This obser­va­tion applies most read­i­ly to a more famous foun­da­tion­al text from 1895, H.G. Wells’ The Time Machine, which bor­rows from Swift’s Gulliver’s Trav­els, but sets the action not in a dis­tant land but in the very dis­tant future, the year 802701. Wells’ “sub­ter­ranean work­ers, the Mor­locks, and the deca­dent Eloi” who prof­it from their labor, notes the British Library, do not dif­fer that much from humans of the past or the present—they have evolved tech­no­log­i­cal­ly and phys­i­cal­ly, but are still sub­ject to exploita­tion and vio­lence.

Where Gulliver’s Trav­els can be read as a mis­an­throp­ic under­min­ing of notions of cul­tur­al supe­ri­or­i­ty, Wells’ nov­el sat­i­rizes the idea that human evo­lu­tion implies an improve­ment in human benef­i­cence. The book set a pat­tern “for sci­ence-fic­tion to cri­tique extreme devel­op­ments of class.” In both Bel­lamy and Wells, time travel—whether achieved by sci­ence or a Rip Van Win­kle sleep—presents an occa­sion for utopi­an or dystopi­an alle­go­ry. The time trav­el genre took on a new dimen­sion after Ein­stein, when the sci­ence of rel­a­tiv­i­ty replaced Dar­win­ian evo­lu­tion as the cen­tral pre­oc­cu­pa­tion, and para­dox­es and rules became cen­tral con­cerns. This shift high­lights anoth­er impor­tant fea­ture of the mod­ern time trav­el genre—its obses­sion with cause and effect, and there­fore with the very nature and pos­si­bil­i­ty of sto­ry itself.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

H.G. Wells’ 1930s Radio Broad­casts

George Orwell Reviews We, the Russ­ian Dystopi­an Nov­el That Noam Chom­sky Con­sid­ers “More Per­cep­tive” Than Brave New World & 1984

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

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

“Man as Industrial Palace,” the 1926 Lithograph Depicting the Human Body as a Modern Factory, Comes to Life in a New Animation


In 1926, Fritz Kahn, a Ger­man gyne­col­o­gist and anato­my text­book author, pro­duced a lith­o­graph called Der Men­sch als Indus­triepalast (Man as Indus­tri­al Palace) that depict­ed the human body as a fac­to­ry, a chem­i­cal plant of sorts. Kah­n’s body came com­plete with mechan­i­cal lungs, a rock-sort­ing stom­ach, gears for a throat, and a switch­board for a brain, and it illus­trat­ed rather metaphor­i­cal­ly the degree to which indus­tri­al­iza­tion had tak­en over West­ern life, cre­at­ing deep anx­i­ety for some and curios­i­ty for oth­ers.

More than 80 years lat­er, Hen­ning Led­er­er, a Ger­man artist, has brought Kah­n’s mechan­i­cal body to life with some gift­ed ani­ma­tion. To learn more about Led­er­er’s project, you will want to spend more time on IndustriePalast.com and par­tic­u­lar­ly with this help­ful PDF. Oth­er ani­ma­tion by Led­er­er can be found on Vimeo.

An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site in 2011.

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:

Down­load Hun­dreds of Issues of Jugend, Germany’s Pio­neer­ing Art Nou­veau Mag­a­zine (1896–1940)

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

Down­load 36 Dadaist Mag­a­zines from the The Dig­i­tal Dada Archive (Plus Oth­er Avant-Garde Books, Leaflets & Ephemera)

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

A One-Man Pink Floyd Band Creates Note-Perfect Covers of “Echoes,” “Comfortably Numb,” “Mother” & Other Classics: Watch 19-Year-Old Wunderkind Ewan Cunningham in Action

If you’re a 19-year-old wun­derkind like Ewan Cun­ning­ham, who can play any num­ber of instru­ments, it’s a great time to be alive. Record­ing is cheap, video is just as cheap, and YouTube pro­vides a venue to share a slew of his home­made cov­ers of rock clas­sics.

