The Encyclopedia Of Alternate Guitar Tunings

Joni Mitchell, Kei­th Richards, Robert John­son, Ani DiFran­co, and Bob Dylan. What do they have in com­mon? For one, they’ve exper­i­ment­ed with alter­nate gui­tar tun­ings, going beyond the stan­dard EADGBE tun­ing most com­mon­ly used by musi­cians. Kei­th Richards used the Open G tun­ing (GDGBD) to write some of the Stones’ clas­sic tracks–“Honky Tonk Woman,” “Brown Sug­ar,” “Beast of Bur­den,” “Gimme Shel­ter,” “Hap­py,” and “Start Me Up.” Try play­ing them in a stan­dard tun­ing and they’ll nev­er sound quite right.

If you’re a gui­tarist look­ing for a dif­fer­ent sound, spend some time with War­ren Allen’s Ency­clo­pe­dia of Alter­nate Gui­tar Tun­ings. It’s a handy resource. First cre­at­ed in 1997, this vin­tage web page presents a library of uncon­ven­tion­al tun­ings, com­plete with a list of songs where they were artis­ti­cal­ly put to use. Enter the Ency­clo­pe­dia here.

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via @dark_shark

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ste­vie Ray Vaugh­an Plays the Acoustic Gui­tar in Rare Footage, Let­ting Us See His Gui­tar Vir­tu­os­i­ty in Its Purest Form

Jimi Hen­drix Plays the Delta Blues on a 12-String Acoustic Gui­tar in 1968, and Jams with His Blues Idols, Bud­dy Guy & B.B. King

B.B. King Changes Bro­ken Gui­tar String Mid-Song at Farm Aid, 1985 and Doesn’t Miss a Beat

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Merry Clayton Tells the Story of Her Amazing Backing Vocal on The Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter”

Some of rock’s great­est singers have cat­a­logs that stretch for miles, with B‑sides and deep cuts as plen­ti­ful as the well-known favorites. We could rat­tle off hand­fuls of names that fit the descrip­tion. But there’s a small­er, more select group—a rar­i­fied com­pa­ny brought into being almost by acci­dent, whose list of hits con­sists of just one song.

But it’s one hell of a song.

Pink Floyd’s “The Great Gig in the Sky”… try and imag­ine it with­out Claire Torry’s word­less gospel break­down. Or bet­ter yet hear it for your­self. It’s okay. I mean it’s real­ly good. I mean, it’s great, really—as a Richard Wright show­case, and David Gilmour’s slide gui­tar is heav­en­ly. But it’s no “Great Gig in the Sky,” if you know what I mean.

Dit­to the Rolling Stone’s “Gimme Shel­ter.” Kei­th real­ly shines, with that “freaky, tremo­lo-drenched riff like some­thing straight out of the future—or at least a very chill­ing alter­nate present,” as Gui­tar World so apt­ly puts it. It would take anoth­er fif­teen years before the effect was put to such mem­o­rable use. The cav­ernous reverb of the whole pro­duc­tion con­jures spir­its, though Jagger’s vocal is typ­i­cal­ly muf­fled.

But take out Mer­ry Clayton’s wail and what have you got? A pret­ty good Stones tune, grant­ed, but it’s no “Gimme Shel­ter.” Her con­tri­bu­tions make this an uncan­ni­ly haunt­ing song, a warn­ing from some ancient trag­ic cho­rus, a fren­zied Sibylline prophe­cy, and I think I’m under­selling it. How did she come to haunt this song? Hear her tell it in the video at the top, an excerpt from, 20 Feet from Star­dom, the doc­u­men­tary that gives unsung back­ing singers some long-over­due expo­sure.

We’ve heard Jag­ger tell the sto­ry before, in an inter­view we pre­vi­ous­ly high­light­ed here. “We ran­dom­ly phoned up this poor lady in the mid­dle of the night,” he says, “and she arrived in her curlers and pro­ceed­ed to do that in one or two takes, which is pret­ty amaz­ing. She came in and knocked off this rather odd lyric. It’s not the sort of lyric you give anyone—‘Rape, murder/It’s just a shot away’—but she real­ly got into it, as you can hear on the record.”

