John Coltrane Draws a Picture Illustrating the Mathematics of Music

Physi­cist and sax­o­phon­ist Stephon Alexan­der has argued in his many pub­lic lec­tures and his book The Jazz of Physics that Albert Ein­stein and John Coltrane had quite a lot in com­mon. Alexan­der in par­tic­u­lar draws our atten­tion to the so-called “Coltrane cir­cle,” which resem­bles what any musi­cian will rec­og­nize as the “Cir­cle of Fifths,” but incor­po­rates Coltrane’s own inno­va­tions. Coltrane gave the draw­ing to sax­o­phon­ist and pro­fes­sor Yusef Lateef in 1967, who includ­ed it in his sem­i­nal text, Repos­i­to­ry of Scales and Melod­ic Pat­terns. Where Lateef, as he writes in his auto­bi­og­ra­phy, sees Coltrane’s music as a “spir­i­tu­al jour­ney” that “embraced the con­cerns of a rich tra­di­tion of auto­phys­iopsy­chic music,” Alexan­der sees “the same geo­met­ric prin­ci­ple that moti­vat­ed Einstein’s” quan­tum the­o­ry.

Nei­ther descrip­tion seems out of place. Musi­cian and blog­ger Roel Hol­lan­der notes, “Thelo­nious Monk once said ‘All musi­cans are sub­con­scious­ly math­e­mati­cians.’ Musi­cians like John Coltrane though have been very much aware of the math­e­mat­ics of music and con­scious­ly applied it to his works.”

Coltrane was also very much aware of Einstein’s work and liked to talk about it fre­quent­ly. Musi­can David Amram remem­bers the Giant Steps genius telling him he “was try­ing to do some­thing like that in music.”

Hol­lan­der care­ful­ly dis­sects Coltrane’s math­e­mat­ics in two the­o­ry-heavy essays, one gen­er­al­ly on Coltrane’s “Music & Geom­e­try” and one specif­i­cal­ly on his “Tone Cir­cle.” Coltrane him­self had lit­tle to say pub­li­cal­ly about the inten­sive the­o­ret­i­cal work behind his most famous com­po­si­tions, prob­a­bly because he’d rather they speak for them­selves. He pre­ferred to express him­self philo­soph­i­cal­ly and mys­ti­cal­ly, draw­ing equal­ly on his fas­ci­na­tion with sci­ence and with spir­i­tu­al tra­di­tions of all kinds. Coltrane’s poet­ic way of speak­ing has left his musi­cal inter­preters with a wide vari­ety of ways to look at his Cir­cle, as jazz musi­cian Corey Mwam­ba dis­cov­ered when he infor­mal­ly polled sev­er­al oth­er play­ers on Face­book. Clar­inetist Arun Ghosh, for exam­ple, saw in Coltrane’s “math­e­mat­i­cal prin­ci­ples” a “musi­cal sys­tem that con­nect­ed with The Divine.” It’s a sys­tem, he opined, that “feels quite Islam­ic to me.”

Lateef agreed, and there may be few who under­stood Coltrane’s method bet­ter than he did. He stud­ied close­ly with Coltrane for years, and has been remem­bered since his death in 2013 as a peer and even a men­tor, espe­cial­ly in his ecu­meni­cal embrace of the­o­ry and music from around the world. Lateef even argued that Coltrane’s late-in-life mas­ter­piece A Love Supreme might have been titled “Allah Supreme” were it not for fear of “polit­i­cal back­lash.” Some may find the claim ten­den­tious, but what we see in the wide range of respons­es to Coltrane’s musi­cal the­o­ry, so well encap­su­lat­ed in the draw­ing above, is that his recog­ni­tion, as Lateef writes, of the “struc­tures of music” was as much for him about sci­en­tif­ic dis­cov­ery as it was reli­gious expe­ri­ence. Both for him were intu­itive process­es that “came into exis­tence,” writes Lateef, “in the mind of the musi­can through abstrac­tion from expe­ri­ence.”

