Watch the Earliest Known Footage of the Jimi Hendrix Experience (February, 1967)

Note: If the video plays and you don’t hear sound, look for the vol­ume con­trol in the low­er right hand cor­ner of the video.

With­in months of mov­ing to Lon­don in autumn of 1966, Jimi Hen­drix found him­self a band, record­ed a sin­gle, got him­self a longterm girl­friend, and pro­ceed­ed to take the UK by storm. His gigs were essen­tial view­ing by rock’s then-royalty–the Who, the Bea­t­les, the Rolling Stones, Cream, all made sure they caught the Amer­i­can won­der. By the end of the year his first sin­gle “Hey Joe” land­ed him on British tele­vi­sion and in the Top 10.

The above video is the first known footage of a live Jimi Hen­drix Expe­ri­ence, though the band had been gig­ging for months. It takes place at the Chelms­ford Corn Exchange, in the City of Chelms­ford, about 50 miles north-east of Lon­don. The date is Feb­ru­ary 25, 1967, and the gig had only been adver­tised in the paper two days before (where he was list­ed as “Jimi Hen­dric”). As you can see, that’s all it took to fill this old traders build­ing-turned-rock venue to the rafters.

The footage was shot for “Telix­er: A Thing of Beat Is a Joy For­ev­er,” a doc­u­men­tary on the cur­rent British music scene made for KRO, The Nether­lands.

Hen­drix and the band launch into Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone,” with a few ordi­nary open­ing bars set­ting up the gui­tar mag­ic to fol­low. He then plays “Stone Free,” the b‑side of “Hey Joe.” You can see Pete Town­shend and John Entwistle to the side of the stage, very briefly. The footage is inter­cut with shots of Swing­ing Lon­don and fash­ion hub Por­to­bel­lo Road, where it is said Hen­drix bought his Hus­sars mil­i­tary jack­et.

The web­site Chelms­ford Rocks fea­tures a remem­brance of that night from Shaun Everett, who was a Mod at the time and knew he had to make his way up on the train after work to catch Hen­drix at the “Corn’ole,” as the youth called it.

Everett fills in the rest of the evening:

Hen­drix gave two sets. That was the nor­mal arrange­ment for the Corn’ole. Both sets usu­al­ly 45 min­utes to one hour each and there was absolute­ly no music to be had after 11.30pm…I have spent a long time look­ing for myself on that film clip but to no avail. I was prob­a­bly still at the rear of the venue or even more like­ly in the local pub for the break!…Hendrix, at the end of the per­for­mance, walked straight up to a few of us stand­ing just there and one of my mates lit his joint for him. They were so knocked out by that I recall. My rec­ol­lec­tion was more nasal. Rock musi­cians have this uncan­ny abil­i­ty to har­bour their own post-set aro­mas about them­selves: in this case that unmis­take­able aro­ma of cannabis…I will always remem­ber that part even if my music rec­ol­lec­tions are a bit sparse. I have also ‘dined out’ on that anec­dote for many years since. I had passed close by the ‘God’.

The Corn Exchange host­ed many acts over its time as a music venue, includ­ing David Bowie and Pink Floyd. But in 1969, the city tore down the 19th cen­tu­ry build­ing, assum­ing some­thing more accom­mo­dat­ing for live music would be built in its place. That didn’t hap­pen. On this page you can see the after­math of the bull­doz­ers, and a mod­ern shot of the city street cor­ner that added so much to rock his­to­ry.

via Gui­tar World

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jimi Hen­drix Wreaks Hav­oc on the Lulu Show, Gets Banned From the BBC (1969)

Jimi Hen­drix Plays “Sgt. Pepper’s Lone­ly Hearts Club Band” for The Bea­t­les, Just Three Days After the Album’s Release (1967)

Hear a Great 4‑Hour Radio Doc­u­men­tary on the Life & Music of Jimi Hen­drix: Fea­tures Rare Record­ings & Inter­views

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.