Boy, did she. She was in curlers, as she remem­bers it, and also silk paja­mas, a mink coat, and a Chanel scarf. Preg­nant and get­ting ready for bed before she got the call from pro­duc­er Jack Nitzsche, Clay­ton, who had no idea who the Stones were, almost refused until her hus­band said “Hon­ey, you know, you real­ly should go and do this date.” It was fate. “Clay­ton sang with such emo­tion­al force that her voice cracked,” notes Mike Springer in our pre­vi­ous post. “In the iso­lat­ed track above, you can hear the oth­ers in the stu­dio shout­ing in amaze­ment.”

And in the rec­ol­lec­tion almost forty years lat­er, Clay­ton and Jag­ger still shake their heads in amaze­ment. Asked if she want­ed to do a sec­ond take, she remem­bers, “I said to myself, I’m gonna do anoth­er one… blow them out of this room.” Unspo­ken in her remem­brance is what the effort may have cost her. “Despite giv­ing what would become the most famous per­for­mance of her career,” writes Springer, “it turned out to be a trag­ic night for Clay­ton. Short­ly after leav­ing the stu­dio, she lost her baby in a mis­car­riage…. For many years Clay­ton found the song too painful to hear, let alone sing.”

In live per­for­mances, Lisa Fis­ch­er and oth­er singers have tak­en on Clayton’s vocal, with admirable results. But it would nev­er have exist­ed with­out her will­ing­ness to take a chance, in the mid­dle of the night, preg­nant and in paja­mas, on an unknown (to her) British band. She lent the track the full force of her per­son­al­i­ty, turn­ing a pret­ty good song into a 20th cen­tu­ry clas­sic.

Read more of Clayton’s sto­ry at Mike Springer’s post here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mick Jag­ger Tells the Sto­ry Behind ‘Gimme Shel­ter’ and Mer­ry Clayton’s Haunt­ing Back­ground Vocals

The Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shel­ter” Played by Musi­cians Around the World

Hear How Clare Torry’s Vocals on Pink Floyd’s “The Great Gig in the Sky” Made the Song Go from Pret­ty Good to Down­right Great

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

Who Was Joan Vollmer, the Wife William Burroughs Allegedly Shot While Playing William Tell?

Pop­u­lar cul­ture knows William S. Bur­roughs pri­mar­i­ly for three of the things he did in life: using drugs, writ­ing Naked Lunch, and killing his wife. If pop­u­lar cul­ture remem­bers that wife, Joan Vollmer, it most­ly remem­bers her for the man­ner of her death: shot, they say, as a result of Bur­roughs’ drunk­en imi­ta­tion of William Tell. But in life she played an impor­tant role in the intel­lec­tu­al devel­op­ment of not just Bur­roughs but oth­er major Beat writ­ers as well, includ­ing Allen Gins­berg and Jack Ker­ouac. As Bren­da Knight writes in Women of the Beat Gen­er­a­tion, Vollmer “was sem­i­nal in the cre­ation of the Beat rev­o­lu­tion; indeed the fires that stoked the Beat engine were start­ed with Joan as patron and muse.”

When her first hus­band Paul Adams was draft­ed into World War II, Vollmer moved in with her fel­low future woman of the Beat Gen­er­a­tion, and future wife of Jack Ker­ouac, Edie Park­er. Into their series of Upper West Side apart­ments came a wide vari­ety of sub­stance-abus­ing artists, Bur­roughs, Ker­ouac, and Gins­berg includ­ed. Vollmer’s new coterie, as well as her own amphet­a­mine addic­tion, so appalled Adams that he left her upon his return from the mil­i­tary. She took up with Bur­roughs in 1946, lat­er becom­ing his com­mon-law wife and the moth­er of their child, William Bur­roughs, Jr.. In seem­ing­ly con­stant flight from the law, they moved from New York to Texas to New Orleans to Mex­i­co City, where the fate­ful game of William Tell would hap­pen in 1951.

