The Ancient Astronomy of Stonehenge Decoded

The sum­mer sol­stice draws nigh, and many of us will spend it bemoan­ing the fact that we have yet again failed to make it to Stone­henge to view the sun ris­ing over its mas­sive Heel Stone.

Don’t beat your­self up too bad­ly.

Accord­ing to Vox’s Senior Edi­to­r­i­al Pro­duc­er Joss Fong, above, it’s like­ly that the win­ter sol­stice was actu­al­ly a far big­ger deal to the Neolith­ic builders who engi­neered the site.

While much of it is now in ruins, arche­ol­o­gists, his­to­ri­ans, astronomers, and oth­er experts have been able to recon­struct what the ancient mon­u­ment would have looked like in its hey­day. The place­ment of the mas­sive stones in care­ful­ly arranged con­cen­tric cir­cles sug­gest that its feats of astron­o­my were no acci­dent.

As Fong points out, the builders would not have known that the earth trav­els around the sun, nor that it tilts on its ver­ti­cal axis, thus effect­ing where the sun’s rays will strike through­out the year.

They would, how­ev­er, have had good cause to mon­i­tor any nat­ur­al phe­nom­e­na as it relat­ed to their agri­cul­tur­al prac­tices.

The sum­mer sol­stice would have come at the height of their grow­ing sea­son, but if this year’s sun­rise cel­e­brants spin 180 degrees, they will be fac­ing in the same direc­tion as those ancient builders would have when they arrived to cel­e­brate the win­ter sol­stice with a sun­set feast.

These days, the win­ter sol­stice attracts a siz­able num­ber of tourists, along with neo-druids, neo-pagans, and Wic­cans.

Bun­dle up and join them, take a vir­tu­al tour, or at the very least, try your hand at assem­bling the nifty Aedes-Ars Stone­henge Mod­el Kit Fong glues togeth­er like a pro.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Artist Vis­its Stone­henge in 1573 and Paints a Charm­ing Water­col­or Paint­ing of the Ancient Ruins

Vis­it Pom­peii (also Stone­henge & Ver­sailles) with Google Street View

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

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her solo show Nurse!, in which one of Shakespeare’s best loved female char­ac­ters hits the lec­ture cir­cuit to set the record straight opens June 12 at The Tank in New York City. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Nirvana Refuses to Play ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ After the Crowd Hurls Sexist Insults at the Opening Act (Buenos Aires, 1992)

“Anger is an ener­gy,” shouts John Lydon, aka John­ny Rot­ten, on Pub­lic Image Limited’s “Rise,” the 1986 sin­gle writ­ten in reac­tion to Apartheid South African and North­ern Irish inter­ro­ga­tion tech­niques. In typ­i­cal fash­ion, Lydon suc­cinct­ly sums up the motive force of punk, in a song, as he told MTV’s Kevin Seal, about “all kinds of tor­ture,” which “doesn’t real­ly achieve any­thing. Vio­lence doesn’t real­ly achieve any­thing.”

Some angry ener­gy cre­ates, and some does noth­ing but destroy. A few years lat­er, Nir­vana brought the angry ener­gy of punk back into main­stream con­scious­ness, with a front­man who spoke out fre­quent­ly against sex­ism and sex­ist vio­lence. In 1992, the band—already a glob­al phe­nom­e­non after the release of Nev­er­mind and the explo­sive suc­cess of “Smells Like Teen Spir­it”—per­formed a par­tic­u­lar­ly pissed-off-yet-cre­ative live set. They did so in reac­tion to a wave of abuse hurled at their open­ing act by a crowd of 50,000 in Buenos Aires.

“We brought this all-girl band over from Port­land called Calami­ty Jane,” Kurt Cobain lat­er remem­bered. “Dur­ing their entire set, the whole audi­ence… was throw­ing mon­ey and every­thing out of their pock­ets, mud and rocks, just pelt­ing them. Even­tu­al­ly the girls stormed off cry­ing. It was ter­ri­ble, one of the worst things I’ve ever seen, such a mass of sex­ism all at once.”