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

What is it with all the trend­pieces on great women artists, writ­ers, direc­tors, singers, etc.? What, indeed. To ask the ques­tion is to acknowl­edge the premise of such pieces. Why should they need to be writ­ten at all if women in these fields received fair rep­re­sen­ta­tion else­where? That lists and arti­cles can be writ­ten in the hun­dreds puts the lie to pho­ny claims that “great” women do not exist in every field in num­bers. This is espe­cial­ly true in the 20th cen­tu­ry, when hard-won polit­i­cal gains opened cul­tur­al doors unimag­in­able to many pre­vi­ous gen­er­a­tions. But those gains did not fun­da­men­tal­ly alter how cul­tur­al his­to­ries have been writ­ten.

Music crit­ic Anne Pow­ers and Lin­coln Cen­ter pro­gram direc­tor Jill Stern­heimer recent­ly con­sid­ered this prob­lem, one which, Pow­ers writes at NPR, per­sists even in the ways “music history’s being record­ed and revised in the dig­i­tal age.”

They won­dered, “why… was the impor­tance of women so often rec­og­nized as a trend instead of a source of last­ing impact? We came to a con­clu­sion that, in 2017, will like­ly strike no one as a sur­prise: that the gen­er­al his­to­ry of pop­u­lar music is told through the great works of men, and that with­out a seri­ous revi­sion of the canon, women will always remain on the mar­gins.”

This is a truth rein­forced in many dif­fer­ent ways: by the shelves weighed down with books about Jimi Hen­drix and Nir­vana, while only one or two about Aretha Franklin or Pat­ti Smith sit near­by; by the radio playlists that still only fea­ture women once or twice every hour.

This isn’t a prob­lem of “representation”—the term we so often hear applied to cast­ing deci­sions and awards shows. Pow­ers isn’t mak­ing a case for diver­si­ty in hir­ing, but for accu­ra­cy in writ­ing the his­tor­i­cal record. To that end, Pow­ers and Lin­coln Cen­ter, togeth­er with “near­ly 50 women who play a role in NPR… com­piled and vot­ed” on a list: “Turn­ing the Tables: The 150 Great­est Albums by Women.” You can hear near­ly all of those albums in our Spo­ti­fy playlist below. Call­ing the list “an inter­ven­tion, a rem­e­dy, a cor­rec­tion,” Pow­ers writes, “These albums were released between 1964, the year The Bea­t­les invad­ed Amer­i­ca… and 2016, when Bey­on­cé arguably ush­ered in a new peri­od with her ‘visu­al album’ Lemon­ade.”

The point is to offer a view of pop­u­lar music his­to­ry with wom­en’s work at the cen­ter. The list does not rep­re­sent an “alter­nate his­to­ry.” It stands for music his­to­ry, touch­ing upon every sig­nif­i­cant trend, social issue, set of son­ic inno­va­tions, and new avenue for self-expres­sion that pop­u­lar music has inter­sect­ed in the past fifty years.

Against the argu­ment for “affir­ma­tive action”—or sim­ply rewrit­ing old “great album” lists to include more women—Powers argues, “once a canon is formed, it gains an aura of immutabil­i­ty.” Plen­ty of lists include female artists. Almost none of them include women in the top spots, sug­gest­ing that “the par­a­digms that define great­ness remain mas­cu­line at their core.” Tokenism, no mat­ter how well-inten­tioned, does not make for “a shift in per­spec­tive beyond the sim­ple man­date to adjust the num­bers.”

Ava Duver­nay has made a sim­i­lar argu­ment against man­dat­ed “diver­si­ty” in Hol­ly­wood as a mol­li­fy­ing tac­tic that main­tains sta­tus quo pow­er rela­tion­ships. “The fact that the main­stream starts to gaze at this space doesn’t make it a moment,” she tells Hol­ly­wood Reporter, “it makes it a moment for them.” As Pow­ers writes of the way Joni Mitchell was often treat­ed by the rock estab­lish­ment, “the female musi­cian is a dream, a sur­prise and a dis­rup­tor. She can claim the cen­ter of atten­tion, but her right­ful point of ori­gin, and the place to which she returns, is a mar­gin.”

