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

Last year we fea­tured the Win­ter­gatan Music Machine, a lov­ing­ly hand­craft­ed in wood auto­mat­ed instru­ment cre­at­ed by artist/musician Mar­tin Mollin. Over 2,000 mar­bles trav­el through a com­plex series of gears, cranks, and tubes, even­tu­al­ly strik­ing notes on a xylo­phone and cre­at­ing beats on two close­ly mic’d pads to make bass and snare drum sounds. There’s more lay­ers to fol­low in the video, and it’s all been pro­gramed by Mollin.

His video earned over 55 mil­lion views on Youtube. What inspired the Win­ter­gatan Music Machine?The col­lec­tion of old automa­ta at the Speelk­lok Muse­um, where Mollin’s machine now resides. In an inter­view, he told Wired:

Even before dig­i­tal they made fan­tas­tic, pro­gram­ma­ble music instru­ments. In bell tow­ers and church tow­ers that play a melody they always have a pro­gram­ming wheel exact­ly like the one that is on the mar­ble machine.

Which leads to today’s video, where Mollin gets to impro­vise on the machine that inspired him to make his own: a 500-year-old car­il­lon. This car­il­lon uses a pro­gram­ma­ble wheel (or “repinnable musi­cal drum” as it is offi­cial­ly called), which allowed melodies to be played on church bells.

Those pat­terns are set on the drum by a series of mov­able stops, but this car­il­lon also has a sec­ond set of keys that are arranged like a piano, and must be played with a fist. Mollin has a go, and impro­vis­es a melody near the end.

Mollin also hosts “Music Machine Mon­days” on his YouTube chan­nel, where he explores more of the museum’s col­lec­tion of automa­ta, like this insane Self-Play­ing Orches­tra with 17 Instru­ments (above). If you are into some pre-tran­sis­tor cool­ness, before steam or punk was even a thing, do check it out.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Hear a 9,000 Year Old Flute—the World’s Old­est Playable Instrument—Get Played Again

Behold the Sea Organ: The Mas­sive Exper­i­men­tal Musi­cal Instru­ment That Makes Music with the Sea

Watch Leonar­do da Vinci’s Musi­cal Inven­tion, the Vio­la Organ­ista, Being Played for the Very First Time

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the 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.

Hear What Happens When Avant-Garde Composer Pierre Boulez Conducts Three Frank Zappa Songs

Was Frank Zap­pa a musi­cal genius? A mod­ernist, avant-garde com­pos­er who just hap­pened to work in an idiomat­ic pas­tiche of jazz, clas­si­cal, pro­gres­sive rock and juve­nile shock tac­tics? The ques­tion can be a deeply divi­sive one. Zap­pa tends to inspire either intense devo­tion or intense dis­like. But what­ev­er one’s opin­ion of the man or his music, it’s safe to say that when he wasn’t work­ing alone, Zap­pa worked in the com­pa­ny of some incred­i­bly tal­ent­ed musi­cians. And he attract­ed, as John Rock­well wrote in 1984 at The New York Times, “a tiny fol­low­ing among clas­si­cal avant-gardists.”

That year, one of his more gen­teel fans, Pierre Boulez—for­mer music direc­tor of the New York Phil­har­mon­ic and “wide­ly regard­ed,” notes Rock­well, “as one of the great com­posers of the [20th] century”—decided to con­duct a suite of Zap­pa songs. Zap­pa hoped the result­ing album, The Per­fect Stranger, would help him real­ize his ambi­tion of hav­ing his music tak­en seri­ous­ly in clas­si­cal cir­cles. (“A brief col­lab­o­ra­tion in 1970 with Zubin Mehta,” writes April Peavey at PRI, “went nowhere.”)

Boulez con­ducts his own ensem­ble for three tracks on the album, “The Per­fect Stranger,” “Naval Avi­a­tion in Art?” and “Dupree’s Par­adise.” The remain­ing four songs are per­formed by “The Bark­ing Pump­kin Dig­i­tal Grat­i­fi­ca­tion Con­sort,” a Zap­paism for the Syn­clavier, Zap­pa’s favorite elec­tron­ic instru­ment. For all the high seri­ous­ness the col­lab­o­ra­tion implies, Zap­pa couldn’t help insert­ing his sur­re­al­ly sar­don­ic sense of humor; always “a com­pul­sive musi­cal come­di­an,” wrote Rock­well, he wears here “the defen­sive mask of irony, again.”

