Why Salvador Dalí and Luis Buñuel Made the Still-Shocking Un Chien Andalou (1929)

Under most cir­cum­stances, there’s noth­ing par­tic­u­lar­ly shock­ing about cut­ting into an eye removed from a dead ani­mal. Gra­tu­itous, maybe, and sure­ly dis­gust­ing for some, but cer­tain­ly not psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly dam­ag­ing. I remem­ber a man turn­ing up one day to my first-grade class­room and show­ing us how to dis­sect a real sheep­’s eye, which most of us found a fas­ci­nat­ing break from our usu­al spelling and math exer­cis­es. But in edu­ca­tion as in art, con­text is every­thing, and it is the con­text estab­lished by Sal­vador Dalí and Luis Buñuel that has allowed their own act of eye-slic­ing to retain its vis­cer­al impact. It occurs, of course, in their short film Un Chien Andalou, from 1929, the sub­ject of the new Nerd­writer video above.

The shot of Buñuel’s hand tak­ing a razor to the dis­em­bod­ied eye of what he lat­er said was a calf comes ear­ly in the pic­ture. What gives it its pow­er are the images that pre­cede it: Buñuel sharp­en­ing a razor and gaz­ing up at the moon, and the actress Simone Mareuil hav­ing her own eye opened up and the razor brought near. In extreme close-up, the calf’s eye obvi­ous­ly isn’t Mareuil’s, but no mat­ter.

Cin­e­ma is so often about car­ry­ing the audi­ence along with sheer momen­tum, and in any case, Un Chien Andalou is a work of sur­re­al­ism. To the extent that any com­bi­na­tion of shots makes sense, it fails on that move­men­t’s terms. Dalí and Buñuel suc­ceed­ed, pos­si­bly to a unique degree, in mak­ing a film in which noth­ing adds up. “The rule was to refuse any image that could have a ratio­nal mean­ing, or any mem­o­ry or cul­ture,” says Buñuel in a late inter­view clip includ­ed in the video.

Nerd­writer cre­ator Evan Puschak lists a few of the images that made the cut: “A crowd sur­round­ing a man pok­ing a sev­ered hand with a stick; a man drag­ging two Jesuit priests, one played by Dalí him­self, as well as two pianos laden with two decom­pos­ing, ooz­ing don­keys; a wom­an’s armpit hair sud­den­ly appear­ing over a man’s van­ished mouth.” The goal of assem­bling such grotes­queries into one dis­or­dered view­ing expe­ri­ence? “Buñuel felt that main­stream cin­e­ma, so con­cerned with re-cre­at­ing the con­ven­tions of the nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry nov­el, was trap­ping itself in the same insid­i­ous moral­i­ty and lim­it­ing its cre­ative poten­tial. He and Dalí sought to lib­er­ate the medi­um and the audi­ence, and that lib­er­a­tion was not designed to be pleas­ant.” Near­ly a cen­tu­ry on, Un Chien Andalou remains mem­o­rably trou­bling, but most of cin­e­ma still stub­born­ly refus­es to be freed.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Short Sur­re­al­ist Film That Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Cin­e­ma: Luis Buñuel & Sal­vador Dalí’s Un Chien Andalou (1929)

Two Vin­tage Films by Sal­vador Dalí and Luis Buñuel: Un Chien Andalou and L’Age d’Or

Watch Luis Buñuel’s Sur­re­al Trav­el Doc­u­men­tary A Land With­out Bread (1933)

The 10 Favorite Films of Avant-Garde Sur­re­al­ist Film­mak­er Luis Buñuel (Includ­ing His Own Col­lab­o­ra­tion with Sal­vador Dalí)

Sal­vador Dalí Goes to Hol­ly­wood & Cre­ates a Wild Dream Sequence for Alfred Hitch­cock

Film­mak­er Luis Buñuel Shows How to Make the Per­fect Dry Mar­ti­ni

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Simpsons Present Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven,” and Teachers Now Use It to Teach Kids the Joys of Literature

The Simp­sons has mocked or ref­er­enced lit­er­a­ture over its many sea­sons, usu­al­ly through a book Lisa was read­ing, or with guest appear­ances (e.g., Michael Chabon & Jonathan Franzen, Maya Angelou and Amy Tan). And it has ref­er­enced Edgar Allan Poe in both title (“The Tell-Tale Head” from the first sea­son) and in pass­ing (in “Lisa’s Rival” from 1994, the title char­ac­ter builds a dio­ra­ma based on the same Poe tale.)

