Indie Animation in a Corporate World: A Conversation with Animator Benjamin Goldman on Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #88

In the peren­ni­al con­flict between art and our cor­po­rate enter­tain­ment machine, ani­ma­tion seems designed to be mech­a­nized, giv­en how labor-inten­sive it is, and yes, most of our ani­ma­tion comes aimed at chil­dren (or naughty adults) from a few behe­moths (like, say, Dis­ney).

Your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er, Eri­ca Spyres, and Bri­an Hirt are joined by Ben­jamin Gold­man to dis­cuss doing ani­ma­tion on your own, with only faint hope of “the cav­al­ry” (e.g. Net­filx mon­ey or the Pixar fleet of ani­ma­tors) com­ing to help you real­ize (and dis­trib­ute and gen­er­ate rev­enue from) your vision. As an adult view­er, what are we look­ing for from this medi­um?

We talk about what exact­ly con­sti­tutes “indie,” shorts vs. fea­tures, how the image relates to the nar­ra­tion, real­ism or its avoid­ance, and more. Watch Ben­jam­in’s film with Daniel Gam­burg, “Eight Nights.”

Some of our oth­er exam­ples include Jérémy Clap­in’s I Lost My Body and Skhizein, World of Tomor­row, If Any­thing Hap­pens I Love You, The Oppo­sites Game, Windup, Fritz the Cat, Spike & Mike’s Sick and Twist­ed Fes­ti­val of Ani­ma­tion, and Image Union.

Hear a few lists and com­ments about this inde­pen­dent ani­ma­tion:

Fol­low Ben­jamin on Insta­gram @bgpictures. Here’s some­thing he did for a major film stu­dio that you might rec­og­nize, from the film ver­sion of A Series of Unfor­tu­nate Events:

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

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

The Story of Stalker, Andrei Tarkovsky’s Troubled (and Even Deadly) Sci-Fi Masterpiece

Andrei Tarkovsky is a pop­u­lar film­mak­er. This will come as a sur­prise to those who know the Sovi­et mas­ter most­ly by his rep­u­ta­tion as a mak­er of movies so poet­ic, seri­ous, and delib­er­ate of pace that they alter their view­ers’ rela­tion­ship to time itself. Yet Stalk­er, which ranks among his very most poet­ic, seri­ous, and delib­er­ate works, was, as of the record­ing of the video essay above by Youtu­ber Cin­e­maTyler, the most streamed movie on the Cri­te­ri­on Chan­nel. Not only that, but the essay itself, Stalk­er (1979): The Sci-Fi Mas­ter­piece That Killed Its Direc­tor,” has as of this writ­ing racked up more than 1.6 mil­lion views.

As Cin­e­maTyler’s most-seen episode, this Stalk­er exe­ge­sis out­ranks in pop­u­lar­i­ty his analy­ses of clas­sics like Blade Run­nerNorth by North­west, and Mon­ty Python and the Holy Grail. It has also drawn more view­ers than his many videos on the work of Stan­ley Kubrick, from The Shin­ing and 2001: A Space Odyssey to Bar­ry Lyn­don and A Clock­work Orange. But for an auteur enthu­si­ast of his kind, one can hard­ly begin dis­cussing Kubrick with­out bring­ing up Tarkovsky, and vice ver­sa. Some points of com­par­i­son are more obvi­ous than oth­ers: Cin­e­maTyler men­tions Tarkovsky’s low opin­ion of 2001, which played a part in shap­ing the stark­ly dif­fer­ent look and feel of his own first sci­ence-fic­tion pic­ture Solaris.

There’s also a ref­er­ence to “Kubrick/Tarkovsky,” a video essay pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture that cat­a­logs the sub­tler visu­al res­o­nances between their films. “Kubrick is one side of the brain,” as Cin­e­maTyler puts it, “and Tarkovsky the oth­er.” As much as they have in com­mon on a deep­er lev­el, on the sur­face Kubrick and Tarkovsky’s oeu­vres both oppose and com­ple­ment each oth­er. While Kubrick worked only in gen­res, Tarkovsky most­ly eschewed them: Stalk­er, which came out sev­en years after Solaris, pulls sci-fi almost unrec­og­niz­ably far into his own aes­thet­ic ter­ri­to­ry.