But did that game of William Tell hap­pen? His­to­ry has record­ed that Vollmer did indeed die by gun­shot, but as to exact­ly how or why it hap­pened, nobody quite knows. Hence the inves­ti­ga­tions that aca­d­e­mics, Beat Gen­er­a­tion enthu­si­asts, and oth­ers have con­duct­ed since. The Bur­roughs-themed site Real­i­tyS­tu­dio has one page on Bur­roughs and the William Tell Leg­end and anoth­er gath­er­ing doc­u­ments on the death of Joan Vollmer. You can get fur­ther in depth by read­ing “The Death of Joan Vollmer Bur­roughs: What Real­ly Hap­pened?”, a 70-page research paper by James Grauer­holz, Bur­roughs’ biog­ra­ph­er and the execu­tor of his lit­er­ary estate.

Despite his con­sid­er­able inter­est in Bur­roughs, Grauer­holz does­n’t show an out­sized inter­est in absolv­ing the writer of his crime. But he does know more than enough to cast doubt on, or at least add nuance to, the sim­ple sto­ry every­one “knows.” Bur­roughs him­self, though he gave con­tra­dic­to­ry accounts of the event at dif­fer­ent times, nev­er denied shoot­ing Vollmer. He did, how­ev­er, blame a kind of demon­ic pos­ses­sion for it: “I am forced to the appalling con­clu­sion that I would have nev­er become a writer but for Joan’s death,”  he wrote in the intro­duc­tion to a 1985 edi­tion of his nov­el Queer. “I live with the con­stant threat of pos­ses­sion, and a con­stant need to escape from pos­ses­sion, from Con­trol.”

Vollmer’s death, in Bur­roughs’ view, “brought me in con­tact with the invad­er, the Ugly Spir­it, and maneu­vered me into a life long strug­gle, in which I have had no choice except to write my way out.” Sound like self-jus­ti­fi­ca­tion though that may, the fact remains that Bur­roughs’ life freight­ed him with plen­ty of con­di­tions to write his way out of. It also went on for 46 years after the end of Vollmer’s which, though short, saw her become, as Knight writes, “the whet­stone against which the main Beat writ­ers — Allen, Jack, and Bill — sharp­ened their intel­lect. Wide­ly con­sid­ered one of the most per­cep­tive peo­ple in the group, her strong mind and inde­pen­dent nature helped bull­doze the Beats toward a new sen­si­bil­i­ty.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William S. Bur­roughs Reads & Sings His Exper­i­men­tal Prose in a Big, Free 7‑Hour Playlist

How William S. Bur­roughs Embraced, Then Reject­ed Sci­en­tol­ogy, Forc­ing L. Ron Hub­bard to Come to Its Defense (1959–1970)

How William S. Bur­roughs Used the Cut-Up Tech­nique to Shut Down London’s First Espres­so Bar (1972)

How to Jump­start Your Cre­ative Process with William S. Bur­roughs’ Cut-Up Tech­nique

Hear a Great Radio Doc­u­men­tary on William S. Bur­roughs Nar­rat­ed by Iggy Pop

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.

The Doors’ Ray Manzarek Walks You Through the Writing of the Band’s Iconic Song, “Riders on the Storm”

“An old cow­poke went ridin’ out one dark and windy day….”

So begins Vaughn Monroe’s 1949 cow­boy song “Rid­ers in the Sky,” a tale about a “ghost herd in the sky.”

And so began, at first, The Doors’ “Rid­ers on the Storm,” one of the band’s most icon­ic tunes, which, as Ray Man­zarek explains above, start­ed out with him and gui­tarist Rob­by Krieger play­ing around on Krieger’s “twang gui­tar” in their rehearsal stu­dio. As Man­zarek tells it, Jim Mor­ri­son burst in on the jam ses­sion with lyrics. To turn the Mon­roe-inspired tune into a Doors’ song, Man­zarek decid­ed “we got to put some jazz to it, make it dark.”