Each of the songs has an accom­pa­ny­ing sce­nario. “The Per­fect Stranger” imag­ines that “a door-to-door sales­man, accom­pa­nied by his faith­ful gyp­sy-mutant indus­tri­al vac­u­um clean­er, cavorts licen­tious­ly with a sloven­ly house­wife.” In “Love Sto­ry,” Zap­pa wants us to pic­ture “an elder­ly Repub­li­can cou­ple attempt­ing sex while break­danc­ing.” Many peo­ple have had trou­ble get­ting past the sopho­moric pos­tur­ing and see­ing Zappa’s music as seri­ous art. He often seemed intent on alien­at­ing exact­ly such peo­ple.

But per­haps Zap­pa did not need the pedi­gree Boulez lent to his work. When lis­ten­ing, for exam­ple, to the Moth­ers of Inven­tion play Zappa’s orig­i­nal arrange­ment of “Dupree’s Par­adise” (top), one has to admit, he cre­at­ed bril­liant­ly com­plex, rhyth­mi­cal­ly excit­ing music and, in the final analy­sis, rep­re­sent­ed “a par­tic­u­lar­ly appeal­ing type of quin­tes­sen­tial­ly Amer­i­can composer—genuinely defi­ant of estab­lished cat­e­gories and divi­sions that oth­ers rou­tine­ly accept.” Lis­ten to the Boulez/Zappa col­lab­o­ra­tion The Per­fect Stranger in the Spo­ti­fy playlist above, or access it direct­ly on Spo­ti­fy here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Musi­cal Evo­lu­tion of Frank Zap­pa in 401 Songs

Frank Zap­pa Gets Sur­prised & Ser­e­nad­ed by the U.S. Navy Band at the San Fran­cis­co Air­port (1980)

Frank Zappa’s Amaz­ing Final Con­certs: Prague and Budapest, 1991

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

A First Glimpse of Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury, Compared with the Real Freddie Mercury Performing at Live Aid in 1985


Few film­mak­ers have ever fig­ured out how to make a motion pic­ture about an already larg­er-than-life per­son­al­i­ty, and per­son­al­i­ties haven’t come much larg­er in recent his­to­ry than Fred­die Mer­cury’s. Talk of a movie about the Queen front­man, who died in 1991, has gone on for years: Dex­ter Fletch­er came up as a poten­tial direc­tor, and for the role of Mer­cury both Ben Wishaw and Sacha Baron Cohen have at dif­fer­ent times been attached. But now the film has entered pro­duc­tion, hav­ing found a direc­tor in Bryan Singer, he of the X‑Men fran­chise, and a star in Rami Malek, best known as the lead in the tele­vi­sion series Mr. Robot.

But can Malek — or indeed any­one cur­rent­ly liv­ing — con­vince as Mer­cury? The first piece of evi­dence has sur­faced in the form of the clip at the top of the post, shot on set as the cast recre­ates Queen’s 1985 come­back per­for­mance at Live Aid. The band “seemed to intu­it right from the start the impor­tance of the day, though they were very ner­vous back­stage.

But once onstage they com­plete­ly own it, even more so Fred­die Mer­cury who ris­es to the occa­sion as a front man and as a singer, giv­ing one of his best per­for­mances,” writes Ted Mills of the real con­cert video, which we fea­tured just this past May here on Open Cul­ture. The show opens by going straight into“Bohemian Rhap­sody,” Queen’s sig­na­ture eight-minute rock opera, which gives the new movie its work­ing title.

