Get a First Listen to David Lynch & Angelo Badalamenti’s Long-Lost Album, Thought Gang

All of David Lynch’s movies, tele­vi­sion shows, music videos, and com­mer­cials — and also his paint­ings, pho­tographs, and com­ic strips — express a con­sis­tent, and con­sis­tent­ly Lynchi­an, vision. But that vision depends on more than just the visu­al: the son­ic has also played a vital part in its devel­op­ment at least since the night­mar­ish­ly intri­cate sound design of Lynch’s 1977 debut fea­ture Eraser­head. And just imag­ine how much impact lat­er Lynch projects like Blue Vel­vet, Twin Peaks, The Straight Sto­ry, and Mul­hol­land Dri­ve would have lost with­out the rich and often haunt­ing scores of Ange­lo Badala­men­ti, a com­pos­er with whom Lynch has worked at seem­ing­ly every oppor­tu­ni­ty.

Lynch made his own offi­cial debut as a record­ing artist sev­en years ago with Crazy Clown Time, and this Novem­ber he and Badala­men­ti will release their first col­lab­o­ra­tive album Thought Gang. Accord­ing to its Band­camp page, this “eso­teric jazz side­ project of David Lynch and Ange­lo Badala­men­ti evolved from the seeds of Twin Peaks’ trade­mark slow cool jazz and blos­somed into more exper­i­men­tal pas­tures: hori­zon­less vis­tas of acid­-soaked free­jazz, laced with spo­ken word nar­ra­tives and sprawl­ing nois­escapes.” If that sounds good to you, you can get a first taste of the album from the track “Wood­cut­ters From Fiery Ships” above.

The Thought Gang ses­sions hap­pened 25 years ago, between the end of Twin Peaks’ sec­ond sea­son and the pro­duc­tion of the Twin Peaks movie Fire Walk with Me. Out of those ses­sions came a quan­ti­ty of music that Lynch describes as “sort of like jet-­fu­eled jazz in a weird way… but it’s all based on sto­ries.” Two of those tracks, “A Real Indi­ca­tion” and “The Black Dog Runs at Night,” appeared on the sound­track of the movie, and two oth­ers, “Frank 2000” and “Sum­mer Night Noise,” (as well as the instru­men­tal mix of anoth­er, “Log­ic and Com­mon Sense”) fea­ture in Twin Peaks: The Return, which aired on Show­time last year. More con­nec­tions to Lynch’s oth­er work sur­face in “Wood­cut­ters From Fiery Ships,” begin­ning with its title, which adorned a Lynch-themed, seem­ing­ly nev­er-devel­oped CD-ROM game twen­ty years ago.

Much of the Lynchi­an imagery that fills the song — talk-sung by Badala­men­ti him­self, who, says the Band­camp page, sum­moned “such a vio­lent laugh­ter­-fueled excite­ment from Lynch that he lit­er­al­ly induced a her­nia” — may also sound famil­iar. A char­ac­ter called Pete “saw the girl next door take off her clothes last night and walk through her house nude.” At a din­er, “he heard a man say that the doc­tors had cut him down his neck and into his chest.” A “grey man with big ears lit a big cig­ar” and “smoke drift­ed over Pete’s apple pie.” Badala­men­ti at one point declares that “things aren’t mak­ing sense. For instance, why is that boy bleed­ing from the mouth?” True fans will rec­og­nize that line as the title of one of Lynch’s paint­ings. And so the grand Lynchi­an project con­tin­ues, some­how get­ting both weird­er and more coher­ent all the time.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ange­lo Badala­men­ti Reveals How He and David Lynch Com­posed the Twin Peaks‘ “Love Theme”

Hear the Music of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks Played by the Dan­ish Nation­al Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra

Hear the Music of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks Played by the Exper­i­men­tal Band, Xiu Xiu: A Free Stream of Their New Album

David Lynch’s Music Videos: Nine Inch Nails, Moby, Chris Isaak & More

David Lynch’s New ‘Crazy Clown Time’ Video: Intense Psy­chot­ic Back­yard Crazi­ness (NSFW)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Paul McCartney Breaks Down His Most Famous Songs and Answers Most-Asked Fan Questions in Two New Videos

