Is the Live Music Experience Irreplaceable? Pretty Much Pop #11

Sure­ly tech­no­log­i­cal advances have made it unnec­es­sary to ever leave the house, right? Is there still a point in see­ing live peo­ple actu­al­ly doing things right in front of you?

Dave Hamil­ton (Host of Gig GabMac Geek Gab) joins Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt to dis­cuss what’s so damn cool about live music (and the­ater), the alter­na­tives (live-streamed-to-the­aters or devices, record­ed for TV, VR), why tick­ets are so expen­sive, whether trib­ute bands ful­fill our needs, the con­nec­tion between live music and drugs, singing along to the band, and more.

We touch on Rush (and their trib­ute Lotus Land), Damien Rice, Todd Rund­gren, The Who, Cop RockBat out of Hell: The Musi­calHed­wig and the Angry Inch, the filmed Shrek The Musi­cal, and Riff­trax Live.

We used some arti­cles to feed this episode, though we didn’t real­ly bring them up:

You know Mark also runs a music pod­cast, right? Check out Eri­ca doin’ her fid­dlin’ and sin­gin’. Lis­ten to Mark’s mass of tunes. Here’s Dave singing and drum­ming some Badfin­ger live with his band Fling, and here’s Mark live singing “The Grinch.”

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion that you can only hear by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts or start with the first episode.

Ric Ocasek and The Cars Perform Live in Concert After Their Groundbreaking Debut Album: Watch the Complete Show (January 13, 1979)

Leg­endary musi­cian and pro­duc­er Ric Ocasek passed away on Sun­day, and the whole rock world mourns his loss. Great­ly respect­ed not only by fans but by fel­low musi­cians (and Stephen Col­bert), Ocasek achieved a very rare posi­tion in the music business—one almost unheard-of: an inter­na­tion­al super­star in the 80s with his band The Cars, formed in Boston in the late 70s, he thrived in the era of the video star, at the dawn­ing of the music video age along­side 80s jug­ger­nauts like Van Halen, Madon­na, and Michael Jack­son.

Ocasek was also one of the most revered pro­duc­ers in 80s punk and 90s alt-rock, with as much cred­i­bil­i­ty in such cir­cles as pro­duc­ers like Steve Albi­ni and Butch Vig. (His cred­its include Bad Brain’s Rock for Light, Weezer’s Blue Album and Green Album, and records by Sui­cide, Hole, Bad Reli­gion, Jonathan Rich­man, Guid­ed by Voic­es, etc. etc.) He had a daunt­ing work eth­ic, but he also had a great deal of humil­i­ty and an endur­ing sense of what record­ed music does for us.

He may have mas­tered the art of mak­ing hit records and slick videos, but as he told Rolling Stone in 1980, “music’s a pow­er­ful emo­tion­al force” that is, most impor­tant­ly, “a way to com­mu­ni­cate with­out alien­at­ing peo­ple, a way to get beyond lone­li­ness. It’s a pri­vate thing peo­ple can have for them­selves any time they want. Just turn on the radio and there it is: a sense of belong­ing.” That’s what The Cars gave their fans.

They cre­at­ed a sense of famil­iar­i­ty, blend­ing synth pop, punk, and New Wave with clas­sic rock and roll moves; five ordi­nary-look­ing joes who’d paid their bar band dues. They also sus­tained an air of alien­ation and intrigue. Will­ing to be sil­ly, yet unap­proach­ably cool, with the most weird­ly oblique of pop radio hits. “With their debut album in 1978,” writes Rolling Stone’s Mikal Gilmore, “the Cars cre­at­ed one of the rarest phe­nom­e­na of late-Sev­en­ties rock & roll: a pop arti­fact that uni­fied many fac­tions of a plu­ral­is­tic rock scene.”

“Con­ser­v­a­tive radio pro­gram­mers jumped on it because of Ocasek’s con­so­nant pop sym­me­try and Roy Thomas Baker’s pol­ished, eco­nom­i­cal pro­duc­tion; New Wave par­ti­sans favored it for its terse melod­i­cism and ultra­mod­ern stance; and crit­ics applaud­ed it for its syn­the­sis of pre­punk art-rock influ­ences, includ­ing Lou Reed, David Bowie, Roxy Music and Bri­an Eno.” The band’s rep­u­ta­tion with crit­ics would suf­fer with their sopho­more album, Candy‑O. And what Gilmore called the “technopop” of their third record came to define their sound in the 80s.