Even going by just a minute and a half of footage, shot shak­i­ly, in low res­o­lu­tion, and at a dis­tance, it must be said that Malek does look to make an uncan­ny Mer­cury, right down to that dis­tinc­tive jog onto the stage at Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um. In the Late Show with Stephen Col­bert clip just above, Malek talks about his expe­ri­ence watch­ing the sur­viv­ing mem­bers of Queen watch his per­for­mance as Mer­cury for the first time — and at the icon­ic Abbey Road Stu­dios, no less. “How did they take you?” Col­bert asks. “They took me,” Malek responds, leav­ing us to wait until Decem­ber of next year to judge for our­selves how he brings their beloved lead singer back to life — and whether, by what­ev­er com­bi­na­tion of train­ing and tech­no­log­i­cal wiz­ardry, the film gets it right down to that one-of-a-kind voice.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Queen’s Stun­ning Live Aid Per­for­mance: 20 Min­utes Guar­an­teed to Give You Goose Bumps (July 15, 1985)

Sci­en­tif­ic Study Reveals What Made Fred­die Mercury’s Voice One of a Kind; Hear It in All of Its A Cap­pel­la Splen­dor

Queen Doc­u­men­tary Pays Trib­ute to the Rock Band That Con­quered the World

Watch Behind-the-Scenes Footage From Fred­die Mercury’s Final Video Per­for­mance

The Mak­ing of Queen and David Bowie’s 1981 Hit “Under Pres­sure”: Demos, Stu­dio Ses­sions & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

When Pink Floyd Tried to Make an Album with Household Objects: Hear Two Surviving Tracks Made with Wine Glasses & Rubber Bands

There are bands one casu­al­ly encoun­ters through great­est hits or break­through albums, on which they sound exact­ly like them­selves and no one else. It’s impos­si­ble to imag­ine any­one but Fleet­wood Mac mak­ing Rumors or Tusk. Or any­one but Pink Floyd record­ing Wish You Were Here or Dark Side of the Moon. But just like Fleet­wood Mac, when we look back before Floyd’s best-known work, we find, as Mark Blake writes at Team Rock, that “they were a very dif­fer­ent propo­si­tion.”

And yet it was­n’t that Pink Floyd rad­i­cal­ly shuf­fled the lineup—though they had, since their first album, lost found­ing singer and gui­tarist Syd Bar­rett to men­tal ill­ness and tak­en on David Gilmour to replace him. It’s that the same four musi­cians who re-invent­ed psych-rock in the ear­ly 70s with “Mon­ey,” “Time,” and “Great Gig in the Sky,” sound­ed noth­ing like that blues/funk/disco/prog hybrid in the late 60s. Some of the same ele­ments were there—the sar­don­ic sense of humor, love for sound effects and extend­ed jam sessions—but they cohered in much more alien and exper­i­men­tal shapes.

The title track of 1968’s Saucer­ful of Secrets, for exam­ple, opens with four min­utes of dis­so­nant hor­ror-movie organ drones, which give way to pri­mal drum­ming around which piano chords and sci-fi nois­es fall hap­haz­ard­ly, then resolve in a clos­ing word­less choral pas­sage. Not a sin­gle, cyn­i­cal lyric about the pains of mod­ern life to be found. The fol­low­ing year’s Ummagum­ma con­tin­ued to build the band’s exper­i­men­tal foun­da­tions, and in-between these projects, they record­ed film sound­tracks that, again, do not make one think of laser-lit are­na rock shows.

But there is plen­ty of con­nec­tive tis­sue between the var­i­ous phas­es of Floyd, much of it, like the bulk of their 1970 sound­track for Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point, offi­cial­ly unre­leased. We can add to that list an attempt­ed album called House­hold Objects, which they began in 1970 and aban­doned in ’74. The project, drum­mer Nick Mason admit­ted, rep­re­sents the then-large­ly-instru­men­tal band “still look­ing for a coher­ent direc­tion,” and in so doing, aban­don­ing instru­ments alto­geth­er. On House­hold Objects, they made serendip­i­tous dis­cov­er­ies using—as the title clear­ly stated—found sounds, in the vein of John Cage or the avant-garde com­posers of musique con­crete.

In 1971, Abbey Road stu­dios tape oper­a­tor John Leck­ie, who went on to pro­duce the heav­i­ly Floyd-influ­enced Muse, remem­bers the band “mak­ing chords up from the tap­ping of beer bot­tles, tear­ing news­pa­pers for rhythm, and let­ting off aerosol cans to get a hi-hat sound.” Key­boardist Richard Wright recalls spend­ing “days get­ting a pen­cil and a rub­ber band till it sound­ed like a bass.” The idea began two years ear­li­er when the band per­formed a com­po­si­tion called Work that “involved,” writes Blake, “saw­ing wood and boil­ing ket­tles on stage.”