Paul McCart­ney has played it safe for decades, rely­ing on the bril­liance of his song­writ­ing and musi­cian­ship, which no one ever doubts and so he nev­er has to prove. His songs usu­al­ly fall into a for­mu­la famil­iar from Bea­t­les’ days: “sil­ly love songs,” writes Stephen Ear­lewine at Pitch­fork, “mini-suites… polite polit­i­cal protests, and old-fash­ioned rock­ers.” But while the Bea­t­les had each oth­er, the exper­i­ments of George Mar­tin, LSD, tran­scen­den­tal med­i­ta­tion, and a moment of per­fect cul­tur­al kismet to twist and warp their music into all sorts of weird shapes, McCartney’s solo releas­es tend to stick to his estab­lished strengths, some­times to the detri­ment of what can hap­pen when he moves out of his com­fort zone to get deep­er and more vul­ner­a­ble.

Yet as near­ly every crit­ic has so far not­ed of his newest album, Egypt Sta­tion—which he heav­i­ly pro­mot­ed, for exam­ple, with an appear­ance on Car­pool Karaoke and a “secret” show at Grand Cen­tral Sta­tion—McCart­ney lets lis­ten­ers in on some sur­pris­ing con­fes­sion­al dark­ness. The Nick Drake-like lyrics of open­er “I Don’t Know” show him earnest­ly con­fronting aging, mor­tal­i­ty, and depres­sion, with­out any of the usu­al sun­ni­ness or comedic turns of phrase: “I got crows at my window/Dogs at my door/I don’t think I can take any­more.” The can­did admis­sion, Erlewine writes, “would be star­tling in any con­text, but what stings most is the tac­it acknowl­edg­ment that 76-year-old McCart­ney real­izes he’s near­ing the end of his long, wind­ing road.”

In inter­views, like his lat­est with Rolling Stone, how­ev­er, McCart­ney sounds as upbeat as ever. He describes sit­ting in Apple meet­ings after the breakup of the Bea­t­les as “like see­ing the death of your favorite pet,” but he also enthus­es about his patched-up rela­tion­ship with Yoko (“Now it’s like we’re mates”), love for his band—who have now been play­ing togeth­er longer than both the Bea­t­les and Wings—and his pride in his musi­cal lega­cy (“It’s a damn good job I did”). He sounds just as pleased to be onstage in his mid-70s as he was in his 20s—the gen­uine love of per­form­ing and engag­ing with fans hasn’t dulled one bit with age, just as his abil­i­ty to write and sell hit records remains sol­id.

As for his time-test­ed for­mu­la, Erlewine com­ments, it only “makes the moments where Paul attempts some­thing slight­ly new seem all the more appar­ent.” One new thing he’s game­ly tried in recent years is mak­ing online videos for fans. A few years back, he dropped a few lessons show­ing how to play the bass and gui­tar parts on “Ever Present Past” from 2007’s Mem­o­ry Almost Full. This year, McCartney’s fan ser­vice includes the two videos here. First at the top, he spends almost a half an hour dis­cussing the best-known songs in his 60-year-career for GQ: “I Lost My Lit­tle Girl,” “Yes­ter­day,” “I Saw Her Stand­ing There,” “And I Love Her,” “Eleanor Rig­by,” “A Day in the Life,” “Hey Jude,” “Hel­ter Skel­ter,” “Black­bird,” “Let It Be,” “Hi Hi Hi,” “Here Today,” “Jet,” and Egypt Sta­tion’s “I Don’t Know.”

Above, McCart­ney accept’s Wired’s “auto­com­plete chal­lenge,” answer­ing the internet’s most searched ques­tions about him­self, such as “Why is Paul McCartney’s nick­name ‘Mac­ca’?” and “Why did Paul McCart­ney write ‘Let it Be’?” (Answers: “Cause I’m from Liv­er­pool, and they abbre­vi­ate every­thing in Liv­er­pool” and he was “a bit stressed out”—and a lit­tle high—and his moth­er came to him in a dream with the advice: “just let it be.”) Is there always more learn about Paul McCart­ney? Yes, appar­ent­ly there is. But even when he repeats him­self, he’s still great fun to watch.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Chaos & Cre­ation at Abbey Road: Paul McCart­ney Revis­its The Bea­t­les’ Fabled Record­ing Stu­dio

The Genius of Paul McCartney’s Bass Play­ing in 7 Iso­lat­ed Tracks

Paul McCart­ney Offers a Short Tuto­r­i­al on How to Play the Bass Gui­tar

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

How the Grateful Dead’s “Wall of Sound”–a Monster, 600-Speaker Sound System–Changed Rock Concerts & Live Music Forever