Instead of mar­gin­al inclu­sion in exist­ing cliques, Pow­ers argues for a cul­tur­al shift, a “new canon,” that isn’t hedged with the usu­al stan­dards that often exclude women on arbi­trary purist grounds. Keep­ing “wide para­me­ters,” the con­trib­u­tors “left room for acknowl­edged rock-era clas­sics as well as pop hits dis­missed by oth­ers as fluff.” That dis­claimer aside, there’s pre­cious lit­tle “fluff” on this list—mean­ing it’s hard to find albums here that wouldn’t qual­i­fy for “great­est” sta­tus on more nar­row­ly-defined genre lists. It is a list, that is to say, of 150 great albums, writ­ten, record­ed, and released over the course of fifty plus years, by some of the most tal­ent­ed writ­ers, play­ers, and musi­cians in mod­ern music his­to­ry.

“Lists have their lim­i­ta­tions,” Pow­ers admits, “They reflect bias­es and whis­pered com­pro­mis­es.” She and her con­trib­u­tors offer this one “as the begin­ning of a new con­ver­sa­tion” rather than an author­i­ta­tive state­ment. At such depth and breadth, how­ev­er, “Turn­ing the Tables” makes room for near­ly every pos­si­ble genre, from all over the world. Read the full list of 150 albums, with com­men­tary, here. A few of the 150 albums, includ­ing Lemon­ade, Biki­ni Kil­l’s Yeah Yeah Yeah, Joan Jet­t’s I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll, Joan­na New­some’s Ys, and Lau­rie Ander­son­’s Big Sci­ence aren’t on Spo­ti­fy, so did­n’t make our playlist above. The top ten albums on the list are:

  1. Joni Mitchell, Blue (Reprise, 1971)
  2. Lau­ryn Hill, The Mise­d­u­ca­tion of Lau­ryn Hill (Ruffhouse/Columbia, 1998)
  3. Nina Simone, I Put a Spell on You (Philips, 1956)
  4. Aretha Franklin, I Nev­er Loved a Man the Way I Loved You (Atlantic, 1967)
  5. Mis­sy Eliot, Supa Dupa Fly (The Goldmine/Elekra, 1997)
  6. Bey­on­cé, Lemon­ade (Parkwood/Columbia 2016)
  7. Pat­ti Smith, Hors­es (Arista, 1975)
  8. Janis Joplin, Pearl (Colum­bia, 1971)
  9. Amy Wine­house, Back to Black (Island, 2006)
  10. Car­ole King, Tapes­try (Ode, 1971)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Sev­en Hours of Women Mak­ing Elec­tron­ic Music (1938–2014)

1200 Years of Women Com­posers: A Free 78-Hour Music Playlist That Takes You From Medieval Times to Now

Women of Jazz: Stream a Playlist of 91 Record­ings by Great Female Jazz Musi­cians

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

Watch Iggy Pop & Debbie Harry Sing a Swelligant Version of Cole Porter’s “Did You Evah,” All to Raise Money for AIDS Research (1990)

Quick sur­vey: Who’s best fit to get at the heart of Cole Porter? The suave sophis­ti­cate who was born in a tux, mar­ti­ni glass clutched in his infant fist? Or punk roy­al­ty? “Well, Did You Evah!” from the 1939 Broad­way musi­cal DuBar­ry Was a Lady, is the brat­ti­er cousin of such Porter hits as “You’re the Top” and “Let’s Do It.” Frank Sina­tra and Bing Cros­by per­formed a boozy cov­er of it for the 1956 film High Soci­ety, but for my mon­ey, the defin­i­tive ver­sion is one Iggy Pop and Deb­bie Har­ry record­ed for a Cole Porter themed AIDS ben­e­fit album, Red Hot + Blue.

