Watch Franz Liszt’s “Un Sospiro” Played with the Mesmerizing “Three-Hand Technique”

“Piano edu­ca­tion is impor­tant for teach­ing polypho­ny, improv­ing sight-read­ing, con­sol­i­dat­ing the knowl­edge of har­mo­ny and gain­ing much more musi­cal abil­i­ties,” write Turk­ish researchers in the behav­ioral sci­ences jour­nal Pro­ce­dia. The stu­dent of the piano can advance solo or with anoth­er play­er in duets, play­ing what are called “four-hand pieces.” But learn­ing “to gain the atti­tudes of duet play­ing” pos­es a chal­lenge. Researchers Izzet Yuce­tok­er and Kok­sal Apay­din­li sug­gest a pos­si­ble inter­ven­tion — over­com­ing the dif­fi­cul­ties of play­ing four-hand pieces by learn­ing to play what are called “three-hand pieces.”

How, you might won­der, does one play the piano with three hands? It does not take an extra limb or a part­ner with one hand tied behind their back. Three-hand tech­nique is a dex­trous sleight-of-hand devel­oped in the 1830s, most promi­nent­ly by pianist Sigis­mond Thal­berg, a rival of Franz Liszt who could “appar­ent­ly not only counter Liszt’s leg­endary fire and thun­der with sub­tle­ty,” Bryce Mor­ri­son writes at Gramo­phone, “but who played as if with three hands. Three hands were heard, two were vis­i­ble!” Might this some­how be eas­i­er than play­ing duets?

One con­tem­po­rary review­er of Thalberg’s play­ing described it as “myr­i­ads of notes sound­ing from one extrem­i­ty of the instru­ment to the oth­er with­out dis­turb­ing the sub­ject, in which the three dis­tinct fea­tures of this com­bi­na­tion are clear­ly brought out by his exquis­ite touch.” The Pol­ish pianist and stu­dent of Liszt Moriz Rosen­thal claimed Thal­berg adopt­ed the tech­nique from the harp. “Such leg­erde­main quick­ly had nov­el­ty-con­scious Paris by the ears,” Mor­ri­son writes, “and an ele­gant white kid-glove rather than than a mere gaunt­let was thrown down before Liszt.”

Liszt would have none of it, derid­ing three-hand tech­nique as a trick unfit for his vir­tu­os­i­ty. Nonethe­less, “in 1837, Liszt, arguably the most charis­mat­ic vir­tu­oso of all time, was chal­lenged for suprema­cy by Sigis­mond Thal­berg…. Stung and infu­ri­at­ed by what he saw as Thalberg’s aris­to­crat­ic pre­ten­sions… Liszt replied with cor­r­us­cat­ing scorn.” He agreed to meet Thal­berg, not in a duet but a duel, at “the home of Count­ess Cristi­na Bel­gio­joso — lover of Lafayette, Heine and Liszt,” notes Georg Prodota at Inter­lude.

The Count­ess “gave a char­i­ty event for the refugees of the Ital­ian war of inde­pen­dence, and the con­tem­po­rary press com­pared the con­cert to the bat­tle between Rome and Carthage.” Count­ess Bel­gio­joso her­self (as did the press) pro­nounced the out­come a draw:

Nev­er was Liszt more con­trolled, more thought­ful, more ener­getic, more pas­sion­ate; nev­er has Thal­berg played with greater verve and ten­der­ness. Each of them pru­dent­ly stayed with­in his har­mon­ic domain, but each used every one of his resources. It was an admirable joust. The most pro­found silence fell over that noble are­na. And final­ly Liszt and Thal­berg were both pro­claimed vic­tors by this glit­ter­ing and intel­li­gent assem­bly. Thus two vic­tors and no van­quished …

