Hear the Recently Discovered, Earliest Known Recording of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” (1894)

As keen observers of Amer­i­can cul­ture and his­to­ry like W.E.B. Du Bois and Ralph Elli­son have writ­ten, there is no Amer­i­can music with­out African-Amer­i­can music. The his­to­ry of the record­ing indus­try bears wit­ness to the fact, with jazz, blues, and rag­time dom­i­nat­ing the ear­ly releas­es that drove the indus­try for­ward. Before these pop­u­lar forms and the age of “race records,” how­ev­er, came the spir­i­tu­als, gospel songs dat­ing back to slav­ery, whose fame spread across the world in the lat­ter half of the 19th cen­tu­ry with groups like the Fisk Jubilee Singers. As Du Bois wrote in 1903, “their songs con­quered till they sang across the land and across the sea, before Queen and Kaiser, in Scot­land and Ire­land, Hol­land and Switzer­land… they tell of death and suf­fer­ing and unvoiced long­ing toward a truer world, of misty wan­der­ings and hid­den ways.”

Giv­en the world­wide fas­ci­na­tion with the spir­i­tu­al and the singing groups who spread them across the world, it’s no won­der this was sought-after mate­r­i­al for a nascent indus­try eager for music that appealed to the mass­es. And no spir­i­tu­al has had more mass appeal than “Swing Low, Sweet Char­i­ot.”

The first record­ing of the song was long thought to have been per­formed in 1909 by a four­some, the Fisk Uni­ver­si­ty Jubilee Quar­tet, “car­ry­ing on the lega­cy,” notes Pub­lic Domain Review, “of the orig­i­nal Fisk Jubilee Singers of the 1870s.” You can hear that record­ing below, made by Vic­tor Stu­dios.

Even before the turn of the cen­tu­ry, writes Toni Ander­son at the Library of Con­gress, “the musi­cal land­scape was pep­pered with over ten com­pa­nies fash­ioned after the orig­i­nal Jubilee Singers, and by the 1890s, many black groups had launched suc­cess­ful for­eign tours.” (Du Bois laments the poor qual­i­ty of many of these imi­ta­tors.) The 1909 record­ing, writes Pub­lic Domain Review, “pop­u­lar­ized the song huge­ly,” or, we might say, even more huge­ly, help­ing to make it a sta­ple in decades to come for artists like Paul Robe­son, Louis Arm­strong, Etta James, John­ny Cash, and Eric Clap­ton (in a 1975 reg­gae take). How­ev­er, it turns out that an even ear­li­er record­ing exists, made by one of those suc­cess­ful trav­el­ing groups, the Stan­dard Quar­tette, in 1894.

Record­ed on a wax cylin­der by Colum­bia Records in Wash­ing­ton, DC while the group made a stop on a spring tour, this “’holy grail’ of ear­ly record­ing his­to­ry,” writes Archeo­phone Records, “push­es back by fif­teen years the first known record­ing of the clas­sic spir­i­tu­al,” but it might have been lost for­ev­er had not a care­ful col­lec­tor pre­served it and Archeophone’s Richard Mar­tin not iden­ti­fied its bad­ly-decayed sounds as “Swing Low, Sweet Char­i­ot.” The record­ing has been includ­ed on a 102-track com­pi­la­tion, Wax­ing the Gospel: Mass Evan­ge­lism and the Phono­graph, 1890–1900.

First dis­cov­ered on a “large group of dam­aged ear­ly cylinders—moldy, noisy, and thought to have no retriev­able con­tent,” the song has been unearthed from beneath “an ocean of noise.” What Archeophone’s Mea­gan Hen­nessey found is that the ver­sion “is very dif­fer­ent from what peo­ple expect. The cho­rus is famil­iar, but the vers­es are dif­fer­ent. The Stan­dard Quar­tette sing lyrics we asso­ciate with oth­er jubilee songs.” Also, as Mar­tin points out, the song’s arrange­ment is unusu­al: “there are com­plex things going on here with har­mo­ny and rhythm, but you’ve got to lis­ten close­ly through the noise.” (Learn more about the dis­cov­ery and restora­tion in the short video above.)