Watch him reen­act the mag­ic: bassist Jer­ry Scheff (for­mer­ly of Elvis’ TCB Band) stretch­es him­self to learn the bass part, Man­zarek sim­u­lates rain with a descend­ing scale, engi­neer Bruce Bot­nick pulls out the pre-record­ed thun­der….

The haunt­ed Old West feel of Mon­roe’s “Rid­ers in the Sky” remains—in the qua­ver­ing tremo­lo of Krieger’s gui­tar lines—but croon­er Vaughn Mon­roe would nev­er sing a line about a killer’s brain “squirmin’ like a toad.” Instead of ghost cow­boys, the “insane part” of the sec­ond verse fea­tures a mur­der­ous drifter who might just kill your fam­i­ly.

This creepy image hear­kens back to the cen­ter­piece of The Doors’ self-titled debut album, “The End,” with its homi­ci­dal spo­ken word sec­tion that seemed to announce the band as the sound­track to the six­ties’ dark demise, capped off by their last 1971, album, L.A. Woman, and “Rid­ers on the Storm.” (Jazz & Pop mag­a­zine called L.A. Woman “a return to the tight fury of ear­ly Doors’ music.”)

In the video—an extra from the doc­u­men­tary The Doors: Mr. Mojo Risin’—the Sto­ry of L.A. Woman—Man­zarek sings the lyrics, but hard­ly does jus­tice to Morrison’s smooth deliv­ery. It’s fit­ting in a way that the band’s last album would fea­ture a blues derived from a Mon­roe song, whose mus­cu­lar bari­tone (he was called “the Bari­tone with Mus­cles”) was such a promi­nent sound in an ear­li­er, less anar­chic, time.

“Rid­ers on the Storm” con­tains with­in it the seeds of Morrison’s idea for a “movie about a hitch­hik­ing killer,” says Man­zarek, “but he couldn’t leave it at that. The song was just too haunt­ed and too beau­ti­ful. It was almost as if he had a pre­mo­ni­tion” of his own death. He also had a pre­mo­ni­tion of ‘70s cin­e­ma, with its dis­af­fect­ed lon­er killers and bleak neo-West­erns, reflec­tions of the decades’ own Viet­nam-era dark­ness.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“The Lost Paris Tapes” Pre­serves Jim Morrison’s Final Poet­ry Record­ings from 1971

The Doors Play Live in Den­mark & LA in 1968: See Jim Mor­ri­son Near His Charis­mat­ic Peak

William S. Bur­roughs “Sings” R.E.M. and The Doors, Backed by the Orig­i­nal Bands

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

Watch Jean Cocteau’s Short Film About the Elegant House He Painted/“Tattooed” on the French Riviera (1952)

“Vil­la San­to-Sospir belongs to Madame Alec Weisweiller,” says the nar­ra­tor. “It dom­i­nates Cape San­to Sospir, the last point on the map before arriv­ing on Cape Fer­rat. The vil­la is sit­u­at­ed on the road to the light­house and its rocks descend to the sea.” So far this could be any of the myr­i­ad pop­u­lar tele­vi­sion hous­es about big, expen­sive hous­es in exot­ic places. Then it turns per­son­al: “It looks out on Antibes, Cannes, Nice, and to the right, Ville­franche, where I have lived for a long time.” The nar­ra­tor is avant-garde writer, artist, and film­mak­er Jean Cocteau; the house is one he and oth­er artists spent twelve years “tat­too­ing.”

Weisweiller, writes Vogue’s Stephen Todd, was “a Parisian socialite and patron of Yves Saint Lau­rent,” and the cousin of Nicole Stéphane, Elis­a­beth in Cocteau’s Les Enfants Ter­ri­bles. “It was Stéphane who intro­duced the two dur­ing film­ing. It was un coup de foudre, the pair of eccentrics hit­ting it off right away.” Invit­ed in 1949 to stay at Weisweiller’s Riv­iera house for a week, Cocteau soon found him­self, as he put it, “tired of idle­ness,” and asked Weisweiller’s per­mis­sion to paint the head of the Greek god Apol­lo above the liv­ing-room fire­place. ”

So delight­ed were the new pals with the result that they decid­ed Cocteau should car­ry on,” writes Todd, quot­ing Cocteau: “I was impru­dent enough to dec­o­rate one wall and Matisse said to me, ‘If you dec­o­rate one wall of a room, you have to do them all.’”