This thrust Tarkovsky and his col­lab­o­ra­tors into their most ardu­ous film­mak­ing effort yet: they had to exe­cute com­pli­cat­ed setups in real indus­tri­al waste­lands, make sev­er­al changes of cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er, and even shoot the entire movie twice after prob­lems with the ini­tial film stock. Cin­e­maTyler recounts these dif­fi­cul­ties and oth­ers, not ignor­ing the wide­ly held sus­pi­cion that these poi­so­nous loca­tions ulti­mate­ly caused the deaths of sev­er­al of its cre­ators, includ­ing Tarkovsky him­self. Kubrick­’s shoots were also noto­ri­ous­ly dif­fi­cult, of course, but none demand­ed quite the sac­ri­fice Stalk­er did — and arguably, none pro­duced quite an inex­plic­a­bly com­pelling a cin­e­mat­ic expe­ri­ence.

You can pick up a copy of Stalk­er on Blu-ray.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Free Online: Watch the Films of Andrei Tarkovsky, Arguably the Most Respect­ed Film­mak­er of All Time

Slavoj Žižek Explains the Artistry of Andrei Tarkovsky’s Films: Solaris, Stalk­er & More

“Kubrick/Tarkovsky”: A Video Essay Explores the Visu­al Sim­i­lar­i­ties Between the Two “Cin­e­mat­ic Giants”

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Mas­ter­piece Stalk­er Gets Adapt­ed into a Video Game

Tarkovsky’s Advice to Young Film­mak­ers: Sac­ri­fice Your­self for Cin­e­ma

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

Dave Grohl Tells the Story of How He Wrote “Everlong”

Dave Grohl, like many rock musi­cians, does not come from a clas­si­cal­ly trained back­ground. Instead he has an abil­i­ty to write accord­ing to what sounds good, and where noodling around in the stu­dio can bring great rewards. That’s where The Foo Fight­ers’ best song “Ever­long” orig­i­nates.

In this 2020 clip from Oates Song Fest, Grohl tells the sto­ry of “Ever­long,” and how it came to him in the stu­dio one day in between work­ing on the band’s sec­ond album. It start­ed with a chord.

“I’m not a trained musi­cian, so I don’t know what that chord is,” he says. (The Inter­tubes seem to agree it’s a Dmaj7). At first he thought it was a chord from Son­ic Youth (“Schiz­o­phre­nia,” in fact), one of his favorite bands of all time. So that was a good start. One chord led to anoth­er and soon he had a sketch of a song.

At the time, Grohl was essen­tial­ly home­less after a divorce from his wife, pho­tog­ra­ph­er Jen­nifer Young­blood. And the band were at a low ebb as well, not hap­py that their debut album hadn’t tak­en off like they want­ed. But Grohl then fell in love again, this time with Louise Post of the band Veru­ca Salt. Over Christ­mas 1996, he wrote the lyrics. He would tell Ker­rang mag­a­zine in 2006: “That song’s about a girl that I’d fall­en in love with and it was basi­cal­ly about being con­nect­ed to some­one so much, that not only do you love them phys­i­cal­ly and spir­i­tu­al­ly, but when you sing along with them you har­mo­nize per­fect­ly.”

He record­ed a demo of the song, play­ing all the instru­ments (he might not be a *trained* musi­cian, but he is a well round­ed one), and the fin­ished stu­dio ver­sion real­ly didn’t stray too far from the orig­i­nal. Post pro­vid­ed har­monies record­ed down a tele­phone, as she was in Chica­go at the time. (You can hear them iso­lat­ed, along with a lot more gear­head chat on this Pro­duce Like a Pro episode): “I nev­er con­sid­ered doing this acousti­cal­ly, I thought it was a rock song,” Grohl adds. That was until he did the Howard Stern show, ear­ly in the morn­ing at 6 a.m., and per­formed it with just solo gui­tar. “It gave the song a new life,” he said. “It makes the song feel the way I always wish it would.”