But on the first ever “Tree­house of Hor­ror” from 1990—the Simp­sons’ recur­ring Hal­loween episode—they adapt­ed Poe’s “The Raven” more faith­ful­ly than any bit of lit found in any oth­er episode. The poem, read by James Earl Jones, remains intact, more or less, but with Dan Castellaneta’s Homer Simp­son pro­vid­ing the unnamed narrator’s voice. Marge makes an appear­ance as the long depart­ed Lenore, with hair so tall it needs an extra can­vas to con­tain it in por­trait. Mag­gie and Lisa are the censer-swing­ing seraphim, and Bart is the annoy­ing raven that dri­ves Homer insane.

Castel­lan­e­ta does a great job deliv­er­ing Poe’s verse with con­vic­tion and humor, while keep­ing the char­ac­ter true to both Homer and Poe. It’s a bal­anc­ing act hard­er than it sounds.

Suf­fice it to say that this for­ay into Poe was good enough for sev­er­al teach­ers’ guides (includ­ing this one from The New York Times) to sug­gest using the video in class. (We’d love to hear about this if you were a teacher or stu­dent who expe­ri­enced this.) And it’s the first and only time that Poe got co-writ­ing cred­it on a Simp­sons episode.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Simp­sons Pay Won­der­ful Trib­ute to the Ani­me of Hayao Miyaza­ki

Watch The Simp­sons’ Hal­loween Par­o­dy of Kubrick’s A Clock­work Orange and The Shin­ing

Thomas Pyn­chon Edits His Lines on The Simp­sons: “Homer is my role mod­el and I can’t speak ill of him.”

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts.

The Productive Writing Routines of Haruki Murakami, Stephen King, and Virginia Woolf, Explained

Just days ago, Haru­ki Murakami’s Japan­ese pub­lish­er announced that his six­teenth nov­el will come out this sum­mer. A brief sec­tion of The Tale of KAHO, trans­lat­ed into Eng­lish by Philip Gabriel, appeared in the New York­er in 2024. The full book will run to 352 pages, mak­ing it a fair­ly hefty work for a 77-year-old nov­el­ist who’s been at it for almost half a cen­tu­ry now. Murakami’s unflag­ging pro­duc­tiv­i­ty must owe some­thing to his famous­ly rig­or­ous con­struc­tion of his life around the twin poles of writ­ing and run­ning, two activ­i­ties that demand long-term endurance. In this video, the YouTu­ber Mari­Writ­ing attempts it her­self: wak­ing up every morn­ing at 4:00 a.m., work­ing on a sin­gle project for five to six hours, then run­ning ten kilo­me­ters — or, in her case, at least get­ting out and walk­ing for a while.

How­ev­er indis­pens­able Muraka­mi may con­sid­er run­ning to his writ­ing life, he’s also employed oth­er idio­syn­crat­ic and seem­ing­ly effec­tive tech­niques of which oth­ers can make use. Take, for exam­ple, the way he got over the block stop­ping him from mak­ing progress on his first nov­el by writ­ing its open­ing chap­ter in Eng­lish, then trans­lat­ing it back into his native Japan­ese.

He also adheres to an edit­ing process con­sist­ing of four spaced-out phas­es, each one focused on a dif­fer­ent ele­ment of the man­u­script. Things work a bit dif­fer­ent­ly for Stephen King, who’s less than two years old­er than Muraka­mi, but has pub­lished 67 nov­els, twelve sto­ry col­lec­tions, and five books of non­fic­tion, among many oth­er projects. Yet, as under­scored in Mari­Writ­ing’s video here, King, no less than Muraka­mi, writes in a whol­ly rou­tinized way that con­sti­tutes “self-hyp­no­sis.”

Vir­ginia Woolf prob­a­bly got her­self into a sim­i­lar state now and again, but giv­en that she worked on a week­ly dead­line as a book crit­ic for some three decades, she no doubt had many occa­sions when she just had to put pen to paper no mat­ter what the state of her mind. And put pen to paper she lit­er­al­ly did: as Mari­Writ­ing explains in this final video, Woolf wrote first in long­hand (some­times in ink of her favorite col­or, pur­ple), then retyped the morn­ing’s work after lunch. In addi­tion to her fic­tion and lit­er­ary jour­nal­ism, she also made a post-tea dai­ly habit of writ­ing more freely in her diary, which let her work out her think­ing about her “real” projects. We might com­pare the impor­tance of Woolf’s diary to that of David Sedaris’ diary, the foun­da­tion of every­thing he’s pub­lished. But whether man or woman, East­ern­er or West­ern­er, nov­el­ist or oth­er­wise, we writ­ers can all take from Woolf’s exam­ple the neces­si­ty of a ded­i­cat­ed space: a room, that is, of one’s own.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Dai­ly Rou­tines of Famous Cre­ative Peo­ple, Pre­sent­ed in an Inter­ac­tive Info­graph­ic

Haru­ki Murakami’s Dai­ly Rou­tine: Up at 4:00 a.m., 5–6 Hours of Writ­ing, Then a 10K Run

Stephen King’s 20 Rules for Writ­ers

David Sedaris Breaks Down His Writ­ing Process: Keep a Diary, Car­ry a Note­book, Read Out Loud, Aban­don Hope

Write Only 500 Words Per Day and Pub­lish 50+ Books: Gra­ham Greene’s Writ­ing Method

The Dai­ly Habits of Famous Writ­ers: Franz Kaf­ka, Haru­ki Muraka­mi, Stephen King & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Psychology Behind Why Some Homes Feel Good But Most Don’t: Interior Design Principles Explained

Though it may have enjoyed occa­sion­al waves of pop-cul­tur­al pres­tige over the years, inte­ri­or design remains an over­looked art. That is to say, few both­er to appre­ci­ate, or even to notice, its sim­i­lar­i­ties with oth­er, more “seri­ous” forms of human endeav­or. Watch the recent Five by Nine video above, and even if you’ve felt rea­son­ably con­tent with wher­ev­er your own couch, chairs, and tables have come to rest up until now, you’ll soon find your­self con­sid­er­ing which prin­ci­ples of inte­ri­or design you’ve always been unknow­ing­ly vio­lat­ing. For our eyes “read” a room just as it would a para­graph, or even a paint­ing, and they sense instinc­tive­ly if some­thing’s wrong — or, worse, if too much is right.

One com­mon ama­teur mis­take is to arrange rooms so that “every­thing lives on one sin­gle hor­i­zon­tal band that starts at the floor and ends around two and a half feet up.” With all the fur­ni­ture on more or less a sin­gle lev­el, your eye “has no rea­son to trav­el upward or into the cor­ners,” and thus per­ceives a strange­ly flat­tened space.

“Plac­ing visu­al inter­est at vary­ing alti­tudes” cre­ates a more com­plex visu­al path, which con­vinces the brain it’s in a more expan­sive (or indeed expen­sive) space. Mount­ing cur­tain rods well above the win­dow frame also goes a long way toward cre­at­ing this same over­all effect. The use of ver­ti­cal lines in gen­er­al, in the form of book­cas­es, wall tex­tures, or any­thing else, cre­ates more “visu­al run­ways for your eyes.”

On the hor­i­zon­tal plane, few mis­takes could be as wide­ly com­mit­ted as push­ing a sofa up against the wall. Pro­fes­sion­al design­ers pre­fer to “float” their fur­ni­ture, leav­ing “a gap that hints at hid­den depth.” To bet­ter under­stand this phe­nom­e­non, con­sid­er how land­scape painters tend clear­ly to sep­a­rate the fore­ground, the mid­dle ground, and the back­ground: with the mid­dle ground of the sofa flush against the back­ground of the wall, “the brain learns to read them as a sin­gle flat plane.” Sep­a­ra­tion intro­duces defin­ing shad­ows, a medi­um that can yield much greater results if manip­u­lat­ed with lamps and oth­er forms of direc­tion­al light­ing, as opposed to over­head fix­tures that flood the space with uni­form light. Giv­en the near-uni­ver­sal­i­ty of against-the-wall sofas and flu­o­res­cent light­ing cranked up to the max in Seoul, where I live, a Kore­an ver­sion of this video could­n’t come out too soon.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Frank Gehry Designed His Own Home, and What It Teach­es About Cre­ative Risk

Nev­er Too Small: Archi­tects Give Tours of Tiny Homes in Paris, Mel­bourne, Milan, Hong Kong & Beyond

Vis­it the Homes That Great Archi­tects Designed for Them­selves: Frank Lloyd Wright, Le Cor­busier, Wal­ter Gropius & Frank Gehry