There is a scene in Return of the Jedi when Luke Sky­walk­er defeats the mon­strous, man-eat­ing Ran­cor, crush­ing its skull with a por­tullis, and we see the beast’s keep­er, a port­ly shirt­less gen­tle­man in leather breech­es and head­gear, weep­ing over the loss of his beloved friend. I think of this scene when I read about a night in 1974 at San Francisco’s Win­ter­land Ball­room when Grate­ful Dead drum­mer Mick­ey Hart walked on the stage and found the band’s sound engi­neer Owsley “Bear” Stan­ley stand­ing in front of “a sol­id wall of over 600 speak­ers.”

As Enmore Audio tells it:

Tears streamed down his face and he whis­pered to the mass of wood, met­al, and wiring, with the ten­der­ness of any par­ent wit­ness­ing their child’s first recital, “I love you and you love me—how could you fail me?”

The sto­ry sums up Owsley’s total ded­i­ca­tion to what became known as “The Wall of Sound,” a feat of tech­ni­cal engi­neer­ing that “changed the way tech­ni­cians thought about live engi­neer­ing.” The “three-sto­ry behe­moth… was free of all dis­tor­tion… served as its own mon­i­tor­ing sys­tem and solved many, if not all of the tech­ni­cal prob­lems that sound engi­neers faced at that time.” But, while it had required much tri­al and error and many refine­ments, it did not fail, as you’ll learn in the Poly­phon­ic video above.

Live sound prob­lems not only bedev­iled engi­neers but bands and audi­ences as well. Through­out the six­ties, rock con­certs grew in size and scope, audi­ences grew larg­er and loud­er, yet ampli­fi­ca­tion did not. Low-wattage gui­tar amps could hard­ly be heard over the sound of scream­ing fans. With­out mon­i­tor­ing sys­tems, bands could bare­ly hear them­selves play. This “noise cri­sis,” writes Moth­er­board, “con­front­ed musi­cians who went elec­tric at the height of the war in Viet­nam,” but it has been “rou­tine­ly snuffed from the annals of mod­ern music.”

In dra­mat­ic recre­ations of the peri­od, drums and gui­tars boom and wail over the noise of sta­di­um and fes­ti­val crowds. For ears accus­tomed to the pow­er of mod­ern sound sys­tems, the actu­al expe­ri­ence, by con­trast, would have been under­whelm­ing. Most Bea­t­les fans know the band quit tour­ing in 1966 because they couldn’t hear them­selves over the audi­ence. Things improved some­what, but the Dead, “obsessed with their sound to com­pul­sive degrees,” could not abide the noisy, feed­back-laden, under­pow­ered sit­u­a­tion. Still, they weren’t about to give up play­ing live, and cer­tain­ly not with Owsley on board.

“A Ken­tucky-born crafts­man and for­mer bal­let dancer”—and a man­u­fac­tur­er and dis­trib­uter of “mass quan­ti­ties of high-grade LSD,” whose prof­its financed the Dead for a time—Owsley applied his obses­sion with “sound as both a con­cept and a phys­i­cal thing.” To solve the noise cri­sis for the Dead, he first built an inno­v­a­tive sound sys­tem in 1973 (after serv­ing a cou­ple stints in prison for sell­ing acid). The fol­low­ing year, he sug­gest­ed putting the PA sys­tem behind the band, “a crazy idea at the time.”

His exper­i­ments in ‘74 evolved to include line arrays—“columns of speak­ers… designed to con­trol the dis­per­sion of sound across the fre­quen­cy range”—noise-canceling micro­phones to clear up mud­dy vocals, six sep­a­rate sound sys­tems that could iso­late eleven chan­nels, and a quadra­phon­ic encoder for the bass, “which took a sig­nal,” Enmore notes, “from each string and pro­ject­ed it through its own set of speak­ers.” The mas­sive Wall of Sound could not last long. It had to be stream­lined into a far more man­age­able and cost-effec­tive tour­ing rig. All the same, Owsley and the band’s will­ing­ness take ideas and exe­cu­tion to extreme lengths changed live sound for­ev­er for the bet­ter.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

11,215 Free Grate­ful Dead Con­cert Record­ings in the Inter­net Archive

Jer­ry Gar­cia Talks About the Birth of the Grate­ful Dead & Play­ing Kesey’s Acid Tests in New Ani­mat­ed Video

The Grate­ful Dead’s Final Farewell Con­certs Now Stream­ing Online

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

Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” Played by 28 Trombone Players

28 trom­bone play­ers got togeth­er and played Queen’s beloved 1975 hit, “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody.” They call it, “Bone­hemi­an Rhap­sody.” Enjoy.