Some Porter clas­sics–“Every Time We Say Good­bye,” “So In Love”–demand sin­cer­i­ty. This one calls for a strong dose of the oppo­site, which Pop and Har­ry deliv­er, both vocal­ly and in the barn­storm­ing music video above. They’re dan­ger­ous, fun­ny, and any­thing but canned, weav­ing through rat-glam­my 1980s New York in thrift store fin­ery, with side trips to a ceme­tery and a farm where Pop smooches a goat.

As Alex Cox, who brought fur­ther punk pedi­gree to the project as the direc­tor of Sid and Nancy and Repo Man told Spin: “Iggy had always want­ed to make a video with ani­mals and Deb­bie had always want­ed to pub­licly burn lin­gerie so I let them.”

They also filled Pop’s palms with stig­ma­ta and ants, and swapped Porter’s cham­pagne for a case of gener­ic dog food.

There are a few minor tweaks to the lyrics (“What cocks!”) and the stars inject the pat­ter with a glee­ful­ly louche down­town sen­si­bil­i­ty. Mars ris­es behind the Twin Tow­ers, for a swelli­gant­ly off-beat pack­age that raised a lot of mon­ey for AIDS research and aware­ness. Oth­er gems from the project:

“It’s All Right with Me” per­formed by Tom Waits, direct­ed by Jim Jar­musch

“Night and Day” per­formed by U2, direct­ed by Wim Wen­ders

“Don’t Fence Me In” per­formed and direct­ed by David Byrne

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Iggy Pop Sings Edith Piaf’s “La Vie En Rose” in an Art­ful­ly Ani­mat­ed Video

Tom Waits For No One: Watch the Pio­neer­ing Ani­mat­ed Tom Waits Music Video from 1979

Talk­ing Heads Fea­tured on The South Bank Show in 1979: How the Ground­break­ing New Wave Band Made Nor­mal­i­ty Strange Again

Bill Mur­ray Reads Great Poet­ry by Bil­ly Collins, Cole Porter, and Sarah Man­gu­so

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

An Archive of Iconic Photos from the Golden Age of Jazz: William Gottlieb’s Portraits of Dizzy, Thelonious, Billie, Satchmo & More

If you’ve seen the most famous pho­tographs of Bil­lie Hol­i­day, Dizzy Gille­spie, Thelo­nious Monk, Frank Sina­tra, Djan­go Rein­hardt, or near­ly any oth­er jazz leg­end from the mid-20th cen­tu­ry, you’ve seen the work of William P. Got­tlieb. His pho­tos have graced many a clas­sic album cov­er, mag­a­zine spread, and poster. “Between 1938 and 1948,” writes Maria Popo­va, Got­tlieb “doc­u­ment­ed the jazz scene in New York City and Wash­ing­ton, D.C., and cre­at­ed what even­tu­al­ly became some of history’s most icon­ic por­traits of jazz greats.” He ini­tial­ly did so as a self-taught ama­teur, a jazz colum­nist whose pho­tog­ra­phy was “an after­thought,” notes Gottlieb’s 2006 Wash­ing­ton Post obit­u­ary,” mere visu­al accom­pa­ni­ment to his reg­u­lar work.”

As Got­tlieb once told The New York Times, “I got into pho­tog­ra­phy because The Post was stingy and wouldn’t pay pho­tog­ra­phers to cov­er my 11 o’clock con­certs.” But he devel­oped an unde­ni­ably keen eye for per­for­mance.

What’s more, his work is deeply informed by affec­tion and empa­thy. Got­tlieb was an artist who had warm rela­tion­ships with his sub­jects. He took the pho­to at the top, per­haps the most famous image of Bil­lie Hol­i­day, in 1947, when the singer “was at her peak,” he wrote, “musi­cal­ly and physically”—two years clean and sober after her time in a fed­er­al prison.

“Regret­tably,” he writes, “Bil­lie regressed.” Got­tlieb tells the heart­break­ing sto­ry of the last time he went to see her. The “audi­ence wait­ed… and wait­ed.” The pho­tog­ra­ph­er, “play­ing a hunch,” went back­stage to find her “pret­ty much ‘out of it.’”