House­hold Objects record­ing ses­sions, writes Rolling Stone, “con­sist­ed of Pink Floyd play­ing songs on hand mix­ers, light bulbs, wood saws, ham­mers, brooms and oth­er home appli­ances. Record­ing in this man­ner was excru­ci­at­ing.” Wright and Gilmour grew exas­per­at­ed and the band moved on to oth­er things, name­ly Wish You Were Here. All that seem­ing­ly remains of House­hold Objects are the two tracks here, “The Hard Way” (an instance where rub­ber bands sound like a bass) and “Wine Glass­es,” the lat­ter employ­ing, you guessed it, wine glass­es. But like so much of Floyd’s less­er-known or for­got­ten exper­i­men­tal work, these ses­sions cre­at­ed the back­drop for their more acces­si­ble hits. “Wine Glass­es” sur­vived in “Shine on You Crazy Dia­mond.” In the video just above, you can see David Gilmour work out the glass arrange­ments for his per­for­mance of the song in the 2006 Roy­al Albert Hall con­cert film Remem­ber That Night.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The “Lost” Pink Floyd Sound­track for Michelan­ge­lo Antonioni’s Only Amer­i­can Film, Zabriskie Point (1970)

Hear Lost Record­ing of Pink Floyd Play­ing with Jazz Vio­lin­ist Stéphane Grap­pel­li on “Wish You Were Here”

Pink Floyd’s “Echoes” Pro­vides a Sound­track for the Final Scene of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey

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

A New Mural Pays Tribute to John Coltrane in Philadelphia

Image by WRTI.ORG

Ear­li­er this sum­mer, artists paint­ed a 10-sto­ry high mur­al of Mud­dy Waters in the heart of Chica­go. Now, Philadel­phia answered with a mur­al of its own, right at the cor­ner of 29th and Dia­mond. There, you’ll find a giant paint­ing of John Coltrane by artist Ernel Mar­tinez, which takes visu­al cues from anoth­er Coltrane mur­al that graced the side of a Philly build­ing from 2002 until 2014.

The new mur­al is not far from where Coltrane bought his Philadel­phia home in 1952. (It’s now a nation­al land­mark, by the way.) The jazz web site, wrti.org, has more on the new mur­al.

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!

via @TedGioia

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Her­bie Han­cock to Teach His First Online Course on Jazz

John Coltrane Draws a Pic­ture Illus­trat­ing the Math­e­mat­ics of Music

The Secret Link Between Jazz and Physics: How Ein­stein & Coltrane Shared Impro­vi­sa­tion and Intu­ition in Com­mon

John Coltrane’s Hand­writ­ten Out­line for His Mas­ter­piece A Love Supreme

John Coltrane’s ‘Giant Steps’ Ani­mat­ed

Watch John Lennon’s Last Live Performance (1975): “Imagine,” “Stand By Me” & More


After each heart­break­ing loss of a musi­cal icon this past year and a half, we have turned to their great­est moments onstage, not nec­es­sar­i­ly their last, because their final shows weren’t always all that mem­o­rable. Declin­ing health, bad record­ings… and not every gig is a good one even in the best of times and with the best of per­form­ers. But when it comes to John Lennon’s last pub­lic appear­ance, I like to think he might have left the stage exact­ly the way he want­ed to, as a rock­er, a provo­ca­teur, and a pis­stak­er in a can­dy-apple red jump­suit, backed by a nine-piece mim­ing band of bald men in black leather with masks paint­ed on the back of their heads.


Cred­it­ed as “John Lennon, Etc.,” the band’s true name, giv­en to them by Lennon him­self, is abbre­vi­at­ed on their bass drum: B.O.M.F., or “Broth­ers of Moth­er Fuck­ers.” It was Lennon’s send off to his own career as much as it was a Salute to Sir Lew, as the pro­gram was called. Just a few months lat­er Sean was born, and Lennon declared he would retire to raise his son. At the time of his trag­ic death five years lat­er, he had begun record­ing again, releas­ing Dou­ble Fan­ta­sy and plan­ning a sec­ond dou­ble album, Milk and Hon­ey. But we nev­er got to see him per­form those songs.

