Marie Kondo v. Tsundoku: Competing Japanese Philosophies on Whether to Keep or Discard Unread Books

By now we’ve all heard of Marie Kon­do, the Japan­ese home-orga­ni­za­tion guru whose book The Life-Chang­ing Mag­ic of Tidy­ing Up became an inter­na­tion­al best­seller in 2011. Her advice about how to straight­en up the home, brand­ed the “Kon­Mari” method, has more recent­ly land­ed her that brass ring of ear­ly 21st-cen­tu­ry fame, her own Net­flix series. A few years ago we fea­tured her tips for deal­ing with your piles of read­ing mate­r­i­al, which, like all her advice, are based on dis­card­ing the items that no longer “spark joy” in one’s life. These include “Take your books off the shelves,” “Make sure to touch each one,” and that you’ll nev­er read the books you mean to read “some­time.”

But as a big a fan base as Kon­do now com­mands around the world, not every­one agrees with her meth­ods, espe­cial­ly when she applies them to the book­shelf. “Do NOT lis­ten to Marie Kon­do or Kon­mari in rela­tion to books,” the nov­el­ist Anakana Schofield post­ed to Twit­ter ear­li­er this month. “Fill your apart­ment & world with them. I don’t give a shite if you throw out your knick­ers and Tup­per­ware but the woman is very mis­guid­ed about BOOKS. Every human needs a v exten­sive library not clean, bor­ing shelves.” Fur­ther­more, “the notion that books should spark joy is a LUDICROUS one. I have said it a hun­dred times: Lit­er­a­ture does not exist only to com­fort and pla­cate us. It should dis­turb + per­turb us. Life is dis­turb­ing.”

Wash­ing­ton Post book crit­ic Ron Charles crit­i­cizes Kon­do’s book pol­i­cy from a dif­fer­ent angle. “I have a sin­gle cab­i­net full of chipped mugs, but I have a house full of books — thou­sands of books. To take every sin­gle book into my hands and test it for spark­i­ness would take years. And dur­ing that time, so many more books will pour in.” That phe­nom­e­non will be famil­iar to read­ers of Open Cul­ture, since we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured tsun­doku, a pun­nish Japan­ese com­pound word that means the books that amass unread here and there in one’s home.

Though they might have emerged from the same wider cul­ture, the Kon­Mari method and the con­cept of tsun­doku could hard­ly be more direct­ly opposed. But now that Schofield, Charles, and many oth­ers have voiced their per­spec­tives, the bat­tle lines are drawn: must books spark joy in the moment to earn their keep, or can they be allowed to pile up in the name of poten­tial future use­ful­ness — or at least use­ful dis­tur­bance and per­tur­ba­tion?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Change Your Life! Learn the Japan­ese Art of Declut­ter­ing, Orga­niz­ing & Tidy­ing Things Up

Orga­ni­za­tion Guru Marie Kondo’s Tips for Deal­ing with Your Mas­sive Piles of Unread Books (or What They Call in Japan “Tsun­doku”)

“Tsun­doku,” the Japan­ese Word for the New Books That Pile Up on Our Shelves, Should Enter the Eng­lish Lan­guage

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.

The Books That Samuel Beckett Read and Really Liked (1941–1956)

becket list 1

Samuel Beck­ett, Pic, 1″ by Roger Pic. Via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Clad in a black turtle­neck and with a shock of white hair, Samuel Beck­ett was a gaunt, gloomy high priest of mod­ernism. After the 1955 pre­miere of Samuel Beckett’s play Wait­ing for Godot (watch him stage a per­for­mance here), Ken­neth Tynan quipped, ”It has no plot, no cli­max, no denoue­ment; no begin­ning, no mid­dle and no end.” From there, Beckett’s work only got more aus­tere, bleak and despair­ing. His 1969 play Breath, for instance, runs just a minute long and fea­tures just the sound of breath­ing.

An intense­ly pri­vate man, he man­aged to mes­mer­ize the pub­lic even as he turned away from the lime­light. When he won the Nobel Prize in 1969 (after being reject­ed in 1968), his wife Suzanne, fear­ing the onslaught of fame that the award would bring, decried it as a “cat­a­stro­phe.”

