In the 1920s America, Jazz Music Was Considered Harmful to Human Health, the Cause of “Neurasthenia,” “Perpetually Jerking Jaws” & More

These are some inter­est­ing sto­ries about the Nazis and jazz, includ­ing one about a very bad jazz pro­pa­gan­da band cre­at­ed by Goebbels him­self. But we need not men­tion these at all, or even leave the shores of jazz’s birth­place to find exam­ples of extreme reac­tions to jazz by author­i­tar­i­an fig­ures who hat­ed and feared it for exact­ly the same rea­sons as the Nazis. Chief among such Amer­i­can ene­mies of jazz was rag­ing anti-Semi­te Hen­ry Ford, who feared that jazz was, you guessed it, a Jew­ish plot to infect the coun­try with racial­ly infe­ri­or “musi­cal slush.”

Ford used white coun­try music and square danc­ing in pub­lic schools as weapons of war­fare against jazz in the 1920s, there­by dis­plac­ing black­face min­strel­sy as the dom­i­nant form of para­noid response to black music in mid­dle Amer­i­ca. Anoth­er cru­sad­er, Har­ry Anslinger, com­mis­sion­er of the Fed­er­al Bureau of Nar­cotics between 1930 and 1962, more or less invent­ed the war on drugs with his reefer mad­ness war on jazz. He said it sound­ed like “the jun­gles in the dead of night” and could “lure white women.” Anslinger relent­less­ly per­se­cut­ed Bil­lie Hol­i­day and went after Thelo­nious Monk, Dizzy Gille­spie, Duke Elling­ton, and Louis Arm­strong.

It was with­in this ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry milieu that oth­er insti­tu­tion­al powers—some of the country’s most powerful—declared a war on jazz for sup­posed rea­sons of pub­lic health. (A move­ment, inci­den­tal­ly, giv­en to an enthu­si­asm for eugen­ics and forced ster­il­iza­tion at the time.) His­to­ri­an Rus­sell L. John­son has doc­u­ment­ed this cam­paign in the jour­nal Health and His­to­ry, and Jessie Wright-Men­doza describes many of his find­ings at JStor Dai­ly.

Milwaukee’s pub­lic health com­mis­sion­er claimed that the music dam­aged the ner­vous sys­tem, and a Ladies’ Home Jour­nal arti­cle report­ed that it caused brain cells to atro­phy. In Cincin­nati, a mater­ni­ty hos­pi­tal suc­cess­ful­ly peti­tioned to have a near­by jazz club shut down, argu­ing that expos­ing new­borns to the offend­ing music would have the effect of “imper­il­ing the hap­pi­ness of future gen­er­a­tions.”

Jazz was “unrhyth­mi­cal,” oppo­nents argued, and so was dis­ease. Q.E.D. In 1923, the Illi­nois Supreme Court upheld a rul­ing that shut down a jazz club, cit­ing in their opin­ion a belief the music “wears upon the ner­vous sys­tem and pro­duces that feel­ing which we call ‘tired.’” Doc­tors warned that too much jazz could cause neuras­the­nia, a catch-all for anx­i­ety, depres­sion, headaches, fatigue, etc. But jazz could also cause patients to become “ner­vous and fid­gety” with “per­pet­u­al­ly jerk­ing jaws.” What­ev­er it did, jazz was haz­ardous.

Odd­ly, just as in the Nazi’s fer­vent attempts to con­trol jazz, as Czech writer Josef Skvorecky once described it, and as in Joseph Goebbels attempts to co-opt the music for white suprema­cy, the archi­tects of Amer­i­ca’s jazz pan­ic found the rem­e­dy for jazz in jazz. But seg­re­gat­ed jazz. They turned “hot jazz” into “sweet jazz,” a style “inter­pret­ed by main­ly white musi­cians to appeal to a wider com­mer­cial audi­ence.”