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:

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

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

A 3,350-Song Playlist of Music from Haruki Murakami’s Personal Record Collection

Music and writ­ing are insep­a­ra­ble in the hippest mod­ern nov­els, from Ker­ouac to Nick Horn­by to Irvine Welsh. It might even be said many such books would not exist with­out their inter­nal sound­tracks. When it comes to hip, pro­lif­ic mod­ern nov­el­ist Haru­ki Muraka­mi, we might say the author him­self may not exist with­out his sound­tracks, and they are sprawl­ing and exten­sive. Muraka­mi, who is well known for his intense focus and hero­ic achieve­ments as a marathon and dou­ble-marathon run­ner, exceeds even this con­sum­ing pas­sion with his near-reli­gious devo­tion to music.

Muraka­mi became a con­vert to jazz fan­dom at the age of 15 and until age 30 ran a jazz club. Then he sud­den­ly became a nov­el­ist after an epiphany at a base­ball game. (Hear Ilana Simons read his ver­sion of that sto­ry in her short ani­mat­ed film above). His first book’s sto­ry unfold­ed in an envi­ron­ment total­ly per­me­at­ed by music and music fan cul­ture. From then on, musi­cal ref­er­ences spilled from his char­ac­ters’ lips, and swirled around their heads per­pet­u­al­ly.

What sets Muraka­mi apart from oth­er music-obsessed nov­el­ists is not only the degree of his obses­sion, but the breadth of his musi­cal knowl­edge. He is as flu­ent in clas­si­cal as he as in jazz and six­ties folk and pop, and his range in each genre is con­sid­er­able. He has so much to say about clas­si­cal music, in fact, that he once pub­lished a book of six con­ver­sa­tions between him­self and Sei­ji Oza­wa, “one of the world’s lead­ing orches­tral con­duc­tors.”  Murakami’s 2013 Col­or­less Tsuku­ru Taza­ki and His Years of Pil­grim­age—its title a ref­er­ence to Franz Liszt—contains per­haps his most elo­quent state­ment on the role music plays in his life and work, phrased in uni­ver­sal terms:

Our lives are like a com­plex musi­cal score. Filled with all sorts of cryp­tic writ­ing, six­teenth and thir­ty-sec­ond notes and oth­er strange signs. It’s next to impos­si­ble to cor­rect­ly inter­pret these, and even if you could, and could then trans­pose them into the cor­rect sounds, there’s no guar­an­tee that peo­ple would cor­rect­ly under­stand, or appre­ci­ate, the mean­ing there­in.

“At times,” writes Scott Mes­low at The Week, “read­ing Murakami’s work can feel like flip­ping through his leg­en­dar­i­ly expan­sive record col­lec­tion.” While we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured playlists drawn from Murakami’s jazz obses­sion and from the gen­er­al vari­ety of his dis­crim­i­nat­ing (yet thor­ough­ly West­ern) musi­cal palate, these have been minus­cule by com­par­i­son with his per­son­al library of LPs, an “inspi­ra­tional… wall of 10,000 records,” the major­i­ty of which are jazz. Muraka­mi admits he always lis­tens to music when he works, and you can see part of his floor-to-ceil­ing record library, and huge speak­er sys­tem, in a pho­to of his desk on his attrac­tive­ly-designed web­site. Down below, we bring you one of the next best things to actu­al­ly sit­ting in his study, a playlist of 3,350 tracks from Murakami’s per­son­al col­lec­tion. (If you need Spo­ti­fy’s free soft­ware, down­load it here.)

Hoagy Carmichael, Lionel Hamp­ton, Her­bie Han­cock, Gene Kru­pa, Djan­go Rein­hardt, Sergei Prokofiev, Fred­er­ic Chopin… it’s quite a mix, and one that may not only remind you of sev­er­al moments in Murakami’s body of work, but will also give you a sam­pling of the sound­track to its author’s imag­i­na­tion as he tran­scribes the “cryp­tic writ­ing” we have to “trans­pose… into the cor­rect sounds” as we try to make sense of it.