The song itself may have been writ­ten in the mid-1800s by an enslaved man named Wal­lace Willis, who was tak­en from Mis­sis­sip­pi to Okla­homa by his half-Choctaw own­er dur­ing forced relo­ca­tion in the 1830s, then “rent­ed out” to a school for Native boys. The head­mas­ter heard him sing it, and passed it on to the Jubilee singers. In anoth­er, more dra­mat­ic, account of the song’s com­po­si­tion, it “’burst forth’ from the anguished soul of Sarah Han­nah Shep­pard, the moth­er of Ella Shep­pard of Fisk Jubilee Singer fame,” when Sarah learned she would be sold and sep­a­rat­ed for­ev­er from her daugh­ter.

In his live per­for­mance of the song, above, John­ny Cash gives a pic­turesque ori­gin sto­ry of an anony­mous slave, “sit­ting on his cot­ton sack one day,” and singing about a vision of a char­i­ot. But what­ev­er the song’s true ori­gins, “Swing Low, Sweet Char­i­ot,” per­haps more than any oth­er pop­u­lar spir­i­tu­al of the 19th cen­tu­ry, has come to rep­re­sent the music, Du Bois wrote, through which “the slave spoke to the world.”

via Pub­lic Domain Review

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Walt Whit­man (Maybe) Read­ing the First Four Lines of His Poem, “Amer­i­ca” (1890)

Hear Voic­es from the 19th Cen­tu­ry: Ten­nyson, Glad­stone & Tchaikovsky

Hear the First Jazz Record, Which Launched the Jazz Age: “Liv­ery Sta­ble Blues” (1917)

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

The Power of Eddie Vedder’s Voice: Hear Isolated Vocal Tracks from Three Classic Pearl Jam Songs

A life­time of rock star excess has tak­en its toll on Eddie Vedder’s voice but not on his tal­ent. Most recent per­for­mances have tilt­ed towards the gen­tle, the acoustic, the Amer­i­cana, reflect­ing his larg­er embrace of the broad expanse of Amer­i­can music. And yes, he can still rock when needs be.

But these iso­lat­ed vocal tracks–”Alive” above and “Black” and “Porch” below–show how pow­er­ful Vedder’s pipes were back in the day at the height of grunge. Ved­der used a lot of vibra­to, more than one can hear in the full band ver­sions. He doesn’t use it so much when he holds a note, but on all the lit­tle notes in between.

And on “Porch” there’s a pow­er­ful plead­ing to the entire deliv­ery that’s both vul­ner­a­ble and hyper­mas­cu­line at the same time. Where Kurt Cobain always seemed to be deliv­er­ing rage inward, Ved­der deliv­ered it out­wards, like the sound of moun­tains as a log­ging com­pa­ny got to work.

The videos try to match up con­cert footage with these stu­dio tracks and the fact they sync so well show the con­sis­ten­cy in his deliv­ery. (The sped up tem­po changes, not so much.)

Of course, iso­lat­ed vocals also mean remix­ers attack! Here’s a few that might hor­ri­fy a few grunge stal­warts.

via Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Eddie Ved­der Sings Disney’s “Let It Go” at Pearl Jam Con­cert in Italy

Willie Nel­son Sings Pearl Jam’s “Just Breathe” (And We’re Tak­ing a Deep Breath Too)

The Rolling Stones “Shat­tered” Cov­ered by Eddie Ved­der & Julie Andrews (Ok, It’s Real­ly Jeanne Trip­ple­horn)

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.

