New, Interactive Web Site Puts Online Thousands of International Folk Songs Recorded by the Great Folklorist Alan Lomax

These days everyone’s hung up on iden­ti­ty. But I don’t mean to talk pol­i­tics, though my point is maybe inescapably polit­i­cal: the iden­ti­ties our jobs and incomes give us—the sta­tus or lack thereof—become so cen­tral to who we are in the world that they eclipse oth­er essen­tial aspects, eclipse the things we do strict­ly because it gives us plea­sure to do them.

Music, dance, art, poet­ry.… These fall under what Alan Lomax called an expe­ri­ence of “the very core” of exis­tence, “the adap­tive style” of cul­ture, “which enables its mem­bers to cohere and sur­vive.” Cul­ture, for Lomax, was nei­ther an eco­nom­ic activ­i­ty nor a racial cat­e­go­ry, nei­ther an exclu­sive rank­ing of hier­ar­chies nor a redoubt for nation­al­ist inse­cu­ri­ties. Cul­tures, plur­al, were pecu­liar­ly region­al expres­sions of shared human­i­ty across one inter­re­lat­ed world.

Lomax did have some pater­nal­is­tic atti­tudes toward what he called “weak­er peo­ples,” not­ing that “the role of the folk­lorist is that of the advo­cate of the folk.” But his advo­ca­cy was not based in the­o­ries of suprema­cy but of his­to­ry. We could mend the rup­tures of the past by adding “cul­tur­al equi­ty… to the humane con­di­tion of lib­er­ty, free­dom of speech and reli­gion, and social jus­tice,” wrote the ide­al­is­tic Lomax. “The stuff of folk­lore,” he wrote else­where, “the oral­ly trans­mit­ted wis­dom, art and music of the peo­ple, can pro­vide ten thou­sand bridges across which men of all nations may stride to say, ‘You are my broth­er.’”

Lomax’s ide­al­ism may seem to us quaint at best, but I dare you to con­demn its results, which include con­nect­ing Lead Bel­ly and Woody Guthrie to their glob­al audi­ences and pre­serv­ing a good deal of the folk music her­itage of the world through tire­less field and stu­dio record­ing, doc­u­men­ta­tion and mem­oir, and insti­tu­tions like the Asso­ci­a­tion for Cul­tur­al Equi­ty (ACE), found­ed by Lomax in 1986 to cen­tral­ize and make avail­able the vast amount of mate­r­i­al he had col­lect­ed over the decades.

In anoth­er archival project, Lomax’s Glob­al Juke­box, we get to see rig­or­ous schol­ar­ly meth­ods applied to exam­ples from his vast library of human expres­sions. The online project cat­a­logues the work in musi­col­o­gy of Lomax and his father John, who both took on a “life long mis­sion to doc­u­ment not only America’s cul­tur­al roots, but the world’s as well,” notes an online brochure for the Glob­al Juke­box. Lomax believed that “music, dance and folk­lore of all tra­di­tions have equal val­ue” and are equal­ly wor­thy of study. The Glob­al Juke­box car­ries that belief into the 21st cen­tu­ry.

Since 1990, the Glob­al Juke­box has func­tioned as a dig­i­tal repos­i­to­ry of music from Lomax’s glob­al archive, as you can see in the very dat­ed 1998 video above, fea­tur­ing ACE direc­tor Gideon D’Arcangelo. Now, updat­ed and put online, the new­ly-launched Glob­al Juke­box web site pro­vides an inter­ac­tive inter­face, giv­ing you access to detailed analy­ses of folk music from all over the world, and high­ly tech­ni­cal “descrip­tive data” for each song. You can learn the sys­tems of “Chore­o­met­rics and Cantometrics”—specialized ana­lyt­i­cal tools for scientists—or you can casu­al­ly browse the incred­i­ble diver­si­ty of music as a layper­son, through a beau­ti­ful­ly ren­dered map view or the col­or­ful­ly attrac­tive graph­ic “tree view,” below.