The song cat­a­pult­ed the band to the top of the charts, and is con­sid­ered one of the great rock songs of the 1990s. David Let­ter­man con­sid­ers it his favorite song, and asked the band to play it at the close of his final show in 2015. For a very spe­cif­ic lyric writ­ten about a very spe­cif­ic woman, with chords dis­cov­ered while just goof­ing about, it has a uni­ver­sal qual­i­ty.

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Paul Simon Tells the Sto­ry of How He Wrote “Bridge Over Trou­bled Water” (1970)

Dave Grohl & Greg Kurstin Cov­er 8 Songs by Famous Jew­ish Artists for Hanukkah: Bob Dylan, Beast­ie Boys, Vel­vet Under­ground & More

AI Soft­ware Cre­ates “New” Nir­vana, Jimi Hen­drix, Doors & Amy Wine­house Songs: Hear Tracks from the “Lost Tapes of the 27 Club”

Nir­vana Refus­es to Fake It on Top of the Pops, Gives a Big “Mid­dle Fin­ger” to the Tra­di­tion of Bands Mim­ing on TV (1991)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

The Letterform Archive Launches a New Online Archive of Graphic Design, Featuring 9,000 Hi-Fi Images

An online design muse­um made by and for design­ers? The con­cept seems obvi­ous, but has tak­en decades in inter­net years for the real­i­ty to ful­ly emerge in the Let­ter­form Archive. Now that it has, we can see why. Good design may look sim­ple, but no one should be fooled into think­ing it’s easy. “After years of devel­op­ment and months of feed­back,” write the cre­ators of the Let­ter­form Archive online design muse­um, “we’re open­ing up the Online Archive to every­one. This project is a labor of love from every­one on our staff, and many gen­er­ous vol­un­teers, and we hope it pro­vides a source of beau­ti­ful dis­trac­tion and inspi­ra­tion to all who love let­ters.”

That’s let­ters as in fonts, not epis­tles, and there are thou­sands of them in the archive. But there are also thou­sands of pho­tographs, lith­o­graphs, silkscreens, etc. rep­re­sent­ing the height of mod­ern sim­plic­i­ty. This and oth­er uni­fy­ing threads run through the col­lec­tion of the Let­ter­form Archive, which offers “unprece­dent­ed access… with near­ly 1,500 objects and 9,000 hi-fi images.”

You’ll find in the Archive the sleek ele­gance of 1960s Olivet­ti cat­a­logs, the icon­ic mil­i­tan­cy of Emory Dou­glas’ designs for The Black Pan­ther news­pa­per, and the eeri­ly stark mil­i­tan­cy of the “SILENCE=DEATH” t‑shirt from the 1980s AIDS cri­sis.

The site was built around the ide­al of “rad­i­cal acces­si­bil­i­ty,” with the aim of cap­tur­ing “a sense of what it’s like to vis­it the Archive” (which lives per­ma­nent­ly in San Fran­cis­co). But the focus is not on the casu­al onlook­er — Let­ter­form Archive online caters specif­i­cal­ly to graph­ic design­ers, which makes its inter­face even sim­pler, more ele­gant, and eas­i­er to use for every­one, coin­ci­den­tal­ly (or not).

The graph­ic design focus also means there are func­tions spe­cif­ic to the dis­ci­pline that design­ers won’t find in oth­er online image libraries: “we encour­age you to use the search fil­ters: click on each cat­e­go­ry to explore dis­ci­plines like let­ter­ing, and for­mats like type spec­i­mens, or com­bine fil­ters like decades and coun­tries to nar­row your view to a spe­cif­ic time and place.”