Enraged, Cobain threat­ened to can­cel, but was talked out of it by bassist Krist Novasel­ic. Instead, the band took the stage and “open­ly mocked the audi­ence,” writes Alex Young at Con­se­quence of Sound, “by play­ing most­ly rar­i­ties and the back­end of Nev­er­mind.” Cobain at least man­aged to turn the ugly moment into a pos­i­tive expe­ri­ence for his band.

We end­ed up hav­ing fun, laugh­ing at them (the audi­ence). Before every song, I’d play the intro to ‘Smells Like Teen Spir­it’ and then stop. They didn’t real­ize that we were protest­ing against what they’d done. We played for about forty min­utes, and most of the songs were off Inces­ti­cide, so they didn’t rec­og­nize any­thing. We wound up play­ing the secret noise song (‘End­less, Name­less’) that’s at the end of Nev­er­mind, and because we were so in a rage and were just so pissed off about this whole sit­u­a­tion, that song and whole set were one of the great­est expe­ri­ences I’ve ever had.

The whole show was cap­tured on film by a pro­fes­sion­al crew, and you can watch it above to see what the expe­ri­ence was like for the audi­ence. The open­ing track, “Nobody Knows I’m New Wave,” is “one of only a hand­ful of Nir­vana songs,” notes Young, “nev­er to be released. Nir­vana archivists the­o­rize the impromp­tu jam was made up on the spot.”

You’ll also see from the track­list below that Cobain “was mis­re­mem­ber­ing or embell­ish­ing a bit here and there,” writes Dan­ger­ous Minds. “While they did unearth a hand­ful of rar­i­ties from their odds-n-ends col­lec­tion Ins­es­ti­cide… as well as ‘All Apolo­gies’ (it lat­er turned up on In Utero)… they also played most of Nev­er­mind.” Nonethe­less, we can see the show, with its abra­sive open­ing jam (“I promise to shit on your head”) as an attempt to both alien­ate obnox­ious fans and turn rage into a cre­ative force.

Setlist:
Nobody Knows I’m New Wave
Aneurysm
Breed
Drain You
Beeswax
Spank Thru
School
Come as You Are
Lithi­um
Lounge Act
Sliv­er
About a Girl
Pol­ly
Jam
In Bloom
Ter­ri­to­r­i­al Piss­ings
Been a Son
On a Plain
Neg­a­tive Creep
Blew

Encore:
All Apolo­gies
End­less, Name­less

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Nir­vana Per­form “Smells Like Teen Spir­it,” Just Two Days After the Release of Nev­er­mind (Sep­tem­ber 26, 1991)

The First Live Per­for­mance of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” (1991)

Nirvana’s Last Con­cert: Audio/ Video Record­ed on March 1, 1994

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

David Bowie Memorialized in Traditional Japanese Woodblock Prints

The East beck­ons me — Japan — but I’m a bit wor­ried that I’ll get too Zen there and my writ­ing will dry up. — David Bowie, 1980

David Bowie’s long­stand­ing fas­ci­na­tion with Japan per­vad­ed his work, becom­ing the gate­way through which many of his fans began to explore that country’s cul­tur­al tra­di­tions and aes­thet­ics.

Per­haps the entry point is design­er Kan­sai Yamamoto’s Zig­gy Star­dust togs, Yukio Mishima’s 1963 nov­el The Sailor Who Fell from Grace from the Sea—one of Bowie’s top 100 books—or the 1000s of images pho­tog­ra­ph­er Masayoshi Suki­ta cap­tured of the rock­er over a peri­od of four decades.

Maybe it was Aladdin Sane’s kabu­ki-like make­up or direc­tor Nag­isa Oshi­ma’s World War II dra­ma,  Mer­ry Christ­mas Mr. Lawrence, in which Bowie played a British offi­cer in a Japan­ese POW camp.