Con­trib­u­tors in the video above include:

Jig­gs Whigh­am — Glenn Miller, Stan Ken­ton

Den­son Paul Pol­lard — Met Opera / Jacobs School of Music

Jen­nifer Whar­ton — Leader Bone­gasm — https://jenniferwharton.com/

Thomas Hultén — Hous­ton Grand Opera/Houston Bal­let

Josi­ah Williams — Blast: The Music of Dis­ney

Joseph L. Jef­fer­son — South­east Mis­souri State Uni­ver­si­ty — http://www.josephljefferson.com/

Ger­ry Pagano — Sym­pho­ny — http://gerrypagano.org/

Javier Stup­pard — Fresh2Def Horns/ Rath Artist

Peter Moore — Lon­don Sym­pho­ny Orches­tra

Mar­shall Gilkes — New Album! https://www.marshallgilkes.com/

Mar­tin McCain — Texas State Uni­ver­si­ty — https://www.martinmccain.com/

Zsolt Szabo — West­ern Car­oli­na Uni­ver­si­ty

Jere­my Wil­son — Van­der­bilt Uni­ver­si­ty — https://jeremywilsonmusic.com/

Isabelle Lavoie — Thun­der Bay Sym­pho­ny

Aman­da Stew­art — St. Louis Sym­pho­ny — http://amandatrombone.com/

Dr. Natal­ie Man­nix — UNT — http://www.nataliemannix.com/

Zoltan Kiss — Mnzoil Brass — http://www.zoltankiss.com/

Matyas Veer — Essen­er Phil­har­moniker Saat­sop­er Stuttgart — http://www.matyasveer.com/

Paul The Trom­bon­ist — The Inter­net — https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCJ6e…

Karen Marston — Mt San Anto­nio College/Omni Brass

Javier Nero — Jazz Soloist / Com­pos­er — https://www.javiernero.com/

Dr. Deb Scott — Stephen F. Austin State Uni­ver­si­ty — https://sfatrombones.wordpress.com/

Tol­ga Akman — Lätzsch Per­form­ing Artist

Domeni­co Cata­lano — Slide­Sticks Trio/Basel Symphony/Haag Artist

José Mil­ton Vieira — Orches­tra Brazil

Györ­gy Gyivic­san — Szeged Trom­bone Ensem­ble — http://szegedtrombones.com/en

Bri­an Hecht — Atlanta Sym­pho­ny — http://www.brianhecht.com/

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 8 ) |

Tom Waits Releases a Timely Cover of the Italian Anti-Fascist Anthem “Bella Ciao,” His First New Song in Two Years

La Com­plaine du Par­ti­san,” a song about the French Resis­tance writ­ten in 1943 by Emmanuel d’Astier de la Vigerie with music by Anna Marly, was adapt­ed into Eng­lish as “The Par­ti­san” by Hy Zaret, author of the Right­eous Brother’s “Unchained Melody.” Cov­ered by artists like Joan Baez and, most famous­ly, Leonard Cohen, the song’s folk melody and melan­choly lyri­cism have become so close­ly asso­ci­at­ed with Cohen that it has often been cred­it­ed to him. Even Cohen him­self remarked “I kind of re-intro­duced [“The Par­ti­san”] into the world of pop­u­lar music. I feel I wrote it, but I actu­al­ly didn’t.”

Now anoth­er artist of Cohen’s stature, Tom Waits, may do the same for those who have nev­er heard the World War II Ital­ian anti-fas­cist song, “Bel­la Ciao,” which has been cov­ered for decades in many lan­guages and now appears as the first release on gui­tarist and com­pos­er Marc Ribot’s Songs of Resis­tance: 1942–2018, an album of protest music that comes out today and fea­tures guest vocals by Waits, Steve Ear­le, Meshell Nde­geo­cel­lo, Justin Vivian Bond, and more. You can stream and buy the album here at Ribot’s Band­camp page. Waits’ track is the first song he has released in two years, and it’s a hel­lu­va return.