Above is one of his most ambi­tious ven­tures: a full note-for-note cov­er of Pink Floyd’s “Echoes,” all 20 min­utes, that uses video trick­ery to have four Ewans side-by-side play­ing at Dob­bie Hall. (From what we can tell, Dob­bie Hall is locat­ed in Lar­bert, Scot­land, a town about equidis­tant between Glas­gow and Edin­burgh.)

Div­ing down into all six years of Ewan’s videos and we find, at first, not a 13-year-old Ewan, but his dad, play­ing and singing an acoustic cov­er of Coldplay’s “Par­adise”. So we know where Ewan got the music bug.

In fact, he tells us “I start­ed play­ing drums at the age of 4 and con­tin­ued to only play drums until I start­ed branch­ing out into oth­er instru­ments such as gui­tar, bass, key­boards and vocals. I’ve been teach­ing myself to mix, record and film music since I was 10 years old and this is my pas­sion.”

Ewan start­ed upload­ing drum cov­ers at 14, play­ing along to every­one from Evanes­cence to Foo Fight­ers. At 16 he uploaded his first Floyd drum cov­er (“Brain Damage/Eclipse”) and, like many a teen before him, fell hard for the band.

Then the cov­ers begin in earnest, with him shar­ing duties with his dad (“Wot’s…Uh the Deal” and “Brain Dam­age”) and then on to “Grantch­ester Mead­ows” (from Pink Floyd’s Ummagum­ma) and final­ly on Jan­u­ary 1, 2017, when Ewan pre­miered his three song set from Dob­bie Hall, fea­tur­ing “A Saucer­ful of Secrets,” “Care­ful with that Axe, Eugene,” and the afore­men­tioned “Echoes.”

After a suc­cess­ful Indiegogo cam­paign, he returned lat­er in 2017 to Dob­bie Hall for three cov­ers from “The Wall,” which cheek­i­ly includ­ed a papi­er-mache air­plane crash­ing into the stage at the end of “In the Flesh?”.

The ques­tion this rais­es is obvi­ous: does Ewan record any­thing orig­i­nal? Indeed, a few months ago he start­ed a new YouTube chan­nel of his own songs. It’s up to you, dear read­er, to check them out.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Scenes from the “Pink Floyd Bal­let:” When the Exper­i­men­tal Rock Band Col­lab­o­rat­ed with Bal­let Chore­o­g­ra­ph­er Roland Petit (1972)

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

Pink Floyd Plays in Venice on a Mas­sive Float­ing Stage in 1989; Forces the May­or & City Coun­cil to Resign

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

How to Get Over the Anxiety of Public Speaking?: Watch the Stanford Video, “Think Fast, Talk Smart,” Viewed Already 15 Million Times

How many of us fear pub­lic speak­ing more than death: four out of five, nine out of ten, 99 out of 100? We’ve all heard a vari­ety of sta­tis­tics, all of them sug­gest­ing the for­mi­da­bil­i­ty — per­ceived or real — of the task of get­ting up and talk­ing in front of oth­er peo­ple. But per­haps you’ll get an even clear­er sense of that from the num­ber 15,021,560: the total view count, as of this writ­ing, racked up by “Think Fast, Talk Smart,” an hour-long talk on pub­lic speak­ing tech­niques by com­mu­ni­ca­tion coach and Stan­ford Grad­u­ate School of Busi­ness lec­tur­er Matt Abra­hams.

The pedants among us, myself includ­ed, will have already tak­en note of that lin­guis­tic infe­lic­i­ty in the very title of the talk, but Abra­hams him­self wastes lit­tle time point­ing it out him­self. He also points out its val­ue: you’ve got to catch the atten­tion of your audi­ence, and a delib­er­ate­ly made mis­take (or even a non-delib­er­ate­ly made one) catch­es it as well as any­thing.

He goes on to elab­o­rate on var­i­ous oth­er tech­niques we can use not just to get oth­er peo­ple lis­ten­ing well, but to get our­selves talk­ing well, the first pri­or­i­ty being to get our­selves to stop trip­ping over our innate desire to talk per­fect­ly.