The recent release of two mod­ern ukiyo‑e wood­block prints fea­tur­ing the rock­er has caused such mass swoon­ing among legions of Japanophile Bowie fans, the rever­ber­a­tions may well be pow­er­ful enough to ring tem­ple bells in Kyoto.

For each print, artist Masu­mi Ishikawa casts Bowie as both him­self and an icon­ic Japan­ese fig­ure.

In the image at the top of the page, Bowie’s Aladdin Sane assumes the pose of the cen­tral char­ac­ter in Edo Peri­od artist Uta­gawa Kuniyoshi’s Kidô­maru and the Ten­gu, below.

The oth­er print relo­cates the dash­ing Bowie from Ter­ry O’Neill’s Dia­mond Dogs pub­lic­i­ty pho­tos to the realm of magi­cian Takeza­wa Toji, whose spin­ning top per­for­mances had the pow­er to sum­mon drag­ons, at least as depict­ed by Kuniyoshi.

The prints were ordered by the Ukiyo‑e Project, whose mis­sion is to por­tray today’s artists and pop icons on tra­di­tion­al wood­block prints. (Bowie fol­lows pre­vi­ous hon­orees Kiss and Iron Maid­en.)

The prints and the blocks from which the impres­sions were made will be on dis­play at BOOKMARC in Tokyo’s Omote­san­do neigh­bor­hood from June 23 to July 1.

via Spoon and Tam­a­go

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load 2,500 Beau­ti­ful Wood­block Prints and Draw­ings by Japan­ese Mas­ters (1600–1915)

Spe­cial David Bowie Metro­Cards Get Released in New York City

The Peri­od­ic Table of David Bowie: A Visu­al­iza­tion of the Sem­i­nal Artist’s Influ­ence and Influ­ences

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er, Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and Bowie fan.  Her solo show Nurse!, in which one of Shakespeare’s best loved female char­ac­ters hits the lec­ture cir­cuit to set the record straight opens June 12 at The Tank in New York City. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Steve Martin & Robin Williams Riff on Math, Physics, Einstein & Picasso in a Smart Comedy Routine

Back in 2002, Stan­ford Uni­ver­si­ty math­e­mat­ics pro­fes­sor Robert Osser­man chat­ted with come­di­an and ban­jo play­er extra­or­di­naire Steve Mar­tin in San Francisco’s Herb­st The­atre. The event was called “Fun­ny Num­bers” and it was intend­ed to deliv­er an off-kil­ter dis­cus­sion on math. Boy did it deliv­er.

The first half of the dis­cus­sion was loose and relaxed. Mar­tin talked about his writ­ing, ban­jos and his child­hood inter­est in math. “In high school, I used to be able to make mag­ic squares,” said Mar­tin. “I like any­thing kind of ‘jumbly.’ I like ana­grams. What else do I like? I like sex.”

Then Robin Williams, that man­ic ball of ener­gy, showed up. As you can see from the five videos through­out this post, the night quick­ly spi­raled into com­ic mad­ness.

They riffed on the Osbournes, Hen­ry Kissinger, num­ber the­o­ry, and physics. “Schrödinger, pick up your cat,” barks Williams at the end of a par­tic­u­lar­ly inspired tear. “He’s alive. He’s dead. What a pet!”

When Mar­tin and Williams read pas­sages from Martin’s hit play, Picas­so at the Lapin Agile Williams read his part at dif­fer­ent points as if he were Mar­lon Bran­do, Peter Lorre and Elmer Fudd. At anoth­er time, Williams and Mar­tin riffed on the num­ber zero. Williams, for once act­ing as the straight man, asked Osser­man, “I have one quick ques­tion, up to the Cru­sades, the num­ber zero did­n’t exist, right? In West­ern civ­i­liza­tion.” To which Mar­tin bel­lowed, “That is a lie! How dare you imply that the num­ber zero…oh, I think he’s right.”