It hard­ly needs to be said that any­one real­ly afflict­ed with a pas­sion for jazz ignored this pre­scrip­tion, as did every jazz musi­cian worth lis­ten­ing to. Read more about Johnson’s his­to­ry of the Amer­i­can fear of jazz at JStor Dai­ly.

via Ted Gioia

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How “America’s First Drug Czar” Waged War Against Bil­lie Hol­i­day and Oth­er Jazz Leg­ends

Hear the Nazi’s Biz­zaro Pro­pa­gan­da Jazz Band, “Char­lie and His Orches­tra” (1940–1943)

The Nazis’ 10 Con­trol-Freak Rules for Jazz Per­form­ers: A Strange List from World War II

How Jazz-Lov­ing Teenagers–the Swingjugend–Fought the Hitler Youth and Resist­ed Con­for­mi­ty in Nazi Ger­many

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

The Sex Pistols’ Sid Vicious Sings Frank Sinatra’s “My Way”: Is Nothing Sacred?

In the great gar­den of fork­ing paths and alter­na­tive time­lines there are two oth­er ver­sions of The Great Rock n’ Roll Swin­dle that Julian Tem­ple nev­er direct­ed. One would have been direct­ed by Gra­ham Chap­man of Mon­ty Python fame, but “he behaved glo­ri­ous­ly bad­ly to Mal­colm (McLaren)” accord­ing to John Lydon many years lat­er. The oth­er was to be writ­ten by film crit­ic Roger Ebert and direct­ed by bux­om beau­ty lover Russ Mey­er (who Lydon called “shab­by” and “a senile old git.”) But you do have to won­der what the hell either of those films might have been like.

Would either of them con­tained the above clas­sic scene–probably the only scene worth the price of admission–where Sid Vicious both mur­ders the clas­sic “My Way” and sev­er­al rich peo­ple in the front row.

Killing sacred cows has long been a part of the West’s sense of humor, long before punk. Spike Jones and his City Slick­ers reg­u­lar­ly destroyed clas­sic warhors­es like The Blue Danube and The Nut­crack­er. The Bon­zo Dog Band in the UK took on “The Sound of Music” and left no sur­vivors. And the Res­i­dents lov­ing­ly destroyed pop music of the ‘60s on Third Reich ‘n’ Roll and their cov­er of the Rolling Stones’ “Sat­is­fac­tion.” When it comes to pop cul­ture, noth­ing is sacred. Not even Frank Sina­tra.

By the time Tem­ple joined the McLaren’s film project, Lydon was not speak­ing to his man­ag­er. And when they got close to shoot­ing the “My Way” sequence in Paris, Sid Vicious didn’t want to take part. Julien Tem­ple remem­bered:

I would go to the stu­dio every night and come back to report to Mal­colm that the guy did­n’t want to do the song. Sid would spend all the time in the stu­dio try­ing to learn the bass. We would have to come back and tell Mal­colm we had wast­ed anoth­er night’s mon­ey. Mal­colm grew tired of it. He picked up the phone and start­ed scream­ing at Sid about what a use­less junkie he was and so on. Mean­while, Sid had giv­en the phone over to Nan­cy and while that was going on, sud­den­ly the door of Mal­colm’s hotel room flew off its hinges. Sid crashed into the room wear­ing his swasti­ka under­pants and motor­bike boots. He dragged Mal­colm out of bed and start­ed hit­ting him. Then Sid chased a naked Mal­colm down the cor­ri­dor intent on beat­ing the shit out of him.

Now, that might have been a more inter­est­ing scene than the the­ater mas­sacre, but who knows? McLaren want­ed every­thing in the film to be big­ger than life and to his cred­it, this pum­mel­ing of a cover–which had a sec­ond life as the end­ing song to Mar­tin Scorsese’s Good­Fel­las–is still a prop­er two-fin­ger salute. But in a twist, it would be Sid Vicious and the flame of British punk that would be quick­ly snuffed out upon its release. Vicious died Feb­ru­ary 2, 1979.

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 and BlueSky.

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 the Sex Pis­tols Play a Gig on a Thames Riv­er Barge Dur­ing the Queen’s Sil­ver Jubilee, and Get Shut Down by the Cops (1977)

When the Sex Pis­tols Played at the Chelms­ford Top Secu­ri­ty Prison: Hear Vin­tage Tracks from the 1976 Gig

Watch the Sex Pis­tols’ Christ­mas Par­ty for Children–Which Hap­pened to Be Their Final Gig in the UK (1977)

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.