Abra­hams leads his audi­ence through sev­er­al short “games,” instruct­ing them to do things like explain­ing their week­ends to one anoth­er by spelling out loud and sell­ing one anoth­er Slinkys, with the under­ly­ing goal of break­ing the habits that have so often imped­ed our abil­i­ty to sim­ply get up and speak. He also pro­vides phys­i­cal tech­niques, like doing push-ups or tak­ing a walk around the block before giv­ing a talk in order to get your mind more “present,” and intel­lec­tu­al ones, like always adher­ing to a struc­ture, no mat­ter how sim­ple and no mat­ter how ordi­nary the sit­u­a­tion. (“I prac­tice these struc­tures on my kids,” he notes.)

Tak­ing the wider view, we should­n’t look at speak­ing as a chal­lenge, accord­ing to Abra­hams, but as a chance to explain and influ­ence. “A Q&A ses­sion is an oppor­tu­ni­ty for you,” he says, and prac­tic­ing what he preach­es, he opens one up at the end of the talk, under­scor­ing that we can improve our pub­lic speak­ing skills by doing as he says, but even more so by doing as he does. Some of those more than eleven mil­lion views sure­ly come from peo­ple who have watched more than once, study­ing Abra­hams’ own use of lan­guage, both ver­bal and body. He also demon­strates a good deal of humor, though brevi­ty, as Shake­speare wrote, being the soul of wit, you might con­sid­er chas­ing his talk with the four-minute Big Think video on the same sub­ject just above.

Abra­hams reg­u­lar­ly teach­es cours­es on Pub­lic Speak­ing at Stan­ford Con­tin­u­ing Stud­ies. If you live in the San Fran­cis­co Bay Area, give his class­es a look. Also see his books, Speak­ing Up with­out Freak­ing Out: 50 Tech­niques for Con­fi­dent and Com­pelling Pre­sent­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Teacher Helps His Stu­dent Over­come Stut­ter­ing and Read Poet­ry, Using the Sound of Music

NPR Launch­es Data­base of Best Com­mence­ment Speech­es Ever

How to Sound Smart in a TED Talk: A Fun­ny Primer by Sat­ur­day Night Live‘s Will Stephen

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

How Do Computers Work?: New Video Series Explains the Inner Workings of the Device You Use Every Day

How do com­put­ers work? Yes, that appli­ance you use every day? To help answer the ques­tion, Code.org (a non-prof­it ded­i­cat­ed to expand­ing access to com­put­er sci­ence) has put togeth­er a col­lec­tion of primers that explain some of the oft-dis­cussed com­po­nents of computers–circuits, mem­o­ry, CPU, etc. And how they all fit togeth­er.

The first video starts off with an intro­duc­tion by Bill Gates. Watch the remain­ing five videos (each about five min­utes long) just by let­ting the playlist run above. Or see this video col­lec­tion on YouTube.

h/t Paul

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:

Free Online Com­put­er Sci­ence Cours­es

Learn to Code with Harvard’s Pop­u­lar Intro to Com­put­er Sci­ence Course: The 2016 Edi­tion

Free Text­books: Com­put­er Sci­ence

Learn Python: A Free Online Course from Google

Learn Python: A Free Online Course from Google

Read A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, a Hilarious & Informative Collection of Early Modern English Slang (1785)

A deep appre­ci­a­tion for pro­fan­i­ty may rate high as a mark of a sophis­ti­ca­tion and authen­tic­i­ty. Cog­ni­tive psy­chol­o­gist Steven Pinker has made the neu­ro­science of swear­ing an object of study; leg­endary com­ic actor, writer, and “lan­guage enthu­si­ast” Stephen Fry declares the prac­tice a fine art; stud­ies show that those who swear may be more hon­est than those who don’t; and if you have any doubt about how much swear­ing con­tributes to the lit­er­ary his­to­ry of the Eng­lish lan­guage, just do a search on Shakespeare’s many pro­fane insults, so rich and var­ied as to con­sti­tute a genre all their own.