Stop by the Glob­al Jukebox’s “About” page to learn much more about its tech­ni­cal speci­fici­ties and his­to­ry, which dates to 1960 when Lomax began work­ing with anthro­pol­o­gist Con­rad Arens­berg at Colum­bia and Hunter Uni­ver­si­ties to study “the expres­sive arts” with sci­en­tif­ic tools and emerg­ing tech­nolo­gies. The Glob­al Juke­box rep­re­sents a high­ly schemat­ic way of look­ing at Lomax’s body of work, and its ease of use and lev­el of detail make it easy to leap around the world, sam­pling the thrilling vari­ety of folk music he col­lect­ed.

It is not, and is not meant as, a sub­sti­tute for the liv­ing tra­di­tions Lomax helped safe­guard, and the incred­i­ble music they have inspired pro­fes­sion­al and ama­teur musi­cians to make over the years. But the Glob­al Juke­box gives us sev­er­al unique ways of orga­niz­ing and dis­cov­er­ing those traditions—ways that are still evolv­ing, such as a com­ing func­tion for build­ing your own cul­tur­al fam­i­ly tree with a playlist of songs from your musi­cal ances­try.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear 17,000+ Tra­di­tion­al Folk & Blues Songs Curat­ed by the Great Musi­col­o­gist Alan Lomax

The British Library’s “Sounds” Archive Presents 80,000 Free Audio Record­ings: World & Clas­si­cal Music, Inter­views, Nature Sounds & More

Leg­endary Folk­lorist Alan Lomax: ‘The Land Where the Blues Began’

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

Hear the Only Instrumental Ever Banned from the Radio: Link Wray’s Seductive, Raunchy Song, “Rumble” (1958)

Link Wray’s 1958 song “Rum­ble” remains the most dan­ger­ous-sound­ing instru­men­tal blues vamp ever record­ed, unmatched in its raw, slinky cool until, per­haps, John Lee Hooker’s End­less Boo­gie or the Vel­vet Underground’s White Light/White Heat. But unlike Lou Reed, Wray didn’t need lyrics about hero­in addic­tion and sado­masochism to freak out the par­ents and turn on the kids. All he need­ed was his fuzzed-out gui­tar, soak­ing in reverb and tremo­lo, and a rhythm sec­tion with the min­i­mal­ist instincts of Bo Diddley’s band, who were mak­ing a sim­i­lar kind of sound at the same time “Rum­ble” hit the air­waves. But where Diddley’s songs invit­ed lis­ten­ers to dance, Wray’s “ragged, omi­nous chords, over­driv­en and dragged to a crawl,” wrote Rolling Stone, “sound­ed like an invi­ta­tion to a knife fight.”

The song’s title cap­i­tal­ized on fifties pan­ic over juve­nile delin­quen­cy and gang vio­lence, anx­i­eties respon­si­ble for the pop­u­lar­i­ty of enter­tain­ments like The Wild One, West Side Sto­ry, and Black­board Jun­gle. Wray’s men­ac­ing, seduc­tive song made the kids “go ape,” he said, the very first time he played it, impro­vis­ing on the spot at a 1957 dance in Fred­er­icks­burg, Vir­ginia, after the band received a request for a hit song they didn’t know how to play. Instead “Rum­ble” was born. In order to recre­ate the rau­cous, dis­tort­ed sound of that first night in the stu­dio, Wray famous­ly punched holes in the speak­er of his gui­tar amp and turned it into a fuzzbox, the first of its kind.

The grit­ty tune is said to be, writes crit­ic and cura­tor at the Library of Con­gress Cary O’Dell, “the con­nect­ing force between ear­ly blues gui­tarists and the lat­er gui­tar gods of the 1960s (Hen­drix, Clap­ton, Page.)” Wray was “the father of dis­tor­tion and fuzz, the orig­i­na­tor of the pow­er chord and the god­fa­ther of met­al. He seems to be as well the rea­son the world ‘thrash’ was invent­ed, or at least applied to music.” These are large claims indeed, but Wray’s raunchy, shim­mer­ing gui­tar sounds like noth­ing that had come before it, and a har­bin­ger of so much to come. Jim­my Page has described hear­ing “Rum­ble” as a piv­otal moment. Iggy Pop cred­its it as the rea­son he became a musi­cian.