His­to­ry was not so kind. Liszt is now cel­e­brat­ed as “the most charis­mat­ic vir­tu­oso of all time,” while Thal­berg is hard­ly remem­bered. And some of the most cel­e­brat­ed exam­ples of pieces played with three-hand tech­nique come not from Thal­berg but from Liszt, such as “Un Sospiro” (“A Sigh”), the last of his Three Con­cert Études, com­posed between 1845 and 1849, not only as per­for­mance pieces, but — as it so hap­pens — for the gen­er­al improve­ment of a pianist’s tech­nique. Hear pianist Paul Bar­ton play three ver­sions of “Un Sospiro” above and down­load the sheet music for the piece here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Piano Played with 16 Increas­ing Lev­els of Com­plex­i­ty: From Easy to Very Com­plex

12-Year-Old Piano Prodi­gy Takes Four Notes Ran­dom­ly Picked from a Hat and Instant­ly Uses Them to Impro­vise a Sonata

Acclaimed Japan­ese Jazz Pianist Yōsuke Yamashita Plays a Burn­ing Piano on the Beach

How the Clavi­chord & Harp­si­chord Became the Mod­ern Piano: The Evo­lu­tion of Key­board Instru­ments, Explained

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

A History of Punk from 1976–78: A Free Online Course from the University of Reading

From Matthew Wor­ley, pro­fes­sor of mod­ern his­to­ry at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Read­ing, comes the free online course Anar­chy in the UK: A His­to­ry of Punk from 1976–78. (Wor­ley is also the author of the book, No Future: Punk, Pol­i­tics and British Youth Cul­ture.) The course cov­ers the fol­low­ing ground:

In the late 1970s, a new youth sub­cul­ture emerged in the UK. This, of course, was punk, and a cul­tur­al revolt was under­way.

In this course, you will learn about the emer­gence of punk and its diverse range of mean­ings. You’ll use that lens to explore how youth cul­tures pro­vid­ed space for peo­ple to reimag­ine, dis­cov­er and chal­lenge the soci­ety and com­mu­ni­ties in which they were com­ing of age.

You’ll explore punk as a tool of expres­sion for young peo­ple, and how it relat­ed to pol­i­tics and events. You’ll con­sid­er punk’s rela­tion­ship with gen­der, class, race, sex­u­al­i­ty and protest, draw­ing com­par­isons with the youth cul­ture of today…

This his­to­ry course also has an empha­sis on the cre­ative side of punk. You’ll explore DIY punk design and writ­ing, epit­o­mised by fanzines. You’ll learn how to cre­ate a real-life fanzine of your own, all the way to pub­lish­ing and dis­tri­b­u­tion. This will help strength­en your com­mu­ni­ca­tion skills and encour­age inde­pen­dent thought and cre­ativ­i­ty.

Among oth­er things, the course will cov­er:

  • The diverse mean­ings of ‘punk’, its roots and its effects on British cul­ture.
  • The orig­i­na­tors and defin­ing events that led to punk’s spread across the UK and beyond.
  • The music: how the Sex Pis­tols opened the way for a wide range of sounds and bands.
  • Why fanzines became the per­fect medi­um for punk.
  • Punk’s influ­ence on pub­lish­ing, fash­ion, art and design.
  • Punk’s impact on issues of gen­der, class, race, sex­u­al­i­ty and protest.
  • Punk’s lega­cy and con­tin­u­ing influ­ence on soci­ety.

Anar­chy in the UK: A His­to­ry of Punk from 1976–78 can be tak­en for free on the Future­Learn plat­form. The course will be added to our list: 1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How the Clash Embraced New York’s Hip Hop Scene and Released the Dance Track, “The Mag­nif­i­cent Dance” (1981)

The Sex Pis­tols Riotous 1978 Tour Through the U.S. South: Watch/Hear Con­certs in Dal­las, Mem­phis, Tul­sa & More

The Sex Pis­tols Make a Scan­dalous Appear­ance on the Bill Grundy Show & Intro­duce Punk Rock to the Star­tled Mass­es (1976)

The Sex Pis­tols’ 1976 Man­ches­ter “Gig That Changed the World,” and the Day the Punk Era Began

The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain Performs The Clash’s “Should I Stay Or Should I Go”