The Cars in 1978 were raw and edgy, even as their debut album spawned some of their most radio-friend­ly hit songs, includ­ing “Good Times Roll,” “My Best Friend’s Girl,” and “Just What I Need­ed” (the first three tracks on the first record, and some of the biggest songs of their entire sev­en-album run). See them play the ear­ly hits and more  at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Sus­sex, Brighton in 1979 in the full con­cert film above, and let the good times roll.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The First 10 Videos Played on MTV: Rewind the Video­tape to August 1, 1981

How Talk­ing Heads and Bri­an Eno Wrote “Once in a Life­time”: Cut­ting Edge, Strange & Utter­ly Bril­liant

Hear John Malkovich Read Plato’s “Alle­go­ry of the Cave,” Set to Music Mixed by Ric Ocasek, Yoko Ono & Sean Lennon, OMD & More

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

Learn the Number One Rule of Funk: Bootsy Collins Explains the Importance of “Keeping It on the One”

We all want the funk, but do we even real­ly know what it is? Most every style of music has its dis­tinc­tive rhyth­mic prop­er­ties, from waltzes to sam­ba to the off­beat ska gui­tar of reg­gae. But what is it that pri­mar­i­ly defines the music of James Brown and oth­er funk greats—music we can­not seem to hear with­out mov­ing some part of our bod­ies? If you don’t know the answer, don’t worry—not even the great Boot­sy Collins under­stood the fun­da­men­tal prin­ci­ple when he first backed the God­fa­ther of Funk in the ear­ly 70s.

Though funk is pur­pose-built to make peo­ple get loose and has pro­duced some of the freest spir­its in pop­u­lar music, it must be played a cer­tain way, its high prac­ti­tion­ers pro­claim. No less a mas­ter of funk than Prince put it best, as Austin Kleon notes: “Funk is the oppo­site of mag­ic. Funk is about rules.” Collins learned the num­ber one rule in Brown’s band, the sine qua non of all funk: You’ve got to keep it on the one. In oth­er words, the bass has to hit the first beat of every bar.

Hit the one, Collins learned (and teach­es us in the short les­son at the top) and you can blast into the wild pyrotech­nics that made him famous. Miss the one, and no amount of fan­cy fret­work is going to impress James Brown, who told him, “you give me the one, you can do all those oth­er things.” (See Collins tell the sto­ry in the video clip below.) Brown had an elab­o­rate the­o­ry of “the one,” accord­ing to his biog­ra­ph­er RJ Smith: “The ‘One’ is derived from the Earth itself,” he said, “the soil, the pine trees of my youth. And most impor­tant, it’s on the upbeat…. nev­er on low­down­beat.”

It’s the one, accord­ing to Brown, that gives funk its root and its fruit: a seis­mic, earthy pulse and sexy, uplift­ing opti­mism. “I was born to the down­beat, and I can tell you with­out ques­tion there is no pride in it.” Unlike his men­tor, Boot­sy doesn’t shade the blues when talk­ing about the one. But he does have a mes­sage to deliv­er and it’s this: once you get the “basic funk for­mu­la, you can do any­thing you want to do with it.” Booty’s been bring­ing the funk since it began and took it places James Brown would nev­er tread in Parliament/Funkadelic. Who bet­ter to car­ry the mes­sage to would-be funka­teers out there?

In order to reach as many as pos­si­ble, Collins decid­ed to found a school, “Funk U.,” in 2010. Still going strong, the pro­gram has fea­tured such guest online lec­tur­ers as Flea, Les Clay­pool, and Vic­tor Wooten. The lessons of Funk U. are about music, he says, but they’re also about some­thing else: about the deep truths he learned from James Brown. “You need the dis­ci­pline and you also need to know that you can exper­i­ment, and you can open up and let your cre­ative juices flow.” All that from the sim­ple rhyth­mic beau­ty of keep­ing it on the one.

via Austin Kleon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Some of the Most Pow­er­ful Bass Gui­tar Solos Ever: Ged­dy Lee, Flea, Boot­sy Collins, John Dea­con & More