Not all vul­gar speech is con­sid­ered “swear words,” ref­er­enc­ing sex acts and bod­i­ly func­tions, but many a crit­ic and lex­i­cog­ra­ph­er has nonethe­less decid­ed that slang, obscene or oth­er­wise, doesn’t belong in polite com­pa­ny with for­mal dic­tion. Samuel John­son, the esteemed 18th-cen­tu­ry essay­ist, poet, and com­pil­er of the 1755 Dic­tio­nary of the Eng­lish Lan­guage deemed slang “unfit for his learned tome,” writes The Pub­lic Domain Review. So, enter Fran­cis Grose to cor­rect the error thir­ty years lat­er with his Clas­si­cal Dic­tio­nary of the Vul­gar Tongue, a “com­pendi­um of slang” chock full of hilar­i­ous idioms of every kind.

There is the bawdy (“Sug­ar stick—the vir­ile mem­ber”), the scat­o­log­i­cal (“Cack­ling farts—eggs”), the odd­ly obscure (“Kit­tle pitchering—to dis­rupt the flow of a ‘trou­ble­some teller of long sto­ries’ by con­stant­ly ques­tion­ing and con­tra­dict­ing unim­por­tant details, espe­cial­ly at the start”). Puns make their inevitable way in (“Just-ass—a pun­ning name for jus­tice [judge]”), as of course do com­ic images for body parts (“Tallywags/Whirligigs—testicles”). Much of this Ear­ly Mod­ern Eng­lish slang sounds to Amer­i­can ears just as col­or­ful­ly askew as con­tem­po­rary Eng­lish slang does (“Dog booby—an awk­ward lout”; “Cap­tain queernabs—a shab­by ill-dressed fel­low”).

Grose, com­pil­er of the dic­tio­nary, “was not one for library work” and pre­ferred to col­lect his spec­i­mens in the field where slang lives and breathes—the streets, pubs, and hous­es of ill-repute. “Sup­port­ed by his trusty assist Tom Cock­ing [your joke here],” Grose “cruised the water­ing holes of Covent Gar­den and the East End, eat­ing, booz­ing, and lis­ten­ing. He took plea­sure in hear­ing his name pun­ning­ly con­nect­ed to his rotund frame. And he pro­duced a book brim­ming with Fal­staffi­an life.” Very much a Shake­speare­an bon vivant, Grose appears as some­thing of a rib­ald dop­pel­ganger of the rotund, yet moral­is­tic and often scowl­ing Dr. John­son. (See his por­trait here.)

The so-called “long 18th-Century”—a peri­od last­ing from the restora­tion of the Monar­chy after the Eng­lish Civ­il War to around the French Revolution—presents a tra­di­tion of lewd wit­ti­cism, from the poet­ry of John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, to Jonathan Swift’s “The Lady’s Dress­ing Room,” to the sor­did fan­tasies of the Mar­quis de Sade. Such porno­graph­ic humor and rude earth­i­ness offered a coun­ter­weight to heady Enlight­en­ment phi­los­o­phy, just as Shakespeare’s insults pro­vide need­ed com­ic relief for his bloody tragedies. Grose’s dic­tio­nary can be seen as adding need­ed com­ic local col­or to the many seri­ous dic­tio­nar­ies and stud­ies of lan­guage that emerged in the 1700s.

But A Clas­si­cal Dic­tio­nary of the Vul­gar Tongue is also an impor­tant aca­d­e­m­ic resource all its own, and “would strong­ly influ­ence lat­er dic­tio­nar­ies of this kind,” notes the British Library—those like J. Red­ding Ware’s 1909 Pass­ing Eng­lish of the Vic­to­ri­an Era: A Dic­tio­nary of Het­ero­dox Eng­lish, Slang, and Phrase. We can see in Grose’s work how many slang words and phras­es still in com­mon use today—like “baker’s dozen,” “gift of the gab,” “birds of a feath­er,” “birth­day suit,” and “kick the bucket”—were just as cur­rent well over 200 years ago. And we get a very vivid sense of the world in which Grose moved in the many metaphors employed, most involv­ing food and drink. (A “butcher’s dog,” for exam­ple, refers to some­one who “lies by the beef with­out touch­ing it; a sim­i­le often applic­a­ble to mar­ried men.”)