Over the years, we’ve fea­tured The Ukulele Orches­tra of Great Britain per­form­ing cov­ers of var­i­ous rock classics–from the Rolling Stones’ “Sat­is­fac­tion” and Bowie’s “Heroes,” to Nir­vana’s “Smells Like Teen Spir­it” and Talk­ing Heads’ “Psy­cho Killer.” Record­ed in Lon­don back in 2005, this clip fea­tures the Orches­tra per­form­ing The Clash’s ‘Should I Stay Or Should I Go.’  The per­for­mance is an out­take from the DVD, Anar­chy in the Ukulele, which is avail­able in dig­i­tal for­mat. 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, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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 Laugh­ing Squid

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Seri­ous­ly Awe­some Ukulele Cov­ers of “Sul­tans of Swing,” “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” “Thun­der­struck,” and “Smells Like Teen Spir­it”

Jimi Hendrix’s “Voodoo Child” Shred­ded on the Ukulele

George Har­ri­son Explains Why Every­one Should Play the Ukulele

 

 

Hear The Velvet Underground’s “Legendary Guitar Amp Tapes,” Which Showcases the Brilliance & Innovation of Lou Reed’s Guitar Playing (1969)

What was the Vel­vet Under­ground? A Kim Fow­ly-like art project that out­lived its impre­sar­i­o’s inter­est? A main vehi­cle for Lou Reed, rock’s ego­ma­ni­ac under­dog (who was no one’s ingénue)? Was it three bands? 1. The Vel­vet Under­ground and Nico; 2. The Vel­vet Under­ground with John Cale; and 3. The Vel­vet Under­ground with Doug Yule after Cale’s depar­ture. (Let’s pass by, for the moment, whether VU with­out Reed war­rants a men­tion…)

Each iter­a­tion pio­neered essen­tial under­ground sounds — dirgy Euro-folk rock, strung-out New York garage rock, junkie bal­lads, psy­che­del­ic drone, exper­i­men­tal noise — near­ly all of them chan­neled through Reed’s under­rat­ed gui­tar play­ing, which was, per­haps the most impor­tant mem­ber of the band all along. Who­ev­er taped the Vel­vets (in their sec­ond incar­na­tion) on March 15, 1969, on the last night of a three-show engage­ment at The Boston Tea Par­ty in Boston, MA, seemed to think so. “The entire set was record­ed by a fan direct­ly from Lou Reed’s gui­tar ampli­fi­er,” MetaFil­ter points out.

The mic jammed in the back of Reed’s amp, a Head Her­itage review­er writes, pro­duced “a mighty elec­tron­ic roar that reveals the depth and lay­ers of Reed’s play­ing. Over and under­tones, feed­back, string buzz, the scratch of fin­gers on frets and the crack­le and hum of tube amps com­bine to cre­ate a mono­lith­ic blast of met­al machine music.” Known as the “leg­endary gui­tar amp tape” and long sought by col­lec­tors and fans, the boot­leg, which you can hear above, “serves as a tes­ta­ment to the bril­liance and inno­va­tion of Reed’s gui­tar-play­ing — both qual­i­ties that are often under­rat­ed, if not over­looked entire­ly, by crit­ics of his work,” as Richie Unter­berg­er writes.

It should be evi­dent thus far that these record­ings are hard­ly a com­pre­hen­sive doc­u­ment of the Vel­vet Under­ground in ear­ly 1969. Except for Mo Tuck­er’s glo­ri­ous, but muf­fled thump­ing and some of Ster­ling Mor­rison’s excel­lent gui­tar inter­play, the rest of the band is hard­ly audi­ble. Songs like “Can­dy Says” and “Jesus” — on which Reed does not cre­ate sub­lime swirls of noise and feed­back — chug along monot­o­nous­ly with­out their melodies. “It is frus­trat­ing,” Unter­berg­er admits, “to hear such a one-dimen­sion­al audio-snap­shot of what is clear­ly a good — if not great — night for the band” (who were far more than one of their parts). On the oth­er hand, nowhere else can we hear the nuance, feroc­i­ty, and out­right insan­i­ty of Reed’s play­ing so amply demon­strat­ed on the major­i­ty of this doc­u­ment.