Matisse con­tributed to the dec­o­ra­tion of the house, as did Picas­so and Cha­gall. You can see it in La vil­la San­to Sospir, the 40-minute film he made about the project in 1952, with more recent images avail­able at Atlas Obscu­ra. Most of the house­’s imagery comes from Greek mythol­o­gy, even the entry­way mosaics, one of which depicts the head of Orpheus. Eight years lat­er, Cocteau would return to both Orpheus and Vil­la San­to-Sospir to shoot his final film Tes­ta­ment of Orpheus. “We have tried to over­come the spir­it of destruc­tion that dom­i­nates the time; we dec­o­rat­ed the sur­faces that men dreamed to demol­ish,” says Cocteau in the ear­li­er film. “Per­haps, the love of our work will pro­tect them against bombs.” And even if Vil­la San­to-Sospir should fall, cin­e­ma has pre­served it for all time.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jean Cocteau Deliv­ers a Speech to the Year 2000 in 1962: “I Hope You Have Not Become Robots”

Jean Cocteau’s Avante-Garde Film From 1930, The Blood of a Poet

The Post­cards That Picas­so Illus­trat­ed and Sent to Jean Cocteau, Apol­li­naire & Gertrude Stein

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.

What Is ASMR? Watch the The New Yorker’s Introduction to the Whispering & Crinkling Sounds That Help Calm Anxiety and Induce Euphoria

ASMR… is it a med­ical con­di­tion? A sex­u­al fetish? A desire for peace and qui­et cou­pled with an inabil­i­ty to turn off YouTube? Maybe all or none of the above?

Maybe you caught Act One of This Amer­i­can Life’s “Tribes” episode, in which nov­el­ist Andrea Seigel describes her pas­sion­ate need for whis­per­ing, and finds a com­mu­ni­ty of peo­ple who need the same. She dis­cov­ered the “tin­gle” ear­ly in life, when a friend came over to inspect her shell col­lec­tion, describ­ing each item in a gen­tle whis­per and pro­vok­ing in Seigel an “autonomous sen­so­ry merid­i­an response,” a euphor­ic reac­tion thou­sands crave as though it were a drug. They get their fix, as we learn in the New York­er video above, from videos in which male and female “ASMR artists” gen­tly han­dle, manip­u­late, and describe objects in low mur­murs.

Sen­su­al sibi­lance, the sounds of a brush through hair, scis­sors clip­ping, plas­tic qui­et­ly crin­kling, tap­ping, spray­ing… all pro­duc­ing the same effect as Bob Ross’s hap­py lit­tle clouds and trees, a pio­neer­ing source of ASMR, though it had not yet been iden­ti­fied as such.

Many of Ross’s view­ers were not, in fact, aspir­ing artists, but peo­ple who respond­ed to his calm­ing demeanor and the swish­ing sounds of his brush on the can­vas. (Watch all episodes of his show here.) ASMR artist Maria of the YouTube chan­nel “Gen­tle Whis­per­ing” is not only a pur­vey­or of ASMR sounds, she’s also a client who her­self shiv­ers at fin­ger­tips on paper and breathy whis­pers. See one of her videos below (and many more here).

“No one’s been able to unrav­el the bio­chem­istry or the exact phys­i­o­log­i­cal expe­ri­ence that peo­ple are hav­ing,” says Shenan­doah University’s Craig Richard, an ASMR enthu­si­ast. Oxytocin—the “love hormone”—seems to be involved, which may explain why many ASMR videos have a slight­ly sexy feel to them. Sen­sa­tion, touch, and close­ness define the genre (often host­ed by young, con­ven­tion­al­ly attrac­tive women). ASMR videos may adhere to some spe­cif­ic cul­tur­al con­struc­tions, but the phe­nom­e­non seems real enough. And it has a psy­cho­log­i­cal neme­sis, miso­pho­nia, “an extreme dis­like of cer­tain sounds,” such as just those that set ASMR folks a‑tingling.