Like all the best rock and roll, Wray’s brief mas­ter­piece had the pow­er to shock and upset the squares. The song was banned from radio sta­tions in New York and Boston for fear it might actu­al­ly incite gang violence—the first and only instru­men­tal song to be banned from the air. “Rum­ble” acquired its name from the step­daugh­ter of Archie Bley­er, who released it on his Cadence Records. It remind­ed her, she said, of West Side Sto­ry’s gang fights, por­trayed in the mem­o­rable Act I dance scene called “Rum­ble.” No oth­er piece of music lived up bet­ter to radio net­work Mutu­al Broad­cast­ing System’s 1958 descrip­tion of the “dis­tort­ed, monot­o­nous, noisy music” they want­ed to get rid of. The net­work meant these as deroga­to­ry terms, but they are high virtues in so much great rock and roll, and few songs have embod­ied them bet­ter than Wray’s biggest hit.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Two Gui­tar Effects That Rev­o­lu­tion­ized Rock: The Inven­tion of the Wah-Wah & Fuzz Ped­als

The Bizarre Time When Frank Zappa’s Entire­ly Instru­men­tal Album Received an “Explic­it Lyrics” Stick­er

A His­to­ry of Rock ‘n’ Roll in 100 Riffs

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

Oscar-Winning Actress Viola Davis Reads the Children’s Story, Rent Party Jazz, for Jazz Appreciation Month

FYI: In hon­or of Jazz Appre­ci­a­tion Month, Vio­la Davis treats us to a read­ing of Rent Par­ty Jazz, a chil­dren’s book writ­ten by William Miller and illus­trat­ed by Char­lotte Riley-Webb. Here’s a quick syn­op­sis of the sto­ry:

This sto­ry is set in New Orleans in the 1930s. Son­ny and his moth­er are scrap­ing by to pay their rent. Mama works in a fish can­ning fac­to­ry, and Son­ny works for the coal man before school each morn­ing. When Mama los­es her job, they no longer have enough mon­ey for the rent and fear that the land­lord will turn them out. One day Son­ny meets Smilin’ Jack, a jazz musi­cian who is play­ing his trum­pet in Jack­son Square. Smilin’ Jack offers to play at a par­ty at Sonny’s house to help raise mon­ey for the rent. The neigh­bors all come to sing and dance and before they leave, drop some coins in a buck­et. Son­ny learns how peo­ple can help one anoth­er “if they put their minds and hearts to it.”

For any­one not famil­iar with them, rent par­ties start­ed in Harlem dur­ing the 1920s, when jazz musi­cians would play at a friend’s apart­ment to help them raise enough mon­ey to pay the rent. If you hop over to the web­site of Yale’s Bei­necke Library, you can see a col­lec­tion of rent cards that belonged to Langston Hugh­es.

This video comes from the Sto­ry­line Online Youtube Chan­nel, spon­sored by the SAG-AFTRA Foundation’s children’s lit­er­a­cy web­site. The chan­nel fea­tures cel­e­brat­ed actors “read­ing children’s books along­side cre­ative­ly pro­duced illus­tra­tions, help­ing to inspire a love of read­ing in chil­dren.”

Vio­la Davis’ read­ing will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Stars Read Clas­sic Children’s Books: Bet­ty White, James Earl Jones, Rita Moreno & Many More

Enter an Archive of 6,000 His­tor­i­cal Children’s Books, All Dig­i­tized and Free to Read Online

Langston Hugh­es Reveals the Rhythms in Art & Life in a Won­der­ful Illus­trat­ed Book for Kids (1954)

Mis­ter Rogers Turns Kids On to Jazz with Help of a Young Wyn­ton Marsalis and Oth­er Jazz Leg­ends (1986)

David Bowie/Nirvana’s “The Man Who Sold The World” Played on the Gayageum, a Korean Instrument from the 6th Century

East meets West, and the Ancient, the Mod­ern. That’s what hap­pens every time Luna Lee plays one of your favorites on the Gayageum, a Kore­an instru­ment that dates back to the 6th cen­tu­ry. We’ve fea­tured her work in years past (see the Relat­eds below). Above, watch her lat­est release: a cov­er of “The Man Who Sold The World,” the song first writ­ten by David Bowie in 1970, then famous­ly per­formed by Nir­vana on MTV Unplugged in 1993. An alter­nate video fea­tures Luna on vocals here. Enjoy!