The videos are weird­ly glitchy, though the audio is just fine. And the com­e­dy is com­plete­ly hilar­i­ous and sur­pris­ing­ly thought pro­vok­ing.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in Sep­tem­ber, 2015.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Steve Mar­tin Writes Song for Hymn-Deprived Athe­ists

Watch Steve Mar­tin Make His First TV Appear­ance: The Smoth­ers Broth­ers Com­e­dy Hour (1968)

Lis­ten as Albert Ein­stein Reads ‘The Com­mon Lan­guage of Sci­ence’ (1941)

Ein­stein Explains His Famous For­mu­la, E=mc², in Orig­i­nal Audio

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

A Deep Study of Terence Malick’s Filmography

Yes­ter­day we fea­tured the Direc­tors Series, the ever-expand­ing col­lec­tion of video essays that seeks out the essence of the auteurs of our time by close­ly exam­in­ing their entire fil­mo­gra­phies. So far, the series’ cre­ator Cameron Beyl has taken on the work of Stan­ley Kubrick, the Coen Broth­ers, David Finch­er, Paul Thomas Ander­son, and Christo­pher Nolan — all titans of cin­e­ma, and with the excep­tion of the last, all Amer­i­can. Giv­en that appar­ent cul­tur­al incli­na­tion, Beyl’s choice of a sub­ject for the just-begun cur­rent chap­ter of the Direc­tors Series fol­lows nat­u­ral­ly: that uncom­pro­mis­ing Amer­i­can tran­scen­den­tal­ist of the sil­ver screen, Ter­rence Mal­ick.

It also makes good sense to focus on Mal­ick now, giv­en that he’s spent the past few years in a peri­od of sur­pris­ing late-career pro­duc­tiv­i­ty. After estab­lish­ing the film­mak­er’s iden­ti­ty and main themes as well as giv­ing a sketch of his col­or­ful (and often only sparse­ly doc­u­ment­ed) life, Beyl uses his first episode on Mal­ick to get into his “crimes of pas­sion” movies, his 1973 debut Bad­lands and its 1978 fol­low-up Days of Heav­en.

The lat­ter seems to have solid­i­fied in the cin­e­mat­ic con­scious­ness many of the basic ele­ments of Mal­ick­’s style, includ­ing hushed yet often grand­ly philo­soph­i­cal nar­ra­tion; a wor­ship­ful, even reli­gious view of the nat­ur­al world; and a relent­less expan­sion of his own visu­al lan­guage. But though the film won Mal­ick a Best Direc­tor award at Cannes, he did­n’t make anoth­er movie for twen­ty years.

After return­ing to film­mak­ing in 1998 with the James Jones-adapt­ing World War II pic­ture The Thin Red Line, Mal­ick appeared to pick up right where he left off: The New World, his inter­pre­ta­tion of John Smith’s encounter with Poc­a­hon­tas, came in 2005, fol­lowed by 2011’s Palme d’Or-win­ning The Tree of Life. That film, deeply per­son­al in its depic­tion of an Amer­i­can child­hood in the 1940s and even more deeply per­son­al in its zoom out to the cos­mic scale, reveals as much about Mal­ick­’s obses­sions as any­thing he’s done. Yet the star­tling­ly many pic­tures he has direct­ed since — the impro­vised roman­tic dra­ma To the Wonder, the Los Ange­les odyssey Knight of Cups, the his­to­ry-of-the-uni­verse doc­u­men­tary Voy­age of Time, the exper­i­men­tal musi­cal Song to Song, and his upcom­ing return to WWII Rade­gund — tell us, as Beyl will show, that his cin­e­mat­ic explo­rations have many more awe-inspir­ing places still to take us.