Visu­al­iz­ing the Bass Play­ing Style of Motown’s Icon­ic Bassist James Jamer­son: “Ain’t No Moun­tain High Enough,” “For Once in My Life” & More

The Neu­ro­science of Bass: New Study Explains Why Bass Instru­ments Are Fun­da­men­tal to Music

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

Art Trips: Visit the Art of Cities Around the World, from Los Angeles & London, to Venice and New York

When first we vis­it a city, even a small one, we can’t hope to see all of it. Hence the need for strate­gies of approach and explo­ration: do we walk its main streets? Eat its food and drink its drinks? Vis­it its most beloved book­stores? Sarah Urist Green gets into cities through their art, hard­ly a sur­pris­ing habit for the cre­ator of the PBS Dig­i­tal Stu­dios series The Art Assign­ment. We first fea­tured The Art Assign­ment five years ago here on Open Cul­ture, and Green and her col­lab­o­ra­tors have kept up the good work ever since. In that time their mis­sion of “trav­el­ing around the coun­try, vis­it­ing artists and ask­ing them to give you an art assign­ment” has expand­ed, tak­ing them out­side Amer­i­ca as well. On the road they’ve col­lect­ed not just mate­r­i­al for reg­u­lar episodes, but for spe­cial Art Trips as well.

Their first Art Trip to Los Ange­les, for instance, takes Green and com­pa­ny to the Ham­mer Muse­um, the gal­leries of Cul­ver City (one of which has a show up of Andy Warhol’s shad­ow paint­ings), the Los Ange­les Coun­ty Muse­um of Art (where they walk under Michael Heiz­er’s Lev­i­tat­ed Mass and through Chris Bur­den’s much-Insta­grammed Urban Light), and the then-new­ly-opened Broad Art Muse­um. In between they take side trips for refresh­ment at the not­ed ice cream sand­wich shop Cool­haus (named in hon­or of the Dutch archi­tect) and deep into the Inland Empire city of Bak­ers­field. This com­bi­na­tion of places expect­ed and unex­pect­ed comes not with­out the occa­sion­al tourist cliche, such as Green’s descrip­tion of “the most quin­tes­sen­tial of Los Ange­les expe­ri­ences: dri­ving.”

The Art Assig­ment’s return vis­it to the south­ern Cal­i­forn­ian metrop­o­lis focus­es on “the Los Ange­les hid­ing in plain sight” with Pacif­ic Stan­dard Time: LA/LA, a series of exhi­bi­tions all over the city on Lati­no and Lati­na artists at insti­tu­tions like the Craft and Folk Art Muse­um, the Los Ange­les Cen­tral Library, and the Gef­fen Con­tem­po­rary. All the while Green and her team eat plen­ty of tacos, as any Ange­leno would advise, and the final night of their stay finds them in Grand Park among the shrine-like hand­made offer­ings set up for Día de los Muer­tos, all of them craft­ed with an eeri­ness matched only by their good humor.

Los Ange­les has become an acknowl­edged art cap­i­tal over the past half-cen­tu­ry, but Lon­don, fair to say, has a bit more his­to­ry behind it. The Art Assign­ment’s time in the Eng­lish cap­i­tal coin­cides with Frieze Week, when gal­leries from all over the world descend on Regen­t’s Park to show off their most strik­ing artis­tic wares. Not coin­ci­den­tal­ly, the muse­ums and gal­leries based in the city use the same part of the year to sched­ule some of their most antic­i­pat­ed shows, turn­ing the few days of this Art Trip in Lon­don into a mad rush from Trafal­gar Square to the Nation­al Por­trait Gallery to the Roy­al Acad­e­my of Arts to the Cour­tauld Insti­tute of Art, by which point Green admits the onset of “mas­ter­piece over­load ” — but also has sev­er­al gal­leries, not to men­tion the main event of Frieze itself, to go.

Frieze Week does­n’t come to Detroit, the one­time cap­i­tal of Amer­i­can auto man­u­fac­tur­ing whose pop­u­la­tion peaked in the mid­dle of the 20th cen­tu­ry and whose sub­se­quent hard times, cul­mi­nat­ing in the city’s 2013 bank­rupt­cy, have been chron­i­cled with both fas­ci­na­tion and despair. But The Art Assign­ment finds a Detroit apart from the ruined fac­to­ries, the­aters, and train sta­tions, the stuff of so many inter­net slideshows, at the Motown Muse­um and the Detroit Insti­tute of Arts (home to Diego River­a’s Detroit Indus­try Murals), as well as in folk-art envi­ron­ments like the famous Hei­del­berg Project and pub­lic-art envi­ron­ments like down­town Detroit, whose recent revival has proven as com­pelling as its long decline. But many ruins remain, and artists like Scott Hock­ing have found in them not just their sub­jects but their mate­ri­als as well.