“How can a sound be so relax­ing for group A,” asks Richard, “and real­ly make group B angry?” Maybe there is a genet­ic com­po­nent, he spec­u­lates. And maybe the pop­u­lar­i­ty of ASMR videos shows a soft­er, G‑rated side of how lone­ly peo­ple meet a need online. ASMR artists “tend to be peo­ple with real­ly kind and car­ing dis­po­si­tions,” says Richard. “You’re brought into this world and this moment with you and anoth­er per­son. And this per­son just seems to real­ly care about you.” Role-play­ing plays a big role in ASMR videos, which can make them seem even more like adult movies.

But it’s not at all about sex, but about inti­ma­cy, calm, and con­nec­tion, which many peo­ple under­stand­ably hunger for in a noisy, alien­at­ing world. As Richard points out, many say that ASMR videos help with anx­i­ety and insom­nia. Stressed-out stu­dents, sin­gle moth­ers, vet­er­ans with PTSD—all have report­ed find­ing peace through ASMR. “Our soci­ety has become quick­er in every pos­si­ble way,” says Maria. “Every­thing is pushed to the top, to the lim­it. ASMR slows down your per­cep­tion of every­thing.” It’s a med­i­ta­tive art, she sug­gests, and an anti­dote to the brain-scram­bling dis­ori­en­ta­tion of con­tem­po­rary life.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Every Episode of Bob Ross’ The Joy Of Paint­ing Free Online: 403 Episodes Span­ning 31 Sea­sons

10 Hours of Ambi­ent Arc­tic Sounds Will Help You Relax, Med­i­tate, Study & Sleep

Hear “Weight­less,” the Most Relax­ing Song Ever Made, Accord­ing to Researchers (You’ll Need It Today)

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

Hunter S. Thompson’s Many Strange, Unpredictable Appearances on The David Letterman Show

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An old quote from Joseph de Maistre gets thrown around a lot late­ly: Toute nation a le gou­verne­ment qu’elle mérite—“every nation gets the gov­ern­ment it deserves.” As a his­tor­i­cal claim it is impos­si­ble to ver­i­fy. But the apho­rism has an author­i­ta­tive ring, the unmis­tak­able sound of tru­ism.

What if we put it anoth­er way? Every age gets the jour­nal­ism it deserves. How does that sound?

I offer as exhib­it one Hunter S. Thomp­son. Only a gonzo time like the late 60s and 70s could have pro­duced the gonzo jour­nal­ist, just as only such a time could have nur­tured the jour­nal­is­tic writ­ing of Tom Wolfe, Ter­ry South­ern, Joan Did­ion, James Bald­win, etc.

Do we find our cur­rent crop of jour­nal­ists lack­ing in moral courage, right­eous fury, death-defy­ing risk-tak­ing, gal­lows humor, lit­er­ary reach, thor­ough­go­ing inde­pen­dence of thought? The fail­ing indus­try may be to blame, one might argue, and with good rea­son.

Or per­haps, with def­er­ence to de Maistre, we have not deserved bet­ter.

The New Jour­nal­ism from which Thomp­son emerged dis­pensed with any pre­tense to “polite neu­tral­i­ty,” as nov­el­ist Hari Kun­zru writes at the Lon­don Review of Books. And “no one took the voice of the jour­nal­ist fur­ther away from ‘neu­tral back­ground’ (or seemed less able to stop him­self from doing it) than Hunter S. Thomp­son.” He exem­pli­fied Esquire edi­tor Lee Eisen­berg’s descrip­tion of the six­ties New Jour­nal­ist as “a lib­er­at­ed army of one.”