The song comes from an old Ital­ian folk bal­lad that was “revised and re-writ­ten dur­ing World War II for the Ital­ian anti-fas­cist resis­tance fight­ers,” notes Sam Barsan­ti at The Onion’s A.V. Club. It has “since become an anthem of sorts for any­one look­ing to stick it to fas­cists.” Ribot and his col­lab­o­ra­tors fit the descrip­tion. Waits’ “Bel­la Ciao” was released with a video, direct­ed by Jem Cohen, “that makes its par­al­lels with mod­ern life very explic­it,” Barsan­ti writes, “pair­ing Waits’ vocals with footage of police and sol­diers guard­ing bar­ri­cades at anti-Trump protests. It may sound heavy-hand­ed, but fuck it, nobody said fight­ing fas­cists had to be sub­tle.”

Sub­tle it isn’t, but nei­ther is the ban­ning of Mus­lim refugees, the kid­nap­ping and deten­tion in camps of hun­dreds of migrant chil­dren, the trans­fer of $169 mil­lion dol­lars from oth­er pro­grams—includ­ing FEMA and the Coast Guard dur­ing yet anoth­er fatal hur­ri­cane season—for even more camps and ICE raids, the lying denial that thou­sands were left to die in Puer­to Rico last year, and so on and so on.

Oth­er songs on the album draw from the U.S. civ­il rights move­ment and Mex­i­can protest bal­lads. At his site, Ribot acknowl­edges the peren­ni­al prob­lem of the protest song. “There’s a lot of con­tra­dic­tion in doing any kind of polit­i­cal music, how to act against some­thing with­out becom­ing it, with­out resem­bling what you detest… I imag­ine we’ll make mis­takes,” he avows, but says the stakes are too high not to speak out. “From the moment Don­ald Trump was elect­ed,” he decid­ed “I’m not going to play down­town scene Furt­wan­gler to any orange-comb-over dic­ta­tor wannabe.” (The ref­er­ence is to Wil­helm Furtwän­gler, lead­ing clas­si­cal con­duc­tor in Ger­many under the Nazi regime.)

Like so many folk songs, “Bel­la Ciao” has a com­plex and murky his­to­ry: the orig­i­nal ver­sion, a peas­ant work song, may have a Yid­dish ori­gin, or in any case—explains the blog Poe­mas del rio wang—emerged from a region “where Jews, Roma­ni­ans, Rusyns, Gyp­sies, Ukra­ni­ans, Hun­gar­i­ans, Ital­ians, Rus­sians, Slo­va­kians, Pol­ish, Czech, Arme­ni­ans, [and] Taters lived togeth­er” and where “melodies did not remain the exclu­sive prop­er­ty of only one eth­nic group.” This sub­merged back­ground gives the re-writ­ten “Bel­la Ciao” an even deep­er res­o­nance with the anti-fas­cism of the 1940s and that of today.

See the video and hear Waits and Ribot’s hag­gard yet deter­mined “Bel­la Ciao (Good­bye Beau­ti­ful)” at the top; hear Ital­ian singer Gio­van­na Daffini’s record­ing above (hear her ver­sion of the orig­i­nal folk song here); read more about the song’s long his­to­ry here; and read Waits’ lyrics, slight­ly revised from ear­li­er ver­sions to be even more explic­it­ly anti-fas­cist, below. All pro­ceeds from Ribot’s album will be donat­ed to the Indi­vis­i­ble Project.

One fine morn­ing
I woke up ear­ly
o bel­la ciao, bel­la ciao
bel­la ciao, ciao, ciao
One fine morn­ing
I woke up ear­ly
to find the fas­cists at my door

Oh par­ti­giano
take me with you
bel­la ciao, bel­la ciao
good­bye, beau­ti­ful
oh par­ti­giano
please take me with you
I’m not afraid any­more

And if I die
a par­ti­giano
bel­la ciao, bel­la ciao
good­bye, beau­ti­ful
Bury me
up on that moun­tain
beneath the shad­ow of the flower

So all the peo­ple
the peo­ple pass­ing
bel­la ciao, bel­la ciao
good­bye, beau­ti­ful
So all the peo­ple
the peo­ple pass­ing
will say: “What a beau­ti­ful flower”

This is the flower
of the par­ti­san
bel­la ciao, bel­la ciao
bel­la ciao
this is the flower
of the par­ti­san
who died for free­dom

this is the flower
of the par­ti­san
who died for free­dom

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear a 4 Hour Playlist of Great Protest Songs: Bob Dylan, Nina Simone, Bob Mar­ley, Pub­lic Ene­my, Bil­ly Bragg & More