More strik­ing than Detroit’s urban des­o­la­tion is that of anoth­er unlike­ly The Art Assign­ment des­ti­na­tion, Mar­fa, Texas. In his essay “The Repub­lic of Mar­fa,” Sean Wilsey describes it as “a hard­scrab­ble ranch­ing com­mu­ni­ty in the upper Chi­huahuan desert, six­ty miles north of the Mex­i­can bor­der, that inhab­its some of the most beau­ti­ful and intran­si­gent coun­try­side imag­in­able.” In the mid-1970s “the min­i­mal­ist artist Don­ald Judd moved to Mar­fa, exil­ing him­self from what he termed the ‘glib and harsh’ New York art scene, in order to live in a sort of high plains lab­o­ra­to­ry devot­ed to build­ing, sculp­ture, fur­ni­ture design, muse­ol­o­gy, con­ser­va­tion, and a dash of ranch­ing,” and his influ­ence — as well as the pres­ence of his large-scale instal­la­tions — helped to make Mar­fa “a sort of city-state of cat­tle­men, artists, writ­ers, fugi­tives, smug­glers, free-thinkers, envi­ron­men­tal­ists, sol­diers and seces­sion­ists.”

In Mar­fa Green explores the mon­u­men­tal work Judd left behind as well as the mon­u­men­tal work oth­er artists have since con­tributed, includ­ing a project in a con­vert­ed mil­i­tary bar­racks by neon artist Dan Flavin and a fake Pra­da store. Oth­er Art Trip des­ti­na­tions include the likes of Chica­go and Colum­bus, Indi­ana (mod­ern-archi­tec­ture mec­ca and set­ting of the recent fea­ture film by video essay­ist Kog­o­na­da) as well as Tijua­na and the Venice Bien­nale, all of which you can find on one playlist. Green has even done an Art Trip right where she lives, the “bland-lean­ing, chain restau­rant-lov­ing” Mid­west­ern city of Indi­anapo­lis — which boasts the Muse­um of Psy­ch­phon­ics, an under-free­way art instal­la­tion by Vito Acconci, and a fair few bike-share book-share sta­tions as well. We can nev­er ful­ly know the cities we don’t live in, but nor can we ever ful­ly know the cities we do live in either — which, if we nev­er­the­less enjoy the attempt as much as Green does, is no bad thing at all.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art Assign­ment: Learn About Art & the Cre­ative Process in a New Web Series by John & Sarah Green

Amer­i­can Cities Then & Now: See How New York, Los Ange­les & Detroit Look Today, Com­pared to the 1930s and 1940s

Tour the World’s Street Art with Google Street Art

Elec­tric Gui­tars Made from the Detri­tus of Detroit

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, lan­guage, 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.

25 John Lennon Fans Sing His Album, Working Class Hero, Word for Word, and Note for Note

A work­ing class hero is some­thing to be
If you want to be a hero well just fol­low me

- John Lennon, “Work­ing Class Hero

Artist Can­dice Bre­itz knows that a true fan’s con­nec­tion to a beloved musi­cal artist is a source of pow­er, how­ev­er lop­sided the “rela­tion­ship” may be.

Favorite albums are touch­stones that get us through good times and bad.

They pin us to a par­tic­u­lar place and time.

There are patch­es when it feels like a singer we’ve nev­er met is the only one in the world who tru­ly knows us. Just ask your aver­age teenag­er.

A dime will net you dozens upon dozens of Bea­t­les fans, but a per­son who knows all the words to John Lennon / Plas­tic Ono Band, the 1970 solo album that fol­lowed hard on the heels of the Fab Four’s break up inhab­its a far more rar­i­fied stra­ta of fan­dom.

That per­son has earned the man­tle of tried-and-true John fan.

And 25 of those earned a spot in Breitz’s 2006 “Work­ing Class Hero (A Por­trait of John Lennon),” above, a mul­ti-chan­nel sin­ga­long of the afore­men­tioned John Lennon / Plas­tic Ono Band.