On Its 25th Anniversary, Hear Liz Phair’s Groundbreaking Exile in Guyville Juxtaposed Song-By-Song With the Album That Inspired It, the Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street

Images via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons. Liz Phair left, Mick Jag­ger right

In 1971, post-Alta­mont fias­co, the Rolling Stones went into exile… not on some dusty small town drag, but on the French Riv­iera, where the band decamped for pur­pos­es of tax eva­sion and began record­ing in Kei­th Richards’ rent­ed vil­la near Nice. Every­one knows what hap­pened next—a slop­py, soupy, ragged, glo­ri­ous hash of coun­try, blues, and coun­try-blues, fil­tered through a haze of booze and hero­in and the Stones’ devo­tion to rock and roll as macho endurance exer­cise: Exile on Main Street.

The album, with its cov­er col­lage of Amer­i­cana grotes­querie and kitsch, may have “killed the Rolling Stones,” Jack Hamil­ton argues at The Atlantic, but it launched a thou­sand imi­ta­tors in the ensu­ing decades, a thou­sand would-be Kei­th Richards get­ting strung out and mak­ing dirty, raunchy rock, “pitched per­fect­ly between earnest­ness and irony.” Four­teen years after the album’s release, dar­lings of trashy New York noise rock, Pussy Galore, cov­ered the album song-for-song. The effort “sounds like it was record­ed in the tank of a Low­er East Side toi­let,” writes Ran­dall Roberts.

Pussy Galore gui­tarist Neil Hager­ty sure­ly deserves the Richards mantle—taking sex, drugs, rock ’n’ roll, and lo-fi record­ing to absurd lengths with his lat­er project Roy­al Trux. But one of the ironies of the testos­terone-fueled Exile on Main Street’s influ­ence on these bands is that they fea­tured two of the tough­est women in under­ground music, Julie Cafritz and Jen­nifer Her­re­ma—women who labored obscure­ly in a “com­pli­cat­ed world of men with gui­tars,” as Alli­son Stew­art puts it at The Wash­ing­ton Post.

In 1993, Liz Phair stepped into this world with her career-defin­ing Exile in Guyville, “one of the sharpest, bold­est rock albums of its era, or any era,” which just hap­pens to be a song-for-song response to the Rolling Stones’ opus. Next to the Stones, the pro­duc­tion of Phair’s Exile sounds pristine—you can actu­al­ly make out the lyrics! Her explo­sive debut was a defi­ant con­ver­sa­tion, “clear­ly in a tus­sle with the sort of male-dom­i­nat­ed music scene,” she tells The New York Times.

Using the Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main St” was sort of like using their avatar. I thought that was the quin­tes­sen­tial guy rock band, you know? So I sub­sti­tut­ed in my head the char­ac­ters from “Exile” with the char­ac­ters I knew from around the neigh­bor­hood. Sort of talk­ing to them vis-à-vis the con­ver­sa­tion I was hav­ing with the Rolling Stones.

The exer­cise began with Phair tak­ing Exile on Main Street as a text­book, of a sort: “I was a visu­al arts major and I con­coct­ed the idea that I need­ed a template—learn from the greats,” she tells Rolling Stone. After her then-boyfriend sar­cas­ti­cal­ly told her, “you should total­ly do that,” she became intent on meet­ing the chal­lenge of writ­ing her own take on the album. But Guyville was about much more than the Stones, who pro­vide an arma­ture for her explo­rations of “a mil­lion Guyvilles,” as she tells Stew­art.

“It’s in the stu­dios, where you try to get movies made and cast. It’s any­one being white-priv­i­leged, being what­ev­er it is that gives you invis­i­ble safe­ty or invis­i­ble ben­e­fits. ‘Guyville’ could be a catch­phrase for any obliv­i­ous com­mu­ni­ty that has no idea that they’re shov­ing peo­ple to the side.” Twen­ty-five years after the album’s debut, Phair’s com­men­tary seems as tren­chant as it was then, when she found her­self one of a select few women in an indus­try dom­i­nat­ed by a lot of sleazy guys: “The mar­ket forces… were gross. It was like, ‘Look hot­ter! Get more naked!’ Like as if it was a Jell‑O wrestling con­test.”