Rebec­ca Sol­nit Picks 13 Songs That Will Remind Us of Our Pow­er to Change the World, Even in Seem­ing­ly Dark Times

Stream All of Tom Waits’ Music in a 24 Hour Playlist: The Com­plete Discog­ra­phy

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

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

French musi­cian Fred Yon­net post­ed on Insta­gram an ever so poignant video. He writes: “Great day today — took my men­tor Don Bur­rows to vis­it our old mate Julian Lee in Moss­vale 🎺🎹. He hasn’t played piano for many years since his stroke — he turns 95 this year and we share the same birth­day.”

The scene that unfolds will make your day…

via @TedGioia

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:

81-Year-Old Man Walks into a Gui­tar Shop & Starts Play­ing a Sub­lime Solo: Ignore the Tal­ents of the Elder­ly at Your Own Per­il

96-Year-Old Holo­caust Sur­vivor Fronts a Death Met­al Band

Dis­cov­er the Retire­ment Home for Elder­ly Musi­cians Cre­at­ed by Giuseppe Ver­di: Cre­at­ed in 1899, It Still Lives On Today

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 2 ) |

Behold Mystical Photographs Taken Inside a Cello, Double Bass & Other Instruments

“If God had designed the orches­tra,” remarks a char­ac­ter in Rick Moody’s Hotels of North Amer­i­ca, “then the cel­lo was His great­est accom­plish­ment.” I couldn’t agree more. The cel­lo sounds sub­lime, looks state­ly… even the word cel­lo evokes regal poise and grace. If orches­tral instru­ments were chess pieces, the cel­lo would be queen: shape­ly and dig­ni­fied, prime mover on the board, majes­tic in sym­phonies, quar­tets, cham­ber pop ensem­bles, post rock bands….

With all its many son­ic and aes­thet­ic charms, I didn’t imag­ine it was pos­si­ble to love the cel­lo more. Then I saw Roman­ian artist Adri­an Bor­da’s mag­nif­i­cent pho­tos tak­en from inside one. The pho­to above, Bor­da tells us at his Deviant Art page, was tak­en from inside “a very old French cel­lo made in Napoleon’s times.” It looks like the bel­ly of the HMS Vic­to­ry mat­ed with the nave of Chartres Cathe­dral. The light descend­ing through the f‑holes seems of some divine ori­gin.

Bor­da has also tak­en pho­tos from inside an old dou­ble bass (above), as well as a gui­tar, sax, and piano. The stringed orches­tral instru­ments, he says, yield­ed the best results. He was first inspired by a 2009 ad cam­paign for the Berlin­er Phil­har­moniker that “cap­tured the insides of instru­ments,” writes Twist­ed Sifter, “reveal­ing the hid­den land­scapes with­in.” With­out any sense of how the art direc­tor cre­at­ed the images, Bor­da set about exper­i­ment­ing with meth­ods of his own.

He was lucky enough to have a luthi­er friend who had a con­tra­bass open for repairs. Lat­er he trav­eled to Amiens, where he found the French cel­lo, also open. “To achieve these shots,” Twist­ed Sifter notes, “Bor­da fit a Sony NEX‑6 cam­era equipped with a Samyang 8mm fish­eye lens inside the instru­ment and then used a smart remote so he could pre­view the work­flow on his phone.” Depend­ing on the angle and the play of light with­in the instru­ment, the pho­tos can look eerie, somber, omi­nous, or angelic—mirroring the cello’s expres­sive range.

Bor­da gives the cel­lo inte­ri­or shot above the per­fect title “A Long, Lone­ly Time….” Its play of smoke and light is ghost­ly noir. His pho­to below, of the inside of a sax­o­phone, pulls us into a haunt­ed, alien tun­nel. If you want to know what’s on the oth­er side, con­sid­er the strange sur­re­al­ist worlds of Borda’s main gig as a sur­re­al­ist painter of warped fan­tasies and night­mares. Unlike these pho­tos, his paint­ings are full of lurid, vio­lent col­or, but they are also filled with mys­te­ri­ous musi­cal motifs. See more of Bor­da’s inte­ri­or instru­ment pho­tos at Deviant Art and Twister Sifter.

via Twist­ed Sifter

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch a Luthi­er Birth a Cel­lo in This Hyp­not­ic Doc­u­men­tary