As with Breitz’s pre­vi­ous por­traits of Bob Mar­leyMadon­na, and Michael Jack­son, the singer is the ele­phant in the room, the only voice absent from the choir that forms when the par­tic­i­pants’ solo record­ing ses­sions are played simul­ta­ne­ous­ly, as they are in the fin­ished piece.

Recruit­ed by notices in papers through­out the UK, includ­ing the Liv­er­pool Echo, the fans’ degree of devo­tion, as evi­denced by their respons­es to an in-depth ques­tion­naire, mat­tered far and above train­ing, tal­ent, or appear­ance:

I want peo­ple who’ve been fans for 30 years or more, who aren’t shy in front of a cam­era and want to pay trib­ute to John Lennon.

We’d love some Scousers, it would be a great pity not to have a group of Liv­er­pudlians.

Those who made the cut were reim­bursed for trav­el to a record­ing stu­dio at New­cas­tle Uni­ver­si­ty, and filmed wear­ing their own clothes, free to emote or not as they saw fit. Some may have  fall­en shy of the “30 years or more” require­ment, and indeed, may not even have been born at the time of Lennon’s 1980 mur­der.

Just more proof of this legend’s stay­ing pow­er.

Their sta­mi­na is to be con­grat­u­lat­ed. It’s no easy feat to open with “Moth­er,” a lit­er­al scream­er born of Lennon’s for­ays into Pri­mal Ther­a­py.

And the ten­der­ness they bring to qui­eter num­bers like “Love” and “Hold On” is touch­ing indeed. It’s not hard to guess who they’re singing to.

(It’s also real­ly fun to wit­ness them fum­bling through “Hold On”’s ad-libbed “cook­ies,” a salute to Cook­ie Mon­ster that also harkens to the child­hood regres­sion Lennon under­went as part of his Pri­mal Ther­a­py.)

Read­ers, if you were giv­en the oppor­tu­ni­ty to con­tribute to one of Can­dice Breitz’s com­pos­ite celebri­ty por­traits, who would you want to pay trib­ute to, liv­ing or dead?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

30 Fans Joy­ous­ly Sing the Entire­ty of Bob Marley’s Leg­end Album in Uni­son

Hear the Orig­i­nal, Nev­er-Heard Demo of John Lennon’s “Imag­ine”

John Lennon’s Report Card at Age 15: “He Has Too Many Wrong Ambi­tions and His Ener­gy Is Too Often Mis­placed”

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Octo­ber 7 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domaincel­e­brates the art of Aubrey Beard­s­ley. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

 

How Sergio Leone Made Music an Actor in His Spaghetti Westerns, Creating a Perfect Harmony of Sound & Image

Near­ly every­one who’s heard music has also received intense feel­ings from music. “We know that music acti­vates parts of the brain that reg­u­late emo­tion, that it can help us con­cen­trate, trig­ger mem­o­ries, make us want to dance,” says Evan Puschak, bet­ter known as the Nerd­writer, in his lat­est video essay. “Music fits so well with the pat­terns of thought, it’s almost as if that lyri­cal qual­i­ty is latent in life, or real­i­ty, or both. In film, no one under­stood this bet­ter than Ser­gio Leone, the Ital­ian direc­tor of oper­at­ic spaghet­ti West­erns.” And though you may not have seen any spaghet­ti West­erns your­self — even Leone’s Clint East­wood-star­ring tril­o­gy of A Fist­ful of Dol­lars, For a Few Dol­lars More, and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly — you’ve sure­ly heard their music.

The fame of the spaghet­ti West­ern score owes most­ly to com­pos­er Ennio Mor­ri­cone, whose col­lab­o­ra­tion with Leone “is arguably the most suc­cess­ful in all of cin­e­ma,” thanks to “the deep respect Leone had for Mor­ri­cone’s work, but also his gen­er­al feel­ing for how music should func­tion in film.” Unlike most film­mak­ers, who then, as now, com­mis­sioned a pic­ture’s score only after they com­plet­ed the shoot­ing, and some­times even the edit­ing, Leone would get Mor­ri­cone’s music first, “then design shots around those com­po­si­tions.