A Short History of How Punk Became Punk: From Late 50s Rockabilly and Garage Rock to The Ramones & Sex Pistols

Seems there was a time when the dom­i­nant sto­ry of punk was the sto­ry of British punk. If you knew noth­ing else, you knew the name Sid Vicious, and that seemed to sum it up. Maybe it was only in the mid-nineties, around the time Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain released Please Kill Me: the Uncen­sored Oral His­to­ry of Punk that more peo­ple began to pop­u­lar­ly under­stand the lin­eage of late six­ties garage rock, the Vel­vet Under­ground, Detroit’s Iggy and the Stooges, and the ear­ly CBGB scene in the mid-sev­en­ties crowned by the sound of The Ramones, Pat­ti Smith, Blondie, and Talk­ing Heads.

Now even that sto­ry can seem over­sim­pli­fied, sketched out in brief on the way to dis­cussing the lit­er­ary tri­umph of Pat­ti Smith, cul­tur­al inter­ven­tions of David Byrne, career high­lights of punk pow­er cou­ple Deb­bie Har­ry and Chris Stein, or the many, always fas­ci­nat­ing doings of Iggy Pop.

The Ramones roared back into fash­ion twen­ty years ago, and the demise of CBGB in 2007 brought on waves of mar­ket­ing nos­tal­gia of almost Dis­ney-like pro­por­tions. Most every­one who pays atten­tion to pop cul­ture now knows that late-sev­en­ties punk wasn’t a move­ment that arrived out of nowhere, bent on destroy­ing the past, but a con­ti­nu­ity and evo­lu­tion of ear­li­er forms.

But the Trash The­o­ry video at the top reach­es back even ear­li­er than garage bands like the Monks and the Sonics—typically cit­ed as some of the ear­li­est com­mon ances­tors of punk and rock and roll. Punk was “rock and roll bored down to its bare bones,” says the nar­ra­tor, and begins with a rock­a­bil­ly artist who called him­self The Phan­tom and tried to out­do Elvis in 1958 with the rau­cous sin­gle “Love Me.” The Phan­tom him­self may not have embraced the label at all, but like Link Wray, he was still some­thing of a pro­to-punk. Wray’s raunchy, grit­ty instru­men­tal “Rum­ble,” also released in 1958, inspired huge num­bers of gui­tarists and aspir­ing musi­cians, includ­ing young Iggy Pop, who cities it as a pri­ma­ry rea­son he joined a band.


From there, we’re on to “ele­men­tal” tracks like The Kingsmen’s “Louie Louie,” The Trashmen’s “Surfin’ Bird,” The Sonic’s “Psy­cho,” The Monk’s “I Hate You,” and Love’s “7 and 7,” all clear prog­en­i­tors of the sound. And the Mys­te­ri­ans, of garage clas­sic “96 Tears,” were the first band to be described as punk by the main­stream press. The Kinks and The Who set tem­plates in Britain while the Vel­vets per­fect­ed sleazy, exper­i­men­tal noise back in New York. The MC5 in Detroit helped bring us The Stooges. The Mod­ern Lovers’ 1972 “Road­run­ner” launched hun­dreds of bands.

The video is a con­vinc­ing short his­to­ry show­ing how punk arose nat­u­ral­ly from trends in the late 50s and 60s that clear­ly point­ed the way. Like every such his­to­ry, espe­cial­ly one under­tak­en in the span of fif­teen min­utes, it leaves out some pret­ty heavy­weight fig­ures who should have a cen­tral place in the nar­ra­tive. Irri­tat­ed YouTube com­menters have point­ed out laps­es like The New York Dolls (see them fur­ther up in 1973), with­out whom there would have been no Sex Pis­tols. (Pro­to-punk Detroit band Death does get a men­tion, though their influ­ence is neg­li­gi­ble since they went most­ly unheard until 2009.)