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:

Clas­sic Blues Songs By John Lee Hook­er, B.B. King & Mud­dy Waters Played on the Gayageum, a Tra­di­tion­al Kore­an Instru­ment

Watch Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Voodoo Chile’ Per­formed on a Gayageum, a Tra­di­tion­al Kore­an Instru­ment

Three Pink Floyd Songs Played on the Tra­di­tion­al Kore­an Gayageum: “Com­fort­ably Numb,” “Anoth­er Brick in the Wall” & “Great Gig in the Sky”

Ste­vie Ray Vaughan’s Ver­sion of “Lit­tle Wing” Played on Tra­di­tion­al Kore­an Instru­ment, the Gayageum

Leonard Cohen’s “Hal­lelu­jah” Played on Kore­an Instru­ment Dat­ing Back to 6th Cen­tu­ry

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Watch Frank Sinatra Record “It Was a Very Good Year” in the Studio in 1965, and You’ll Know Why They Called Him “The Voice”

I’ll be hon­est, for a long time when I thought of Frank Sina­tra, I thought of Mar­i­lyn Mon­roe, rat­pack films, and the Olive Gar­den. That is, until I lived for a short time near The Bronx’s Arthur Avenue, the best Lit­tle Italy in New York. Sina­tra poured from the speak­ers of Ital­ian eater­ies and cig­ar and pas­try shops. It dra­mat­i­cal­ly increased the qual­i­ty of my pleas­ant asso­ci­a­tions with his music. Still, I rarely lis­tened very close­ly. I can’t entire­ly blame pop cul­ture for turn­ing him into back­ground music—it hap­pens to near­ly every major star. But overuse of his voice as accom­pa­ni­ment to olive oil, cig­ars, and mar­ti­nis has per­haps made us tune him out too often.

Treat­ing Sina­tra as mood music would not have sat well with some of the singers many of us grew up idol­iz­ing from a young age, like Paul McCart­ney and David Bowie, who both found his work for­ma­tive. McCart­ney thought so high­ly of it, he sent Sina­tra one of his ear­li­est com­po­si­tions, an off-kil­ter lounge croon­er called “Sui­cide” that he wrote at the age of 14. (Hear an unre­leased record­ing below.)


“I thought it was quite a good one,” he remem­bered, “but appar­ent­ly [Sina­tra] thought I was tak­ing the mick­ey out of him and he reject­ed it.”

Bowie, in 1977, wrote what he express­ly intend­ed as a par­o­dy of Sinatra—“Life on Mars.” But the sto­ry is even stranger than that. He specif­i­cal­ly tried to “take the mick­ey” out of Sinatra’s “My Way,” a song cred­it­ed to Paul Anka that just hap­pens to have first been writ­ten, with dif­fer­ent lyrics, by Bowie, as “Even a Fool Learns to Love” in 1968 (hear Bowie sing it above). “Life on Mars,” one of the most beau­ti­ful­ly melod­ic songs in all of pop music, with one of Bowie’s best vocal per­for­mances, shows how much the Thin White Duke owed to Ole Blue Eyes.

These are just two of hun­dreds of male singers whose melodies have tak­en up immor­tal res­i­dence in our brains and who owe a tremen­dous debt to Frank Sina­tra. In addi­tion to his keen melod­ic sen­si­bil­i­ty, Sina­tra also set a high bar with his tech­nique. In the video at the top of the post from 1965, we see the con­sum­mate artist record “It Was a Very Good Year” in the stu­dio, while smok­ing a cig­a­rette and casu­al­ly sip­ping what may be cof­fee from a paper cup in his oth­er hand.

At one point, he stops and ban­ters with the engi­neer, ask­ing him to stop for any “P pop­ping,” the explo­sive sound result­ing from singers putting too much force into their “p” sounds and dis­tort­ing the micro­phone. Nowa­days every­one uses what’s called a “pop fil­ter” to catch these bursts of air, but Sina­tra doesn’t have one, or seem to need one. “I don’t thump,” he tells the record­ing engi­neer, “I’m a sneaky P pop­per.” Indeed. One com­menter on YouTube point­ed out Sinatra’s grace­ful mic tech­nique:

Notice how he turned his head when he sang “it poured sweet and clear” to avoid the spike on the P. In fact, he backed away from the mic just a bit for that whole last verse because he was singing much stronger for the last state­ment of the song. Think about it… this was a live stu­dio record­ing. One take. No over­dubs, No added tracks. Just pure tal­ent. The only thing the sound engi­neers had to do was adjust the eq lev­els a bit and that’s it. This is what you hear on the album. You’d be hard pressed to find ANYONE who could do that today.