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:

A 96-Song Playlist of Music in Haru­ki Murakami’s Nov­els: Miles Davis, Glenn Gould, the Beach Boys & More

Haru­ki Murakami’s Pas­sion for Jazz: Dis­cov­er the Novelist’s Jazz Playlist, Jazz Essay & Jazz Bar

A Dream­i­ly Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to Haru­ki Muraka­mi, Japan’s Jazz and Base­ball-Lov­ing Post­mod­ern Nov­el­ist

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

How Ingenious Sign Language Interpreters Are Bringing Music to Life for the Deaf: Visualizing the Sound of Rhythm, Harmony & Melody

They are greet­ed like celebri­ties, with huge cheers and applause from the audi­ence on Jim­my Kim­mel Live!, for exam­ple, and it is well-deserved—they’re stars in their own right—but you prob­a­bly won’t rec­og­nize their names. They’re Amer­i­can Sign Lan­guage inter­preters of pop music, and their craft involves not only a mas­tery of ASL, but also empa­thy, cre­ativ­i­ty, spon­tane­ity, dance, and some of the vivid inter­pre­tive moves of an air gui­tar cham­pi­on (a rare art form indeed).

In the video explain­er from Vox above, we meet one of the most tal­ent­ed of such inter­preters, the poised yet high­ly ani­mat­ed Amber Gal­loway Gal­lego. She has inter­pret­ed over 400 artists—“literally every artist you could think of”—including sta­di­um fillers like Adele, Kendrick Lamar, Drake, and, as you can see below in video from last year’s Lol­la­palooza, the Red Hot Chili Pep­pers, whose melan­choly “Under the Bridge” takes on an entire­ly new ener­gy through Gallego’s expres­sive hands, face, and body (she first appears at 1:22).

As she explains to Vox, ASL inter­preters have for years com­mu­ni­cat­ed music to their audi­ences by dri­ly mak­ing the sign in Eng­lish for “Music” and leav­ing it at that. For Gal­lego, this was total­ly insuf­fi­cient. The deaf com­mu­ni­ty includes “a diverse group of peo­ple,” the Vox nar­ra­tor says, “who have a wide range of resid­ual hear­ing” across the audi­ble spec­trum. And every­one can feel music at cer­tain vol­umes, espe­cial­ly in a live con­cert set­ting. But an inter­preter, Gal­lego sug­gests, should be pre­pared not only to trans­late the lyrics of a song, but also the rhythm and, to a cer­tain degree, the melody and har­mo­ny, as well as the gen­er­al vibe, allow­ing deaf con­cert goers to be part of the total expe­ri­ence, as she puts it. (She can even inter­pret beat­box­ing.)

Since ASL already incor­po­rates emo­tive ges­tures and facial expres­sions, Gal­lego sim­ply adapt­ed and expand­ed these into a reper­toire of dance and musi­cal sign. She inter­prets fre­quen­cy, bring­ing her arms and hands clos­er to her waist for low­er sounds and at her shoul­ders and above for high notes. She com­mu­ni­cates pitch and rhythm with her face and hands in ways that both mim­ic the move­ment of sound waves and com­mu­ni­cate how much she her­self is groov­ing to a tune. “If we mere­ly show the sign for music,” Gal­lego insists, “then we are doing an injus­tice as an inter­preter.” Be warned, ASL inter­preters, she sets the bar high.

To con­vey the mean­ing of a song’s lyri­cal con­tent, a music inter­preter must trans­late a tremen­dous amount of word­play, rhyme, and metaphor into a visu­al form of com­mu­ni­ca­tion. In the Vox video, Gal­lego shows how she does this effec­tive­ly at the speed of Eminem’s motor mouth in a song like “The Mon­ster,” and, though I can’t speak to the expe­ri­ence of some­one from the deaf com­mu­ni­ty, it’s impres­sive.