The music, for Leone, real­ly was a kind of script.” Using scenes from Once Upon a Time in the West, Puschak shows that music was also an actor, in the sense that Leone brought it to the set so his human actors could react to it dur­ing the shoot. Often the music we hear in the back­ground is also what the actors were hear­ing in the back­ground, and what Leone used to orches­trate their actions and expres­sions.

Puschak calls the result “a per­fect har­mo­ny of sound and image,” whether the visu­al ele­ment may be a soar­ing crane shot or the kind of extend­ed close-up he favored of a human face. Among liv­ing film­mak­ers, the spaghet­ti West­ern-lov­ing Quentin Taran­ti­no has most clear­ly fol­lowed in Leone’s foot­steps, to the point that he incor­po­rat­ed Mor­ri­cone’s music in sev­er­al films before com­mis­sion­ing an orig­i­nal score from the com­pos­er for his own west­ern The Hate­ful Eight. He goes in no more than Leone did for the “temp score,” the stan­dard Hol­ly­wood prac­tice of fill­ing the sound­track of a movie in pro­duc­tion with exist­ing music and then ask­ing a com­pos­er to write replace­ment music that sounds like it — a major cause of all the bland film scores we hear today. To go back to Once Upon a Time in the West, or any oth­er of Leone’s West­erns, is to under­stand once again what role music in film can real­ly play.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Quentin Taran­ti­no Lists His 20 Favorite Spaghet­ti West­erns

The Music in Quentin Tarantino’s Films: Hear a 5‑Hour, 100-Song Playlist

Hear 5 Hours of Ennio Morricone’s Scores for Clas­sic West­ern Films: From Ser­gio Leone’s Spaghet­ti West­erns to Tarantino’s The Hate­ful Eight

Ukulele Orches­tra Per­forms Ennio Morricone’s Icon­ic West­ern Theme Song, “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.” And It’s Pret­ty Bril­liant

Watch the Open­ing of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey with the Orig­i­nal, Unused Score

Why Mar­vel and Oth­er Hol­ly­wood Films Have Such Bland Music: Every Frame a Paint­ing Explains the Per­ils of the “Temp Score”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, 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.

John Milton’s Hand Annotated Copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio: A New Discovery by a Cambridge Scholar

Per­haps the most well-read writer of his time, Eng­lish poet John Mil­ton “knew the bib­li­cal lan­guages, along with Homer’s Greek and Vergil’s Latin,” notes the NYPL. He like­ly had Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy in mind when he wrote Par­adise Lost. His own Protes­tant epic, if not a the­o­log­i­cal response to the Divine Com­e­dy, had as much lit­er­ary impact on the Eng­lish lan­guage as Dante’s poem did on Ital­ian. Mil­ton would also have as much influ­ence on Eng­lish as Shake­speare, his near con­tem­po­rary, who died eight years after the Par­adise Lost author was born.

In some sense, Mil­ton can be called a direct lit­er­ary heir of Shake­speare, though he wrote in a dif­fer­ent medi­um and idiom (almost a dif­fer­ent lan­guage), and with a very dif­fer­ent set of con­cerns.

Milton’s father was a trustee of the Blackfriar’s The­atre, where Shakespeare’s com­pa­ny of actors, the King’s Men, began per­form­ing in 1609, the year after Milton’s birth. And Milton’s first pub­lished poem appeared anony­mous­ly in the 1632 sec­ond folio of Shakespeare’s plays under the title “An Epi­taph on the admirable Dra­mat­icke Poet, W. Shake­speare.”

Now known as “On Shake­speare,” the poem laments the sor­ry state of Shakespeare’s legacy—his mon­u­ment a “weak wit­ness,” his work an “unval­ued book.” It may be dif­fi­cult to imag­ine a time when Shake­speare wasn’t revered, but his rep­u­ta­tion only began to spread beyond the the­ater in the ear­ly 17th cen­tu­ry. Milton’s poem was one of the first to pro­claim Shakespeare’s great­ness, as a poet who should lie “in such pomp” that “kings for such a tomb would wish to die.”

Now, it seems that sig­nif­i­cant fur­ther evi­dence of Milton’s admi­ra­tion, and crit­i­cal appre­ci­a­tion, of Shake­speare has emerged: in the form of Milton’s own, per­son­al copy of the 1623 First Folio edi­tion of Shake­speare’s plays, with anno­ta­tions in Milton’s own hand. More­over, it seems this evi­dence has been sit­ting under scholar’s noses for decades, housed in the pub­lic Free Library of Philadelphia’s Rare Book Depart­ment, one of over 230 extant copies of the First Folio.