From the rad­i­cal typog­ra­phy of Dada to the rad­i­cal 60s zine scene to the sleek designs (and Neins) found in a 1987 Apple Logo Stan­dards pam­phlet, the muse­um has some­thing for every­one inter­est­ed in recent graph­ic design his­to­ry and typol­o­gy. But it’s not all sleek sim­plic­i­ty. There are also rare arti­facts of elab­o­rate­ly intri­cate design, like the Per­sian Yusef and Zulaikha man­u­script, below, dat­ing from between 1880 and 1910. You’ll find dozens more such trea­sures in the Let­ter­form Archive here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Where to Find Free Art Images & Books from Great Muse­ums, and Free Books from Uni­ver­si­ty Press­es

The First Muse­um Ded­i­cat­ed Exclu­sive­ly to Poster Art Opens Its Doors in the U.S.: Enter the Poster House

Dis­cov­er Iso­type, the 1920s Attempt to Cre­ate a Uni­ver­sal Lan­guage with Styl­ish Icons & Graph­ic Design

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

How The Wrecking Crew Secretly Recorded Some of the Biggest Hits of the 1960s & 70s

The top flight crew of L.A. stu­dio musi­cians known as The Wreck­ing Crew acquired their name, leg­end has it, because they “were wreck­ing the busi­ness for every­one else,” writes Janet Maslin at The New York Times­, mean­ing old­er ses­sion play­ers who couldn’t keep up. Drum­mers like Hal Blaine (“who jus­ti­fi­ably calls him­self ’10 of Your Favorite Drum­mers’ on his Web site”) and gui­tarists like Tom­my Tedesco and Car­ol Kaye could play any­thing put in front of them per­fect­ly, in one take, with the style and per­fect tim­ing that char­ac­ter­ize the absolute best rock, folk, pop, and soul of the 1960s.

With some excep­tions, this group kept a low pro­file and have only become known in sub­se­quent ret­ro­spec­tives that reveal just how much they con­tributed to the music of the era. The answer is: more than any­one sure­ly sus­pect­ed at the time. But “the Wreck­ing Crew was not sup­posed to attract atten­tion. Groups like the Beach Boys, the Byrds, the Mon­kees and many oth­ers didn’t care to point out why they sound­ed so much bet­ter on records than on the road.”

Not only did mem­bers of the Crew “work mir­a­cles,” play­ing a “first-take, no-glitch ver­sion of ‘The Lit­tle Old Lady From Pasade­na,’” for exam­ple, but in many cas­es, they com­posed icon­ic parts with­out which songs like “The Beat Goes On” or “These Boots Were Made For Walk­ing” would prob­a­bly not have become hits.

“Nine times out of ten the pro­duc­er or arranger would tell us to use the charts as a guide, that’s all,” Blaine remem­bered. “We were encour­aged to go for it, to go beyond what had been writ­ten. We had the oppor­tu­ni­ty to cre­ate, to be a team of arrangers.”

Though most­ly unknown to lis­ten­ers, the cou­ple dozen or so musi­cians in this group of excep­tion­al per­form­ers did pro­duce two major stars, Leon Rus­sell and Glen Camp­bell, who toured with the Beach Boys in the mid-60s until he became a major super­star with the Jim­my Webb-penned songs “By the Time I Get to Phoenix” and “Wichi­ta Line­man,” both record­ed, of course, with mem­bers of the Crew. They played on jazz records and record­ed icon­ic TV theme songs like The Twi­light Zone, Green Acres, Bonan­za, M*A*S*H*, Bat­man, Mis­sion: Impos­si­ble, and Hawaii Five‑O.

The only female mem­ber of the Crew, Car­ol Kaye, was described as “the great­est bass play­er I’ve ever met,” by no less than Bri­an Wil­son. Report­ed to have played on some­thing like 10,000 ses­sions, she wrote basslines for songs from “Cal­i­for­nia Girls” to the “Theme from Shaft.”

You can learn much more about the once-hid­den work of some of the best stu­dio musi­cians in the coun­try, rivals of the best play­ers in Motown, Mem­phis, and Mus­cle Shoals, in the doc­u­men­tary above direct­ed by Dan­ny Tedesco, son of Wreck­ing Crew gui­tarist Tony Tedesco. Or Kent Hart­man’s book, The Wreck­ing Crew: The Inside Sto­ry of Rock and Rol­l’s Best-Kept Secret.