Gal­le­go’s enthu­si­as­tic inno­va­tion and embrace of music sign­ing has gen­er­at­ed dozens of video inter­pre­ta­tions on her YouTube chan­nel (includ­ing clas­sics of both Christ­mas and kids’ music and the irre­sistible glee of Chew­bac­ca mom). And she has also pro­mot­ed her rock-star-wor­thy work to mil­lions on TV shows like Total­ly Biased with W. Kamau Bell and, as I men­tioned, Jim­my Kim­mel Live!, where, as you can see above, she tag teams (for the win) with two fel­low music inter­preters in a bat­tle against rap­per Wiz Khal­i­fa.

via Vox

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hip Hop Hits Sung Won­der­ful­ly in Sign Lan­guage: Eminem’s “Lose Your­self,” Wiz Khalifa’s “Black and Yel­low” & More

“Alexan­der Hamil­ton” Per­formed with Amer­i­can Sign Lan­guage

Learn 48 Lan­guages for Free Online: A Big Update to Our Mas­ter List

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

New Jim Jarmusch Documentary on Iggy Pop & The Stooges Now Streaming Free on Amazon Prime

FYI: Jim Jar­musch’s new doc­u­men­tary Gimme Dan­ger–his “love let­ter” to punk icons Iggy Pop and The Stooges–is steam­ing free right now on Ama­zon Prime. If you have Ama­zon Prime, you can start stream­ing the film here. If you don’t, you can sign up for a 30-day free tri­al, watch the doc, and then decide whether to remain a sub­scriber or not. It’s your call. (Note: they also offer a sim­i­lar deal for audio­books from Audi­ble.)

Hav­ing the watched the film just last week­end, I’ll say this: Gimme Dan­ger is worth the watch. But it just scratch­es the sur­face of what Pop and the Stooges were all about. To go deep­er, I’d rec­om­mend pick­ing up a copy of Please Kill Me: The Uncen­sored Oral His­to­ry of Punk (now released in a 20th anniver­sary edi­tion), which gives you a more com­plete and raw account of the rise and fall of this influ­en­tial band.

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!

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Pink Floyd Adapts George Orwell’s Animal Farm into Their 1977 Concept Album, Animals (a Critique of Late Capitalism, Not Stalin)

Pink Floyd will always be known for their mas­sive­ly suc­cess­ful con­cept albums, and David Gilmour and Roger Waters’ tense, and per­son­al­ly explo­sive, dynam­ic on albums like Dark Side of the Moon seems rem­i­nis­cent of anoth­er mas­ter­ful song­writ­ing duo known for rock high con­cepts. Indeed, “there would have been no Dark Side of the Moon, and no drag­ons-and-war­locks-themed prog-rock epics,” writes Jody Rosen at Slate, “had the Bea­t­les not decid­ed to don epaulets for their lark of an album cov­er and imper­son­ate a vaude­ville band.”

But where The Bea­t­les’ loose con­cep­tu­al mas­ter­pieces had their stormy and sad moments, they gen­er­al­ly kept things chip­per on albums like Sgt. Pep­per’s. Pink Floyd seemed deter­mined to do pre­cise­ly the oppo­site, set­ting a tem­plate for entire gen­res of met­al to fol­low. 1977’s Ani­mals espe­cial­ly reminds me of noth­ing so much as an album by Megadeth or Mastodon. Musi­cal and the­mat­ic sim­i­lar­i­ties abound: epic, boom­ing, doomy songs with lyrics com­plete­ly unin­ter­est­ed in charm­ing their lis­ten­ers. “Sheep,” for exam­ple, con­tains a mod­i­fied ver­sion of the 23rd Psalm: “The Lord is my shep­herd. He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places and coverteth me to lamb cut­lets.”

As the brutish title alerts us, Ani­mals is an adap­ta­tion of George’s Orwell’s Ani­mal Farm (and the ori­gin of Pink Floyd’s giant inflat­able pig). The schemat­ic alle­go­ry of Orwell’s book lends a high degree of coher­ence to Waters’ extend­ed songs—only five in total. But he sup­plies his own char­ac­ter­is­tic bile (he famous­ly spit on a fan dur­ing one tour, an inci­dent that inspired The Wall). It couldn’t be more appro­pri­ate. Where Orwell’s nov­el is a trans­par­ent attack on Stal­in­ism, Waters adapts his cri­tique to “the eco­nom­ic and ide­o­log­i­cal sys­tems with­in late-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry lib­er­al democ­ra­cies.” So argues Phil Rose in an in-depth study of Waters’ lyri­cal ideas. The album’s “pri­ma­ry con­cern… is to reveal the effects that tech­no­crat­ic cap­i­tal­ist rela­tions have on the nature of human beings and the evi­dent divi­sions that unde­mo­c­ra­t­ic struc­tures of pow­er cre­ate among us as indi­vid­u­als.”