Watch Part 1 of the Mal­ick study above. Find future parts on the Direc­tors Series Vimeo page.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“The Direc­tors Series” Presents Free Immer­sive Stud­ies of Stan­ley Kubrick, the Coen Broth­ers, David Finch­er, Paul Thomas Ander­son & Christo­pher Nolan

Video Essay­ist Kog­o­na­da Makes His Own Acclaimed Fea­ture Film: Watch His Trib­utes to Its Inspi­ra­tions Like Ozu, Lin­klater & Mal­ick

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.

Ozzy Osbourne’s Guitarist Zakk Wylde Plays Black Sabbath on a Hello Kitty Guitar

When Sanrio—that mega­lith­ic mak­er of kawaii icon Hel­lo Kitty—partnered with gui­tar com­pa­nies to make pas­tel-col­ored six-strings bear­ing the mouth­less kitten’s face, many a big-time musi­cian found the osten­si­bly kid’s‑oriented instru­ments irre­sistible. Hel­lo Kit­ty gui­tars were “pos­si­bly the apex of Sanrio’s cross-media syn­er­gy-blitz,” wrote David McNamee in a cranky 2009 piece at The Guardian, “that has seen them slap the cold, vacant stare of their brand-lead­ing cash cow… on to every con­ceiv­able kind of con­sumer mer­chan­dise includ­ing vibra­tors (sor­ry, mas­sagers), assault rifles, tam­pons, con­doms, uri­nal cakes, cars, com­put­ers, booze and pet cos­tumes.”

The chirpy Lisa Loeb took to Hel­lo Kit­ty gui­tars as part of a per­son­al brand makeover, which doesn’t much sur­prise since she even­tu­al­ly moved to writ­ing chil­dren’s music. But “a scan of YouTube,” McNamee goes on, “reveals that Hel­lo Kitty’s core audi­ence is actu­al­ly bald­ing, mid­dle-aged men, shred­ding out cov­ers of Yng­wie Malm­steen and Rush.”

I’m not sure how accu­rate this state­ment is in mar­ket research terms, but I can tes­ti­fy to know­ing at least two mid­dle-aged men who swear by pink Hel­lo Kit­ty Stra­to­cast­ers.

Go ahead, laugh it up, but you prob­a­bly wouldn’t do so in front of cer­tain San­rio shred­ders, like for­mer Ozzy Osbourne and cur­rent Black Label Soci­ety gui­tarist Zakk Wylde, who has made a side gig—as we not­ed in yes­ter­day’s post—play­ing cov­ers of heavy rock tunes on tiny, cutesy Hel­lo Kit­ty acoustic gui­tars. See for your­self in his Hel­lo Kit­ty take on Black Sabbath’s “N.I.B.” at the top and a ver­sion of his own orig­i­nal “Autumn Changes” fur­ther up. Would you laugh at seri­ous­ly ver­sa­tile Mar­i­lyn Man­son gui­tarist John 5 and his Hel­lo Kit­ty gui­tar? Maybe, but reserve your judg­ment until after you’ve seen him start his “new career” in Hel­lo Kit­ty gui­tar mar­ket­ing above.

Ris­ing to the chal­lenge, Mark Tremon­ti and Eric Fried­man decid­ed to take on Metallica’s “Wel­come Home (San­i­tar­i­um)” on a Hel­lo Kit­ty gui­tar and ukulele, “refus­ing to skip the track’s var­i­ous solos,” points out Loud­wire. It’s ”a true jam on tru­ly crap­py instru­ments that the boys some­how made work.” What, exact­ly, is the appeal of these Hel­lo Kit­ty ses­sions to peo­ple who aren’t, pre­sum­ably, the usu­al Hel­lo Kit­ty tween demo­graph­ic?