The tape cir­cu­lat­ed for years as a Japan­ese boot­leg, an inter­est­ing fact, notes a Rate Your Music com­menter, “con­sid­er­ing this bears more sim­i­lar­i­ty to record­ings from the likes of [leg­endary Japan­ese psych rock band] Les Ral­lizes Dénudés than most of the Vel­vet Under­ground’s oth­er mate­r­i­al.” The record­ings may have well paved the way for the explo­sion of Japan­ese psy­che­del­ic rock to come. They also demon­strate the influ­ence of Ornette Cole­man in Reed’s play­ing, and the lib­er­at­ing phi­los­o­phy Cole­man would come to call Har­molod­ics.

“Alla that boo-ha about whether Reed real­ly was influ­enced by free jazz,” writes one review­er quot­ed on MetaFil­ter, “can be put to rest here as he pulls the kind of wail­ing hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry shapes from the gui­tar that it would take the god­dam Blue Humans to decode a cou­ple of decades lat­er.” It may well over­state the case to claim that “Lou Reed sin­gle-hand­ed­ly invent­ed under­ground music,” but we can hear in these record­ings the seeds of every­thing from Tele­vi­sion to Son­ic Youth to Pave­ment to Roy­al Trux and so much more. See the full track­list below, a “clas­sic setlist,” notes MetaFil­ter, “from around the time of their 3rd LP.”

I Can’t Stand It
Can­dy Says
I’m Wait­ing For The Man
Fer­ry­boat Bill
I’m Set Free
What Goes On
White Light White Heat
Begin­ning To See The Light
Jesus
Hero­in / Sis­ter Ray
Move Right In
Run Run Run
Fog­gy Notion

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Andy Warhol Explains Why He Decid­ed to Give Up Paint­ing & Man­age the Vel­vet Under­ground Instead (1966)

Hear Ornette Cole­man Col­lab­o­rate with Lou Reed, Which Lou Called “One of My Great­est Moments”

The Vel­vet Under­ground Cap­tured in Col­or Con­cert Footage by Andy Warhol (1967)

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

Hear the Amati “King” Cello, the Oldest Known Cello in Existence (c. 1560)

The Stradi­vari fam­i­ly has received all of the pop­u­lar acclaim for per­fect­ing the vio­lin. But we should know the name Amati — in whose Cre­mona work­shop Anto­nio Stradi­vari appren­ticed in the 17th cen­tu­ry. The vio­lin-mak­ing fam­i­ly was immense­ly impor­tant to the refine­ment of clas­si­cal instru­ments. “Born around 1505,” writes Jor­dan Smith at CMuse, founder Andrea Amati “is con­sid­ered the father of mod­ern vio­lin­mak­ing. He made major steps for­ward in improv­ing the design of vio­lins, includ­ing through the devel­op­ment of sound-holes” into their now-famil­iar f‑shape.

Among Amati’s cre­ations is the so-called “King” cel­lo, made in the mid-1500s, part of a set of 38 stringed instru­ments dec­o­rat­ed and “paint­ed in the style of Limo­ges porce­lain” for the court of King Charles IX of France.

The instru­ment is now the old­est known cel­lo and “one of the few Amati instru­ments still in exis­tence.” And yet, call­ing the “King” a cel­lo is a bit of a his­tor­i­cal stretch. “The ter­mi­nol­o­gy refer­ring to the ear­ly forms of cel­lo is con­vo­lut­ed and incon­sis­tent,” Matthew Zeller notes at the Strad. “Andrea Amati would like­ly have referred to the ‘King’ as the bas­so (bass vio­lin).”

Images cour­tesy of Nation­al Music Muse­um

The instru­ment remained in the French court until the French Rev­o­lu­tion, after which the bas­so fell out of favor and the “King” was “dras­ti­cal­ly reduced in size” through an alter­ation process that “stood at the fore­front of musi­cal instru­ment devel­op­ment dur­ing the last quar­ter of the 18th cen­tu­ry and through­out the 19th,” a way trans­form obso­lete forms into those more suit­able for con­tem­po­rary music. “By 1801,” Zeller writes, “the date that the ‘King’ might have been reduced, large-for­mat bas­sos were obso­lete, dis­card­ed in favour of the small­er-bod­ied cel­los.”