The major dif­fer­ence now, she says, is that women have a sig­nif­i­cant pres­ence in every genre: “I feel like every day on Twit­ter I find some new female band I’m inter­est­ed in, and I can have my entire music diet be female song­writ­ers and musi­cians.” Though she was then and now a reluc­tant “fem­i­nist spokesmod­el,” Phair deserves ample cred­it for help­ing to break open the music industry’s Guyville, by tak­ing on one of its most sacred objects. Exile in Guyville was re-released in a box set this month by Mata­dor. In the playlist above, you can hear the con­ver­sa­tion in full, with each song on Exile on Main Street fol­lowed by Phair’s Exile in Guyville rejoin­der.

As you lis­ten, be sure to read her inter­view at Rolling Stone, where she explains how she trans­lat­ed the ear­ly 70s clas­sic into an ear­ly 90s idiom. She also tells the sto­ry of meet­ing Mick Jag­ger, who, she says, gave her a belit­tling look that said, “Yeah, all right, I’ll let you off the hook this time for com­plete­ly mak­ing a name for your­self off our name, but don’t think I don’t know.” Her response: “I wasn’t mad. He’s Mick!”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Chrissie Hynde’s 10 Pieces of Advice for “Chick Rock­ers” (1994)

Hear the 150 Great­est Albums by Women: NPR Cre­ates a New Canon of Albums That Puts Women at the Cen­ter of Music His­to­ry

Four Female Punk Bands That Changed Women’s Role in Rock

Hear Demos of Kei­th Richards Singing Lead Vocals on Rolling Stones Clas­sics: “Gimme Shel­ter,” “Wild Hors­es” & More

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

Visit an Online Collection of 64,259 Musical Instruments from Across the World

The study of musi­cal instru­ments opens up vast his­to­ries of sound rever­ber­at­ing through the cen­turies. Should we embark on a jour­ney through halls of Europe’s musi­cal instru­ment muse­ums, for exam­ple, we should soon dis­cov­er how lim­it­ed our appre­ci­a­tion for music his­to­ry has been, how nar­rowed by the rel­a­tive hand­ful of instru­ments allowed into orches­tras, ensem­bles, and bands of all kinds. The typ­i­cal diet of clas­si­cal, roman­tic, mod­ern, jazz, pop, rock, R&B, or what­ev­er, the music most of us in the West grow up hear­ing and study­ing, has result­ed from a care­ful sort­ing process that over time chose cer­tain instru­ments over oth­ers.

Some of those his­toric instruments—the vio­lin, cel­lo, many wind and brass—remain in wide cir­cu­la­tion and pro­duce music that can still sound rel­e­vant and con­tem­po­rary. Oth­ers, like the Mel­lotron (above) or bar­rel organs (like the 1883 Cylin­der­pos­i­tiv at the top), remain wed­ded to their his­tor­i­cal peri­ods, mak­ing sounds that might as well have dates stamped on them.

You could—and many an his­to­ri­an has, no doubt—travel the world and pay a per­son­al vis­it to the muse­ums hous­ing thou­sands of musi­cal instru­ments humans have used—or at least invented—to car­ry melodies and har­monies and keep time. Such a tour might con­sti­tute a life’s work.

But if you’re on a bud­get or your grant doesn’t come through, you can still tour Europe’s musi­cal instru­ment muse­ums, and two muse­ums in Africa, from the com­fort of your home, office, or library thanks to MIMO, Musi­cal Instru­ment Muse­ums Online, a “con­sor­tium of some of Europe’s most impor­tant musi­cal instru­ment muse­ums” offer­ing “the world’s largest freely acces­si­ble data­base for infor­ma­tion on musi­cal instru­ments held in pub­lic col­lec­tions.”

The enor­mous online col­lec­tion hous­es, vir­tu­al­ly, tens of thou­sands of instru­ments from over two dozen regions around the globe. (There are 64,259 instru­ments in total.) Find an Ital­ian Basse de Vio­le (above) from 1547 or an ornate Egypt­ian darabuk­ka (below). And, of course, plen­ty of iconic—and rare—elec­tric gui­tars and bass­es.