Thompson’s “abil­i­ty to artic­u­late the under­cur­rent of ‘fear and loathing’ run­ning through America”—not as a cyn­i­cal spokesper­son, but as some­how both an embod­i­ment and a sur­pris­ing­ly lucid, moral­is­tic observer—“ultimately led to his adop­tion as a kind of sooth­say­ing holy fool for the coun­ter­cul­ture.” In his lat­er years, the leg­end turned his rep­u­ta­tion for excess into a kind of schtick. Or maybe it’s more accu­rate to say that the cul­ture changed but Hunter didn’t, for bet­ter or worse.

As Kun­zru points out, “lat­er in his career the ‘sto­ry’ as inde­pen­dent enti­ty was to dis­ap­pear almost entire­ly from his work, which became a frac­tured series of tales about Hunter (mad, bad and dan­ger­ous) and his behav­ior (inspired, errat­ic, para­noid).” While this shift (and his dai­ly diet) may have dulled his jour­nal­is­tic edge, it made him an ide­al late-night talk show guest, and such he remained, reli­ably, on the David Let­ter­man show for many years.

In the clips here, you can see many of those appear­ances, first, at the top, from 1987, then below it, from 1988. Fur­ther up, see Let­ter­man inter­view Thomp­son in an ‘87 episode inex­plic­a­bly con­duct­ed in a Times Square hotel room. The show was “a strange beast,” writes Vulture’s Ram­sey Ess. “For most of the episode it feels unruly, nerve-wrack­ing, and a lit­tle dan­ger­ous,” all adjec­tives Thomp­son could have trade­marked. Just above, Thomp­son meets Let­ter­man to dis­cuss his just-pub­lished The Rum Diary, the nov­el he worked on for forty years, “a hard-bit­ten sto­ry,” writes Kun­zru, “of love, jour­nal­ism and heavy drink­ing.”

All of Thompson’s appear­ances are unpre­dictable and slight­ly unnerv­ing, and become more so in lat­er years. “Thomp­son would become more dra­mat­ic and more twist­ed,” writes Jason Nawara. “What­ev­er led up to the moment Thomp­son stepped on stage was prob­a­bly far more aston­ish­ing (or ter­ri­fy­ing) than any­thing caught on cam­era. Why is his hand ban­daged? Why is he so para­noid? What is hap­pen­ing? When have you slept last, Hunter?” If late night tele­vi­sion has become safe and bor­ing, full of pan­der­ing pat­ter large­ly devoid of true sur­pris­es, per­haps it is because Hunter S. Thomp­son has passed on. And per­haps, as Nawara seems to sug­gest, every gen­er­a­tion gets the late-night TV it deserves.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read 11 Free Arti­cles by Hunter S. Thomp­son That Span His Gonzo Jour­nal­ist Career (1965–2005)

Hunter S. Thompson’s Deca­dent Dai­ly Break­fast: The “Psy­chic Anchor” of His Fre­net­ic Cre­ative Life

How Hunter S. Thomp­son Gave Birth to Gonzo Jour­nal­ism: Short Film Revis­its Thompson’s Sem­i­nal 1970 Piece on the Ken­tucky Der­by

Hunter S. Thomp­son Chill­ing­ly Pre­dicts the Future, Telling Studs Terkel About the Com­ing Revenge of the Eco­nom­i­cal­ly & Tech­no­log­i­cal­ly “Obso­lete” (1967)

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

Watch the Original TV Coverage of the Historic Apollo 11 Moon Landing: Recorded on July 20, 1969

Dur­ing a recent din­ner a few friends and I found our­selves rem­i­nisc­ing about for­ma­tive moments in our col­lec­tive youth. The con­ver­sa­tion took a decid­ed­ly down­beat turn when a nation­al­ly tele­vised moment we all remem­bered all too well came up: the 1986 explo­sion of the space shut­tle Chal­lenger. Like mil­lions of oth­er schoolkids at the time we had been glued to the live broad­cast, and became wit­ness­es to hor­ror. “It was NASA’s dark­est tragedy,” writes Eliz­a­beth How­ell at Space.com, an acci­dent that “changed the space pro­gram for­ev­er.”