Zeller has stud­ied the exten­sive alter­ation of the “King” cel­lo (includ­ing a new neck and enlarge­ment from three strings to four) with CT scans of its joints and exam­i­na­tions of now-dis­tort­ed dec­o­ra­tions. The reduc­tion means we can­not hear its orig­i­nal glo­ry — and it was, by all accounts, a glo­ri­ous instru­ment, “a mem­ber of a larg­er fam­i­ly of instru­ments of fixed mea­sure­ments relat­ed togeth­er by pro­found math­e­mat­i­cal, geo­met­ri­cal, and acousti­cal rela­tion­ships of size and tone,” writes Yale con­ser­va­tor Andrew Dip­per, “which gave the set the abil­i­ty to per­form, in uni­son, some of the world’s first orches­tral music for bowed strings.”

We can, how­ev­er, hear the “King” cel­lo (briefly, at the top) in its cur­rent (cir­ca 1801), form, and it still sounds stun­ning. Cel­list Joshua Koesten­baum vis­it­ed the cel­lo at its home in the Nation­al Music Muse­um in Ver­mil­lion, South Dako­ta in 2005 to play it. “It didn’t take much effort to find the instrument’s nat­u­ral­ly sweet, warm sound,” he says. “It was incred­i­bly easy to play — com­fort­able, plea­sur­able, for­giv­ing, and user-friend­ly…. I felt at home.” Learn more about the lat­est research on the “King” cel­lo at Google Arts & Cul­ture and the Strad.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

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

Watch Price­less 17-Cen­tu­ry Stradi­var­ius and Amati Vio­lins Get Tak­en for a Test Dri­ve by Pro­fes­sion­al Vio­lin­ists

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

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

Scientists Create an Interactive Map of the 13 Emotions Evoked by Music: Joy, Sadness, Desire, Annoyance, and More

Most of our playlists today are filled with music about emo­tions: usu­al­ly love, of course, but also excite­ment, defi­ance, anger, dev­as­ta­tion, and a host of oth­ers besides. We lis­ten to these songs in order to appre­ci­ate the musi­cian­ship that went into them, but also to indulge in their emo­tions for our­selves. As for what exact­ly evokes these feel­ings with­in us, lyrics only do part of the job, and per­haps a small part at that. In search of a more rig­or­ous con­cep­tion of which son­ic qual­i­ties trig­ger which emo­tions in lis­ten­ers — and a mea­sure­ment of how many kinds of emo­tions music can trig­ger — sci­en­tists at UC Berke­ley have con­duct­ed a cross-cul­tur­al research project and used the data to make an inter­ac­tive lis­ten­ing map.

The study’s cre­ators, a group includ­ing psy­chol­o­gy pro­fes­sor Dacher Kelt­ner (found­ing direc­tor of the Greater Good Sci­ence Cen­ter) and neu­ro­science doc­tor­al stu­dent Alan Cowen, “sur­veyed more than 2,500 peo­ple in the Unit­ed States and Chi­na about their emo­tion­al respons­es to these and thou­sands of oth­er songs from gen­res includ­ing rock, folk, jazz, clas­si­cal, march­ing band, exper­i­men­tal and heavy met­al.” So writes Berkley News’ Yas­min Anwar, who sum­ma­rizes the broad­er find­ings as fol­lows: “The sub­jec­tive expe­ri­ence of music across cul­tures can be mapped with­in at least 13 over­ar­ch­ing feel­ings: Amuse­ment, joy, eroti­cism, beau­ty, relax­ation, sad­ness, dreami­ness, tri­umph, anx­i­ety, scari­ness, annoy­ance, defi­ance, and feel­ing pumped up.”

Many lis­ten­er respons­es can’t have been ter­ri­bly sur­pris­ing. “Vivaldi’s ‘Four Sea­sons’ made peo­ple feel ener­gized. The Clash’s ‘Rock the Cas­bah’ pumped them up. Al Green’s ‘Let’s Stay Togeth­er’ evoked sen­su­al­i­ty and Israel (Iz) Kamakawiwoʻole’s ‘Some­where over the Rain­bow’ elicit­ed joy.