You can search instru­ments by mak­er, coun­try, city, or con­ti­nent, time peri­od, muse­um, and type. (Wind, Per­cus­sion, Stringed, Zithers, Rat­tles, Bells, Lamel­la­phones, etc….) Researchers may encounter a few lan­guage hurdles—MIMO’s about page men­tions “search­ing in six dif­fer­ent lan­guages,” and the site actu­al­ly lists 11 lan­guage cat­e­gories in tabs at the top. But users may still need to plug pages into Google trans­late unless they read French or Ger­man or some of the oth­er lan­guages in which descrip­tions have been writ­ten. Refresh­ing­ly con­sis­tent, the pho­tographs of each instru­ment con­form to a stan­dard set by the con­sor­tium that pro­vides “detailed guide­lines on how to set up a repos­i­to­ry to enable the har­vest­ing of dig­i­tal con­tent.”

But enough about the site func­tions, what about the sounds? Well, in a phys­i­cal muse­um, you wouldn’t expect to take a three-hun­dred-year-old flute out of its case and hear it played. Just so, most of the instru­ments here can be seen and not heard, but the site does have over 400 sound files, includ­ing the enchant­i­ng record­ing of Sym­pho­nion Eroica 38a (above), as played on a mechan­i­cal clock from 1900.

As you dis­cov­er instru­ments you nev­er knew existed—such as the theramin-like Croix Sonore (Sonorus Cross), cre­at­ed by Russ­ian com­pos­er Nico­las Obukhov between 1926 and 1934—you can under­take your own research to find sam­ple record­ings online, such as “The Third and Last Tes­ta­ment,” below, Obukhov’s com­po­si­tion for 5 voic­es, organ, 2 pianos, orches­tra, and croix sonore. Obukhov’s exper­i­ments with instru­ments of his own inven­tion prompt­ed his exper­i­ments in 12-tone com­po­si­tion, in which, he declared, “I for­bid myself any rep­e­ti­tion.” Just one exam­ple among many thou­sands demon­strat­ing how instru­ment design forms the basis of a wild­ly pro­lif­er­at­ing vari­ety of musi­cal expres­sions that can start to seem end­less after a while.

via @dark_shark

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch a Musi­cian Impro­vise on a 500-Year-Old Music Instru­ment, The Car­il­lon

Musi­cian Plays the Last Stradi­var­ius Gui­tar in the World, the “Sabionari” Made in 1679

Sovi­et Inven­tor Léon Theremin Shows Off the Theremin, the Ear­ly Elec­tron­ic Instru­ment That Could Be Played With­out Being Touched (1954)

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

Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical Debuted on Broadway 50 Years Ago: Watch Footage of the Cast Performing in 1968

As years go, 1968 is packed with notable events.

The Tet Offen­sive and the Apol­lo 8 mis­sion to the moon.

The assas­si­na­tions of Mar­tin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy.

The first 747 took to the skies. Star Trek showed television’s first inter­ra­cial kiss.

And Hair: The Amer­i­can Trib­al Love-Rock Musi­cal, which debuted down­town hard on the heels of the Sum­mer of Love, reopened on Broad­way.

New York Times crit­ic Clive Barnes—a fan—caved to pres­sure from anx­ious pre­view audi­ence mem­bers, who want­ed him to warn prospec­tive tick­et buy­ers what they were in for. Tongue firm­ly in cheek, he com­plied with­in the body of a rave review:

A great many four let­ter words such as “love”

A num­ber of men and women (I should have count­ed)… total­ly nude

Fre­quent approv­ing ref­er­ences… to the expand­ing ben­e­fits of drugs

Homo­sex­u­al­i­ty

Mis­ce­gena­tion

Flow­ers

Then, as now, a grow­ing youth move­ment occu­pied the Amer­i­can public’s imag­i­na­tion.

If 2018’s Broad­way pro­duc­ers are will­ing to take a risk on a musi­cal that’s not adapt­ed from a pop­u­lar movie, we may well be enter­ing tick­et lot­ter­ies for Gon­za­lez! some­time in the very near future.