Also need­ing inclu­sion as ear­ly punk pio­neers are Tele­vi­sion (check them out in ’78) and Richard Hell and the Voidoids (above in 1980’s Blank Gen­er­a­tion). And these are just a few miss­ing New York bands. Any devo­tee of this musi­cal his­to­ry will come up with a dozen or so more from both sides of the Atlantic who deserve men­tion in the ear­ly his­to­ry of punk. And that’s why, I guess, that pop­u­lar his­to­ry keeps get­ting told and retold. As soon as it starts to get stale, it seems, there’s always more to add.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

CBGB’s Hey­day: Watch The Ramones, The Dead Boys, Bad Brains, Talk­ing Heads & Blondie Per­form Live (1974–1982)

The His­to­ry of Punk Rock in 200 Tracks: An 11-Hour Playlist Takes You From 1965 to 2016

Punk­ing Out, a Short 1978 Doc­u­men­tary Records the Begin­ning of the Punk Scene at CBGB’s

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

The Origins of the “Amen Break,” The Most Sampled Piece of Recorded Music Ever

You may not find the ref­er­ence eas­i­ly in a Google search. But hang around elec­tron­ic musi­cians, DJs, or pro­duc­ers long enough, and you’ll prob­a­bly hear some­one talk about an “Amen song.” They don’t mean gospel, not direct­ly, but the famed “Amen break,” a six-sec­ond drum loop sam­pled from a 1969 soul instru­men­tal record­ing of the gospel song “Amen, Broth­er” from the B‑Side of a Gram­my-win­ning record by Wash­ing­ton, DC-based group The Win­stons. Played by drum­mer G.C. Cole­man, who died in 1996, it has like­ly become “the most sam­pled piece of record­ed music ever,” as the Great Big Sto­ry video above points out.

We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured the more exten­sive doc­u­men­tary his­to­ry of the Amen break below by writer Nate Har­ri­son. The Great Big Sto­ry video is not that, but rather a short, 4‑minute tour through the sample’s ori­gins by way of Bronx DJ Lou Flo­res, “Break­beat Lou,” who includ­ed “Amen, Broth­er” on a com­pi­la­tion of songs made specif­i­cal­ly for DJs.

If you’ve nev­er under­stood what’s so cap­ti­vat­ing about this beat, lis­ten to Flo­res describe its son­ic qual­i­ties. It’s “prob­a­bly one of the most organ­ic, larg­er-than-life, big pres­ence style of drums… there’s so many depths to this par­tic­u­lar track,” he says, list­ing the spe­cif­ic effect of each piece of the drum kit.

There real­ly is “noth­ing else like it.” And, para­dox­i­cal­ly, it exists every­where, slowed down as the back­beat of ear­ly hip-hop, sped up to inhu­man speeds in drum ‘n’ bass; appear­ing in some form or anoth­er in the reper­toire of almost every con­tem­po­rary artist, pro­duc­er, and drum­mer. The Amen break has popped up in over 3,000 songs, from David Bowie to Slip­knot to Skrillex to Pub­lic Ene­my to N.W.A. to… well, it may be eas­i­er to name pop­u­lar musi­cians of the last thir­ty years who haven’t been at least Amen-adja­cent at some point in their lives. Like cer­tain stan­dards in jazz or move­ments from clas­si­cal hits, every­one knows it, even if they don’t know they know it.

What’s refresh­ing about the brief explain­er is that, rather than try to cov­er this kind of musi­co­log­i­cal ter­ri­to­ry in a few min­utes, it focus­es on the break’s first pop­u­lar­iz­er, Flo­res, who was drawn out of his retire­ment from music because of the viral phe­nom­e­non of the Amen break. He’s an affa­ble guide to the most famous sam­ple in his­to­ry, hap­py that his cor­ner of the Bronx con­tributed so much to the cul­ture by help­ing turn sam­pled music into an orig­i­nal and inven­tive art form. Learn much more about the his­to­ry of the Amen break in the doc­u­men­tary above and at our pre­vi­ous post here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The “Amen Break”: The Most Famous 6‑Second Drum Loop & How It Spawned a Sam­pling Rev­o­lu­tion

All Hail the Beat: How the 1980 Roland TR-808 Drum Machine Changed Pop Music

A Brief His­to­ry of Sam­pling: From the Bea­t­les to the Beast­ie Boys

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

A Vintage Grand Piano Gets Reengineered to Play 20 Different Instruments with a Push of Its Keys