In a blog post at the Cen­tre for Mate­r­i­al Texts, the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cambridge’s Jason Scott-War­ren makes his case that the anno­tat­ed First Folio is Milton’s own, pri­mar­i­ly, he writes, on the basis of pale­og­ra­phy, or hand­writ­ing analy­sis. “This just looks like Milton’s hand,” he says, then walks through sev­er­al com­par­isons with oth­er known Mil­ton man­u­scripts, such as his com­mon­place book and anno­tat­ed Bible.

There is also the copi­ous evi­dence for dat­ing the book to the time Mil­ton would have owned it, from the many mar­gin­al ref­er­ences to con­tem­po­rary works like Samuel Pur­chas’ 1625 Pil­grimes and John Fletcher’s The Bloody Broth­er. Mil­ton “added mar­gin­al mark­ings to all of the plays except for Hen­ry VI 1–3 and Titus Andron­i­cus,” notes Scott-War­ren. His corrections—from the Quarto—emendations, and “smart cross-ref­er­ences” are “intel­li­gent and assid­u­ous.”

Antic­i­pat­ing blow­back for his Mil­ton the­o­ry, Scott-War­ren asks, “wouldn’t his copy be bristling with cross-ref­er­ences, packed with smart obser­va­tions and angri­ly cen­so­ri­ous com­ments?” It would indeed, and “sev­er­al dis­tin­guished Mil­ton­ists” have agreed with Scott-Warren’s analy­sis, many con­tact­ing him, he writes in a post­script, to say they’re “con­fi­dent that this iden­ti­fi­ca­tion is cor­rect.” He adds that he has “been round­ly rebuked for under­stat­ing the sig­nif­i­cance of the dis­cov­ery.”

This kind of self-report­ed val­i­da­tion isn’t exact­ly peer review, but we don’t have to take his word for it. Said schol­ars have made their approval pub­licly, enthu­si­as­ti­cal­ly, known on Twit­ter. And Penn State Assis­tant Pro­fes­sor of Eng­lish Claire M.L. Bourne has writ­ten a con­grat­u­la­to­ry essay on her blog. It was Bourne who spurred on Scott-Warren’s inves­ti­ga­tion with her own essay “Vide Sup­ple­men­tum: Ear­ly Mod­ern Col­la­tion as Play-Read­ing in the First Folio,” pub­lished just months ear­li­er this year.

Bourne was one of the first few schol­ars to thor­ough­ly exam­ine the Free Library of Philadelphia’s copy of the First Folio. But, she admits, she com­plete­ly missed the Mil­ton con­nec­tion. “You can work for a decade,” she writes rue­ful­ly, “as I did, on a sin­gle book… and still be left with gap­ing holes in the nar­ra­tive.” This new schol­ar­ship may not only have filled in the mys­tery of the book’s first own­er and anno­ta­tor; it may also show the full degree to which Mil­ton engaged with Shake­speare, and give Mil­ton schol­ars “a new and sig­nif­i­cant field of ref­er­ence” for read­ing his work.

via MetaFil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

William Blake’s Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Illus­tra­tions of John Milton’s Par­adise Lost

3,000 Illus­tra­tions of Shakespeare’s Com­plete Works from Vic­to­ri­an Eng­land, Neat­ly Pre­sent­ed in a New Dig­i­tal Archive

Spenser and Mil­ton (Free Course) 

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

Imagined Medieval Comics Illuminate the Absurdities of Modern Life

In 2005, the U.S. Depart­ment of Agri­cul­ture revised its famous food pyra­mid, jet­ti­son­ing the famil­iar hier­ar­chi­cal graph­ic in favor of ver­ti­cal rain­bow stripes rep­re­sent­ing the var­i­ous nutri­tion­al groups. A stick fig­ure bound­ed up a stair­case built into one side, to rein­force the idea of adding reg­u­lar phys­i­cal activ­i­ty to all those whole grains and veg­gies.