Maybe it’s just some good clean fun from peo­ple who might seem to take them­selves a lit­tle too seri­ous­ly some­times. When rock stars show a sense of humor, it makes them more relat­able, right? Hey, even the Bea­t­les made their bones with musi­cal com­e­dy, so why shouldn’t Evanescence’s Amy Lee give us a mov­ing, can­dlelit ren­di­tion of Death Cab for Cutie’s “I Will Fol­low You into the Dark,” as played on a Hel­lo Kit­ty key­board?

See all of these videos and more—including Bumblefoot’s soul­ful Hel­lo Kit­ty met­al clas­sics cov­ers and a pot­ty-mouthed Mike Port­noy bash­ing away on a Hel­lo Kit­ty drumk­it—at Loudwire’s YouTube chan­nel.

via Gui­tar World

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Calm Down & Study with Relax­ing Piano, Jazz & Harp Cov­ers of Music from Hayao Miyaza­ki Films

Mis­ter Rogers Turns Kids On to Jazz with Help of a Young Wyn­ton Marsalis and Oth­er Jazz Leg­ends (1986)

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

“The Directors Series” Presents Free Immersive Studies of Stanley Kubrick, the Coen Brothers, David Fincher, Paul Thomas Anderson & Christopher Nolan

Humorist and movie crit­ic Joe Queenan once stood out­side a the­ater after a screen­ing of Juras­sic Park and asked each exit­ing view­er if they knew who direct­ed the film they’d just seen. Only five out of the ten who talked to him, he report­ed, could name Steven Spiel­berg. (Not just one but two of those who could­n’t said, inex­plic­a­bly, that the Michael Crich­ton adap­ta­tion had been direct­ed by Stephen King.)

Queenan pulled this stunt as an infor­mal test of “auteur the­o­ry,” which holds that the direc­tor, despite the inher­ent­ly col­lab­o­ra­tive nature of the medi­um, is ulti­mate­ly the “author” of a motion pic­ture. But what does it say about auteur the­o­ry that half of his sam­ple of view­ers could­n’t come up with the name of quite pos­si­bly the most famous film­mak­er alive? Does the iden­ti­ty of a film’s direc­tor mat­ter as much as those of us who sub­scribe to auteur the­o­ry believe it does?

As for the case for the auteur, if you’ve got fif­teen hours or so to spare, you can watch it made in depth by the Direc­tors Series. These mul­ti-part video essays by writer-direc­tor Cameron Beyl exam­ine what makes an auteur an auteur not just one fil­mog­ra­phy, but one film at a time.

Beyl launched the series with the ide­al selec­tion of Stan­ley Kubrick, an almost Pla­ton­ic ide­al of the mod­ern auteur, whose career-long jump­ing from sub­ject to sub­ject and even genre to genre reveals all the more clear­ly the ele­ments of his bold cin­e­mat­ic sig­na­ture.

Then came series-with­in-the-series on direc­tors from the gen­er­a­tion after Kubrick: David Finch­er, Paul Thomas Ander­son, the Coen Broth­ers, and Christo­pher Nolan. Though all alive and vey much still active, they’ve all forged the kind of strong styles that inspire wor­ship­ful ret­ro­spec­tives at cin­e­math­e­ques the world over. Even the kind of movie­go­er who thinks Stephen King direct­ed Juras­sic Park sure­ly sens­es, on some lev­el, the com­mon sen­si­bil­i­ty shared by films as out­ward­ly dif­fer­ent as Fight Club and Gone GirlBoo­gie Nights and There Will Be BloodRais­ing Ari­zona and Far­goMemen­to and Inter­stel­lar.

In the Direc­tors Series, Beyl reveals the tech­niques these film­mak­ers use to make their body of work a uni­fied cin­e­mat­ic project, and so rise to the sta­tus of true auteurs. Try to repli­cate Queenan’s exper­i­ment today, and you may well find that many, if not most, of the view­ers who’ve just seen one of their movies won’t know the direc­tor’s name. That, of course, does­n’t mean that they did­n’t enjoy or appre­ci­ate the direc­tor’s art — but it also does­n’t mean that, equipped with the kind of insight pro­vid­ed by the Direc­tors Series, you won’t enjoy and appre­ci­ate it even more.