Orwell showed the effects of “unde­mo­c­ra­t­ic struc­tures” by reduc­ing indi­vid­u­als to ani­mal types, and so does Waters, sim­pli­fy­ing the class­es fur­ther into three (and leav­ing out humans alto­geth­er): the rul­ing pigs, prae­to­ri­an and aspir­ing cap­i­tal­ist dogs, and the sheep, the mind­less mass­es. The open­er, “Pigs on the Wing (Part One)” (top), an urgent acoustic strum­mer that gets picked up at the end of the album in a strange­ly upbeat reprise, sets a dystopi­an tone with images that may now seem old hat (bear in mind Ani­mals debuted five years before Blade Run­ner).

If you did­n’t care what hap­pened to me,
And I did­n’t care for you,
We would zig zag our way through the bore­dom and pain
Occa­sion­al­ly glanc­ing up through the rain.
Won­der­ing which of the bug­gers to blame
And watch­ing for pigs on the wing.

Most of the songs began their lives as a rough col­lec­tion that came togeth­er after Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here. Waters insist­ed on the lit­er­ary con­ceit, against Gilmour’s objec­tions, but the themes had already been very much on his mind. “Dogs,” above, was once a sar­don­ic rant called “You’ve Got­ta Be Crazy,” and one of its bleak­est stan­zas sur­vives from that ear­li­er track:

You got­ta keep one eye look­ing over your shoul­der.
You know it’s going to get hard­er, and hard­er, and hard­er as you
get old­er.
And in the end you’ll pack up and fly down south,
Hide your head in the sand,
Just anoth­er sad old man,
All alone and dying of can­cer.

There may be no sharp­er an antithe­sis to “When I’m 64.” The image is made all the more dev­as­tat­ing by the homi­ci­dal para­noia sur­round­ing it. Not all of the Orwell over­lay works so well, but when it does, it does so with dev­as­tat­ing force. Con­sid­er these lines from “Sheep,” as ter­ri­fy­ing as any late Medieval judge­ment scene, and more effec­tive for an age that may not believe in hell but has seen the slaugh­ter­hous­es:

What do you get for pre­tend­ing the dan­ger’s not real.
Meek and obe­di­ent you fol­low the leader
Down well trod­den cor­ri­dors into the val­ley of steel.
What a sur­prise!
A look of ter­mi­nal shock in your eyes.
Now things are real­ly what they seem.

The band’s “bleak­est stu­dio album,” argues Brice Ezell at Con­se­quence of Sound, “feels eeri­ly rel­e­vant in these grave times.” I can’t help but agree. Pink Floyd great­ly inspired much of the heavy music to fol­low, doing as much as Black Sab­bath or Led Zep­pelin, I’d argue, to engage the imag­i­na­tions of met­al­heads and prog-rock sto­ry­tellers. Much of the music that fol­lowed them sounds very dat­ed, but forty years after its release, their gloomi­est record—which is say­ing a lot—seems more rel­e­vant than ever. Ani­mals ends on an ambiva­lent note, hope­ful but wary. The pigs are still on the wing, and the only rem­e­dy at hand, Waters sug­gests in the last few lines, may be to “know that I care what hap­pens to you / And I know that you care for me.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear How Clare Torry’s Vocals on Pink Floyd’s “The Great Gig in the Sky” Made the Song Go from Pret­ty Good to Stun­ning

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

The Life & Times of Don­ald J. Trump: A Fea­ture Film Set to Pink Floyd’s The Wall

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

Watch Derek Jarman’s Daring 12-Minute Promo Film for Marianne Faithfull’s 1979 Comeback Album Broken English (NSFW)

Note: There are a few not-safe-for-work scenes in the film.