Mean­while, heavy met­al was wide­ly viewed as defi­ant and, just as its com­pos­er intend­ed, the show­er scene score from the movie Psy­cho trig­gered fear.” The cul­tur­al influ­ence of Hitch­cock, one might object, has by now tran­scend­ed all bound­aries, but accord­ing to the study even Chi­nese clas­si­cal music gets the same basic emo­tions across to Chi­nese and non-Chi­nese lis­ten­ers alike.

Still, all respectable art, even or per­haps espe­cial­ly an abstract one such as music, leaves plen­ty of room for per­son­al inter­pre­ta­tion. You can check your own emo­tion­al respons­es against those of the Berke­ley sur­vey’s respon­dents with its inter­ac­tive lis­ten­ing map. Just roll your cur­sor over any of point on its emo­tion­al ter­ri­to­ries, and you’ll hear a short clip of the song lis­ten­ers placed there. On the penin­su­la of cat­e­go­ry H, “erot­ic, desirous,” you’ll hear Chris Isaak, Wham!, and a great many sax­o­phon­ists; down in the nether­lands of cat­e­go­ry G, “ener­giz­ing, pump-up,” Rick Ast­ley’s immor­tal­ized “Nev­er Gonna Give You Up” and Alien Ant Far­m’s nov­el­ty cov­er of “Smooth Crim­i­nal.” Anwar also notes that “The Shape of You,” Ed Sheeran’s inescapable hit, “sparks joy” — but if I have to hear it one more time at the gym, I can assure you my own emo­tion­al response won’t be quite so pos­i­tive.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Daniel Lev­itin Shows How Musi­cians Com­mu­ni­cate Emo­tion

Watch Clas­si­cal Music Get Per­fect­ly Visu­al­ized as an Emo­tion­al Roller Coast­er Ride

The Ther­a­peu­tic Ben­e­fits of Ambi­ent Music: Sci­ence Shows How It Eas­es Chron­ic Anx­i­ety, Phys­i­cal Pain, and ICU-Relat­ed Trau­ma

Neu­rosym­pho­ny: A High-Res­o­lu­tion Look into the Brain, Set to the Music of Brain Waves

An Inter­ac­tive Map of the 2,000+ Sounds Humans Use to Com­mu­ni­cate With­out Words: Grunts, Sobs, Sighs, Laughs & More

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

An Illustrated History of Depeche Mode by Anton Corbijn

Last year, pho­tog­ra­ph­er Anton Cor­bi­jn released a new book, MOOD/MODE, show­cas­ing work out­side the bound­aries of the rock pho­tog­ra­phy world in which he’d made his name. But no mat­ter whom he’s pho­tograph­ing, Cor­bi­jn brings a high seri­ous­ness to the endeav­or that he explains as part of his reli­gious upbring­ing in the book’s intro­duc­tion. “My Protes­tant back­ground always marked & influ­enced my por­trait pho­tog­ra­phy. Mankind. Human­i­ty. Empa­thy,” he writes, were the ideals he absorbed as a child. Such beliefs “kept me from doing work that lacked a deep­er pur­pose.”

Cor­bi­jn grew up in a small vil­lage out­side Rot­ter­dam, Jean-Jacques Naudet writes. “His father and many oth­er male mem­bers of his fam­i­ly were pas­tors. Life was strict and sim­ple, on Sun­day every­body dressed in black. Reli­gion was omnipresent.”

He moved away to the city and began tak­ing pho­tos of the music scene at 17. But the look and feel of his ear­ly life nev­er left him. It was this aes­thet­ic that attract­ed Depeche Mode, one of Corbijn’s longest-run­ning musi­cal col­lab­o­ra­tors and a band who were no strangers to brood­ing in black and mak­ing reli­gious ref­er­ences and appeals to human­i­ty.