The Ukrain­ian Band “Brunettes Shoot Blondes” took a bro­ken, vin­tage grand piano and reengi­neered it, turn­ing it into “a hybrid, con­tain­ing 20 instru­ments.” Now, when you press the keys, the “piano ham­mers beat a marim­ba, tam­bourine, cym­bals or even cas­tanets. There are also spe­cial mechan­i­cal devices that allow for the play­ing of cel­lo, vio­lins and organ.” Watch it in action above…

via Colos­sal/Laugh­ing Squid

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 and BlueSky.

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:

How the Clavi­chord & Harp­si­chord Became the Mod­ern Piano: The Evo­lu­tion of Key­board Instru­ments, Explained

94-Year-Old Stroke Sur­vivor Plays Jazz Piano for the First Time in Years 

What Does the World’s Old­est Sur­viv­ing Piano Sound Like? Watch Pianist Give a Per­for­mance on a 1720 Cristo­fori Piano

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The Mastermind of Devo, Mark Mothersbaugh, Presents His Personal Synthesizer Collection

Mark Moth­ers­baugh’s stu­dio is locat­ed in a cylin­dri­cal struc­ture paint­ed bright green — it looks more like a fes­tive auto part than an office build­ing. It’s a fit­ting place for the icon­o­clast musi­cian. For those of you who didn’t spend your child­hoods obses­sive­ly watch­ing the ear­ly years of MTV, Mark Moth­ers­baugh was the mas­ter­mind behind the band Devo. They skew­ered Amer­i­can con­for­mi­ty by dress­ing alike in shiny uni­forms and their music was nervy, twitchy and weird. They taught a nation that if you must whip it, you should whip it good.

In the years since, Moth­ers­baugh has segued into a suc­cess­ful career as a Hol­ly­wood com­pos­er, spin­ning scores for 21 Jump Street and The Roy­al Tenen­baums among oth­ers.

In the video above, you can see Moth­ers­baugh hang out in his stu­dio filled with syn­the­siz­ers of var­i­ous makes and vin­tages, includ­ing Bob Moog’s own per­son­al Mem­o­ry­moog. Watch­ing Moth­ers­baugh pull out and play with each one is a bit like watch­ing a pre­co­cious child talk about his toys. He just has an infec­tious ener­gy that is a lot of fun to watch.

Prob­a­bly the best part in the video is when he shows off a device that can play sounds back­ward. It turns out that if you say, “We smell sausage” back­wards it sounds an awful lot like “Jesus loves you.” Who knew?

Below you can see Moth­ers­baugh in action with Devo, per­form­ing live in Japan dur­ing the band’s hey­day in 1979.

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 and BlueSky.

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!

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

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Phi­los­o­phy & Music of Devo, the Avant-Garde Art Project Ded­i­cat­ed to Reveal­ing the Truth About De-Evo­lu­tion

Thomas Dol­by Explains How a Syn­the­siz­er Works on a Jim Hen­son Kids Show (1989)

Watch Her­bie Han­cock Rock Out on an Ear­ly Syn­the­siz­er on Sesame Street (1983)

All Hail the Beat: How the 1980 Roland TR-808 Drum Machine Changed Pop Music

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.

Watch a Towering Orchestral Tribute to Kate Bush: A 40th Anniversary Celebration of Her First Single, “Wuthering Heights”

Some Amer­i­cans like their pop musi­cians to be more acces­si­ble, less the­atri­cal, and eccentric—and gen­er­al­ly more des­per­ate for the approval of their audi­ence. Kate Bush, thank­ful­ly, has nev­er seemed both­ered by this need. She could leave the spot­light when she need­ed to, or leave the music busi­ness alto­geth­er for a time, and yet remain a cre­ative force to be reck­oned with for four decades now. Her lega­cy has per­me­at­ed con­tem­po­rary music since she appeared in 1978, then retired from the stage the fol­low­ing year after her first tour to focus sole­ly on writ­ing, record­ing, and mak­ing short musi­cal films.