A recent­ly pub­lished col­lec­tion of his let­ters from 1941–1956, the peri­od lead­ing up to his inter­na­tion­al suc­cess with his play Wait­ing for Godot, casts some light on at least one cor­ner of the man’s pri­vate life – what books were pil­ing up on his bed stand. Below is an anno­tat­ed list of what he was read­ing dur­ing that time. Not sur­pris­ing­ly, he real­ly dug Albert Camus’s The Stranger. “Try and read it,” he writes. “I think it is impor­tant.” He dis­miss­es Agatha Christie’s Crooked House as “very tired Christie” but prais­es Around the World in 80 Days: “It is live­ly stuff.” But the book he reserves the most praise for is J.D. Salinger’s Catch­er in the Rye. “I liked it very much indeed, more than any­thing for a long time.”

You can see the full list below. It was orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished online by Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty Press in 2011. Books with an aster­isk next to the title can be found in our col­lec­tion of 700 Free eBooks.

Andro­maqueby Jean Racine: “I read Andro­maque again with greater admi­ra­tion than ever and I think more under­stand­ing, at least more under­stand­ing of the chances of the the­atre today.”

Around the World in 80 Days* by Jules Verne: “It is live­ly stuff.”

The Cas­tle by Franz Kaf­ka: “I felt at home, too much so – per­haps that is what stopped me from read­ing on. Case closed there and then.”

The Catch­er in the Rye by J.D. Salinger: “I liked it very much indeed, more than any­thing for a long time.”

Crooked House by Agatha Christie: “very tired Christie”

Effi Briest* by Theodor Fontane: “I read it for the fourth time the oth­er day with the same old tears in the same old places.”

The Hunch­back of Notre Dame* by Vic­tor Hugo

Jour­ney to the End of the Night by Louis-Fer­di­nand Céline

Lautrea­mont and Sade by Mau­rice Blan­chot: “Some excel­lent ideas, or rather start­ing-points for ideas, and a fair bit of ver­biage, to be read quick­ly, not as a trans­la­tor does. What emerges from it though is a tru­ly gigan­tic Sade, jeal­ous of Satan and of his eter­nal tor­ments, and con­fronting nature more than with humankind.”

Man’s Fate by Andre Mal­raux

Mos­qui­toes by William Faulkn­er: “with a pref­ace by Que­neau that would make an ostrich puke”

The Stranger by Albert Camus: “Try and read it, I think it is impor­tant.”

The Temp­ta­tion to Exist by Emil Cio­ran: “Great stuff here and there. Must reread his first.”

La 628-E8* by Octave Mir­beau: “Damned good piece of work.”

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

via Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty Press

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

Rare Audio: Samuel Beck­ett Reads Two Poems From His Nov­el Watt

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 bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

An Animated History of Cats: How Over 10,000 Years the Cat Went from Wild Predator to Sofa Sidekick

Dogs sees us as their mas­ters while cats sees us as their slaves. — Anony­mous

The next time your friend’s pet cat sinks its fangs into your wrist, bear in mind that the beast is prob­a­bly still labor­ing under the impres­sion that it’s guard­ing the gra­naries.

Anthro­pol­o­gist Eva-Maria Gei­gl’s ani­mat­ed Ted-Ed Les­son, The His­to­ry of the World Accord­ing to Cats, above, awards spe­cial recog­ni­tion to Unsink­able Sam, a black-and-white ship’s cat who sur­vived three WWII ship­wrecks (on both Axis and Allied sides).

It’s a cute sto­ry, but as far as direct­ing the course of his­to­ry, Felis sil­vestris lybi­ca, a sub­species of wild­cat that can be traced to the Fer­tile Cres­cent some 12,000 years ago, emerges as the true star.

In a Neolith­ic spin of “The Farmer in the Dell,” the troughs and urns in which ancient farm­ers stored sur­plus grain attract­ed mice and rats, who in turn attract­ed these mus­cu­lar, preda­to­ry cats.

They got the job done.