But we needn’t wor­ry too much about schol­ar­ly uses for Grose’s work. Instead, we might find our­selves moti­vat­ed to do as he did, hit the streets and the bars, and maybe bring back into cir­cu­la­tion such locu­tions as “Bet­wat­tled” (sur­prised, con­found­ed, out of one’s sens­es), “Chimp­ing mer­ry” (exhil­a­rat­ed with liquor), or, per­haps my favorite so far, “Dicked in the nob” (sil­ly, crazed).

Page through Grose’s dic­tio­nary above or read it in a larg­er for­mat (and/or down­load as a PDF or ePub) at the Inter­net Archive.

via Pub­lic Domain Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

The Very First Writ­ten Use of the F Word in Eng­lish (1528)

Peo­ple Who Swear Are More Hon­est Than Those Who Don’t, Finds a New Uni­ver­si­ty Study

Stephen Fry, Lan­guage Enthu­si­ast, Defends The “Unnec­es­sary” Art Of Swear­ing

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

When the Sex Pistols Played at the Chelmsford Top Security Prison: Hear Vintage Tracks from the 1976 Gig

Seri­ous fans of live record­ings well know that such pro­duc­tions are usu­al­ly doc­tored before they reach the mass­es, with effects added to sweet­en the mix, record­ing errors cor­rect­ed, instru­ments and crowd noise over­dubbed, tracks rearranged, and per­for­mances from dif­fer­ent nights com­bined. It’s a com­mon prac­tice and shouldn’t alarm any­one expect­ing absolute doc­u­men­tary fideli­ty. If you couldn’t make the show to expe­ri­ence the band first­hand, they’d at least like you to hear them at their best. (Who could resist the oppor­tu­ni­ty to revise, say, a pub­lic speak­ing gig after the fact?)

When record com­pa­nies are involved, every effort can go into mak­ing a saleable prod­uct, but heavy edit­ing usu­al­ly doesn’t hap­pen to taped bootlegs. One notable excep­tion hap­pens to come from an excep­tion­al gig, when the Sex Pis­tols fol­lowed John­ny Cash’s exam­ple and played the Chelms­ford Top Secu­ri­ty Prison dur­ing their first major tour of Eng­land in 1976 for an audi­ence of 500 pris­on­ers. Part­ly due to a seri­ous record­ing issue—the near total fail­ure to cap­ture orig­i­nal bassist Glen Matlock—and part­ly to a “con­fused idea of what would make for a wor­thy release,” writes Ned Raggett at All­mu­sic, the band’s sound­man Dave Good­man decid­ed to make sev­er­al alter­ations to the record­ing.

These changes, in turn, gave rise to a mythol­o­gy sur­round­ing the show, rais­ing its rep­u­ta­tion to the lev­els of chaos for which the Pis­tols are renowned. That rep­u­ta­tion itself large­ly revolves around Sid Vicious’ lat­er onstage antics, and is at times inflat­ed. The Pis­tols could be a great live band—Steve Jones, Paul Cook, and Mat­lock were all more than capa­ble musi­cians, and John­ny Rot­ten was a per­fect punk spec­ta­cle all his own. But the ele­ments didn’t always come togeth­er amidst the band’s unre­hearsed dis­or­der.

The audi­ence at Chelms­ford were, please excuse the pun, a cap­tive one, and there­fore, unable to dis­play the same unbri­dled enthu­si­asm as the band’s usu­al crowds of rub­ber­neck­ers and scen­esters. To play up the gig, then, Good­man dubbed in the sounds of “ran­dom crowd and vio­lence noise” and sirens. He didn’t only see fit to over­dub Matlock’s miss­ing bass, but also added in “an incred­i­bly poor Rot­ten imi­ta­tor goad­ing the ‘pris­on­ers’ on between songs,” Ragett notes, “as well as often singing on top of the real Rot­ten him­self!” That first 1990 release of Live at Chelms­ford does not so much gild the band’s musi­cal strengths as it “plays on the revolutionary/anarchy side of the punk image to no avail.”