Fol­low these links for more on each series: Stan­ley Kubrick (3 hours), David Finch­er (3.5 hours), Paul Thomas Ander­son (2.5 hours), the Coen Broth­ers (4 hours), and Christo­pher Nolan (3.5 hours).

The first video from each series appears on the page above.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Com­plete Col­lec­tion of Wes Ander­son Video Essays

“Auteur in Space”: A Video Essay on How Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris Tran­scends Sci­ence Fic­tion

Four Video Essays Explain the Mas­tery of Film­mak­er Abbas Kiarosta­mi (RIP)

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

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.

David Bowie Sings ‘I Got You Babe’ with Marianne Faithfull in His Very Last Performance As Ziggy Stardust (1973)

Here’s a won­der­ful­ly weird per­for­mance by David Bowie, dressed in drag for his last appear­ance as Zig­gy Star­dust, and Mar­i­anne Faith­full as a way­ward nun, singing the mawk­ish Son­ny & Cher tune, “I Got You Babe.”

The duet was record­ed for Amer­i­can tele­vi­sion on Octo­ber 19, 1973 at the Mar­quee Club in Lon­don. The pro­duc­er Burt Sug­ar­man had approached Bowie about appear­ing on his late-night NBC pro­gram The Mid­night Spe­cial. Accord­ing to the Zig­gy Star­dust Com­pan­ion, Bowie agreed to appear on the show after being grant­ed com­plete artis­tic con­trol for a one-hour spe­cial. He put togeth­er a cabaret-style show fea­tur­ing him­self and a cou­ple of acts from the 1960s, per­form­ing on a futur­is­tic set. Bowie called it “The 1980 Floor Show,” as a pun on the title of his song “1984,” which was played dur­ing the open­ing title sequence.

Film­ing took place over two days. The audi­ences were com­posed of Bowie fan club mem­bers and oth­er spe­cial guests. Due to the cramped quar­ters in the night­club, the cam­era crew was­n’t able to cov­er more than two angles at any moment, so Bowie and the oth­ers had to play the same songs over and over. On the day “I Got You Babe” was filmed, the musi­cians and crew worked for ten straight hours.

Faith­full was invit­ed to appear on the show as one of the back-up acts, along with The Trog­gs and the “fla­men­co rock” group Car­men. At the very end of the evening, Bowie and Faith­full appeared onstage together–he in a red PVC out­fit with black ostrich plumes (he called it his “Angel of Death” cos­tume) and she in a nun’s habit that was, by more than one account, open in the back. “This isn’t any­thing seri­ous,” Bowie report­ed­ly told the audi­ence. “It’s just a bit of fun. We’ve hard­ly even rehearsed it.”

The Mid­night Spe­cial appear­ance marked a momen­tary reunion of Bowie’s band, The Spi­ders from Mars, which had dis­solved three months ear­li­er, after Bowie’s sur­prise announce­ment that he was retir­ing. The line­up includ­ed Mick Ron­son on lead gui­tar, Trevor Bold­er on bass, Mike Gar­son on piano, Mark Carr Pritchard on rhythm gui­tar and Ayns­ley Dun­bar on drums. Back­ing vocals were pro­vid­ed by The Astronettes: Ava Cher­ry, Jason Guess and Geof­frey Mac­cor­ma­ck. As the final per­for­mance of “The 1980 Floor Show,” Bowie’s duet with Faith­full turned out to be the very last appear­ance of Zig­gy Star­dust.

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!

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site back in March, 2013.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Bowie Releas­es Vin­tage Videos of His Great­est Hits from the 1970s and 1980s

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

How “Space Odd­i­ty” Launched David Bowie to Star­dom: Watch the Orig­i­nal Music Video From 1969

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast