The Psychedelic Animated Video for Kraftwerk’s “Autobahn” (1979)

Ah, yes, “Auto­bahn.” From the moment the door slams and the igni­tion starts, prog rock­ers and pre-new wavers know a jour­ney is afoot. Though the mem­bers of Kraftwerk made three albums before this, the mem­bers still look­ing like well mean­ing book­ish hip­pies, 1974’s “Auto­bahn” is con­sid­ered Year Zero for the denizens of the elec­tric cafe, the four Ger­man robots who made human music with machines.

Cre­at­ed in 1979, but bop­ping around again in pop cul­ture orbit is this cel-drawn ani­ma­tion by Roger Main­wood, cre­at­ed to pro­mote “Auto­bahn” after most of the cul­ture had caught up. By that last year of the ’70s Omni mag­a­zine was a year old, music was sift­ing through the shock­waves left by Bowie’s Low and Heroes, ana­log was flirt­ing with dig­i­tal, and the world was ready to dri­ve on that long, elec­tric high­way.

Mainwood’s pro­tag­o­nist is part alien, part human, and he begins look­ing around in awe in his hip gog­gles, then set­ting off for a run straight out of a Muy­bridge loop, only to wind up float­ing, fly­ing, sail­ing and swim­ming through a land­scape indebt­ed to Peter Max, Push­Pin Stu­dios, under­ground comix, and 1930 mod­ernism.

Main­wood had just grad­u­at­ed from London’s Roy­al Col­lege of Art Film and Tele­vi­sion School, and was com­mis­sioned by John Halas, the Hun­gar­i­an immi­grant who became known as the Father of British Ani­ma­tion, for Kraftwerk’s record label. The label want­ed to put out one of the first music Laserdiscs. (Halas, by the way, direct­ed a very UPA-influ­enced short called “Auto­ma­nia” in 1963). Accord­ing to Main­wood, he still doesn’t know if the band liked the short or even if they watched it.

Main­wood avoid­ed any direct rep­re­sen­ta­tion of dri­ving or auto­mo­biles, much to his cred­it, which may be why the film holds its fas­ci­na­tion. The ani­ma­tor con­tin­ued in his field, wind­ing up a pro­duc­er of sev­er­al clas­sics of British ani­ma­tion, includ­ing The Snow­man and the chill­ing When the Wind Blows. As for the mean­ing of “Auto­bahn,” we’ll let Main­wood have the last word:

Think­ing back to my thought process­es at that time, I remem­ber want­i­ng to specif­i­cal­ly not have con­ven­tion­al cars in the film. I want­ed a sense of a repet­i­tive jour­ney, and alien­ation, which I took to be what the music was about…hence the soli­tary futur­is­tic fig­ure, pro­tect­ed by large gog­gles, mov­ing through and try­ing to con­nect with the jour­ney he is tak­ing. The auto­mo­bile “mon­sters” are delib­er­ate­ly threat­en­ing (I have nev­er been a big fan of cars or motor­ways!) and when our “hero” tries to make human con­tact (with dif­fer­ent coloured clones of him­self) he can nev­er do it. In the end he realis­es he is mak­ing the repet­i­tive and cir­cu­lar jour­ney alone but strides for­ward pur­pose­ful­ly at the end as he did in the begin­ning. All of which sounds rather pretentious…but I was a young thing in those days!

You can read more of an inter­view with Main­wood here.

Find more ani­ma­tions in our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Kraftwerk’s First Con­cert: The Begin­ning of the End­less­ly Influ­en­tial Band (1970)

When Kraftwerk Issued Their Own Pock­et Cal­cu­la­tor Syn­the­siz­er — to Play Their Song “Pock­et Cal­cu­la­tor” (1981)

Kraftwerk’s “The Robots” Per­formed by Ger­man 1st Graders in Cute Card­board Robot Cos­tumes

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the artist inter­view-based FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, read his oth­er arts writ­ing at tedmills.com and/or watch his films here.

Pakistani Musicians Play a Wonderful Version of Dave Brubeck’s Jazz Classic, “Take Five”

How’s this for fusion? Here we have The Sachal Stu­dios Orches­tra, based in Lahore, Pak­istan, play­ing an inno­v­a­tive cov­er of “Take Five,” the jazz stan­dard writ­ten by Paul Desmond and per­formed by The Dave Brubeck Quar­tet in 1959. (Watch them per­form it here.) Before he died in 2012, Brubeck called it the “most inter­est­ing” ver­sion he had ever heard. Once you watch the per­for­mance above, you’ll know why.

Accord­ing to The Guardian, The Sachal Stu­dios Orches­tra was cre­at­ed by Izzat Majeed, a phil­an­thropist based in Lon­don. When Pak­istan fell under the dic­ta­tor­ship of Gen­er­al Zia-ul-Haq dur­ing the 1980s, Pakistan’s clas­si­cal music scene fell on hard times. Many musi­cians were forced into pro­fes­sions they had nev­er imag­ined — sell­ing clothes, elec­tri­cal parts, veg­eta­bles, etc. What­ev­er was nec­es­sary to get by. Today, many of these musi­cians have come togeth­er in a 60-per­son orches­tra that plays in a state-of-the-art stu­dio, designed part­ly by Abbey Road sound engi­neers.

You can pur­chase their album, Sachal Jazz: Inter­pre­ta­tions of Jazz Stan­dards & Bossa Nova, on Ama­zon. It includes ver­sions of “Take Five” and “The Girl from Ipane­ma.”

Note: This post orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site over a decade ago. For obvi­ous rea­sons, we’re bring­ing it back.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How Dave Brubeck’s Time Out Changed Jazz Music

Watch an Incred­i­ble Per­for­mance of “Take Five” by the Dave Brubeck Quar­tet (1964)

An Uplift­ing Musi­cal Sur­prise for Dave Brubeck in Moscow (1997)

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How Much of What You See Is Actually a Hallucination?: An Animated TED-Ed Lesson

All of us have, at one time or anoth­er, been accused of not see­ing what’s right in front of us. But as a close exam­i­na­tion of our bio­log­i­cal visu­al sys­tem reveals, none of us can see what’s right in front of us. “Our eyes have blind spots where the optic nerve blocks part of the reti­na,” says the nar­ra­tor of the new ani­mat­ed TED-Ed video above. “When the visu­al cor­tex process­es light into coher­ent images, it fills in these blind spots with infor­ma­tion from the sur­round­ing area. Occa­sion­al­ly we might notice a glitch, but most of the time, we’re none the wis­er.” This absence of gen­uine infor­ma­tion in the very cen­ter of our vision has long cir­cu­lat­ed in the stan­dard set of fas­ci­nat­ing facts.

What’s less well known is that these same neu­ro­log­i­cal process­es have made the blind see — or rather, they’ve induced in the blind an expe­ri­ence sub­jec­tive­ly indis­tin­guish­able from see­ing. It’s just that the things they “see” don’t exist in real­i­ty.

Take the case of an elder­ly woman named Ros­alie, with which the video opens. On one oth­er­wise nor­mal day at the nurs­ing home, “her room sud­den­ly burst to life with twirling fab­rics. Through the elab­o­rate drap­ings, she could make out ani­mals, chil­dren, and cos­tumed char­ac­ters,” even though she’d lost her sight long before. “Ros­alie had devel­oped a con­di­tion known as Charles Bon­net Syn­drome, in which patients with either impaired vision or total blind­ness sud­den­ly hal­lu­ci­nate whole scenes in vivid col­or.”

This leads us to the coun­ter­in­tu­itive find­ing that you don’t need sight to expe­ri­ence visu­al hal­lu­ci­na­tions. (You do need to have once had sight, which gives the brain visu­al mem­o­ries on which to draw lat­er.) But “even in peo­ple with com­plete­ly unim­paired sens­es, the brain con­structs the world we per­ceive from incom­plete infor­ma­tion.” Take that gap in the mid­dle of our visu­al field, which the brain fills with, in effect, a hal­lu­ci­na­tion, albeit not one of the elab­o­rate, some­times over­whelm­ing kinds induced by “recre­ation­al and ther­a­peu­tic drugs, con­di­tions like epilep­sy and nar­colep­sy, and psy­chi­atric dis­or­ders like schiz­o­phre­nia.” At the end of the les­son, the nar­ra­tor sug­gests that inter­est­ed view­ers seek out the work of neu­rol­o­gist-writer Oliv­er Sacks, which deals exten­sive­ly with what opens gaps between real­i­ty and our per­cep­tions — and which we here at Open Cul­ture are always pre­pared to rec­om­mend.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Oliv­er Sacks Explains the Biol­o­gy of Hal­lu­ci­na­tions: “We See with the Eyes, But with the Brain as Well”

Real­i­ty Is Noth­ing But a Hal­lu­ci­na­tion: A Mind-Bend­ing Crash Course on the Neu­ro­science of Con­scious­ness

A Beau­ti­ful 1870 Visu­al­iza­tion of the Hal­lu­ci­na­tions That Come Before a Migraine

Alice in Won­der­land Syn­drome: The Real Per­cep­tu­al Dis­or­der That May Have Shaped Lewis Carroll’s Cre­ative World

This is What Oliv­er Sacks Learned on LSD and Amphet­a­mines

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.

Watch the Oldest Japanese Anime Film, Jun’ichi Kōuchi’s The Dull Sword (1917)

In 1981, the philoso­pher Mary Midg­ley argued against cul­tur­al rel­a­tivism in an arti­cle titled “Try­ing Out One’s New Sword.” In it, she makes ref­er­ence to “a verb in clas­si­cal Japan­ese which means ‘to try out one’s new sword on a chance way­far­er.’ (The word is tsu­ji­giri, lit­er­al­ly ‘cross­roads-cut.’) A samu­rai sword had to be tried out because, if it was to work prop­er­ly, it had to slice through some­one at a sin­gle blow, from the shoul­der to the oppo­site flank. Oth­er­wise, the war­rior bun­gled his stroke. This could injure his hon­or, offend his ances­tors, and even let down his emper­or.” Those of us who feel unable to con­demn this prac­tice due to cul­tur­al dis­tance have fall­en vic­tim, in Midg­ley’s view, to “moral iso­la­tion­ism.”

One could object to Midg­ley’s use of this par­tic­u­lar exam­ple: the his­tor­i­cal record does­n’t sug­gest that tsu­ji­giri was ever com­mon prac­tice, and cer­tain­ly not that it was approved of by the wider soci­ety of feu­dal Japan. About half a cen­tu­ry after the abo­li­tion of the samu­rai class in the eigh­teen-sev­en­ties, how­ev­er, it does seem to have become the stuff of com­e­dy.

This is evi­denced by The Dull Sword (なまくら刀), a 1917 short film by Japan­ese ani­ma­tor Jun’ichi Kōuchi. When its luck­less ronin pro­tag­o­nist buys the tit­u­lar weapon and attempts to try it out, he ends up defeat­ed by his unsus­pect­ing would-be vic­tim, a blind flute-play­ing beg­gar. (He has no bet­ter luck after night­fall, as shown in a final sequence in sil­hou­ette rem­i­nis­cent of the work of Lotte Reiniger.)

Upon its redis­cov­ery in an Osa­ka antique shop fif­teen years ago, The Dull Sword became the old­est sur­viv­ing exam­ple of what we now know as ani­me. Aes­thet­i­cal­ly, it resem­bles a news­pa­per com­ic strip come to life, much as, after the advent of tele­vi­sion, more ambi­tious pro­duc­tions would adapt the look and feel of full-scale man­ga books. Ani­me has devel­oped and expand­ed immense­ly over the past cen­tu­ry, but it still — at least in cer­tain of its sub­gen­res — retains a pen­chant for tak­ing acts of vio­lence and thor­ough­ly styl­iz­ing them, in the process often ren­der­ing them com­ic or even iron­ic. You could say The Dull Sword, despite its mod­est scale, does all of that at once. And how­ev­er dif­fer­ent its time and place are from ours, we can nev­er­the­less laugh at the fate that befalls its bungling anti­hero.

via Messy Nessy

Relat­ed con­tent:

Ear­ly Japan­ese Ani­ma­tions: The Ori­gins of Ani­me (1917 to 1931)

How to Be a Samu­rai: A 17th Cen­tu­ry Code for Life & War

The Aes­thet­ic of Ani­me: A New Video Essay Explores a Rich Tra­di­tion of Japan­ese Ani­ma­tion

Hand-Col­ored 1860s Pho­tographs Reveal the Last Days of Samu­rai Japan

Watch the First Chi­nese Ani­mat­ed Fea­ture Film, Princess Iron Fan, Made Under the Strains of WWII (1941)

A Vin­tage Short Film about the Samu­rai Sword, Nar­rat­ed by George Takei (1969)

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.

 

Watch a Visual Symphony of Everyday Objects in the French Stop Motion Film, “Grands Canons”

“A brush makes water­col­ors appear on a white sheet of paper. An every­day object takes shape, drawn with pre­ci­sion by an artist’s hand. Then two, then three, then four… Super­im­posed, con­densed, mul­ti­plied, thou­sands of doc­u­men­tary draw­ings in suc­ces­sive series come to life on the screen, com­pos­ing a ver­i­ta­ble visu­al sym­pho­ny of every­day objects. The accu­mu­la­tion, both fas­ci­nat­ing and dizzy­ing, takes us on a trip through time.” That’s how the Vimeo chan­nel of Girelle Pro­duc­tions pref­aces the ani­ma­tion “Grands Canons” (aka “Big Guns”) by French film­mak­er Alain Biet. It’s a wild ride, a painstak­ing feat in exper­i­men­tal film­mak­ing. Enjoy it above.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

via Aeon/Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent

Spike Jonze’s Stop Motion Film Haunt­ing­ly Ani­mates Paris’ Famed Shake­speare and Com­pa­ny Book­store

The Book of Leaves: A Beau­ti­ful Stop Motion Film Fea­tur­ing 12,000 Pressed Leaves

Watch “The Woodswim­mer,” a Stop Motion Film Made Entire­ly with Wood, and “Bru­tal­ly Tedious” Tech­niques

1400 Engravings from the 19th Century Flow Together in the Short Animation “Still Life”

Com­posed of over 1000 engrav­ings from the 19th cen­tu­ry, the short ani­ma­tion Still Life (above) is “a med­i­ta­tion on subject/object dual­ism,” explor­ing “the idea that we live in a world of objects and a world of objects lives with­in us.” It’s cre­at­ed by Con­ner Grif­fith, an exper­i­men­tal L.A. film­mak­er who likes work­ing “with col­lec­tions to explore the uni­ver­sal sto­ries that can emerge from visu­al chore­og­ra­phy and the rela­tion­ship between sound and image.” For any­one inter­est­ed, Grif­fith has made avail­able the 1400 images used here in a Google Dri­ve doc. You can find more of his short films on Vimeo.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent

Vin­tage Book & Record Cov­ers Come to Life in a Mes­mer­iz­ing Ani­mat­ed Video

Spike Jonze’s Stop Motion Film Haunt­ing­ly Ani­mates Paris’ Famed Shake­speare and Com­pa­ny Book­store

19th Cen­tu­ry Japan­ese Wood­block Prints Cre­ative­ly Illus­trate the Inner Work­ings of the Human Body

Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree: The Animated Film Narrated by Shel Silverstein Himself (1973)

Back in 1964, Shel Sil­ver­stein wrote The Giv­ing Tree, a wide­ly loved chil­dren’s book now trans­lat­ed into more than 30 lan­guages. It’s a sto­ry about the human con­di­tion, about giv­ing and receiv­ing, using and get­ting used, need­i­ness and greed­i­ness, although many fin­er points of the sto­ry are open to inter­pre­ta­tion. Today, we’re rewind­ing the video­tape to 1973, when Sil­ver­stein’s lit­tle book was turned into a 10-minute ani­mat­ed film. Sil­ver­stein nar­rates the sto­ry him­self and also plays the har­mon­i­ca.… which brings us to his musi­cal tal­ents. Don’t miss Sil­ver­stein, also a well-known song­writer, appear­ing on The John­ny Cash Show in 1970, and the two singing “A Boy Named Sue.” Sil­ver­stein wrote the song, and Cash made it famous. Thanks to Mark, co-edi­tor of the phi­los­o­phy blog/podcast The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life for send­ing these along.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Ani­ma­tions of Oscar Wilde’s Children’s Sto­ries “The Hap­py Prince” and “The Self­ish Giant”

Ani­mat­ed Sto­ries Writ­ten by Tom Waits, Nick Cave & Oth­er Artists, Read by Dan­ny Devi­to, Zach Gal­i­fi­anakis & More

Mau­rice Sendak Ani­mat­ed; James Gan­dolfi­ni Reads from Sendak’s Sto­ry “In The Night Kitchen”

The Only Draw­ing from Mau­rice Sendak’s Short-Lived Attempt to Illus­trate The Hob­bit

How to Solve the Prisoner’s Dilemma: A Gloriously Animated Explanation of the Classic Game-Theory Problem

Imag­ine two pris­on­ers, each one placed in soli­tary con­fine­ment. The police offer a deal: if each betrays the oth­er, they’ll both get five years in prison. If one betrays the oth­er but the oth­er keeps qui­et, the betray­er will walk free and the betrayed will serve ten years. If nei­ther say any­thing, they’ll both be locked up, but only for two years. Unable coor­di­nate, both pris­on­ers will like­ly betray each oth­er in order to secure the best indi­vid­ual out­come, despite the fact that it would be bet­ter on the whole for both to keep their mouths shut. This is the “pris­on­er’s dilem­ma,” a thought exper­i­ment much-cit­ed in game the­o­ry and eco­nom­ics since the mid­dle of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry.

Though the sit­u­a­tion the pris­on­er’s dilem­ma describes may sound quite spe­cif­ic, its gen­er­al form actu­al­ly con­forms to that of a vari­ety of prob­lems that arise through­out the mod­ern world, in pol­i­tics, trade, inter­per­son­al rela­tions, and a great many oth­ers besides.

Blog­ger Scott Alexan­der describes the pris­on­er’s dilem­mas as one man­i­fes­ta­tion of what Allen Gins­berg called Moloch, the relent­less unseen force that dri­ves soci­eties toward mis­ery. Moloch “always and every­where offers the same deal: throw what you love most into the flames, and I can grant you pow­er.” Or, as he’d put it to Chewy the gin­ger­bread man, “Betray your friend Crispy, and I’ll make a fox eat only three of your limbs.”

Such is the sit­u­a­tion ani­mat­ed in glo­ri­ous­ly wool­ly stop-motion by Ivana Bošn­jak and Thomas John­son in the TED-Ed video at the top of the post, which replaces the pris­on­ers with “sen­tient baked goods,” the jail­er with a hun­gry wood­land preda­tor, and years of impris­on­ment with bit­ten-off arms and legs. After explain­ing the pris­on­er’s dilem­ma in a whim­si­cal man­ner, it presents one pro­posed solu­tion: the “infi­nite pris­on­er’s dilem­ma,” in which the par­tic­i­pants decide not just once but over and over again. Such a set­up would allow them to “use their future deci­sions as bar­gain­ing chips for the present one,” and even­tu­al­ly (depend­ing upon how heav­i­ly they val­ue future out­comes in the present) to set­tle upon repeat­ing the out­come that would let both of them walk free — as free as they can walk on one gin­ger­bread leg, at any rate.

via Aeon

Relat­ed con­tent:

An Intro­duc­tion to Game The­o­ry & Strate­gic Think­ing: A Free Course from Yale Uni­ver­si­ty

An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the Famous Thought Exper­i­ment, the “Trol­ley Prob­lem,” Nar­rat­ed by Har­ry Shear­er

The Famous Schrödinger’s Cat Thought Exper­i­ment Comes Back to Life in an Off-Kil­ter Ani­ma­tion

Watch a 2‑Year-Old Solve Philosophy’s Famous Eth­i­cal “Trol­ley Prob­lem” (It Doesn’t End Well)

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.

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