Lis­ten to a YouTube playlist of clas­sic Wreck­ing Crew tracks here. And see why when you thought you were lis­ten­ing to The Byrds, Beach Boys, Mamas and Papas, Mon­kees and even Simon & Gar­funkel, you were real­ly often lis­ten­ing to the Wreck­ing Crew.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Car­ol Kaye Became the Most Pro­lif­ic Ses­sion Musi­cian in His­to­ry

Meet Car­ol Kaye, the Unsung Bassist Behind Your Favorite 60s Hits

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

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

A Long-Lost Soviet Adaptation of The Lord of the Rings Resurfaces on YouTube–and Tolkien Fans Rejoice (1991)

When Peter Jack­son’s The Fel­low­ship of the Ring came out in 2001, it her­ald­ed a cin­e­mat­ic adap­ta­tion of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings tril­o­gy that would, at long last, pos­sess scale, pro­duc­tion val­ue, and sheer ambi­tion enough to do jus­tice to the orig­i­nal nov­els. This set it some­what apart from the ver­sion of The Fel­low­ship of the Ring that had aired just ten years before on Leningrad Tele­vi­sion — and has­n’t been seen since, at least until its recent upload (in two parts) to Youtube. An unof­fi­cial adap­ta­tion, Khran­iteli tells a sto­ry every sin­gle Tolkien read­er around the world will rec­og­nize, even if they don’t under­stand unsub­ti­tled Russ­ian. The pro­duc­tion’s appeal lies in any case not in its dia­logue, but what we’ll call its look and feel.

“Fea­tur­ing a score by Andrei Romanov of the rock band Akvar­i­um and some incred­i­bly cheap pro­duc­tion design, no one is going to con­fuse this Lord of the Rings with Jackson’s films,” writes /Film’s Chris Evan­ge­lista. “The sets look like, well, sets, and the spe­cial effects — if you can call them that — are delight­ful­ly hokey. This appears to have had almost no bud­get, and that only lends to the charm.”

Despite its cheap­ness, Khran­iteli dis­plays exu­ber­ance on mul­ti­ple lev­els, includ­ing its often-the­atri­cal per­for­mances as well as visu­al effects, exe­cut­ed with the still-new video tech­nol­o­gy of the time, that oscil­late between the hok­i­ly tra­di­tion­al and the near­ly avant-garde. Some scenes, in fact, look not entire­ly dis­sim­i­lar to those of Pros­per­o’s Books, Peter Green­away’s high-tech vision of Shake­speare that also pre­miered in 1991.

That year was the Sovi­et Union’s last, and the pro­longed polit­i­cal shake­up that ensued could par­tial­ly explain why Khran­iteli went unseen for so long. Until now, obscu­ri­ty-hunters have had to make do with The Fairy­tale Jour­ney of Mr. Bil­bo Bag­gins, The Hob­bit (pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture), Leningrad Tele­vi­sion’s ear­li­er adap­ta­tion of Tolkien’s pre-Lord of the Rings chil­dren’s nov­el. It was the now long-gone Leningrad Tele­vi­sion’s suc­ces­sor enti­ty 5TV that just put the Sovi­et Fel­low­ship of the Ring online — and in seem­ing­ly pris­tine con­di­tion at that — to the delight of glob­al Tolkien enthu­si­asts who’d known only rumors of its exis­tence. And as many of them have already found, for all the short­com­ings, Khran­iteli still has Tom Bom­badil, for whose omis­sion from his sprawl­ing block­busters Jack­son will sure­ly nev­er hear the end.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The 1985 Sovi­et TV Adap­ta­tion of The Hob­bit: Cheap and Yet Strange­ly Charm­ing

Illus­tra­tions of The Lord of the Rings in Russ­ian Iconog­ra­phy Style (1993)

Sovi­et-Era Illus­tra­tions Of J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hob­bit (1976)

The Lord of the Rings Mythol­o­gy Explained in 10 Min­utes, in Two Illus­trat­ed Videos

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

AI Software Creates “New” Nirvana, Jimi Hendrix, Doors & Amy Winehouse Songs: Hear Tracks from the “Lost Tapes of the 27 Club”

What would pop music sound like now if the musi­cians of the 27 club had lived into matu­ri­ty? Can we know where Amy Wine­house would have gone, musi­cal­ly, if she had tak­en anoth­er path? What if Hendrix’s influ­ence over gui­tar hero­ics (and less obvi­ous styles) came not only from his six­ties play­ing but from an unimag­in­able late-career cos­mic blues? Whether ques­tions like these can ever be giv­en real flesh and blood, so to speak, by arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence may still be very much unde­cid­ed.