The world of music video was in its infan­cy in the late 1970s. MTV had yet to exist, and pro­mo­tion­al films for sin­gles were seen as use­ful for the times when a show could­n’t book a band to play live, or the band just didn’t play live any more. Into this world fell many a com­mer­cial direc­tor, used to the pro­mo­tion side of the pro­mo film busi­ness. But there were also direc­tors like Derek Jar­man, the punk­est of UK direc­tors at that time. This new for­mat paid the bills in between fea­tures, and let him exper­i­ment.

Though he would go on to work with the Pet Shop Boys and The Smiths, Jarman’s first pro­mo video is above, for three songs from Mar­i­anne Faithfull’s mas­ter­piece of a new wave album, Bro­ken Eng­lish (1979).

Faith­full had been out of the pub­lic eye for years, hav­ing spent a lot of the ’70 try­ing to kick her drug habit. The anger and cyn­i­cism of this album, her cracked but com­mand­ing voice, and the elec­tron­ic sounds were such that many for­get she released two oth­er “come­back albums” before this one. On Bro­ken Eng­lish she force­ful­ly rewrites her own his­to­ry as an artist, not con­tent to be seen as a drug casu­al­ty or Mick Jagger’s ex-girl­friend.

Jar­man was known at the time as the con­tro­ver­sial film­mak­er of both the homo­erot­ic Sebas­tiane and the anti-Roy­al Jubilee, which more than any film at the time encap­su­lat­ed the UK punk scene. It’s both bru­tal and roman­tic and charm­ing­ly D.I.Y.

The Bro­ken Eng­lish pro­mo film fea­tures three songs, brack­et­ed by black and white footage of Faith­full wan­der­ing around Lon­don and play­ing Space Invaders in a local arcade. The first, “Witch’s Song,” is the clos­est to Jarman’s short films dur­ing that peri­od: lan­guid, ambigu­ous­ly gen­dered young peo­ple, apoc­a­lyp­tic dock­side ruins, reflect­ed mir­rors, occultism and debauch­ery. The sec­ond, “The Bal­lad of Lucy Jor­dan,” fea­tures scenes of domes­tic­i­ty dou­ble exposed and/or pro­ject­ed over footage of Faith­full. The final one, for the title track, is a short col­lage of 20th cen­tu­ry fas­cism and car­nage, fea­tur­ing Hitler, Mus­soli­ni, Oswald Mosley, British strikes, and self-immo­lat­ed monks.

The two artists got along so well that she record­ed the theme song for his film The Last of Eng­land, fea­tur­ing a very young Til­da Swin­ton.

Both Jar­man and Faith­full went on to suc­cess­ful­ly rein­vent them­selves, but for the 21st cen­tu­ry view­er, they are also both worth redis­cov­er­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Very Young Mar­i­anne Faith­full Sings Her First Hit, ‘As Tears Go By’ (1965)

Watch David Bowie & Mar­i­anne Faith­full Rehearse and Sing Son­ny & Cher’s “I Got You Babe” (1973)

Jean-Luc Godard Shoots Mar­i­anne Faith­full Singing “As Tears Go By” (1966)

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 How Clare Torry’s Vocals on Pink Floyd’s “The Great Gig in the Sky” Made the Song Go from Pretty Good to Downright Great

Smack in the mid­dle of Pink Floy­d’s clas­sic Dark Side of the Moon sits a song many lis­ten­ers may hear as an extend­ed bridge between the two true cen­ter­pieces, “Time” and “Mon­ey.” But I’ve always thought of “The Great Gig in the Sky” as the album’s true cen­ter, a swirling, swing­ing, soul­ful prog-rock mas­ter­piece, car­ried to stratos­pher­ic heights by British singer Clare Tor­ry. The song’s word­less gospel vocal makes it an ecsta­t­ic, even hope­ful, tent pole sup­port­ing Dark Side’s bril­liant­ly cyn­i­cal songs about the banal­i­ty and injus­tice of mod­ern life.