I helped her fin­ish dress­ing, then led her to the micro­phone. She looked hor­ri­ble. She sound­ed worse. I replaced my note­book in my pock­et, put a lens cap on my cam­era, and walked away, choos­ing to remem­ber this remark­able woman as she once was.

Most of Gottlieb’s sto­ries are not near­ly so trag­ic. Take his last run-in with Louis Arm­strong, at their den­tist office’s wait­ing room. “After small talk,” he wrote, “Satch­mo looked me over, decid­ing I, too, had been gain­ing weight. He reached into his jack­et pock­et, pulled out a print­ed diet (that he kept for friends-in-need), and hand­ed me a copy. ‘Pops,’ he said, ‘try this.’ I quick­ly not­ed that it fea­tured Plu­to Water [a lax­a­tive]. But I thanked him, any­way.”

Got­tlieb retired from pho­tog­ra­phy and jazz writ­ing in the fifties and made a career as a children’s book author and edu­ca­tion­al film pro­duc­er. In 1979, he pub­lished 219 of his best pho­tographs in a book called The Gold­en Age of Jazz, and in 2010, much of Gottlieb’s work entered the pub­lic domain, accord­ing to The Library of Con­gress (LOC). You can see hun­dreds of his photographs—famous images like those of Sarah Vaugh­an, fur­ther up, Thelo­nious Monk, above, Bud­dy Rich, below, and so many more—at the Library of Congress’s online William P. Got­tlieb Col­lec­tion. The LOC describes the col­lec­tion thus:

The online col­lec­tion pro­vides access to dig­i­tal images of all six­teen hun­dred neg­a­tives and trans­paren­cies, approx­i­mate­ly one hun­dred anno­tat­ed con­tact prints, and over two hun­dred select­ed pho­to­graph­ic prints that show Got­tlieb’s crop­ping, burn­ing, and dodg­ing pref­er­ences. One can fol­low the artist’s work process by exam­in­ing first a raw neg­a­tive, then an anno­tat­ed con­tact print, and final­ly a fin­ished, pub­lished prod­uct. The Web site also includes dig­i­tal images of Down Beat mag­a­zine arti­cles in which Got­tlieb’s pho­tographs were first pub­lished. Oth­er spe­cial fea­tures of the online pre­sen­ta­tion are audio clips of Got­tlieb dis­cussing spe­cif­ic pho­tographs, arti­cles about the col­lec­tion from Civ­i­liza­tion mag­a­zine and the Library of Con­gress Infor­ma­tion Bul­letin, an essay describ­ing Got­tlieb’s life and work, and a “Got­tlieb on Assign­ment” sec­tion that show­cas­es Down Beat arti­cles about Thelo­nious Monk, Dar­d­anelle, Willie “the Lion” Smith, and Bud­dy Rich.

You can also down­load high res­o­lu­tion ver­sions of near­ly every image in the archive. (To pur­chase prints, see Got­tlieb’s online gallery, Jazz Pho­tos.) There may be no bet­ter way, short of actu­al­ly being there and meet­ing the stars, to wit­ness the gold­en age of jazz than through the eyes and ears of such a sym­pa­thet­ic observ­er as William P. Got­tlieb. Enter the col­lec­tion here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 2,000 Record­ings of the Most Essen­tial Jazz Songs: A Huge Playlist for Your Jazz Edu­ca­tion

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Jazz Pho­tog­ra­phy and The Film He Almost Made About Jazz Under Nazi Rule

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

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

Mark Knopfler Gives a Short Masterclass on His Favorite Guitars & Guitar Sounds

Amer­i­can gui­tar came of age in the fifties, with the blues, folk, coun­try, and jazz play­ing of Mis­sis­sip­pi John Hurt, Sis­ter Roset­ta Tharpe, Mer­le Travis, Chet Atkins, Wes Mont­gomery, Les Paul, and so many oth­er incred­i­ble play­ers who per­fect­ed the sound of Amer­i­cana before it became insep­a­ra­ble from nos­tal­gia and revival­ism. Though it has usu­al­ly been Chuck Berry who gets—or who took—most of the cred­it for rock and roll, and who is often enough named as a favorite influ­ence of so many UK gui­tar heroes, one star British play­er who made his name a few years lat­er always stuck fast to rock and roll’s deep­est roots. We can hear all of those gold­en age players—Hurt, Tharpe, Travis, Atkins, Mont­gomery, Paul—in Mark Knopfler’s fin­gers, in some of the unlike­li­est hits of the 80s, songs long on style and flashy solos, but also unques­tion­ably root­ed in roots music.