Her debut, The Kick Inside, proved that an orig­i­nal new song­writer worth watch­ing had arrived, and she deliv­ered on the promise in ten stu­dio albums and a career she seemed to sum up in the title of “This Woman’s Work,” from 1989’s The Sen­su­al World. It is work she has always done in her own delight­ful­ly odd, pas­sion­ate, eccen­tri­cal­ly British, the­atri­cal, and deft­ly lit­er­ary way, all qual­i­ties that have made her a mas­sive star in the UK and a hero to artists like Tori Amos, Annie Lennox, Grimes, Flo­rence and the Machine, and too many more to name.

Bush’s unusu­al traits also make her a per­fect artist to pay trib­ute to in an orches­tral set­ting, as Sweden’s Gothen­burg Sym­pho­ny has done in the 2018 con­cert also titled “This Woman’s Work” and fea­tur­ing the very-Bush-wor­thy vocal tal­ents of guest singers Jen­nie Abra­ham­son and Malin Dahlström. It’s “a tow­er­ing trib­ute,” the Sym­pho­ny writes, “with hit songs and pure poet­ry in spe­cial arrange­ments by Mar­tin Schaub.” And it arrived to mark a spe­cial moment indeed: the 40th anniver­sary of the release of Bush’s bril­liant­ly strange debut sin­gle “Wuther­ing Heights.” See the full per­for­mance at the top of the post and excerpt­ed songs through­out, includ­ing Abra­ham­son’s cov­er of “This Wom­an’s Work,” above.

Appear­ing in the ghost­ly guise and ethe­re­al­ly high-pitched voice of Cathy Earn­shaw, doomed hero­ine of Emi­ly Brontë’s nov­el, Bush cap­ti­vat­ed mil­lions in two videos that are now absolute clas­sics. She drew on the mime the­atrics of her teacher Lind­say Kemp, who pre­vi­ous­ly men­tored David Bowie, and gave us the indeli­ble image of a woman pos­sessed by weird imag­i­na­tion, uncan­ny musi­cal tal­ent, and some fright­en­ing dance moves. The images and sounds she cre­at­ed in just those 3 and a half min­utes are icon­ic. Or, putting it a lit­tle dif­fer­ent­ly in a short BBC doc­u­men­tary, John Lydon says, “Kate Bush and her grand piano… that’s like John Wayne and his sad­dle… her shrieks and war­bles are beau­ty beyond belief.”

If you came to Bush lat­er in her career, say dur­ing 1985’s huge Hounds of Love, and some­how missed her unbe­liev­able first fine art-rock per­for­mances on film, watch both the white and red dress ver­sions first, then watch the Gothen­burg Symphony’s glow­ing, career-span­ning trib­ute to a woman who “laid the ground­work for [a] gen­er­a­tion of per­form­ers,” as Marc Hirsh writes at NPR. Even though he is an Amer­i­can who does not care for Kate Bush, Hirsh can’t seem to help enu­mer­at­ing the very rea­sons she is so spe­cial to so many, and he fea­tures a num­ber of her videos that demon­strate why she’s an artist her fans love “from the very core of their being.”

via Metafil­ter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

2009 Kate Bush Doc­u­men­tary Dubs Her “Queen of British Pop”

Kate Bush’s First Ever Tele­vi­sion Appear­ance, Per­form­ing “Kite” & “Wuther­ing Heights” on Ger­man TV (1978)

The Largest Ever Trib­ute to Kate Bush’s “Wuther­ing Heights” Chore­o­graphed by a Flash­mob in Berlin

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

The Case for Why Ringo Starr Is One of Rock’s Greatest Drummers

As far as I’m con­cerned, debate over whether or not Ringo Starr is a good drum­mer is over, done with, set­tled. How is it pos­si­ble that some of the great­est record­ed music of the 20th cen­tu­ry, with some of the most dis­tinc­tive rhythms, fills, and drum breaks in pop music, could have come from a mediocre musi­cian? The stan­dard response has been to allege that Starr’s best parts were played by some­one else. In a hand­ful of recordings—though I won’t argue over which ones—it seems he might have been replaced, for what­ev­er rea­son. But Ringo could do more than hold his own. He was some­thing rar­er and more valu­able than any stu­dio musi­cian. He remains one of the most dis­tinc­tive­ly musi­cal drum­mers on record.