The Tiny Trans­form­ing Apart­ment: 8 Rooms in 420 Square Feet

Edgar Allan Poe Offers Inte­ri­or Design Advice and Blasts Amer­i­can Aris­to­crats in “The Phi­los­o­phy of Fur­ni­ture” (1840)

After a Tour of Slavoj Žižek’s Pad, You’ll Nev­er See Inte­ri­or Design in the Same Way

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Explosive Cats Imagined in a Strange, 16th Century Military Manual

Paw prints and feline urine stains on a medieval scribe’s man­u­script, per­haps they weren’t entire­ly out of the ordi­nary in the 15th cen­tu­ry. But cats strapped to mini-pow­der kegs, bound­ing off to burn down a town — now that’s pret­ty unusu­al.

The incen­di­ary feline fea­tured above (and else­where on this page) comes from a dig­i­tized ver­sion of an ear­ly 16th cen­tu­ry mil­i­tary man­u­al writ­ten by Franz Helm. An artillery mas­ter, Helm wrote about a broad and imag­i­na­tive set of destruc­tive ideas for siege war­fare. Although my Ger­man is some­what rusty, I got the sense that he was awful­ly fond of explod­ing sacks, bar­rels, and var­i­ous oth­er recep­ta­cles, and even­tu­al­ly decid­ed to com­bine these ideas with an unwit­ting ani­mal deliv­ery sys­tem. These ani­mals, accord­ing to Helm’s guide, would allow a com­man­der to “set fire to a cas­tle or city which you can’t get at oth­er­wise.”

runningcat1

The text was orig­i­nal­ly dig­i­tized by the Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­nia, and a UPenn his­to­ri­an named Mitch Fraas decid­ed to take a clos­er look at this strange explod­ing cat busi­ness. Accord­ing to Fraas, the accom­pa­ny­ing text reads:

“Cre­ate a small sack like a fire-arrow … if you would like to get at a town or cas­tle, seek to obtain a cat from that place. And bind the sack to the back of the cat, ignite it, let it glow well and there­after let the cat go, so it runs to the near­est cas­tle or town, and out of fear it thinks to hide itself where it ends up in barn hay or straw it will be ignit­ed.”

That’s the mil­i­tary strat­e­gy in a nut­shell. Seems like a great idea, apart from the fact that cats are noto­ri­ous­ly unpre­dictable. In any case, here are more illus­tra­tions of weaponized cats to round out your work week.

runningcat2

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2014.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cats in Medieval Man­u­scripts & Paint­ings

What Peo­ple Named Their Cats in the Mid­dle Ages: Gyb, Mite, Méone, Pan­gur Bán & More

Cats Migrat­ed to Europe 7,000 Years Ear­li­er Than Once Thought

Cats in Japan­ese Wood­block Prints: How Japan’s Favorite Ani­mals Came to Star in Its Pop­u­lar Art

Harvard Professor Answers Burning Questions About Iranian History

In a brisk WIRED inter­view, Pro­fes­sor Tarek Masoud answers fre­quent­ly asked ques­tions about Iran’s his­to­ry. He explains that Iran is not an Arab coun­try but a pre­dom­i­nant­ly Per­sian one, with a dis­tinct lan­guage and iden­ti­ty. He traces how the coun­try became an Islam­ic repub­lic after the 1979 rev­o­lu­tion, dri­ven by polit­i­cal repres­sion, eco­nom­ic ten­sions, and resis­tance to West­ern influ­ence.

Along the way, he tack­les the fol­low­ing ques­tions: Just how liberal/progressive was Iran pri­or to the 1979 rev­o­lu­tion? Why did the Iran­ian rev­o­lu­tion hap­pen? Is Iran the only Mid­dle East­ern coun­try whose mod­ern bor­ders were not cre­at­ed by colo­nial pow­ers? The son of Iran’s last Shah is ral­ly­ing pro­test­ers, but do Ira­ni­ans real­ly want anoth­er king?

By the end, you’ll know a lit­tle bit more about the coun­try at the cen­ter of Amer­i­ca’s lat­est mil­i­tary adven­ture.

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!

Discover the Copiale Cipher: The Mysterious 18th-Century Book That Took 260 Years to Decode

In the world of cryp­tog­ra­phy, sub­sti­tu­tion ciphers are child’s play. Indeed, we may remem­ber lit­er­al­ly play­ing with them as chil­dren, writ­ing secret mes­sages to our friends by replac­ing all the let­ters with num­bers, say, or shift­ing them one or two places over in alpha­bet­i­cal order. Crack­ing such codes was a triv­ial mat­ter even before the com­put­er age, but cer­tain sim­ple vari­a­tions could make them more robust. Take the doc­u­ment known as the Copi­ale cipher (down­load­able as a two-part PDF), a 105-page bound man­u­script that stayed unde­ci­pher­able for more than 260 years. Its mys­tery final­ly yield­ed to the efforts of Uni­ver­si­ty of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia com­put­er sci­en­tist Kevin Knight and Upp­sala Uni­ver­si­ty lin­guists Bea­ta Megye­si and Chris­tiane Schae­fer only in the ear­ly twen­ty-tens.

As Tom­mie Trelawny tells the sto­ry of the Copi­ale cipher in the Hochela­ga video above, the man­u­script, which was orig­i­nal­ly thought to date between 1760 and 1780, first had to be con­vert­ed into machine-read­able code. The tex­t’s use of 88 unique sym­bols, one of them shaped like an eye, neces­si­tat­ed com­ing up with names for all of them apart from the Roman let­ters, which had no par­tic­u­lar mean­ing in iso­la­tion.

When anoth­er scan searched for repeat­ed let­ter com­bi­na­tions, its results shed light on prob­a­ble sim­i­lar­i­ties with the Ger­man lan­guage. This made sense, since the book was found in Ger­many in the first place. Could mul­ti­ple sym­bols in this strange cipher have been sub­sti­tut­ed for sin­gle Ger­man let­ters? Could the code be, in cryp­to­graph­ic terms, a homo­phon­ic cipher?

Approach­ing the text under that hypoth­e­sis revealed mean­ings sug­gest­ing, tan­ta­liz­ing­ly, that it had been writ­ten by a secret soci­ety. It even describes an ini­ti­a­tion rit­u­al in which the inductee must first “read” a blank piece of paper, then try again with eye­glass­es, then again after wash­ing his eyes, and then, final­ly, under­go a sym­bol­ic “oper­a­tion” involv­ing the pluck­ing of a sin­gle eye­brow. This soci­ety, the Oculists, turns out to have been com­posed entire­ly of oph­thal­mol­o­gists meet­ing in the sev­en­teen-for­ties. That they did so covert­ly may owe to their hav­ing been Freema­sons, whose rites had recent­ly been banned by Pope Clement XII. The Copi­ale cipher sug­gests that Oculists appear to have had no aims more sin­is­ter than the pur­suit of knowl­edge — not that, for most of us today, the notion of eigh­teenth-cen­tu­ry eye surgery isn’t ter­ri­fy­ing enough.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Explore a Dig­i­tized Edi­tion of the Voyn­ich Man­u­script, “the World’s Most Mys­te­ri­ous Book”

The Enig­ma Machine: How Alan Tur­ing Helped Break the Unbreak­able Nazi Code

Three Ama­teur Cryp­tog­ra­phers Final­ly Decrypt­ed the Zodi­ac Killer’s Let­ters: A Look Inside How They Solved a Half Cen­tu­ry-Old Mys­tery

The Rohonc Codex: Hungary’s Mys­te­ri­ous Man­u­script That No One Can Read

The Codex Seraphini­anus: How Ital­ian Artist Lui­gi Ser­afi­ni Came to Write & Illus­trate “the Strangest Book Ever Pub­lished” (1981)

Can You Crack the Uncrack­able Code in Kryp­tos, the CIA’s Work of Pub­lic Art?

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

When Brazil Built Its Capital on Modernist Principles: The Controversial Design of Brasília

When we think of mod­ern archi­tec­ture, we often think first of what’s called the Inter­na­tion­al Style, whose min­i­mal­ist, rec­ti­lin­ear, dec­o­ra­tion-free forms were cham­pi­oned by the likes of Wal­ter Gropius, Lud­wig Mies van der Rohe, and Le Cor­busier. Though they did build projects all over the world, that isn’t exact­ly the rea­son for the name. In fact, the Inter­na­tion­al Style rep­re­sents an attempt to devel­op a cul­tur­al­ly neu­tral aes­thet­ic for all built envi­ron­ments, deploy­able equal­ly in Europe, Asia, the Amer­i­c­as, and every­where else besides. That pre­tense to uni­ver­sal­i­ty may count as the most utopi­an aspect of an avowed­ly utopi­an move­ment — and the one whose imprac­ti­cal­i­ty came soon­est to light.

Before he became Brazil’s most famous archi­tect, Oscar Niemey­er sub­scribed to the prin­ci­ples of the Inter­na­tion­al Style. But then, as an acolyte of Le Cor­busier, he could hard­ly have done oth­er­wise. When the great man came to Rio de Janeiro in 1936 to design the new Min­istry of Edu­ca­tion and Health, Niemey­er was hired to work on the project.

The expe­ri­ence seems to have done its part to con­vince him that the Inter­na­tion­al Style was­n’t as inter­na­tion­al as all that, and fur­ther­more, that its rigid dic­tates would have to be bent to suit his home­land. This bend­ing would, in a sense, be lit­er­al: like Frank Gehry or Zaha Hadid after him, Niemey­er devot­ed his archi­tec­ture to the pur­suit of the curve, inspired by exam­ples seen in every­thing from the moun­tains of Brazil’s land­scape to the bod­ies of its women.

In 1956, the new­ly elect­ed pres­i­dent Jusceli­no Kubitschek imme­di­ate­ly real­ized the plan, writ­ten into the coun­try’s con­sti­tu­tion long before, of build­ing a new cen­tral city to relieve Rio of its sta­tus as the cap­i­tal. Chris­tened Brasília, it was to be con­struct­ed on a vast, emp­ty plateau entire­ly along ratio­nal, mod­ernist guide­lines, with defined dis­tricts orga­nized along a cru­ci­form city plan often likened to a bird or an air­plane and mon­u­men­tal struc­tures meant to project a for­ward-look­ing image. Niemey­er was select­ed to design those struc­tures, which imme­di­ate­ly became ele­ments of the city’s visu­al sig­na­ture upon its inau­gu­ra­tion in 1960: ever since, sel­dom has a pho­to­graph failed to include the twin tow­ers and domes of his Nation­al Con­gress or the Space-Age crown of thorns atop his Cathe­dral of Brasília.

The both admin­is­tra­tive and oth­er­world­ly form of cen­tral Brasília remains allur­ing, though the city itself began draw­ing crit­i­cism even before its com­ple­tion. “This is what you get when per­fect­ly decent, intel­li­gent and tal­ent­ed men start think­ing in terms of space, rather than place, and about sin­gle rather than mul­ti­ple mean­ings,” declared a frown­ing Robert Hugh­es in his 1980 TV series The Shock of the New. “It’s what you get when you design for polit­i­cal aspi­ra­tions and not real human needs. You get miles of jer­ry-built pla­ton­ic nowhere infest­ed with Volk­swa­gens.” Indeed, the dom­i­na­tion of car infra­struc­ture and strict sep­a­ra­tion of func­tions hard­ly proved con­ducive to the spon­ta­neous, con­vivial aspects of Brazil­ian life. But res­i­dents and vis­i­tors alike tend to report that Brasíli­a’s urban design has been improved as its pop­u­la­tion has grown, and mas­sive­ly, with com­men­su­rate improve­ments to its qual­i­ty of life over the decades. It may not inspire many bossa nova songs, but the cap­i­tal nev­er­the­less reflects a gen­uine facet of what Brazil is — and what it once dreamed of becom­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A is for Archi­tec­ture: 1960 Doc­u­men­tary on Why We Build, from the Ancient Greeks to Mod­ern Times

Leonar­do da Vin­ci Designs the Ide­al City: See 3D Mod­els of His Rad­i­cal Design

Why Dutch & Japan­ese Cities Are Insane­ly Well Designed (and Amer­i­can Cities Are Ter­ri­bly Designed)

Frank Lloyd Wright Designs an Urban Utopia: See His Hand-Drawn Sketch­es of Broad­acre City (1932)

The World Accord­ing to Le Cor­busier: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Most Mod­ern of All Archi­tects

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of Brazil’s Nation­al Muse­um & Its Arti­facts: Google Dig­i­tized the Museum’s Col­lec­tion Before the Fate­ful Fire

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

 

An Ancient Philosophical Song Reconstructed and Played for the First Time in 1,000 Years

Above and below, you can watch musi­cians per­form “Songs of Con­so­la­tion,” a 1,000-year-old song set “to the poet­ic por­tions of Roman philoso­pher Boethius’ mag­num opus The Con­so­la­tion of Phi­los­o­phy,” an influ­en­tial medieval text writ­ten dur­ing the 6th cen­tu­ry. Accord­ing to Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty, the per­for­mance of the piece, which had been lost in time until recent­ly, did­n’t come eas­i­ly:

[T]he task of per­form­ing such ancient works today is not as sim­ple as read­ing and play­ing the music in front of you. 1,000 years ago, music was writ­ten in a way that record­ed melod­ic out­lines, but not ‘notes’ as today’s musi­cians would recog­nise them; rely­ing on aur­al tra­di­tions and the mem­o­ry of musi­cians to keep them alive. Because these aur­al tra­di­tions died out in the 12th cen­tu­ry, it has often been thought impos­si­ble to recon­struct ‘lost’ music from this era – pre­cise­ly because the pitch­es are unknown.

Now, after more than two decades of painstak­ing work on iden­ti­fy­ing the tech­niques used to set par­tic­u­lar verse forms, research under­tak­en by Cam­bridge University’s Dr Sam Bar­rett has enabled him to recon­struct melodies from the redis­cov­ered leaf of the 11th cen­tu­ry ‘Cam­bridge Songs’.

The song is per­formed here by Ben­jamin Bag­by, Han­na Mar­ti and Nor­bert Rodenkirchen, three mem­bers of the medieval music ensem­ble known as Sequen­tia.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

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!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Lis­ten to a Recon­struc­tion That’s “100% Accu­rate”

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

See The Guidon­ian Hand, the Medieval Sys­tem for Read­ing Music, Get Brought Back to Life

Hear the Song Writ­ten on a Sinner’s But­tock in Hierony­mus Bosch’s Paint­ing The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights

What Happens When a Globalized World Collapses: Archaeologist Eric Cline Explains How Bronze Age Civilizations Adapted, Survived or Vanished

We live, as we’re often told, in the era of glob­al­iza­tion. In fact, we’ve been told it so often over the past few decades that it now hard­ly seems like an obser­va­tion worth mak­ing. But how­ev­er thor­ough­ly our era is defined by con­nec­tions between far-flung nations, soci­eties, economies, and cul­tures, we should­n’t flat­ter our­selves into think­ing we are pio­neers in a whol­ly new glob­al­ized real­i­ty. As clas­si­cist Eric Cline explains in this recent Big Think inter­view, an inter­con­nect­ed world flour­ished in the late Bronze Age, and espe­cial­ly the four­teenth and thir­teenth cen­turies BC. “Life was pret­ty good” in those days, he says, at least if you lived in one of the lands around the Mediter­ranean and Near East that con­sti­tut­ed what he calls the “ancient G8.”

The mem­ber peo­ples of this ret­ro­spec­tive orga­ni­za­tion includ­ed the Myce­naeans and Minoans in Greece, the Hit­tites in mod­ern-day Turkey, the Assyr­i­ans and the Baby­lo­ni­ans in mod­ern-day Iraq, as well as the Cypri­ots, Egyp­tians, and Canaan­ites. Alas, as implied by the title of Cline’s 1177 BC: The Year Civ­i­liza­tion Col­lapsed, their good times togeth­er did­n’t last.

In that book, and in lec­tures on YouTube, he’s explained the vari­ety of fac­tors that con­tributed to the dis­so­lu­tion of that once pros­per­ous “small-world net­work.” His sur­pris­ing pop­u­lar­i­ty for a his­to­ri­an of the Bronze Age owes in part to his will­ing­ness to draw com­par­isons with that time and our own. Many of his fans sure­ly found him out of curios­i­ty over one ques­tion: is our “flat” twen­ty-first-cen­tu­ry world sim­i­lar­ly head­ed for a col­lapse?