Most vocal per­for­mances get record­ed in booths, and cer­tain­ly not in big open rooms with an orches­tra and no head­phones. Some singers learn to han­dle a micro­phone well. Many do not. Audio com­pres­sion sup­plies the dynam­ics, per­for­mances get processed dig­i­tal­ly and edit­ed togeth­er from sev­er­al takes. Young pro­duc­ers often won­der how peo­ple made great sound­ing records before improve­ments like pop fil­ters, iso­lat­ing mon­i­tor­ing sys­tems, or soft­ware that allow a near­ly infi­nite num­ber of cor­rec­tive tech­niques. The answer: per­haps many of these things aren’t always improve­ments, but props. As Sina­tra shows us in this footage, great sound in the stu­dio came from the pro­fes­sion­al­ism and atten­tive tech­nique of artists and engi­neers who got it right at the source.

Relat­ed Con­tent:       

Watch Sud­den­ly: Frank Sina­tra Stars in a 1954 Noir Film

Bob Dylan Releas­es a New Cov­er of Frank Sinatra’s “Full Moon and Emp­ty Arms”

“The Girl from Ipane­ma” Turns 50; Hear Its Bossa Nova Sound Cov­ered by Sina­tra, Krall, Methe­ny & Oth­ers

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

Live Stream the Concerts at Coachella This Weekend: Radiohead, Lady Gaga, Lorde, New Order & Much More

This week­end, YouTube is live stream­ing Coachel­la 2017, which will fea­ture per­for­mances by Lady Gaga, Kendrick Lamar, Radio­head, Lorde, Bon Iver, New Order and more.

To watch the shows, you can tune into three chan­nels through­out the week­end, plus a Live 360 chan­nel for select per­for­mances. The chan­nels all appear below. And fur­ther down the page, you can find the sched­ule for the entire week­end. Enjoy!

Chan­nel 1

Chanel 2

Chanel 3

Live 360

 

The Line Up:

Fri­day, April 14

Chan­nel 1

  • 3:35 – Ten­nis
  • 4:10 – King Giz­zard & The Lizard Wiz­ard
  • 5:00 – Bonobo
  • 5:50 – Mac DeMar­co
  • 6:55 – Glass Ani­mals
  • 7:45 – Father John Misty
  • 8:45 – Phan­togram
  • 9:35 – The xx
  • 10:40 – Radio­head

Chan­nel 2

  • 3:35 – Preser­va­tion Hall Jazz Band
  • 4:25 – SOHN
  • 5:10 – Sam­pha
  • 6:00 – Fran­cis and the Lights
  • 6:50 – Oh Won­der
  • 7:40 – BANKS
  • 8:30 – Richie Hawtin
  • 9:30 – Jag­war Ma
  • 10:20 – DJ Shad­ow
  • 11:20 – Travis Scott
  • 12:15 – Cap­i­tal Cities

Chan­nel 3

  • 3:35 – Klangstof
  • 4:05 – Joseph
  • 5:00 – The Lemon Twigs
  • 5:45 – Stor­mzy
  • 6:30 – Broods
  • 7:20 – Big Gigan­tic
  • 8:20 – Crys­tal Cas­tles
  • 9:10 – Mac Miller
  • 10:00 – Steve Angel­lo
  • 11:00 – Empire of the Sun
  • 11:55 – Dil­lon Fran­cis

Sat­ur­day, April 15

Chan­nel 1

  • 3:35 – Local Natives
  • 4:30 – Chi­cano Bat­man
  • 5:15 – The Head and the Heart
  • 6:10 – Bastille
  • 7:20 – Two Door Cin­e­ma Club
  • 8:20 – Future
  • 9:15 – ScHool­boy Q
  • 10:15 – Bon Iver
  • 11:25 – Lady Gaga