The hon­oree for Lennon’s last gig was Sir Lew Grade, “a pow­er­ful media mogul,” notes Dan­ger­ous Minds, “with roots in cabaret and vari­ety shows.” A man known as much for his ruth­less­ness in busi­ness as for his Charleston, which he per­formed on table­tops when­ev­er the mood struck him. In 1969 Grade bought up the rights to over a hun­dred Lennon and McCart­ney songs, after some very tense nego­ti­a­tions. Lennon sued Grade in 1974 and set­tled out of court, and Grade remained the co-pub­lish­er of all of his new songs.


As part of the set­tle­ment, Lennon record­ed his album of cov­ers of clas­sic rock ‘n’ roll songs, appro­pri­ate­ly titled Rock ‘n’ Roll. When he appeared at the trib­ute con­cert for Sir Lew at the Hilton Hotel in New York—on the bill with Julie Andrews, Tom Jones, and Peter Sellers—he played Lit­tle Richard’s “Slip­pin’ and Slidin,” and Ben E. King’s “Stand by Me” for “a “who’s who of the old Hol­ly­wood elite,” includ­ing Lau­ren Bacall, Kirk Dou­glas, Gene Kel­ly, and Orson Welles. The show, record­ed for TV broad­cast, cut his ren­di­tion of “Stand by Me” (hear the audio above), but they did air his final song, “Imag­ine,” which turned out to be the last song he ever sang live onstage (top).


Lennon is in very good form, and seem­ing­ly in good spir­its. The year pre­vi­ous, he’d scored a num­ber one hit with “What­ev­er Gets You Thru the Night.” Accord­ing at least to Paul McCart­ney and Lennon’s girl­friend May Pang, he had even con­sid­ered reunit­ing the Bea­t­les. In Novem­ber of 1974, Lennon joined Elton John onstage at Madi­son Square Gar­den for rol­lick­ing ver­sions of “I Saw Her Stand­ing There,” “Lucy in the Sky with Dia­monds,” and “What­ev­er Gets You Thru the Night” on which Elton had played in the stu­dio. You can see a recre­ation of that per­for­mance above. It was tech­ni­cal­ly Lennon’s last live con­cert appear­ance.

His final appear­ance on stage, on the oth­er hand, while it might have been an odd way to say good­bye, whether he meant to do so or not, may not be what we revis­it when we revis­it Lennon. Why did he agree to do a trib­ute con­cert “for a man he had been embroiled in law­suits with?” With a stage show that many have thought was delib­er­ate­ly designed to antag­o­nize the hon­oree? We’ll nev­er know. But I’m grate­ful that his final live song was one that still speaks to us of hope and pos­si­bil­i­ty. Maybe bow­ing to cen­sors, Lennon changes “Imagine”’s con­tro­ver­sial line about reli­gion. Instead, he sings, “Noth­ing to kill or die for, no immi­gra­tion, too,” refer­ring both to his trou­bles with the U.S. immi­gra­tion author­i­ties and to the bor­der­less world the song projects. “Imag­ine there’s no coun­tries… Imag­ine all the peo­ple shar­ing all the world.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Night John Lennon & Yoko Ono Jammed with Frank Zap­pa at the Fill­more East (1971)

Get a Fly-on-the-Wall View of John Lennon Record­ing & Arrang­ing His Clas­sic Song, “Imag­ine” (1971)

John Lennon’s Solo Albums Now Stream­ing for Free on Spo­ti­fy

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

The “Lost” Pink Floyd Soundtrack for Michelangelo Antonioni’s Only American Film, Zabriskie Point (1970)

There’s a good argu­ment to be made that some of the most insight­ful writ­ing about the Unit­ed States comes from artists observ­ing the coun­try from afar or through the eyes of a bemused new­com­er. For Euro­pean artists and thinkers, writ­ing about the behe­moth across the sea seems to have proven an irre­sistible chal­lenge from the start, even if, like Franz Kaf­ka, some nev­er set foot on the con­ti­nent. Alex­is de Toc­queville, Wern­er Her­zog, Mar­tin Amis, Wim Wen­ders, the list could go on and on, and would include many very enlight­en­ing per­spec­tives.