Human and cats’ mutu­al­ly ben­e­fi­cial rela­tion­ship spelled bad news for the rodent pop­u­la­tion, but sur­vival for today’s 600-mil­lion-some domes­tic cats, whose DNA is shock­ing­ly sim­i­lar to that of its pre­his­toric ances­tors.

Hav­ing proved their val­ue to the human pop­u­la­tion in terms of pest con­trol, cats quick­ly found them­selves ele­vat­ed to wel­come com­pan­ions of sol­diers and sailors, cel­e­brat­ed for their abil­i­ty to knock out rope-destroy­ing ver­min, as well as dan­ger­ous ani­mals on the order of snakes and scor­pi­ons.

Thus­ly did cats’ influ­ence spread.

Bastet, the Egypt­ian god­dess of domes­tic­i­ty, wom­en’s secrets, fer­til­i­ty, and child­birth is unmis­tak­ably feline.

Cats draw the char­i­ot of Freya, the Norse god­dess of love.

Their pop­u­lar­i­ty dipped briefly in the Late Mid­dle Ages, when humankind mis­tak­en­ly cred­it­ed cats as the source of the plague. In truth, that scourge was spread by rodents, who ran unchecked after men round­ed up their feline preda­tors for a grue­some slaugh­ter.

Nowa­days, a quick glimpse at Insta­gram is proof enough that cats are back on top.

(Yes, you can haz cheezburg­er with that.)

Dogs may see our ser­vice to them as proof that we are gods, buts cats sure­ly inter­pret the feed­ing and upkeep they receive at human hands as evi­dence they are the ones to be wor­shipped.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Two Cats Keep Try­ing to Get Into a Japan­ese Art Muse­um … and Keep Get­ting Turned Away: Meet the Thwart­ed Felines, Ken-chan and Go-chan

Medieval Cats Behav­ing Bad­ly: Kit­ties That Left Paw Prints … and Peed … on 15th Cen­tu­ry Man­u­scripts

Edward Gorey Talks About His Love Cats & More in the Ani­mat­ed Series, “Goreytelling”

What Hap­pens When a Cat Watch­es Hitchcock’s Psy­cho

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  See her onstage in New York City Jan­u­ary 14 as host of  The­ater of the Apes book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The Getty Digital Archive Expands to 135,000 Free Images: Download High Resolution Scans of Paintings, Sculptures, Photographs & Much Much More

J. Paul Get­ty was not a bil­lion­aire known for his gen­eros­i­ty. But since his death, the Get­ty Trust and com­plex of Get­ty muse­ums in L.A. have car­ried forth in a more mag­nan­i­mous spir­it, osten­si­bly adher­ing to val­ues that tran­scend their founder: “ser­vice, phil­an­thropy, teach­ing, and access.”

A col­lec­tion first gath­ered for pri­vate invest­ment and con­sump­tion (some­times under a cloud of scan­dal) has expand­ed into gal­leries that mil­lions pass through every year; a Con­ser­va­tion Insti­tute ded­i­cat­ed to pre­serv­ing the world’s art; and a Research Insti­tute pro­claim­ing a social mis­sion: a devo­tion to expand­ing “our knowl­edge of the his­to­ry of art, of all coun­tries, of all lan­guages,” accord­ing to its direc­tor Thomas Gae­ht­gens, who also says, “a soci­ety with­out art can­not real­ly sur­vive.”

Put anoth­er way, as one of the Getty’s art mar­ket com­peti­tors was once quot­ed as say­ing, “They just want peo­ple to like them.” He didn’t mean it as a com­pli­ment, but if you are an art lover—and not a bil­lion­aire art collector—you may gen­uine­ly appre­ci­ate this qual­i­ty. And you may like them even more now that their open access dig­i­tal col­lec­tions have almost dou­bled to 135,000 high-res­o­lu­tion images since we last checked in with them five years ago.