“We were seen as just a pop band,” says Depeche Mode’s Mar­tin Gore. “We thought that Anton had a cer­tain seri­ous­ness, a cer­tain grav­i­ty to his work, that would help us get away from that.” Cor­bi­jn first helped them refine their look in mid-80s and “was able to give the Depeche Mode sound, that we were begin­ning to cre­ate, a visu­al iden­ti­ty,” says singer Dave Gahan. That iden­ti­ty is now the sub­ject of a new book from Taschen that col­lects “over 500 pho­tographs from Anton Corbijn’s per­son­al archives,” notes the arts pub­lish­er, “some nev­er seen before, as well as stage set designs, sketch­es, album cov­ers, and per­son­al obser­va­tions” about the “world’s biggest cult band.”


Cor­bi­jn became such an inte­gral part of Depeche Mode’s suc­cess, the band con­sid­ered him “a ver­i­ta­ble unseen mem­ber of the group,” writes Post-Punk.com, medi­at­ing their image not only through pho­tog­ra­phy but also live pro­jec­tions and, of course, music videos. They were able to achieve “a kind of cult sta­tus,” says Gore in the mini-doc­u­men­tary above, which also has an inter­view with Cor­bi­jn. The pho­tog­ra­ph­er walks us through his his­to­ry with the leg­endary synth pio­neers (whom he did not like at first), begin­ning with the first image he shot of them in 1981, when founder Vince Clarke was still in the band.

Clarke leans behind Gahan’s left shoul­der, the full band framed by a stone arch. To Gahan’s right is an enor­mous cru­ci­fix. It set a tone for the work­ing rela­tion­ship to come. “There has to be an ele­ment of the per­son in the pho­to­graph,” says Cor­bi­jn of his por­trai­ture, “but there also has to be an ele­ment of the pho­tog­ra­ph­er.” It took anoth­er few years after that first shoot, he tells The Guardian, but he real­ized “how good their music and my visu­als actu­al­ly went togeth­er.… They had soul.” You can order a copy of the new book, Depeche Mode by Anton Cor­bi­jn from Taschen here.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

A Visu­al His­to­ry of The Rolling Stones Doc­u­ment­ed in a Beau­ti­ful, 450-Page Pho­to Book by Taschen

Depeche Mode Before They Were Actu­al­ly Depeche Mode: Stream Their Ear­ly Demo Record­ings from 1980

Lost Depeche Mode Doc­u­men­tary Is Now Online: Watch Our Hob­by is Depeche Mode

Depeche Mode Releas­es a Goose­bump-Induc­ing Cov­er of David Bowie’s “Heroes”

 

Yes’ Rick Wakeman Explores Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and Why It Was the First Concept Album

In this 2015 pro­duc­tion, Yes key­boardist Rick Wake­man revis­its Anto­nio Vivaldi’s The Four Sea­sons, and makes the case for why “it was so far ahead of its time that it was actu­al­ly the first ever con­cept album, mak­ing Vival­di the world’s first rock super­star.”

“Uncov­er­ing the dark rumours sur­round­ing the church­es, orphan­ages and canals of Venice, Rick Wake­man sets out to inves­ti­gate the extra­or­di­nary life of Anto­nio Vival­di. From 18th cen­tu­ry scan­dals to inter­views with fel­low musi­cian Mike Ruther­ford, uncov­er the mys­tery behind one of the world’s favourite com­posers.” Rick Wake­man: Vivaldi’s Four Sea­sons appears on the “Rick Wake­man’s World” YouTube chan­nel.

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Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Authen­tic Vivaldi’s The Four Sea­sons: Watch a Per­for­mance Based on Orig­i­nal Man­u­scripts & Played with 18th-Cen­tu­ry Instru­ments

Rick Wake­man Tells the Sto­ry of the Mel­lotron, the Odd­ball Pro­to-Syn­the­siz­er Pio­neered by the Bea­t­les

Rick Wakeman’s Prog-Rock Opera Adap­ta­tion of George Orwell’s 1984

14-Year-Old Girl’s Blis­ter­ing Heavy Met­al Per­for­mance of Vival­di

Vivaldi’s Four Sea­sons Brought to Life in Sand Ani­ma­tions by the Hun­gar­i­an Artist Fer­enc Cakó

Hear Rick Wakeman’s Musi­cal Adap­ta­tion of Jules Verne’s Jour­ney to the Cen­tre of the Earth, “One of Prog Rock’s Crown­ing Achieve­ments”

 

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.