We may not have real­ized until we heard Knopfler’s coun­try records just how much his Dire Straits sound grew out of acoustic music. (“Sul­tans of Swing” was first writ­ten on a Nation­al gui­tar in open tun­ing.) But he is, and has always been, a bril­liant coun­try and coun­try blues player—recording with George Jones, Emmy­lou Har­ris, and Mary Chapin Car­pen­ter and col­lab­o­rat­ing with Chet Atkins on record and on stage.

For Knopfler fans, the joy of slow­ly dis­cov­er­ing the many angles in his play­ing, the many lay­ers of influ­ence and blends of tra­di­tion, con­sti­tutes much of the fun in watch­ing him over the decades. You get an accel­er­at­ed sense of the expe­ri­ence in the short video above, in which he dis­cuss­es his favorite guitars—including the famous red Stra­to­cast­er (“my lust object as a child”) that car­ried him, with match­ing head­bands, through those MTV years.

Hear­ing any beloved play­er talk about his or her gui­tars can be a treat in itself, but with Knopfler, each instru­ment offers an occa­sion to reveal, and effort­less­ly demon­strate, all of the ways his play­ing style devel­oped and incor­po­rat­ed new tech­niques. As much as he learned from end­less prac­tice and from emu­lat­ing his favorite play­ers, he learned from the gui­tars; the tonal­i­ty of the Strat “made me want to write anoth­er way.” He learned from a 1958 Les Paul that one might “get to the end of a song and have noth­ing left to say… but the gui­tar has.” Knopfler nev­er deploys his impec­ca­ble vibra­to, unique fin­ger­pick­ing style, or gor­geous sin­gle notes wails just to show off—they arrive in ser­vice to the emo­tions of the song, and come out of the dis­tinc­tive prop­er­ties of each gui­tar. He may be the most taste­ful, even restrained, of super­star rock gui­tarists.

Not every gui­tarist is as thought­ful about their instru­ments as Knopfler, and few are simul­ta­ne­ous­ly as elo­quent and genial­ly demon­stra­tive of their mas­tery of form and func­tion. The clip at the top comes from the PBS doc­u­men­tary series Sound­break­ing. In the 45-minute doc­u­men­tary, Gui­tar Sto­ries, above, which we’ve fea­tured here before, Knopfler tells the sto­ry of the six gui­tars that shaped his career. The host and inter­view­er is none oth­er than bassist and Dire Straits co-founder John Ill­s­ley, who is as awestruck by Knopfler as any oth­er fan—meaning not that he thinks Knopfler is super­hu­man or god­like, but that the gui­tarist is sim­ply, unpre­ten­tious­ly, and unques­tion­ably, “one of the tru­ly great play­ers,” a des­ig­na­tion that both Ill­s­ley and his for­mer band­mate real­ize can­not be divorced from the tru­ly great instru­ments Knopfler has played.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gui­tar Sto­ries: Mark Knopfler on the Six Gui­tars That Shaped His Career

Ste­vie Ray Vaugh­an Plays the Acoustic Gui­tar in Rare Footage, Let­ting Us See His Gui­tar Vir­tu­os­i­ty in Its Purest Form

Hear Jimi Hendrix’s Vir­tu­oso Gui­tar Per­for­mances in Iso­lat­ed Tracks: “Fire,” “Pur­ple Haze,” “Third Stone from the Sun” & More

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

Watch the World’s Oldest Violin in Action: Marco Rizzi Performs Schumann’s Sonata No. 2 on a 1566 Amati Violin

Most of us are acquaint­ed with the sor­row­ful sound of the world’s small­est vio­lin, but what of the world’s old­est?