Back then, young peo­ple were in revolt against the Viet­nam War and the val­ues their par­ents held dear.

The orig­i­nal ver­sions, both on and off Broad­way, fea­tured two of the show’s three authors, Gerome Rag­ni and James Rado, as anti­heroes Berg­er and Claude. (Galt Mac­Der­mot wrote the music.)

While oth­er cast mem­bers emerged from New York’s hip­pie scene, Rag­ni and Rado’s back­grounds were some­what lack­ing in patchouli. Rado was an aspi­rant com­pos­er of tra­di­tion­al Broad­way musi­cals. Rag­ni, as a mem­ber of The Open The­ater, was a bit more tuned in, the­atri­cal­ly speak­ing.

As Rado recalled in an inter­view:

There was so much excite­ment in the streets and the parks and the hip­pie areas, and we thought if we could trans­mit this excite­ment to the stage it would be won­der­ful. … We hung out with them and went to their Be-Ins (and) let our hair grow.

Barnes wry­ly not­ed in his review that “these hard-work­ing and tal­ent­ed actors are in real­i­ty about as hip­pie as May­or Lind­say.”

But there’s noth­ing too wig-like about the hair swing­ing around in the above footage—from the Gram­mys, The Smoth­ers Broth­ers Com­e­dy Hour, and the 1969 Tony Awards where the cast was intro­duced by Har­ry Bela­fonte. There’s a spon­tane­ity sel­dom seen in big bud­get musi­cals these days, though with a nation­al tour hit­ting the road and dozens of 50th anniver­sary pro­duc­tions pop­ping up across the coun­try, we may be in for a redux.

To learn more about Hair’s role in the­ater history—including under­study Diane Keaton’s refusal to get naked and a page from the Times’ the­ater list­ings show­ing what else was play­ing at the time—read The Bow­ery Boys pho­to-packed 50th anniver­sary salute.

Sing along with the orig­i­nal Off-Broad­way cast below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rare Footage of the “Human Be-In,” the Land­mark Counter-Cul­ture Event Held in Gold­en Gate Park, 1967

89 Essen­tial Songs from The Sum­mer of Love: A 50th Anniver­sary Playlist

Fed­eri­co Felli­ni Intro­duces Him­self to Amer­i­ca in Exper­i­men­tal 1969 Doc­u­men­tary

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Join her in NYC on Wednes­day, May 16 for anoth­er month­ly install­ment of her book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Watch AC/DC Rock a Gymnasium Full of High School Kids in 1976

Through the mag­ic of black and white video, this rare gig of Bon Scott-led AC/DC has been unearthed. The sound is poor, the light­ing some­times non-exis­tent, but who cares? Just look at the faces of the 16-year-old girls in the front row as one of the hard­est rock­ing bands plays (checks notes) the St. Albans High School gym­na­si­um in 1976! It’s absolute mad­ness. Who knew at that time that AC/DC were going to hit big, like sta­di­um big, like essen­tial hard rock band of all time big? To some it was prob­a­bly a fun night out and isn’t it fun­ny that the lead singer likes to rock a set of bag­pipes?

In fact, the song they play in the video “It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wan­na Rock ‘n’ Roll)” is the first (per­haps) track to pit bag­pipes against gui­tars.

In this key bit of inves­ti­ga­tion by Dan­ger­ous Minds, writer Cher­ry­bomb won­ders whether Bon Scott–a trans­plant from Scot­land to Aus­tralia when he was six–actually could play the pipes at all. I mean, yes, one might *assume* that being Scot­tish means you’re half-way there, but in fact, accord­ing to a piper called Kevin Con­lon, Scott only got an inter­est in the instru­ment dur­ing the record­ing of 1975’s T.N.T. :

I got a call from Bon, and he didn’t know who I was and I didn’t know who he was. He want­ed to buy a set of bag­pipes and have a few lessons. I told him they would cost over $1000 and it would take 12 months or more of lessons to learn how to play a tune. He said that was fine and came down for a few lessons, but as we were only going to be mim­ing, he just had to look like he was play­ing.