If so, we might pay less atten­tion to why the ancient G8 col­lapsed, and more to what became of its for­mer­ly inter­de­pen­dent soci­eties when the cri­sis had run its course. Such is the sub­ject of Cline’s After 1177 B.C.: The Sur­vival of Civ­i­liza­tions, and of the Big Think inter­view extract at the top of the post. Some coped, some adapt­ed, some trans­formed, and oth­ers sim­ply van­ished. Cypri­ots and the Phoeni­cians of Canaan, for exam­ple, remade them­selves to thrive in the chaos; the Egyp­tians mud­dled through with a mix­ture of adap­ta­tion and cop­ing; the Myce­naeans and the Minoans lost more or less every­thing, includ­ing their writ­ing sys­tem, and had to rebuild from square one. But the tru­ly cau­tion­ary tale is that of the Hit­tites, whose civ­i­liza­tion­al anni­hi­la­tion appears to have been in large part self-inflict­ed. “Don’t be a Hit­tite,” is one of Cline’s pieces of advice; anoth­er is to gain an under­stand­ing of antifragili­ty soon­er rather than lat­er.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Why Civ­i­liza­tion Col­lapsed in 1177 BC: Watch Clas­si­cist Eric Cline’s Lec­ture That Has Already Gar­nered 7.6 Mil­lion Views

Is Amer­i­ca Declin­ing Like Ancient Rome?

Göbek­li Tepe: The 12,000-Year-Old Ruins That Rewrite the Sto­ry of Civ­i­liza­tion

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Hear Classical Music Composed by Friedrich Nietzsche

A philoso­pher per­haps more wide­ly known for his prodi­gious mus­tache than for the vari­eties of his thought, Friedrich Niet­zsche often seems to be mis­read more than read. Even some­one like Michel Fou­cault could gloss over a cru­cial fact about Nietzsche’s body of work: Fou­cault remarked in an unpub­lished inter­view that Nietzsche’s “won­der­ful ideas” were “used by the Nazi Par­ty.” But that use, he neglect­ed to men­tion, came about through a scheme hatched by Nietzsche’s sis­ter, after his men­tal col­lapse and death, to edit, change, and oth­er­wise manip­u­late the thinker’s work in a way The Tele­graph deemed “crim­i­nal.” Fou­cault may not have known the full con­text, but Niet­zsche had about as much sym­pa­thy for fas­cism as he did for Christianity—both rea­sons for his break with com­pos­er Richard Wag­n­er.

What Niet­zsche loved most was music. Even in the wake of this scan­dal, with Niet­zsche ful­ly reha­bil­i­tat­ed at the schol­ar­ly lev­el at least, the philoso­pher is gen­er­al­ly read piece­meal, used to prop up some ide­ol­o­gy or crit­i­cal the­o­ry or anoth­er, a ten­den­cy his anti-sys­tem­at­ic, apho­ris­tic work inspires.

A more holis­tic approach yields two impor­tant gen­er­al obser­va­tions: Niet­zsche found the mun­dane work of pol­i­tics and nation­al­ist con­quest, with its trib­al­ism and moral pre­ten­sions, thor­ough­ly dis­taste­ful. Instead, he con­sid­ered the cre­ative work of artists, writ­ers, and musi­cians, as well as sci­en­tists, of para­mount impor­tance.

Niet­zsche almost entered med­i­cine and was him­self an artist: “before he engaged him­self ful­ly as a philoso­pher, he had already cre­at­ed a sub­stan­tial out­put as poet and com­pos­er,” writes Albany Records. In an 1887 let­ter writ­ten three years before his death, Niet­zsche claimed, “There has nev­er been a philoso­pher who has been in essence a musi­cian to such an extent as I am,” though he also admit­ted he “might be a thor­ough­ly unsuc­cess­ful musi­cian.” In any case, he hoped that at least some of his com­po­si­tions would become known and heard as com­ple­men­tary to his philo­soph­i­cal project.

Now seri­ous read­ers of Niet­zsche, or those sim­ply curi­ous about his musi­cian­ship, can hear some of his com­po­si­tions online. The music ranges from spright­ly to pen­sive, roman­tic to mourn­ful, and some of it seems to come right out of the Protes­tant hym­nals he grew up with as the son of a Luther­an min­is­ter. Niet­zsche com­posed music through­out his life—a com­plete chronol­o­gy spans the years 1854, when he was only ten, to 1887. See The Niet­zsche Chan­nel for a thor­ough list of pub­lished Niet­zsche record­ings and sheet music.

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

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ancient Philo­soph­i­cal Song Recon­struct­ed and Played for the First Time in 1,000 Years

Lis­ten to Music Playlists to Help You Study Like Niet­zsche, Socrates, Kant & Oth­er Great Thinkers

Hear Friedrich Nietzsche’s Clas­si­cal Piano Com­po­si­tions: They’re Apho­ris­tic Like His Phi­los­o­phy

Nietzsche’s 10 Rules for Writ­ing with Style

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Friedrich Nietzsche’s Life & Thought

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

 

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