“The Great Gig in the Sky,” that is to say, pro­vides much-need­ed emo­tion­al release in an album that can sound, writes Alex­is Petridis, “like one long sigh.” Yet if you know the sto­ry of Dark Side of the Moon and of Clare Torry’s defin­ing con­tri­bu­tion, you’ll know that her incred­i­ble soar­ing vocal was sheer hap­pen­stance, an impro­vi­sa­tion by a young unknown singer brought in at the last minute by pro­duc­er Alan Parsons—and one who wasn’t a par­tic­u­lar fan of the band. (“If it had been The Kinks,” she remem­bered, “I’d have been over the moon.”)

Tor­ry reluc­tant­ly stepped into the stu­dio and asked the band, “’Well, what do you want?’” Basi­cal­ly, she says, “they had no idea.” An ear­ly instru­men­tal mix of the song from 1972 (top), fore­grounds Nick Mason’s propul­sive drums, Richard Wright’s Ham­mond organ, and sam­ples from Apol­lo 17 trans­mis­sions. (These were replaced in the final ver­sion with a snip­pet from con­ser­v­a­tive writer Mal­colm Mug­geridge.)

When Tor­ry went into the vocal booth and put on the head­phones, she would have heard an even more stripped-down mix. Giv­en no oth­er instruc­tion than “we don’t want any words,” she decid­ed, “I have to pre­tend to be an instru­ment.”

Torry’s vocal is so dis­tinc­tive that she even­tu­al­ly won a set­tle­ment in 2004 for a co-song­writ­ing cred­it with Wright—an out­come some song­writ­ing experts agree was ful­ly jus­ti­fied since she essen­tial­ly cre­at­ed a new melody for the song. In the inter­view above, hear Tor­ry describe how she “had a lit­tle go” and, after some guid­ance from David Gilmour and a can of Heineken, casu­al­ly knocked out one of the most thrilling vocal per­for­mances in rock his­to­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Doc­u­men­taries on the Mak­ing of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here

Dark Side of the Rain­bow: Pink Floyd Meets The Wiz­ard of Oz in One of the Ear­li­est Mash-Ups

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 @jdmagnessd

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

It’s been cov­ered by every­one from Daffy Duck to Grace Jones, from Pas­cal of Bol­ly­wood to a ukulele-strum­ming Madon­na

It’s graced the sound­tracks of dozens of films, and pro­vid­ed the title for at least two more: the recent Edith Piaf bio-pic and an award win­ning French fea­ture about a pre-ado­les­cent trans­gen­der girl…

Its title has been hijacked for rose-col­ored mem­oirs, beer bot­tle labels, an arti­cle about women in board­rooms

And now the above love sto­ry, set on the Pont des Art, star­ring an anthro­po­mor­phic rose and a long tall stick of beef jerky bear­ing a sus­pi­cious resem­blance to Iggy Pop.

The ani­mat­ed Iggy stalks across toward his lady love with the stiff­ness of a White Walk­er, but it’s unde­ni­ably mov­ing when this bio­log­i­cal­ly ill-matched cou­ple begins to dance in a swirl of green and red leaves sig­ni­fy­ing… what?

The imper­ma­nence of romance? (The pad­locks which star­ry eyed cou­ples affixed to the Pont des Art were uncer­e­mo­ni­ous­ly removed a few years ago…)

The imper­ma­nence of icon­ic pop stars?

The thorny per­sis­tence of vision­ary artists in a con­sumer dri­ven econ­o­my?

Ah well, the lyrics have always been a bit open to inter­pre­ta­tion, but the sen­ti­ment is eter­nal.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Édith Piaf Sing Her Most Famous Songs: “La Vie en Rose,” “Non, Je Regrette Rien” & More

Iggy Pop Reads Walt Whit­man in Col­lab­o­ra­tions With Elec­tron­ic Artists Alva Noto and Tar­wa­ter

Iggy Pop Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s Clas­sic Hor­ror Sto­ry, “The Tell-Tale Heart”

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

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