Chan­nel 2

  • 3:35 – Arkells
  • 3:55 – Kaleo
  • 4:45 – Car Seat Head­rest
  • 5:40 – The Atom­ics
  • 6:25 – Roisin Mur­phy
  • 7:15 – DREAMCAR
  • 8:05 – Mod­er­at
  • 9:05 – Warpaint
  • 9:55 – NAV
  • 10:45 – DJ Snake
  • 12:00 – Guc­ci Mane

Chan­nel 3

  • 3:35 – Blos­soms
  • 4:20 – Shu­ra
  • 5:00 – Banks & Steelz
  • 5:45 – Auto­graf
  • 6:35 – Lit­tle Drag­on
  • 7:25 – Mura Masa
  • 8:15 – Gryf­fin
  • 9:10 – Tory Lanez
  • 10:00 – Röyk­sopp
  • 10:55 – Mar­tin Gar­rix
  • 12:05 – Clas­six

Sun­day, April 16

Chan­nel 1

  • 3:35 – Ezra Fur­man
  • 4:25 – Whit­ney
  • 5:15 – Toots & The May­tals
  • 6:10 – Grou­plove
  • 7:20 – Future Islands
  • 7:55 – Tove Lo
  • 8:15 – Porter Robin­son & Madeon
  • 9:20 – Lorde
  • 10:25 – Kendrick Lamar

Chan­nel 2

  • 3:35 – Grace Mitchell
  • 4:25 – Pre­oc­cu­pa­tions
  • 5:15 – Goldlink
  • 6:10 – Jack Gar­ratt
  • 7:00 – Kiiara
  • 7:45 – Tycho
  • 8:40 – Hans Zim­mer
  • 9:45 – Hehlani
  • 10:30 – New Order

Chan­nel 3

  • 4:15 – Anna Lunoe
  • 5:15 – NAO
  • 6:55 – Kay­trana­da
  • 8:10 – DJ Khaled
  • 9:20 – Lorde
  • 9:00 – Galan­tis
  • 9:55 – Marsh­mel­lo
  • 10:50 – Jus­tice

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Sad 7‑Foot Tall Clown Sings “Pinball Wizard” in the Style of Johnny Cash, and Other Hits by Roy Orbison, Cheap Trick & More

Read­ers, are you over­come with the Fri­day Feels?

Pud­dles Pity Par­ty, a 6’8” Pier­rot from Atlanta, empathizes.

The ‘Sad Clown with the Gold­en Voice’ has tak­en to releas­ing emo­tion­al­ly-freight­ed cov­ers on select Fri­days.

There’s some­thing about a giant sad singing clown that com­forts us, let’s us know it’s ok to feel, to show our feel­ings. It’s a sad and beau­ti­ful world, and we’re all in it togeth­er, even when we’re total­ly alone.

So quoth Big Mike Geier, the founder and front­man of the band King­sized, and the man behind Pud­dles’ white make­up and rick­rack-trimmed clown suit.

What­ev­er he’s tapped into, it’s real. The New York Times’ Jason Zin­no­man, in a slight­ly skeeved-out think piece on clowns last year, wrote:

What makes him tran­scend the trope is his vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty. When you first see him charg­ing down the aisle, he’s an intim­i­dat­ing fig­ure, but his body is actu­al­ly not aggres­sive. It slumps, pas­sive­ly. When he asks for a hug, it looks as if he real­ly needs it. He makes you feel bad for find­ing him off-putting, and then he belts out a love­ly song.

Fri­day, March 3 found Pud­dles accom­pa­ny­ing him­self on a red gui­tar for “It’s a Heartache,” a hit for Bon­nie Tyler and lat­er, Rod Stew­art. They both have their strengths, but Pud­dles is unique­ly suit­ed to tap into the heartache of ‘stand­ing in the cold rain, feel­ing like a clown.”

A pre­vi­ous Fri­day Feel, Roy Orbison’s “Cry­ing,” was a fan request. (Yes, he’s still tak­ing them.)

The video for “She’s Gone Again”—previously cov­ered by Don Ho—touch­es on Pud­dles’  obses­sion with actor Kevin Cost­ner.