The instru­ment in the video above dates back to 1566.

Mean­ing, if it were the patri­arch of a human fam­i­ly, sir­ing musi­cal sons every 20 to 25 years, it would take more than 10 gen­er­a­tions to get to com­pos­er Robert Schu­mann, born in 1810.

And then anoth­er 31 years for Schu­mann to com­pose Sonata No. 2 for Vio­lin and Piano in D minor, Op . 121, the piece vio­lin­ist Mar­co Rizzi–age unknown–coaxes from this love­ly piece of wood.

Were you to peek at the back, you’d see traces of King Charles IX of France’s coat of arms. The Latin mot­to Pietate et Justi­tia–piety and justice–still lingers on its rib.

It was con­struct­ed by the mas­ter cre­ator, Andrea Amati, as part of a large set of stringed instru­ments, of which it is one of four sur­vivors of its size and class.

After leav­ing Charles’ court, the vio­lin spent time in the Hen­ry Hot­tinger col­lec­tion, which was even­tu­al­ly acquired by the Wurl­itzer Com­pa­ny in New York. In 1966, it was donat­ed to Cre­mona, Italy, Amati’s birth­place and home to an inter­na­tion­al school of vio­lin mak­ing.

Ven­er­a­ble unto the point of price­less­ness, from time to time it is tak­en out and played–to won­drous effect–by world class vio­lin­ists. It’s tempt­ing to keep anthro­po­mor­phiz­ing, so as to won­der if it might not pre­fer a for­ev­er home with a gift­ed young musi­cian who would take it out and play it every day. I know what a chil­dren’s author would say on that sub­ject.

You can view Amati’s Charles IX vio­lin in more detail here, but why stop there, when you can also like it on Face­book!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Makes the Stradi­var­ius Spe­cial? It Was Designed to Sound Like a Female Sopra­no Voice, With Notes Sound­ing Like Vow­els, Says Researcher

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

Watch the Mak­ing of a Hand-Craft­ed Vio­lin, from Start to Fin­ish, in a Beau­ti­ful­ly-Shot Doc­u­men­tary

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine — issue 58 is hot off the press. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Renaissance Knives Had Music Engraved on the Blades; Now Hear the Songs Performed by Modern Singers

Image cour­tesy of The Vic­to­ria and Albert Muse­um

On any giv­en week­end, in any part of the state where I live, you can find your­self stand­ing in a hall full of knives, if that’s the kind of thing you like to do. It is a very niche kind of expe­ri­ence. Not so in some oth­er weapons expos—like the Arms and Armor gal­leries at the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art, where every­one, from the most war­like to the staunchest of paci­fists, stands in awe at the intri­cate orna­men­ta­tion and incred­i­bly deft crafts­man­ship on dis­play in the suits of armor, lances, shields, and lots and lots of knives.

We must acknowl­edge in such a space that the worlds of art and of killing for fame and prof­it were nev­er very far apart dur­ing Europe’s late Medieval and Renais­sance peri­ods. Yet we encounter many sim­i­lar arti­sanal instru­ments from the time, just as fine­ly tuned, but made for far less bel­liger­ent pur­pos­es.

As Maya Cor­ry of the Fitzwilliam Muse­um in Cam­bridge—an insti­tu­tion with its own impres­sive arms and armor col­lec­tion—com­ments in the video above (at 2:30), one unusu­al kind of 16th cen­tu­ry knife meant for the table, not the bat­tle­field, offers “insight into that har­mo­nious, audi­ble aspect of fam­i­ly devo­tions,” prayer and song.