Cher­ry­bomb con­cludes that maybe, just maybe, Scott is play­ing the pipes dur­ing this num­ber, instead of mim­ing to a pre-record­ed track over the P.A. But lat­er the pipes got smashed up, and the num­ber got dumped from the act. And report­ed­ly the rest of the band was furi­ous over their lim­it­ed funds being spent on an instru­ment Scott couldn’t real­ly play. The whole sto­ry has a tinge of Spinal Tap excess to it, but hey, you wouldn’t want it any oth­er way, right?

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

AC/DC Plays a Short Gig at CBGB in 1977: Hear Met­al Being Played on Punk’s Hal­lowed Grounds

Hear a Super­cut of the Last Sec­ond of Every AC/DC Song

Demen­tia Patients Find Some Eter­nal Youth in the Sounds of AC/DC

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.

The Concept of Musical Harmony Explained in Five Levels of Difficulty, Starting with a Child & Ending with Herbie Hancock

 

Wired mag­a­zine has entered the video explain­er game with a nov­el series that takes con­cepts from kinder­garten to grad­u­ate school and beyond in under twen­ty min­utes. Their “5 Lev­els of Dif­fi­cul­ty” videos have it all: hip 21st cen­tu­ry ideas like blockchain, cute kids say­ing smart things, a cel­e­bra­tion of exper­tise and the com­mu­ni­ca­tion skills today’s experts need to present their work to a diverse, inter­na­tion­al pub­lic of all ages and edu­ca­tion lev­els. This is no gimmick—it’s enter­tain­ing and acces­si­ble, while still infor­ma­tive for even the best informed.

Take the video above, in which 23-year-old com­pos­er and musi­cian Jacob Col­lier explains the con­cept of musi­cal har­mo­ny. His stu­dents include a child, a teen, a col­lege stu­dent, a pro­fes­sion­al, and… Her­bie Han­cock. “I’m pos­i­tive,” he says, “that every­one can leave this video with some under­stand­ing, at some lev­el.” At lev­el 1, we under­stand har­mo­ny as an expres­sion of mood or feel­ing, pro­duced by adding “more notes” to a melody. A sim­ple but effec­tive def­i­n­i­tion.

Lev­el 2 intro­duces basic theory—using chords, or tri­ads, to explain how har­mo­ny can pro­duce dif­fer­ent emo­tions, mod­u­lat­ing from major to minor, and cre­at­ing “nar­ra­tives” with­in a song. In Lev­el 3, har­mo­ny becomes a lan­guage, and the vocab­u­lary of the cir­cle of fifths comes in. Collier’s col­lege stu­dent com­pan­ion also plays gui­tar, and the two jam through a few chord voic­ings to give his exam­ple song, “Amaz­ing Grace,” a smooth and jazzy feel. At Lev­el 4, a pro­fes­sion­al pianist learns a few things about over­tones and under­tones, com­po­si­tion­al arrang­ing, and “neg­a­tive har­mo­ny.”

Then, at 8:30, we get to the main attrac­tion, and, as tends to hap­pen in these videos at the final stage, stu­dent and teacher roles reverse. Col­lier essen­tial­ly inter­views Han­cock on har­mo­ny, both perched behind key­boards and speak­ing the lan­guage of music flu­ent­ly. Non-pro­fes­sion­als won’t have had near­ly enough prepa­ra­tion in 8 min­utes to grasp what’s going on. It’s high lev­el stuff, but even if you’re mys­ti­fied by the the­o­ry, stick around for the stories—and learn what Miles Davis meant when he told Han­cock, “don’t play the but­ter notes,” advice on play­ing har­mo­ny that changed every­thing for him.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Art of Explain­ing Hard Ideas: Sci­en­tists Try to Explain Gene Edit­ing & Brain Map­ping to Young Kids & Stu­dents