Why Vio­lins Have F‑Holes: The Sci­ence & His­to­ry of a Remark­able Renais­sance Design

Nine Tips from Bill Mur­ray & Cel­list Jan Vogler on How to Study Intense­ly and Opti­mize Your Learn­ing

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

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)

Get­ting your gig shut down by the cops is always excel­lent pub­lic­i­ty–just ask the Bea­t­les. But there’s a world of dif­fer­ence between the 1969 rooftop con­cert and this June 7, 1977 boat par­ty to pub­li­cize the Sex Pis­tols’ sec­ond sin­gle “God Save the Queen.” It shows how quick­ly the hip­pie dream of the ‘60s had cur­dled into the grim eco­nom­ics of mid-‘70s Lon­don, where race riots and police bru­tal­i­ty, along with numer­ous nation­al strikes, had made the UK fer­tile ground for the birth of punk.

This film above, low in qual­i­ty but a marked improve­ment over oth­er ver­sions cir­cu­lat­ing, is the longest doc­u­men­ta­tion yet of the infa­mous and antag­o­nis­tic trip.

The brain­child of man­ag­er and provo­ca­teur Mal­colm McLaren, the riv­er boat ride was a satire of the Queen’s roy­al riv­er pro­ces­sion that was due to take place two days lat­er, cel­e­brat­ing the Queen’s Sil­ver Jubilee. The flotil­la was just one event in a jubilee year that had been going on since Feb­ru­ary. It was all pomp and cer­e­mo­ny, and many saw it as an insult­ing dis­trac­tion from the real prob­lems fac­ing the coun­try.

But there was the oth­er rea­son, one that ani­mat­ed McLaren: The band had been dropped by EMI and then picked up by Vir­gin. The sin­gle had been banned and kept out of the offi­cial BBC charts and radio, despite sell­ing enough to send it shoot­ing up the charts. They were already con­tro­ver­sial, and McLaren want­ed to stoke that fire.

On board the Queen Eliz­a­beth, the band and their man­ag­er, music press writ­ers, fel­low artists, punk fans, and a film crew direct­ed by Julien Tem­ple set off in the after­noon, with some pub­licly avail­able beer to drink and some speed to do in secret.

Jon Sav­age, who would go on to write one of the sem­i­nal books about the Pis­tols and punk, England’s Dream­ing, was on board and pro­vides one of the best descrip­tions of the day:

The atmos­phere on the boat was para­noid and claus­tro­pho­bic, but also very excit­ing. They were by far the best I ever saw them that day. You can’t beat the Sex Pis­tols, jubilee week­end, “Anar­chy in the UK,” out­side Par­lia­ment.

While the sun was up and peo­ple milled about, it was just like any oth­er relax­ing cruise up the Thames. You can hear the lilt of reg­gae being played over the P.A. sys­tem. Also see some great pho­tos from the day here.

But once the sun went down, the Sex Pis­tols were ready to rock, and so they did, blast­ing out a furi­ous set, releas­ing a lot of built up ten­sion, not just per­son­al­ly, but as Sav­age sug­gests, all the frus­tra­tions of that year.

It wasn’t long till the police sur­round­ed the boat on the water and forced it back to dock, and then pulled the pow­er. Despite protes­ta­tions the par­ty was over, and the police took out their own frus­tra­tions on a com­bat­ive McLaren, beat­ing the hell out of him before arrest­ing him and cart­ing him away. (The Pis­tols escaped in the chaos.)

(The video ends with a fas­ci­nat­ing record­ing from Capi­tol Radio explain­ing why, despite being num­ber one, the sta­tion can’t play the song.)

It was per­fect the­ater for McLaren, who was always a Sit­u­a­tion­al­ist at heart. And along with the sin­gle it announced the main­stream arrival of punk music, despite the establishment’s protes­ta­tions. Punk was nev­er meant to last. And in a bizarre cap­per on events, the son of McLaren and punk fash­ion design­er Vivi­enne West­wood set fire to around $8 mil­lion of punk mem­o­ra­bil­ia in 2016…on a barge in the Riv­er Thames.

Joe Corre, the man in ques­tion, explained it this way: “Punk was nev­er, nev­er meant to be nos­tal­gic.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

The Sex Pis­tols’ 1976 Man­ches­ter “Gig That Changed the World,” and the Day the Punk Era Began

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

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.

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast
Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.