But not every such effort has been a suc­cess, in either crit­i­cal or com­mer­cial terms. Michelan­ge­lo Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point (1970), for exam­ple, the Ital­ian director’s “only Amer­i­can movie,” writes Richard Met­zger at Dan­ger­ous Minds, “com­plete­ly missed its mark and failed to cap­ture the zeit­geist of the hip­pie New Left coun­ter­cul­ture of the era.”

When the film was released in 1970, “audi­ences and crit­ics alike hat­ed it, just hat­ed it.” The film’s young, unknown male lead Mark Frechette “dis­tanced him­self from the direc­tor,” writes Den­nis Lim at Slate, say­ing, “he wasn’t mak­ing a film about any Amer­i­ca I knew.” Gui­tarist John Fahey, in Rome to record a song for the film, almost came to blows with Anto­nioni “when the mae­stro launched into an anti-Amer­i­can rant.”

If Anto­nioni came off to his crit­ics as a “clue­less tourist” cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly, he also passed up an excel­lent oppor­tu­ni­ty musi­cal­ly. In the stu­dio when the Doors record­ed “L’America” for L.A. Woman, he “inex­plic­a­bly turned down the track, which could have worked spec­tac­u­lar­ly well in his film.” Instead, thanks in large part to his co-writer and cur­rent girl­friend Clare Peploe, Anto­nioni chose Pink Floyd to score the film, after hear­ing Peploe’s copy of Ummagum­ma. He loved the album, and lis­tened to it obses­sive­ly, espe­cial­ly the dra­mat­ic, psy­che­del­ic “Care­ful with that Axe, Eugene.”

In the end, how­ev­er, only three songs from the band made the final cut. Anto­nioni instead filled out the sound­track with music by Fahey, The Young­bloods, Roy Orbi­son, The Grate­ful Dead, and oth­ers. The com­plete record­ing of the orig­i­nal Floyd sound­track was nev­er com­mer­cial­ly released and has only offi­cial­ly exist­ed in frag­ments. One fan in a music forum notes that the 2 CD Zabriskie Point sound­track includes the three songs from the film and four unused bonus tracks. The huge, and huge­ly expen­sive, Floyd box set The Ear­ly Years con­tains 16 out­takes, none of them on the sound­track CD.

The only way fans have been able to hear the com­plete, orig­i­nal sound­track has been through a series of bootlegs, some fea­tur­ing only the eight intend­ed final songs, oth­ers includ­ing some or all of the known out­takes. One such com­pi­la­tion, above, col­lects sev­er­al songs and out­takes, but does­n’t include the full com­plet­ed sound­track. Despite this disco­graph­ic dis­ar­ray, the dis­card­ed orig­i­nal sound­track, in its many forms, has proven “an extreme­ly sat­is­fy­ing lis­ten,” Met­zger writes. If it sounds “like a ‘lost’ Pink Floyd album record­ed at the end of 1969,” it’s “because that’s exact­ly what it is.”  Remind­ing us at times of Atom Heart Moth­er, or Med­dle, or Ummagum­ma, it both looks back at pre­vi­ous work and ahead toward what’s to come.

The band turned out some unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly straight-ahead elec­tric bar­room blues (above). “Heart Beat, Pig Meant,” which appears over the film’s open­ing cred­its (top) “was Pink Floyd’s first time using a human heart­beat as a musi­cal instru­ment (but it would not be the last).” Richard Wright’s “The Vio­lent Sequence,” fur­ther up, may have been scrapped by Anto­nioni, but it would lat­er “be retooled as ‘Us and Them’ on Dark Side of the Moon.” Aside from that album’s unin­tend­ed life as uncan­ny son­ic accom­pa­ni­ment to The Wiz­ard of Oz, the band did some of its most exper­i­men­tal, and tran­si­tion­al, work through film sound­tracks, such as those for Bar­bet Schroeder’s 1969 More and 1972 film The Val­ley. Their work with Anto­nioni is no excep­tion, but Zabriskie Point, like­ly because of its many con­fus­ing states of exis­tence, has not received as much atten­tion.