The con­trast with our par­ents’ indeli­ble mem­o­ries of a tele­vised space broad­cast from sev­en­teen years ear­li­er could not be stark­er. On July 20, 1969, the nation wit­nessed what could eas­i­ly be called NASA’s great­est tri­umph, the Apol­lo 11 moon land­ing, which not only real­ly hap­pened, but was broad­cast live on CBS, with com­men­tary by Wal­ter Cronkite and for­mer astro­naut Wal­ly Schirra and live audio from Mis­sion Con­trol in Hous­ton and Buzz Aldrin him­self, “whose job dur­ing the land­ing,” Jason Kot­tke writes, “was to keep an eye on the LM (lunar module)’s alti­tude and speed.”

We don’t hear much from Neil Armstrong—“he’s busy fly­ing and furi­ous­ly search­ing for a suit­able land­ing site. But it’s Arm­strong that says after they land, ‘Hous­ton, Tran­quil­i­ty Base here. The Eagle has land­ed.’” Kottke’s fas­ci­nat­ing descrip­tion of the events points out details that height­en the dra­ma, such as the fact that Armstrong’s heartrate “peaked at 150 beats per minute at land­ing” (his rest­ing heartrate was 60 bpm). At around 10 min­utes to land­ing, the astro­nauts link to Mis­sion Con­trol cut out briefly, which must have been ter­ri­fy­ing.

“Then there were the inter­mit­tent 1201 and 1202 pro­gram alarms, which nei­ther the LM crew nor Hous­ton had encoun­tered in any of the train­ing sim­u­la­tions.” These turn out “to be a sim­ple case,” notes NASA, “of the com­put­er try­ing to do too many things at once.” Giv­en that the Lunar Module’s com­put­er only had 4KB of mem­o­ry, this is hard­ly a sur­prise. What is aston­ish­ing is that such a rel­a­tive­ly prim­i­tive machine could han­dle the task at all.

The film view­ers saw on their screens was not, of course, a live feed—CBS did not have cam­eras in space or on the moon—but rather an ani­ma­tion.

The CBS ani­ma­tion shows the fake LM land­ing on the fake Moon before the actu­al land­ing — when Buzz says “con­tact light” and then “engine stop”. The ani­ma­tion was based on the sched­uled land­ing time and evi­dent­ly couldn’t be adjust­ed. The sched­uled time was over­shot because of the crater and boul­ders sit­u­a­tion men­tioned above.

There were, how­ev­er, cam­eras mount­ed on the Lunar Mod­ule, and that 16mm footage of the land­ing, which you can see above, was lat­er released. And then there’s that moon walk (which real­ly hap­pened), which you can see below—blurry and indis­tinct but no less amaz­ing.

Just a lit­tle over eight years “since the flights of Gagarin and Shep­ard,” NASA writes, “fol­lowed quick­ly by Pres­i­dent Kennedy’s chal­lenge to put a man on the moon before the decade is out,” it hap­pened. Arm­strong, Aldrin, and Michael Collins land­ed on the moon. Arm­strong and Aldrin walked around and col­lect­ed sam­ples for two hours, then returned safe­ly to Earth. In a post-flight press con­fer­ence, Arm­strong called the suc­cess­ful mis­sion “a begin­ning of a new age,” and it was, though his opti­mism would seem almost quaint when a cou­ple decades lat­er, the U.S. turned its sights on weaponiz­ing space.

Read more about this extra­or­di­nary event at NASA and Kot­tke.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Daugh­ter Vivian Debunks the Age-Old Moon Land­ing Con­spir­a­cy The­o­ry

The Source Code for the Apol­lo 11 Moon Land­ing Mis­sion Is Now Free on Github

Neil Arm­strong, Buzz Aldrin & Michael Collins Go Through Cus­toms and Sign Immi­gra­tion Form After the First Moon Land­ing (1969)

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

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.