Luck­i­ly, the orig­i­nal record­ings remained, and were released lat­er on the Sex Pis­tols Alive com­pi­la­tion, in their orig­i­nal order, and, rearranged, on a sec­ond Live at Chelms­ford Prison CD. It is the orig­i­nals, with min­i­mal treat­ment, that you can hear here. At the top is “Anar­chy in the UK,” below it “Sub­mis­sion,” and a sneer­ing cov­er of The Who’s “Sub­sti­tute” fur­ther down.  The giant hole in the mid­dle of the mix where Matlock’s bass should be is hard to ignore, but over­all, these are some occa­sion­al­ly great per­for­mances, par­tic­u­lar­ly from Cook and Jones, whose pound­ing drums and blis­ter­ing gui­tar come through loud and clear, often bury­ing Rotten’s voice, which is mud­died through­out.

But a good record­ing of half the band hard­ly sells the leg­end of the Sex Pis­tols, espe­cial­ly the Sex Pis­tols in prison. “By all accounts,” writes Raggett, “it was a bit of a har­row­ing expe­ri­ence.” But you’d have to have been there to know it, and you prob­a­bly wouldn’t want to be. So it’s no won­der Good­man saw the need to spruce things up with what Discogs’ notes describe as “a canned audio track of a riot (com­plete with shout­ing, scuf­fles, break­ing glass, etc.)” A lot of peo­ple hat­ed it, but if you’re real­ly curi­ous, you can grab a copy of the over­dubbed ver­sion and hear for your­self. Or lis­ten to the full, undoc­tored, record­ing on YouTube.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Sex Pis­tols Make a Scan­dalous Appear­ance on the Bill Grundy Show & Intro­duce Punk Rock to the Star­tled Mass­es (1976)

Watch the Sex Pis­tols’ Christ­mas Par­ty for Children–Which Hap­pened to Be Their Final Gig in the UK (1977)

Watch the Sex Pis­tols’ Very Last Con­cert (San Fran­cis­co, 1978)

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

Noam Chomsky Explains What’s Wrong with Postmodern Philosophy & French Intellectuals, and How They End Up Supporting Oppressive Power Structures

Noam Chom­sky has always had iras­ci­ble tendencies—when he doesn’t like some­thing, he lets us know it, with­out ever rais­ing his voice and usu­al­ly with plen­ty of foot­notes. It’s a qual­i­ty that has made the emer­i­tus MIT pro­fes­sor and famed lin­guist such a potent crit­ic of U.S. empire for half a cen­tu­ry, vig­or­ous­ly denounc­ing the Viet­nam War, the Iraq War(s), and the pos­si­bil­i­ty of a cat­a­stroph­ic war with North Korea. Chom­sky isn’t a pro­fes­sion­al his­to­ri­an or polit­i­cal philoso­pher; these are avo­ca­tions he has tak­en on to bol­ster his argu­ments. But those argu­ments are strength­ened by his will­ing­ness to engage with pri­ma­ry sources and take them seri­ous­ly.

When it comes, how­ev­er, to his much-pub­li­cized feud with “Post­mod­ernism,” a term he uses lib­er­al­ly at times to describe almost all post-war French intel­lec­tu­al cul­ture, Chom­sky rarely con­fronts his oppo­nents in their own terms. That’s large­ly because, as he’s said on many occa­sions, he can’t make any sense of them. It’s not exact­ly an orig­i­nal cri­tique. Man­darins of French thought like Jean-Fran­cois Lyotard, Jacques Lacan, and Jean Bau­drillard have been accused for decades, and not with­out mer­it, of know­ing­ly ped­dling bull­shit to a French read­er­ship that expects, as Michel Fou­cault once admit­ted, a manda­to­ry “ten per­cent incom­pre­hen­si­ble.” (Soci­ol­o­gist Pierre Bour­dieu asserts that the num­ber is much high­er.)