The dietary infor­ma­tion it pro­mot­ed was an improve­ment on the orig­i­nal, but nutri­tion­al sci­en­tists were skep­ti­cal that the pub­lic would be able to parse the con­fus­ing graph­ic, and by and large this proved to be the case.

Artist Tyler Gun­ther, how­ev­er, was inspired:

I start­ed think­ing about the mes­sag­ing school chil­dren in 1308 were force fed to believe was part of a heart healthy diet, only to have the rug pulled out from under them 15 years lat­er when some monk rearranged the whole thing.

In oth­er words, you’d bet­ter dig into that annu­al goose pie, kids, while you’ve still got 6 glass­es of ale to wash it down.

The imag­ined over­lap between the mod­ern and the medieval is a fer­tile vein for Gunter, whose MFA in Cos­tume Design is often put to good use in his hilar­i­ous his­tor­i­cal comics:

Mod­ern men’s fash­ion is so incred­i­bly bor­ing. A guy wears a pat­tered shirt with a suit and he gets laud­ed as though he won the super bowl of fash­ion. But back in the Mid­dle Ages men made bold, brave fash­ion choic­es and I admire them great­ly for this. It’s so excit­ing to me to think of these inven­tive, strange, fan­tas­tic cre­ations being a part of the every­day mas­cu­line aes­thet­ic.

The shapes and struc­tures of women’s head­wear in the dark ages are tru­ly inspir­ing. Where were these milliners draw­ing inspi­ra­tion from? How were they engi­neered? How com­fort­able were they to wear? How did they fit through the major­i­ty of door­ways? What was it like to sit behind a par­tic­u­lar­ly large one in church? I’m still scrolling through many an inter­net his­to­ry blog to find the answers. 

Kathryn Warner’s Edward II blog has proved a help­ful resource, as has Anne H. van Buren’s book Illu­mi­nat­ing Fash­ion: Dress in the Art of Medieval France and the Nether­lands.

The Brook­lyn-based, Arkansas-born artist also makes peri­od­ic pil­grim­ages to the Clois­ters, where the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um hous­es a vast num­ber illu­mi­nat­ed man­u­scripts, pan­el paint­ings, altar pieces, and the famed Uni­corn Tapes­tries:

On my first trip to The Clois­ters I saw a paint­ing of St. Michael and the dev­il almost imme­di­ate­ly. I don’t think my life or art has been the same since. None of us know what the dev­il looks like. But you wouldn’t know that based on how con­fi­dent­ly this artist por­trays his like­ness. After gaz­ing at this paint­ing for an extend­ed peri­od of time I want­ed so bad­ly to under­stand the imag­i­na­tion of who­ev­er could imag­ine an alli­ga­tor arms/face crotch/dragon pony­tail com­bo. I don’t think I’ve come close to scratch­ing the sur­face.

Every time I go to that muse­um I think, “Wow it’s like I’m on Game of Thrones” and then I have to remind myself kind­ly that this was real life. Almost every­thing there was an object that peo­ple inter­act­ed with as part of their aver­age dai­ly life and that fas­ci­nates me as some­one who lives in a world filled with mass pro­duced, plas­tic objects. 

Gunther’s draw­ings and comics are cre­at­ed (and aged) on that most mod­ern of conveniences—the iPad.

The British monar­chy and the First Ladies are also sources of fas­ci­na­tion, but the mid­dle ages are his pri­ma­ry pas­sion, to the point where he recent­ly cos­tumed him­self as a page to tell the sto­ry of Piers Gave­ston, 1st Earl of Corn­wall and Edward II’s dar­ling, aid­ed by a gar­ment rack he’d retooled as a medieval pageant cart-cum-pup­pet the­ater.

See the rest of Tyler Gunther’s Medieval Comics on his web­site and don’t for­get to sur­prise your favorite hygien­ist or oral sur­geon with his Medieval Den­tist print this hol­i­day sea­son.

All images used with per­mis­sion of artist Tyler Gun­ther

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Make a Medieval Man­u­script: An Intro­duc­tion in 7 Videos

Medieval Monks Com­plained About Con­stant Dis­trac­tions: Learn How They Worked to Over­come Them

Why Knights Fought Snails in Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inkyzine.  Join her in NYC on Mon­day, Octo­ber 7 when her month­ly book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domaincel­e­brates the art of Aubrey Beard­s­ley, with a spe­cial appear­ance by Tyler Gun­ther. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

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