Per­haps it’s time to revis­it Zabriskie Point, the film, as well as its orig­i­nal sound­track. As fans of Pink Floyd, we can see what inspired the band to cre­ate music that would help deter­mine the direc­tion of their epic albums to come. As fans of Anto­nioni, per­haps, we may come to a greater appre­ci­a­tion of his much-maligned flop, which Lim con­tends “is of a piece with Antonioni’s best work: a lux­u­ri­ant por­trait of spir­i­tu­al alien­ation with a sense of place far more expres­sive than its blankly beau­ti­ful char­ac­ters.” Giv­en that descrip­tion, it’s no won­der Anto­nioni found Pink Floyd such an intrigu­ing choice, even if nei­ther the Ital­ian direc­tor nor Eng­lish band had said much of any­thing in their work about the caul­dron of polit­i­cal unrest, sex­u­al exper­i­men­ta­tion, and cul­tur­al dis­af­fec­tion of the U.S. in the late 60s.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pink Floyd’s “Echoes” Pro­vides a Sound­track for the Final Scene of Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey

Hear Lost Record­ing of Pink Floyd Play­ing with Jazz Vio­lin­ist Stéphane Grap­pel­li on “Wish You Were Here”

Syd Barrett’s “Effer­vesc­ing Ele­phant” Comes to Life in a New Retro-Style Ani­ma­tion

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

Al Franken Provides Comic Relief at the Grateful Dead’s 1980 Halloween Concert: A Tribute to Our Favorite Deadhead Senator

Our illus­tri­ous Sen­a­tor from Min­neso­ta Al Franken has long been a Dead­head, or at least an ardent fan. He and com­e­dy part­ner Tom Davis were the first writ­ers hired by Sat­ur­day Night Live in 1975 and occa­sion­al­ly also per­formed rou­tines on the show. They were also Grate­ful Dead fans respon­si­ble for get­ting the band booked on SNL.

So by the time 1980 and the eight-night res­i­den­cy of the Grate­ful Dead at Radio City Music Hall rolled around, Franken and Davis were asked to host the final night, Hal­loween, for a show that was simul­cast on radio and closed cir­cuit tele­vi­sion to 14 movie the­aters around the coun­try. Their job? To help enter­tain view­ers and fill the two 40-minute breaks in the Dead­’s show.

For Radio City Music Hall, the event saved its finan­cial skin. Accord­ing to Rolling Stone, by the late ‘70s, “with New York City in fis­cal freefall, Radio City’s future was sud­den­ly shaky; movie atten­dance dropped, and plans to con­vert it into an office build­ing or park­ing lot loomed.”

The solu­tion was to book pop and rock acts. The first was Lin­da Ron­stadt. The sec­ond was the Dead, and soon Dead­heads descend­ed on Rock­e­feller cen­ter, buy­ing up 36,000 tick­ets.

Franken and Davis pre-taped many of the seg­ments, and the Dead loved mock­ing them­selves. There’s a Jer­ry Lewis Telethon par­o­dy for “Jerry’s Kids,” where Franken urges dona­tions for acid casu­al­ties; Bob Weir’s lux­u­ri­ous hair is admired; drugs and penis jokes abound; and at one point Davis “mis­tak­en­ly” drinks acid-dosed urine and trips out. (In real­i­ty, Davis actu­al­ly had dropped acid for the live por­tion.)

Radio City’s lawyers sued after the con­certs for dam­ag­ing its rep­u­ta­tion, but lat­er set­tled. A com­pi­la­tion video of the Hal­loween show and the pre­vi­ous night’s con­cert was released in 1981 as Dead Ahead, the source of these clips.

Tom Davis died in 2012 from throat and neck can­cer; and Al Franken rep­re­sents the cit­i­zens of Min­neso­ta, but did briefly take over SiriusXM’s Grate­ful Dead chan­nel in May of 2017 to host a full day of music and inter­views with Bob Weir, Bill Kreutz­mann and Mick­ey Hart, the sur­viv­ing mem­bers of the Dead (always an iron­ic turn of phrase).

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sen­a­tor Al Franken Does a Pitch Per­fect Imi­ta­tion of Mick Jag­ger (1982)

Al Franken Effort­less­ly Draws the Map of Amer­i­ca

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

Bob Dylan and The Grate­ful Dead Rehearse Togeth­er in Sum­mer 1987. Lis­ten to 74 Tracks.

The Grate­ful Dead Play at the Egypt­ian Pyra­mids, in the Shad­ow of the Sphinx (1978)

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.

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.