But Chomsky’s cri­tique goes fur­ther, in a direc­tion that doesn’t get near­ly as much press as his charges of obscu­ran­tism and overuse of insu­lar jar­gon. Chom­sky claims that far from offer­ing rad­i­cal new ways of con­ceiv­ing the world, Post­mod­ern thought serves as an instru­ment of oppres­sive pow­er struc­tures. It’s an inter­est­ing asser­tion giv­en some recent argu­ments that “post-truth” post­mod­ernism is respon­si­ble for the rise of the self-described “alt-right” and the rapid spread of fake infor­ma­tion as a tool for the cur­rent U.S. rul­ing par­ty seiz­ing pow­er.

Not only is there “a lot of mate­r­i­al reward,” Chom­sky says, that comes from the aca­d­e­m­ic super­star­dom many high-pro­file French philoso­phers achieved, but their position—or lack of a clear position—“allows peo­ple to take a very rad­i­cal stance… but to be com­plete­ly dis­so­ci­at­ed from every­thing that’s hap­pen­ing.” Chom­sky gives an exam­ple above of an anony­mous post­mod­ernist crit­ic brand­ing a talk he gave as “naïve” for its dis­cus­sion of such out­mod­ed “Enlight­en­ment stuff” as mak­ing moral deci­sions and refer­ring to such a thing as “truth.” In his brief dis­cus­sion of “the strange bub­ble of French intel­lec­tu­als” at the top of the post, Chom­sky gets more spe­cif­ic.

Most post-war French philoso­phers, he alleges, have been Stal­in­ists or Maoists (he uses the exam­ple of Julia Kris­te­va), and have uncrit­i­cal­ly embraced author­i­tar­i­an state com­mu­nism despite its doc­u­ment­ed crimes and abus­es, while reject­ing oth­er modes of philo­soph­i­cal thought like log­i­cal pos­i­tivism that accept the valid­i­ty of the sci­en­tif­ic method. This may or may not be a fair cri­tique: polit­i­cal ori­en­ta­tions shift and change (and at times we accept a thinker’s work while ful­ly reject­ing their per­son­al pol­i­tics). And the post­mod­ern cri­tique of sci­en­tif­ic dis­course as form of oppres­sive pow­er is a seri­ous one that need­n’t entail a whole­sale rejec­tion of sci­ence.

Are there any post-struc­tural­ist thinkers Chom­sky admires? Though he takes a lit­tle dig at Michel Fou­cault in the clip above, he and the French the­o­rist have had some fruit­ful debates, “on real issues,” Chom­sky says, “and using lan­guage that was per­fect­ly comprehensible—he speak­ing French, me Eng­lish.” That’s not a sur­prise. The two thinkers, despite the immense dif­fer­ence in their styles and frames of ref­er­ence, both engage heav­i­ly with pri­ma­ry his­tor­i­cal sources and both con­sis­tent­ly write his­to­ries of ide­ol­o­gy.

It is part­ly through the inter­play between Fou­cault and Chomsky’s ideas that we might find a syn­the­sis of French Marx­ist post-struc­tural­ist thought and Amer­i­can anar­chist polit­i­cal phi­los­o­phy. Rather than see­ing them as pro­fes­sion­al wrestlers in the ring, with the post­mod­ernist as the heel and head­lines like “Chom­sky DESTROYS Post­mod­ernism,” we could look for com­ple­men­tar­i­ty and points of agree­ment, and gen­uine­ly read, as dif­fi­cult as that can be, as many of the argu­ments of post­mod­ern French philoso­phers as we can (and per­haps this defense of obscu­ran­tism) before decid­ing with a sweep­ing ges­ture that none of them make any sense.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

Noam Chom­sky Calls Post­mod­ern Cri­tiques of Sci­ence Over-Inflat­ed “Poly­syl­lab­ic Tru­isms”

Noam Chom­sky Slams Žižek and Lacan: Emp­ty ‘Pos­tur­ing’

Clash of the Titans: Noam Chom­sky & Michel Fou­cault Debate Human Nature & Pow­er on Dutch TV, 1971

MIT Is Dig­i­tiz­ing a Huge Archive of Noam Chomsky’s Lec­tures, Papers and Oth­er Doc­u­ments & Will Put Them Online

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

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