What does that mean? It means he intu­it­ed exact­ly what a song need­ed, and what it didn’t. He used what Bud­dy Rich called his “ade­quate” abil­i­ties (a com­pli­ment, I’d say, com­ing from Bud­dy Rich) to serve the songs best, find­ing ways to enhance the struc­tures and arrange­ments with drum parts that are as unique­ly mem­o­rable as the melodies and har­monies.

His humil­i­ty and sense of humor come through in his taste­ful, yet dynam­ic play­ing. I say this as a seri­ous Ringo fan, but if you, or some­one you know, needs con­vinc­ing, don’t take my word for it. Take it from skilled drum­mers Sina and Bran­don Khoo.

What are Sina’s cre­den­tials for mak­ing a pro-Ringo case? Well, for one thing, her father played in Germany’s biggest Bea­t­les trib­ute band, the Sil­ver Bea­t­les. Also, she’s a very good musi­cian who has mem­o­rized Ringo’s reper­toire and can explain it well. Above, she demon­strates how his uncom­pli­cat­ed grooves com­ple­ment the songs, so much so they have become icon­ic in their own right. (To skirt copy­right issues, Sina plays along to con­vinc­ing cov­ers by her dad’s band.)

Ringo’s drum pat­tern for “In My Life,” for exam­ple, she says “is absolute­ly unique, nobody ever played this before. It’s tru­ly orig­i­nal and the song won’t work with any oth­er drum part.” If you were to write a new song around the drums alone, it would prob­a­bly come out sound­ing just like “In My Life.” As Har­ri­son remarks at the top, “he’s very good because he’ll lis­ten to the song once, and he knows exact­ly what to play.”

Vir­tu­oso drum­mer Bran­don Khoo makes the case for Ringo as a good drum­mer, above, after a brief defense of much-maligned White Stripes drum­mer Meg White. He, too, choos­es “In My Life” to show how “Ringo lays it down” with max­i­mum feel and effi­cien­cy, deft­ly but sub­tly chang­ing things up in near­ly every phrase of the song. Conversely—in an exag­ger­at­ed counterexample—Koo shows what a tech­ni­cal­ly-skilled, but unmu­si­cal, drum­mer might do, name­ly tram­ple over the del­i­cate gui­tars and vocals with an aggres­sive attack and dis­tract­ing, unnec­es­sary fills and cym­bal crash­es. “A good drum­mer is a drum­mer who knows how to play, num­ber one, for the music.”

If these clear demon­stra­tions fail to sway, maybe some celebri­ty endorse­ments will do. Just above, in a video made by the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to cel­e­brate an exhib­it of Ringo’s famous drum kit, see Dave Grohl, Tay­lor Hawkins, Stew­art Copeland, Quest­love, Tre Cool, Max Wein­berg, Chad Smith, and more pay trib­ute. Grohl describes him as the “king of feel,” Smith talks about his “knack for com­ing up with real­ly inter­est­ing musi­cal parts that became rhyth­mic hooks.” In the span of just three min­utes, we get a sense of exact­ly why the most famous drum­mers in rock and roll admire Ringo.

Mil­lions of drum­mers have come and gone since The Bea­t­les’ day, most of them influ­enced by Ringo, as Wein­berg says. And not one of them has ever played like Ringo Starr. “You hear his drum­ming,” says Grohl, “and you know exact­ly who it is.” Hear how his style evolved right along with the band’s song­writ­ing in Kye Smith’s chrono­log­i­cal drum med­ley of Bea­t­les hits below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Musi­cian Plays Sig­na­ture Drum Parts of 71 Bea­t­les Songs in 5 Min­utes: A Whirl­wind Trib­ute to Ringo Starr

How Can You Tell a Good Drum­mer from a Bad Drum­mer?: Ringo Starr as Case Study

Iso­lat­ed Drum Tracks From Six of Rock’s Great­est: Bon­ham, Moon, Peart, Copeland, Grohl & Starr

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

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