Her­bie Han­cock Explains the Big Les­son He Learned From Miles Davis: Every Mis­take in Music, as in Life, Is an Oppor­tu­ni­ty

West­ern Music Moves in Three and Even Four (!) Dimen­sion­al Spaces: How the Pio­neer­ing Research of Prince­ton The­o­rist Dmitri Tymoczko Helps Us Visu­al­ize Music in Rad­i­cal, New Ways

John Coltrane Draws a Pic­ture Illus­trat­ing the Math­e­mat­ics of Music

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

The Gig When Miles Davis Jammed with Carlos Santana & Robben Ford (Giants Stadium, 1986)

The old joke about super­groups being less than the sum of their parts often holds true in rock and pop. Too many cooks, and all that. But what hap­pens when you bring togeth­er super­stars from dif­fer­ent gen­res? This was basi­cal­ly the idea of jazz fusion, and espe­cial­ly of Miles Davis, one of fusion’s prin­ci­ple pio­neers in the late six­ties and ear­ly sev­en­ties. It’s a genre of music peo­ple seem to either love or hate. Those who fall into the lat­ter camp often cite the ten­den­cy of jazz-rock ensem­bles to over­play, to the detri­ment of both jazz and rock.

Fol­low­ing Davis’ inno­va­tions, vir­tu­oso col­lab­o­ra­tors like John McLaugh­lin went on to form their own super­groups, while the star trum­peter checked out for a while. But “after five years of silence,” as Peo­ple mag­a­zine wrote in 1981, his trum­pet was “once again heard in the land.”

Davis assem­bled a few bands and charged ahead in an even more fusion‑y direc­tion, despite some severe crit­i­cism from music writ­ers, fans, and fel­low per­form­ers. He cov­ered Cyn­di Lau­per and Michael Jack­son and col­lab­o­rat­ed with new wave bands and pop stars like Toto. He seemed deter­mined to mix it up with as many major play­ers as he could.

The results were some­times less than the sum of their parts, though his exper­i­men­ta­tion crys­tal­ized in an excel­lent record in 1986, the Mar­cus Miller-pro­duced jazz/funk/pop/R&B album Tutu. That same year, Davis and a loose­ly-assem­bled band took the stage at Giants Sta­di­um for a short set at an Amnesty Inter­na­tion­al ben­e­fit con­cert, where they were joined by jazz and rock gui­tarist Robben Ford and, on the last song, by spe­cial guest star Car­los San­tana. Tutu, notes The Last Miles—web­site for George Cole’s book of the same name—“was still a few months away from its offi­cial release.”

The band jammed through two of the new album’s tunes, the title track and “Splatch.” Then, for the final song, “Burn”—“a rock-funk num­ber that Miles first heard in 1980”—Santana took the stage. You can see video of them play­ing that song at the top of the post and hear the full audio of the short per­for­mance, less than 30 min­utes, fur­ther up. The eight-piece band plays a typ­i­cal­ly busy fusion set, with solo after amaz­ing solo over a full-on wall of elec­tri­fied sound. I con­fess, I find this side of Miles a lit­tle assaultive next to the restraint of much ear­li­er work, but that’s a mat­ter of per­son­al taste. It’s impos­si­ble to say a bad word about the qual­i­ty of these per­for­mances.

How did these super­stars end up work­ing togeth­er, not only at this ben­e­fit but in oth­er con­certs and record­ings? Find out in the inter­views above from San­tana and Ford, both of whom describe their expe­ri­ences as major career high­lights. The respect in both cas­es, a rar­i­ty with Miles Davis, was mutu­al.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Miles Davis Dish­es Dirt on His Fel­low Jazz Musi­cians: “The Trom­bone Play­er Should be Shot”; That Ornette is “F‑ing Up the Trum­pet”

The Night When Miles Davis Opened for the Grate­ful Dead in 1970: Hear the Com­plete Record­ings

Miles Davis Opens for Neil Young and “That Sor­ry-Ass Cat” Steve Miller at The Fill­more East (1970)

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

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