Like the Get­ty muse­um, it reflects its founder’s tastes in Clas­si­cal, Neo-Clas­si­cal, and Renais­sance art. Down­load Andrea Mantegna’s Ado­ra­tion of the Magi (top), for exam­ple, at the high­est res­o­lu­tion (8557 X 6559) and get clos­er to a vir­tu­al ver­sion than you ever could to the real thing. Learn the painting’s prove­nance and exhi­bi­tion his­to­ry, read an infor­ma­tive descrip­tion and a bib­li­og­ra­phy. The paint­ing is one of hun­dreds from Euro­pean mas­ters and their less­er-known appren­tices. You’ll also find sev­er­al hun­dred images of sculp­ture, both clas­si­cal and modern—like Paul Gauguin’s san­dal­wood Head with Horns, above—as well as draw­ings, man­u­scripts, pot­tery, jew­el­ry, coins, dec­o­ra­tive arts, and much more.

But the bulk of the dig­i­tal col­lec­tion con­sists of pho­tographs, with 112,261 images and count­ing in the archive. The Get­ty has “assem­bled the finest and most com­pre­hen­sive cor­pus of pho­tographs on the West Coast” in its pho­tog­ra­phy col­lec­tion (not to be con­fused with Getty’s son’s media empire), with “sub­stan­tial hold­ings by some of the most sig­nif­i­cant mas­ters of the 20th cen­tu­ry.” The col­lec­tion is also “par­tic­u­lar­ly rich in works dat­ing from the time of photography’s inven­tion” and its devel­op­ment in the mid-19th cen­tu­ry.

Down­load and study Dorothea Lange’s des­o­late Aban­doned Dust Bowl Home. Or jour­ney back to the ear­ly days of the medi­um, when gen­tle­man ama­teurs like Scot­tish noble­man Ronald Ruthven Leslie-Melville took up pho­tog­ra­phy as an avid pur­suit, and doc­u­ment­ed the land­scapes, archi­tec­ture, and per­son­ages of their age. (See Ruthven-Melville’s 1860’s pho­to­graph Roe­hamp­ton below.)

Like all dig­i­tal col­lec­tions, the Getty’s can­not repli­cate the expe­ri­ence of see­ing phys­i­cal works of art in per­son, but it does mag­nan­i­mous­ly expand access to thou­sands of images usu­al­ly hid­den from the pub­lic, as well as thou­sands of pieces cur­rent­ly on dis­play in one of its many muse­ums. Com­plete­ly free, the online archive serves as an invalu­able teach­ing and learn­ing tool, a vast repos­i­to­ry pre­serv­ing inter­na­tion­al art his­to­ry online.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

25 Mil­lion Images From 14 Art Insti­tu­tions to Be Dig­i­tized & Put Online In One Huge Schol­ar­ly Archive

Vis­it a New Dig­i­tal Archive of 2.2 Mil­lion Images from the First Hun­dred Years of Pho­tog­ra­phy

1.8 Mil­lion Free Works of Art from World-Class Muse­ums: A Meta List of Great Art Avail­able Online

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

Artist Hand-Cuts an Intricate Octopus From a Single Piece of Paper: Discover the Japanese Art of Kirie

At first glance, the octo­pus in the video above might appear to be breath­ing. A sec­ond look reveals that it isn’t actu­al­ly breath­ing, nor is it actu­al­ly an octo­pus at all, but seem­ing­ly just a high­ly detailed draw­ing of one. Only upon the third look, if even then, does it become clear that the octo­pus has been not drawn but intri­cate­ly cut, and out of a sin­gle large sheet of paper at that. The two-dimen­sion­al sea crea­ture rep­re­sents a recent high point in the work of Japan­ese artist Masayo Fuku­da, who has prac­ticed this curi­ous craft, known as kirie, for more than a quar­ter of a cen­tu­ry now.

“Kirie (切り絵, lit­er­al­ly ‘cut pic­ture’) is the Japan­ese art of paper-cut­ting,” writes Spoon & Tam­ago’s John­ny Wald­man. “Vari­a­tions of kirie can be found in cul­tures around the world but the Japan­ese ver­sion is said to be derived from reli­gious cer­e­monies and can be traced back to around the AD 700s.

In its most con­ven­tion­al form, neg­a­tive space is cut from a sin­gle sheet of white paper and then con­trast­ed against a black back­ground to reveal a ren­der­ing.” Such painstak­ing work, and the aston­ish­ing­ly impres­sive artis­tic results that can come out of it, fit right in with the image of Japan­ese art and crafts­man­ship as the world now appre­ci­ates it. Bored Pan­da quotes Fuku­da as say­ing that “cut­ting pic­tures has become a way of dis­si­pat­ing all the stress of my dai­ly life.”

If you, too, would like to seek the ben­e­fits of a reg­u­lar kirie prac­tice, you don’t need much in the way of equip­ment: “All the basics you need are TANT paper” — a brand of paper made espe­cial­ly for origa­mi and oth­er paper crafts — “a cut­ter, mat­te, and a good light source.” Of course, if you look only to the work of an expe­ri­enced mas­ter like Fuku­da (which will go on dis­play, Wald­man notes, this April at Osaka’s Miraie Gallery) for exam­ples, you’re like­ly to get frus­trat­ed very quick­ly indeed.

You might con­sid­er first get­ting a broad­er overview of kirie as cur­rent­ly prac­ticed, start­ing with this five-minute doc­u­men­tary show­cas­ing the work of oth­er paper-cut­ting enthu­si­asts in Japan. Set aside enough time for it, and approach your sheet of paper with enough patience every day, and — who knows? — one day your octo­pus, too, may breathe.

via Spoon & Tam­a­go

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Watch a Japan­ese Crafts­man Lov­ing­ly Bring a Tat­tered Old Book Back to Near Mint Con­di­tion

20 Mes­mer­iz­ing Videos of Japan­ese Arti­sans Cre­at­ing Tra­di­tion­al Hand­i­crafts

Watch Japan­ese Wood­work­ing Mas­ters Cre­ate Ele­gant & Elab­o­rate Geo­met­ric Pat­terns with Wood

Design­er Cre­ates Origa­mi Card­board Tents to Shel­ter the Home­less from the Win­ter Cold

MIT Cre­ates Amaz­ing Self-Fold­ing Origa­mi Robots & Leap­ing Chee­tah Robots

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.

The Art of Creating Special Effects in Silent Movies: Ingenuity Before the Age of CGI

If any­one tries to claim that mod­ern day movies have too many spe­cial effects remind them of this. Films have always used spe­cial effects to trick the audi­ence, and we’re just using new vari­a­tions of tools from a cen­tu­ry ago. In fact, right from the begin­ning, cre­ators like Georges Méliès were push­ing the bound­aries of cel­lu­loid and 24 frames per sec­ond like the show­men and magi­cians they were.

By the time we get to the silent come­di­ans as seen in our above video, tech­nol­o­gy had advanced along with the pure phys­i­cal com­e­dy of the stars. Yes, they were amaz­ing and nim­ble ath­letes, but they weren’t stu­pid. Cam­era trick­ery helped them look super­hu­man.

The first exam­ple shows Harold Lloyd’s icon­ic stunt from 1923’s Safe­ty Last!, where he hung over the streets of Los Ange­les from a clock face. Only he wasn’t real­ly. Using forced per­spec­tive, a con­struct­ed build­ing edi­fice, and a safe mat­tress a few feet below shows how Lloyd faced no dan­ger at all. Edit­ing, too, cre­ates so much of the effect, as we have seen how high the clock is com­pared to the ground in pre­vi­ous shots. The angle on the streets below and in the dis­tance real­ly sell the scene com­pared to just shoot­ing sky.

In fact, this forced per­spec­tive is still used in mod­ern films: Peter Jack­son used it a lot in The Lord of the Rings to give the impres­sion that Gan­dalf was twice as tall as Hob­bit Fro­do sim­ply by con­struct­ing the sets small­er.

And when back­grounds are basic like sand dunes, even the low bud­get film­mak­er can achieve some amaz­ing effects with no mon­ey, just a bunch of cool minia­tures:

Then again, Jack­ie Chan one-upped Lloyd for real in his 1983 film Project A, when he dan­gles from a three-sto­ry clock hand only to crash through two canopies onto the ground below. It’s a stunt so nice, they show you it twice!

The oth­er favorite trick of the silent films was mat­te paint­ing. As long as the cam­era doesn’t move, a piece of glass with a pho­to-real­is­tic paint­ing on it can seam­less­ly fit into the action.

In Char­lie Chaplin’s 1936 Mod­ern Times, that allows the come­di­an to skate very close to a three floor drop with­out even being in dan­ger. (Tech­ni­cal­ly, the cam­era *does* move in this shot, but it’s a short pan which wouldn’t affect the illu­sion.)

This old-school method has gone away, though up through the ‘80s great mat­te paint­ing artists were work­ing on films like the Star Wars tril­o­gy and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Now a dig­i­tal mat­te artist works in three dimen­sions, not two, with end­less finesse and tweak­ing at their dis­pos­al, like in Game of Thrones:

The mat­te is the basis, real­ly, of all mod­ern dig­i­tal effects. Wher­ev­er there is a green screen, you’re see­ing the evo­lu­tion of the mat­te. You prob­a­bly have an app on your phone that does some­thing sim­i­lar, and can mag­i­cal­ly trans­port you to where you real­ly want to be…just like film.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Super­cut of Buster Keaton’s Most Amaz­ing Stunts–and Keaton’s 5 Rules of Com­ic Sto­ry­telling

Some of Buster Keaton’s Great, Death-Defy­ing Stunts Cap­tured in Ani­mat­ed Gifs

Cap­ti­vat­ing GIFs Reveal the Mag­i­cal Spe­cial Effects in Clas­sic Silent Films

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.

The Hu, a New Breakthrough Band from Mongolia, Plays Heavy Metal with Traditional Folk Instruments and Throat Singing

Maybe you’re jad­ed, maybe you think it’s time for heavy met­al to final­ly hang up its spikes, maybe you think there’s nowhere else for the world’s most the­atri­cal­ly angry music to go but maybe blue­grass…. Or maybe Mon­go­lia, where folk met­al band The Hu have been invent­ing what they call “Hun­nu Rock,” a style com­bin­ing West­ern head­bang­ing with instru­ments like the horse­head fid­dle (morin khu­ur) and Mon­go­lian gui­tar (tovshu­ur). “It also involves singing in a gut­tur­al way,” Katya Cen­gel points out at NPR—no, not like this, but in the man­ner of tra­di­tion­al Mon­go­lian throat singers.

Now YouTube sen­sa­tions with mil­lions of views of its two videos for “Yuve Yuve Yu” and “Wolf Totem,” the band plans to release its first album this spring, after sev­en years of hard work. The Hu are not flash-in-the-pan inter­net fame seek­ers but seri­ous musi­cians who didn’t quite expect this degree of atten­tion, or so they say. “When we do this,” said gui­tarist Tem­ka, “we try to spir­i­tu­al­ly express this beau­ti­ful thing about Mon­go­lian music. We think we will talk to everyone’s soul through our music. But we didn’t expect this fast, peo­ple just pop­ping up every­where.”

Uni­ver­si­ty of Wis­con­sin’s Kip Hutchins, a doc­tor­al stu­dent in cul­tur­al anthro­pol­o­gy, has tak­en an inter­est in the band and thinks their appeal, writes Cen­gel, has to do with how “the sto­ry of Mon­go­lia has been writ­ten in the West. Nomadism and horse cul­ture has been roman­ti­cized, and the empha­sis on free­dom and heroes tends to appeal to the stereo­typ­i­cal male heavy met­al fan.” The band’s themes focus on past nation­al tri­umphs, the leg­endary rule of Genghis Khan, and the glo­ri­fi­ca­tion of the nomadic warrior’s life.

Or so it would seem to West­ern­ers pars­ing their lyrics in Eng­lish. It may also be hard to read “Hey you trai­tor! Kneel down!” in a song about “tak­ing our Great Mon­gol ances­tors names in vain” and not think about metal’s role in a few vio­lent ultra-nation­al­ist scenes. Some sug­gest the songs are iron­ic or trans­late dif­fer­ent­ly to Mon­go­lian lis­ten­ers. Or that the band might be a sophis­ti­cat­ed satire, like Laibach, using nation­al­ist themes, cos­tumes, and dra­mat­ic set­tings on the steppes to cri­tique nation­al­ist nar­ra­tives.

One observ­er who knows the cul­ture sug­gests it’s more com­pli­cat­ed. The Hu are not mock­ing tra­di­tion­al Mon­go­lian cul­ture and his­to­ry, far from it. “The graph­ic visu­als used in the video cer­tain­ly evoke pride in our nomadic cul­ture,” writes Bat­shan­das Altan­sukh, “but the lyric is quite the con­trary. It’s very polit­i­cal and high­ly crit­i­cal of today’s Mon­go­lian soci­ety” and what the band sees as their country’s propen­si­ty for “emp­ti­ly boast­ing about the past” rather than actu­al­ly learn­ing about and respect­ing it (with motor­cy­cle gangs rid­ing across the plains).

The lyrics we read in trans­la­tion are appar­ent­ly “too west­ern­ized or sim­pli­fied” to real­ly get their point across and slo­gans like “tak­ing our great Mon­gol ances­tors names in vain,” Cen­gel points out, “are almost exact­ly what was sung in the late 1980s dur­ing the tran­si­tion to democracy”—a means of fierce­ly assert­ing an inde­pen­dent cul­tur­al iden­ti­ty against the hege­mon­ic Sovi­et Union. Mon­go­lian folk rock and jazz bands picked up the sen­ti­ment and Mon­go­lian hip hop acts pro­mote respect for the country’s tra­di­tions with new dance moves.

But whether or not The Hu’s pol­i­tics get wrong­ly inter­pret­ed, or ignored, by their mil­lions of new fans, it’s clear that peo­ple get it at the uni­ver­sal lev­el of metal’s com­mu­nal fre­quen­cies: long hair, leather, gui­tars, growl­ing, and epic medieval badassery.

via NPR

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ori­gins of the Death Growl in Met­al Music

Finnish Musi­cians Play Blue­grass Ver­sions of AC/DC, Iron Maid­en & Ron­nie James Dio

With Medieval Instru­ments, Band Per­forms Clas­sic Songs by The Bea­t­les, Red Hot Chili Pep­pers, Metal­li­ca & Deep Pur­ple

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

Actress Lucy Lawless Performs the Proto-Feminist Comedy “Lysistrata” for The Partially Examined Life Podcast


Remem­ber Lucy, aka Xena the War­rior Princess, per­haps bet­ter known to younger folks as Ron Swan­son’s (even­tu­al) wife on Parks and Recre­ation? Before her career re-launched via major roles on Spar­ta­cus, Salem, and Ash vs. Evil Dead, she took some time off to study phi­los­o­phy and so got involved with The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life Phi­los­o­phy Pod­cast, which is com­ing up on its 10th birth­day and has now been down­loaded more than 25 mil­lion times.

She has now joined the gang for cold-read on-air per­for­mances with dis­cus­sions of Sartre’s No Exit, Sopho­cles’s Antigone, and most recent­ly Aristo­phanes’s still-fun­ny pro­to-fem­i­nist com­e­dy Lysis­tra­ta. For the dis­cus­sion of this last, she was joined by fel­low cast mem­ber Emi­ly Perkins (she played the lit­tle girl on the 1990 TV ver­sion of Stephen King’s “IT”) to hash through whether this sto­ry of stop­ping war through a sex-strike is actu­al­ly fem­i­nist or not, and how it relates to mod­ern pol­i­tics. (For anoth­er take on this, see Spike Lee’s 2015 adap­ta­tion of the sto­ry for the film Chi-Raq.)

And as a present to bring you into the New Year, she pro­vid­ed lead vocals on a new song by PEL host Mark Lin­sen­may­er about the funky ways women can be put on a pedestal, pro­ject­ed upon, unloaded upon, and oth­er­wise not treat­ed as quite human despite the inten­tion to pro­vide affec­tion. Stream it right below. And read the lyrics and get more infor­ma­tion on bandcamp.com.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Actress­es Lucy Law­less & Jaime Mur­ray Per­form Jean-Paul Sartre’s “No Exit” for The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life Pod­cast

Pablo Picasso’s Ten­der Illus­tra­tions For Aristo­phanes’ Lysis­tra­ta (1934)

Jean-Paul Sartre’s No Exit: A BBC Adap­ta­tion Star­ring Harold Pin­ter (1964)

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