From the col­lec­tion of the Fitzwilliam Muse­um, in Cam­bridge. (Johan Oost­er­man )

These knives, which have musi­cal scores engraved in their blades, brought a table togeth­er in singing their prayers, and may have been used to carve the lamb or beef in their “strik­ing bal­ance of dec­o­ra­tive and util­i­tar­i­an func­tion.” At least his­to­ri­ans think such “nota­tion knives,” which date from the ear­ly 1500s, were used at ban­quets. “The sharp, wide steel would have been ide­al for cut­ting and serv­ing meat,” writes Eliza Grace Mar­tin at the WQXR blog, “and the accen­tu­at­ed tip would have made for a per­fect skew­er.” But as Kris­ten Kalber, cura­tor at the Vic­to­ria and Albert Muse­um, which hous­es the knives at the top of the post, tells us “din­ers in very grand feasts didn’t cut their own meat.” It’s unlike­ly they would have sung from the bloody knives held by their ser­vants.

The knives’ true pur­pose “remains a mys­tery,” Mar­tin remarks, like many “rit­u­als of the Renais­sance table.”  Vic­to­ria and Albert Muse­um cura­tor Kirstin Kennedy admits in the video above that “we are not entire­ly sure” what the “splen­did knife” she holds was used for. But we do know that each knife had a dif­fer­ent piece of music on each side, and that a set of them togeth­er con­tained dif­fer­ent har­mo­ny parts in order to turn a room­ful of din­ers into a cho­rus. One set of blades had the grace on one side, with the inscrip­tion, “the bless­ing of the table. May the three-in-one bless that which we are about to eat.” The oth­er side holds the bene­dic­tion, to be sung after the din­ner: “The say­ing of grace. We give thanks to you God for your gen­eros­i­ty.”

Com­mon enough ver­biage for any house­hold in Renais­sance Europe, but when sung, at least by a cho­rus from the Roy­al Col­lege of Music, who recre­at­ed the music and made the record­ings here, the prayers are superbly grace­ful. Above, hear one ver­sion of the Grace and Bene­dic­tion from the Vic­to­ria and Albert Muse­um knives; below, hear a sec­ond ver­sion. You can hear a cap­ti­vat­ing set of choral prayers from the Fitzwilliam Muse­um knives at WQXR’s site, record­ed for the Fitzwilliam’s “Madon­nas & Mir­a­cles” exhib­it. We are as unlike­ly now to encounter singing kitchen knives as we are to run into a horse and rid­er bear­ing 100 pounds of fine­ly-wrought wear­able steel sculp­ture. Such strange arti­facts seem to speak of a strange peo­ple who val­ued beau­ty whether carv­ing up the main course or cut­ting down their ene­mies.

via WQXR/@tedgioia

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Ancient Philo­soph­i­cal Song Recon­struct­ed and Played for the First Time in 1,000 Years

See The Guidon­ian Hand, the Medieval Sys­tem for Read­ing Music, Get Brought Back to Life

Hear the Ear­li­est Known Piece of Poly­phon­ic Music: This Com­po­si­tion, Dat­ing Back to 900 AD, Changed West­ern Music

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

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

The sto­ry is well known. Syd Bar­rett, spi­ralling into depres­sion, “hal­lu­ci­na­tions, dis­or­ga­nized speech, mem­o­ry laps­es, intense mood swings, and peri­ods of cata­to­nia,” left Pink Floyd in April, 1968, before record­ing two solo albums (The Mad­cap Laughs and Bar­rett) and then fad­ing into obscu­ri­ty. Above you can watch a delight­ful, new ani­ma­tion of “Effer­vesc­ing Ele­phant,” a song Bar­rett first wrote dur­ing his teenage years and record­ed in 1970. The new “retro-style” ani­ma­tion comes from Yoann Her­vo. Below, find anoth­er ani­mat­ed take on “Effer­vesc­ing Ele­phant,” this one from Steve Bobinksi.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

Psy­che­del­ic Scenes of Pink Floyd’s Ear­ly Days with Syd Bar­rett, 1967

Short Film Syd Barrett’s First Trip Reveals the Pink Floyd Founder’s Psy­che­del­ic Exper­i­men­ta­tion (1967)

Pink Floyd Per­forms on US Tele­vi­sion for the First Time: Amer­i­can Band­stand, 1967

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.