Feb­ru­ary 10’s Fri­day Feel brought new lis­ten­ers to a younger artist, Brett Den­nen. Pud­dles praised his “Heav­en” as “beau­ti­ful and thought­ful song,” con­fess­ing that he “bare­ly held it togeth­er on this one.” Also see Cheap Trick­’s “I Want You to Want Me” down below.

The piece de resis­tance, where­in the lyrics of Pin­ball Wiz­ard are sung to the tune of Fol­som Prison Blues, is at the top of the page. It’s no great sur­prise that that one’s gone viral. Pud­dles is trans­par­ent, how­ev­er, giv­ing cred­it to the late Gre­go­ry Dean Smal­l­ey, an Atlanta-based song­writer who died of AIDS in the late 90s:

 Back in 1994 or so, I saw (him) per­form this mashup at the Star Com­mu­ni­ty Bar. I was floored. Greg was a force of super­nat­ur­al pro­por­tions and he is missed. Many peo­ple have done it pri­or to me doing it. I guess it was always meant to be.

You can lis­ten to more of Pud­dles Pity Par­ty on Spo­ti­fy, or sup­port the artist with a pur­chase on Google Play or iTunes. Sub­scribe to his youtube chan­nel to stay abreast of future Fri­day Feels, or request a song.

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Stephen Sond­heim Teach a Kid How to Sing “Send In the Clowns”

John­ny Cash & Joe Strum­mer Sing Bob Marley’s “Redemp­tion Song” (2002)       

Hear John­ny Cash Deliv­er Lincoln’s Get­tys­burg Address

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

Hamilton’s Lin-Manuel Miranda Creates a 19-Song Playlist to Help You Get Over Writer’s Block

Pho­to by Steve Jurvet­son, via Flickr Com­mons

Last year we alert­ed you to a short doc about authors and their rela­tion­ship with writer’s block. Many were philo­soph­i­cal. Oth­ers like Philipp Mey­er dis­missed it: ““I don’t think writer’s block actu­al­ly exists,” he said. “It’s basi­cal­ly inse­cu­ri­ty.”

How seri­ous­ly you take it or how ter­ri­bly it affects you, we have a Spo­ti­fy playlist cre­at­ed by Lin-Manuel Miran­da of Hamil­ton fame called “Write Your Way Out.”

He revealed the playlist on his Twit­ter feed on March 20 with an apol­o­gy that the mix took longer to make than expect­ed. It is a mix, he said, “about writ­ing, songs that fea­ture great writ­ing, and every­thing in between.” Like his oth­er mix­es, he’s think­ing about us, that kind­ly Mr. Miran­da.

The eclec­tic mix begins with “Hap­py Birth­day Dar­ling” from Bright Lights Big City (“Now when you write my son, make the choice, find your voice, look down deep in your heart”), then fea­tures Eng­lish-lan­guage hip hop from the Hamil­ton Mix­tape (Nas’ “Wrote My Way Out”) and Span­ish-lan­guage hip hop from Calle 13 (“Aden­tro”), folk clas­sics (Joni Mitchell’s “Chelsea Morn­ing”, Bob Dylan’s “My Back Pages”), even some jaun­ty pop from Vam­pire Week­end (“Oxford Com­ma”) and Sara Bareilles (“Love Song”). He ends with Raúl Esparza­’s bal­lad “Why” from the musi­cal Tick, Tick, BOOM!, which clos­es the mix with a paean to the healthy addic­tion of cre­ativ­i­ty. (“I make a vow, right here and now / I’m gonna spend my time this way,” he sings.)

And don’t wor­ry if you don’t have Spo­ti­fy (which you can down­load here). He’s list­ed the tracks on his Twit­ter post too.

It’s nice to know that Miran­da fussed over this selec­tion like one used to do back in the days of cas­sette tapes. Does that mean he has a crush on all of us?

via Nerdist

Relat­ed Con­tent:

8 Writ­ers on How to Face Writer’s Block and the Blank Page: Mar­garet Atwood, Jonathan Franzen, Joyce Car­ol Oates & More

A Clever Super­cut of Writ­ers Strug­gling with Writer’s Block in 53 Films: From Bar­ton Fink to The Roy­al Tenen­baums

How Famous Writ­ers Deal With Writer’s Block: Their Tips & Tricks

Ray Brad­bury Gives 12 Pieces of Writ­ing Advice to Young Authors (2001)

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.