Of course, it may not be for us to decide. “The charts of 2046,” Mark Beau­mont pre­dicts at NME, “will  be full of 12G code-pop songs, baf­fling to the human brain, writ­ten by banks of com­poser­bots pure­ly for the Spo­ti­fy algo­rithm to rec­om­mend to its colonies of ÆPhone lis­ten­ing farms.” Seems as like­ly as any oth­er future music sce­nario at this point. In the mean­time, we still get to judge the suc­cess­es, such as they are, of AI song­writ­ers on human mer­its.

The Bea­t­les-esque “Daddy’s Car,” the most notable com­put­er-gen­er­at­ed trib­ute song to date, was “com­posed by AI… capa­ble of learn­ing to mim­ic a band’s style from its entire data­base of songs.” The pro­gram pro­duced a com­pe­tent pas­tiche that nonethe­less sounds like “cold com­put­er psy­che­delia — eerie stuff.” What do we, as humans, make of Lost Tapes of the 27 Club, a com­pi­la­tion of songs com­posed in the style of musi­cians who infa­mous­ly per­ished by sui­cide or over­dose at the ten­der age of 27?

The “tapes” include four tracks designed to sound like lost songs from Hen­drix, Wine­house, Nir­vana, and the Doors. High­light­ing a hand­ful of artists who left us too soon in order to address “music’s men­tal health cri­sis,” the project used Magen­ta, the same Google AI as “Daddy’s Car,” to ana­lyze the artists’ reper­toires, as Rolling Stone explains:

For the Lost Tapes project, Magen­ta ana­lyzed the artists’ songs as MIDI files, which works sim­i­lar­ly to a play­er-piano scroll by trans­lat­ing pitch and rhythm into a dig­i­tal code that can be fed through a syn­the­siz­er to recre­ate a song. After exam­in­ing each artist’s note choic­es, rhyth­mic quirks, and pref­er­ences for har­mo­ny in the MIDI file, the com­put­er cre­ates new music that the staff could pore over to pick the best moments.

There is sig­nif­i­cant human input, such as the cura­tion of 20 or 30 songs fed to the com­put­er, bro­ken down sep­a­rate­ly into dif­fer­ent parts of the arrange­ment. Things did not always go smooth­ly. Kurt Cobain’s “loose and aggres­sive gui­tar play­ing gave Magen­ta some trou­ble,” writes Endgad­get, “with the AI most­ly out­putting a wall of dis­tor­tion instead of some­thing akin to his sig­na­ture melodies.”

Judge the end results for your­self in “Drowned by the Sun,” above. The music for all four songs is syn­the­sized with MIDI files. “An arti­fi­cial neur­al net­work was then used to gen­er­ate the lyrics,” Eddie Fu writes at Con­se­quence of Sound, “while the vocals were record­ed by Eric Hogan, front­man of an Atlanta Nir­vana trib­ute band.” Oth­er songs fea­ture dif­fer­ent sound-alike vocal­ists (more or less). In no ways does the project claim that MIDI-gen­er­at­ed com­put­er files can replace actu­al musi­cians.

They’re affec­tion­ate trib­utes, made by play­ers with­out hearts, but they don’t real­ly tell us any­thing about what, say, Jim Mor­ri­son would have done if he hadn’t died at 27. Yet the cause is a noble one: a rejec­tion of the roman­tic idea at the heart of the “27 Club” nar­ra­tive — that men­tal ill­ness, sub­stance abuse, etc. should be glam­or­ized in any way. “Lost Tapes of the 27 Club is the work of Over the Bridge,” notes Fu, “a Toron­to orga­ni­za­tion that helps mem­bers of the music indus­try strug­gling with men­tal ill­ness.” Learn more about the project here and about Over the Bridge’s pro­grams here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Writes a Piece in the Style of Bach: Can You Tell the Dif­fer­ence Between JS Bach and AI Bach?

Nick Cave Answers the Hot­ly Debat­ed Ques­tion: Will Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Ever Be Able to Write a Great Song?

Experts Pre­dict When Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Will Take Our Jobs: From Writ­ing Essays, Books & Songs, to Per­form­ing Surgery and Dri­ving Trucks

Arti­fi­cial Intel­li­gence Pro­gram Tries to Write a Bea­t­les Song: Lis­ten to “Daddy’s Car”

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

How Filippo Brunelleschi, Untrained in Architecture or Engineering, Built the World’s Largest Dome at the Dawn of the Renaissance

Sent back in time 600 years and tasked with build­ing the world’s largest dome, how would most of us fare? Most of us, of course, are not trained archi­tects or engi­neers, but then, nei­ther was Fil­ip­po Brunelleschi. Known at the time as a gold­smith, Brunelleschi end­ed up win­ning the com­mis­sion to build just such a colos­sal dome atop Flo­rence’s Cat­te­drale di San­ta Maria del Fiore, which itself had already been under con­struc­tion for well over a cen­tu­ry. The year was 1418, the dawn of the Ital­ian Renais­sance, but a break with medieval build­ing styles had already been made, not least in the rejec­tion of the kind of fly­ing but­tress­es that had held up the stone ceil­ings of pre­vi­ous cathe­drals. Brunelleschi had thus not just to build an unprece­dent­ed­ly large dome, in accor­dance with a design drawn up 122 years ear­li­er, but also to come up with the tech­nol­o­gy required to do so.

“He invent­ed an ox-dri­ven hoist that brought the tremen­dous­ly heavy stones up to the lev­el of con­struc­tion,” archi­tect David Wild­man tells How­Stuff­Works. Notic­ing that “mar­ble for the project was being dam­aged as it was unloaded off of boats,” he also “invent­ed an amphibi­ous boat that could be used on land to trans­port the large pieces of mar­ble to the cathe­dral.”


These and oth­er new devices were employed in ser­vice of an inge­nious struc­ture using not just one dome but two, the small­er inner one rein­forced with hoops of stone and chain. Built in brick — the for­mu­la for the con­crete used in the Pan­theon hav­ing been lost, like so much ancient Roman knowl­edge — the dome took six­teen years in total, which con­sti­tut­ed the final stage of the Cat­te­drale di San­ta Maria del Fiore’s gen­er­a­tions-long con­struc­tion.

Brunelleschi’s mas­ter­piece, still the largest mason­ry dome in the world, has yet to quite yield all of its secrets: “There is still some mys­tery as to how all of the com­po­nents of the dome con­nect with each oth­er,” as Wild­man puts it, thanks to Brunelleschi’s vig­i­lance about con­ceal­ing the nature of his tech­niques through­out the project. But you can see some of the cur­rent the­o­ries visu­al­ized (and, in a shame­less­ly fake Ital­ian accent, hear them explained) in the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic video at the top of the post. How­ev­er he did it, Brunelleschi ensured that every part of his struc­ture fit togeth­er per­fect­ly — and that it would hold up six cen­turies lat­er, when we can look at it and see not just an impres­sive church, but the begin­ning of the Renais­sance itself.

To learn more, you can read Ross King’s 2013 book, Brunelleschi’s Dome: How a Renais­sance Genius Rein­vent­ed Archi­tec­ture.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Build Leonar­do da Vinci’s Inge­nious Self-Sup­port­ing Bridge: Renais­sance Inno­va­tions You Can Still Enjoy Today

The Life & Times of Buck­min­ster Fuller’s Geo­des­ic Dome: A Doc­u­men­tary

The His­to­ry of West­ern Archi­tec­ture: A Free Course Mov­ing from Ancient Greece to Roco­co

Free Course: An Intro­duc­tion to the Art of the Ital­ian Renais­sance

The Wine Win­dows of Renais­sance Flo­rence Dis­pense Wine Safe­ly Again Dur­ing COVID-19

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, 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.

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast