Johnny Cash Sings “Man in Black” for the First Time, 1971

Recent­ly we fea­tured a video of Neil Young per­form­ing on The John­ny Cash Show in 1971. Today we bring you anoth­er extra­or­di­nary moment from the very same episode: John­ny Cash intro­duc­ing his now-clas­sic song, “Man in Black.”

It’s from a spe­cial called “John­ny Cash on Cam­pus” which aired on Feb­ru­ary 17, 1971. The per­for­mance was taped in front of an all-stu­dent audi­ence at the Ryman Audi­to­ri­um in down­town Nashville. A few days ear­li­er Cash had trav­eled across town to vis­it stu­dents on the cam­pus of Van­der­bilt Uni­ver­si­ty and, as he explains here in the intro­duc­tion, an idea began brew­ing.

1971 was a time of wide­spread stu­dent protests over the Viet­nam War and oth­er issues. The Kent State shoot­ings had hap­pened the year before. As a protest song, “Man in Black” shows Cash’s abil­i­ty to reach across gen­er­a­tions and appeal to audi­ences much wider than those usu­al­ly afford­ed to coun­try music.

When Cash first played the song at Ryman Audi­to­ri­um it was so new he need­ed cue cards to fol­low the words. The video offers a rare glimpse of an artist try­ing out a major work when the paint was still wet.

Relat­ed con­tent:

John­ny Cash: Singer, Out­law and, Briefly, Tele­vi­sion Host

The 1969 Bob Dylan-John­ny Cash Ses­sions: Twelve Rare Record­ings

The Coen Brothers Make a TV Commercial — Ridiculing “Clean Coal”

When famous movie direc­tors shoot tele­vi­sion spots, they usu­al­ly focus on the mer­its of a par­tic­u­lar prod­uct: Wim Wen­ders and Stel­la Artois, Wes Ander­son and the Hyundai Azera, Jean-Luc Godard and Schick after­shave. Above, you’ll see one by Joel and Ethan Coen meant not to endorse but to oppose. Premised on the notion that the name “clean coal” masks a not-espe­cial­ly-clean tech­nol­o­gy, “Clean Coal Clean” dish­es it out against the coal indus­try — “the most trust­ed name in coal” — with a satir­i­cal pas­tiche of house­hold clean­ing spray com­mer­cials. I’ll say this: if any pair of film­mak­ers can get me to watch a video about the pol­i­tics of coal, the guys behind Rais­ing Ari­zona, Bar­ton Fink, and A Seri­ous Man can. The clip just below offers a look into the pro­duc­tion of anoth­er “Clean Coal Clean” par­o­dy com­mer­cial, and a rare chance to see the Coen broth­ers at work.

Mar­la Dick­er­son in the Los Ange­les Times pro­vides back­ground on this “lat­est sal­vo in the media bat­tle between the coal indus­try and envi­ron­men­tal­ists over the role that car­bon fuels should play in the Unit­ed States’ ener­gy future.” Dick­er­son quotes a coal spokesman on how the “the indus­try spent more than $50 bil­lion since the 1970s installing pol­lu­tion-con­trol equip­ment and design­ing plants that are more effi­cient.” She also lays out the envi­ron­men­tal­ists’ argu­ment: “the coal indus­try’s mar­ket­ing cam­paign has left Amer­i­cans with the impres­sion that such ‘clean coal” tech­nol­o­gy already exists. Such a break­through has yet to be devel­oped,” she quotes the Sier­ra Cub’s coal cam­paign direc­tor as say­ing, “and may nev­er be at a cost that makes eco­nom­ic sense.” Of course, not even a genius auteur — not even two of them — can make up your mind on this issue. But with these spots, the Coen broth­ers and the Alliance for Cli­mate Pro­tec­tion reit­er­ate an invalu­able point: whether about house­hold clean­ers or ener­gy sources, nev­er believe the hype.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Wim Wen­ders Cre­ates Ads to Sell Beer (Stel­la Artois), Pas­ta (Bar­il­la), and More Beer (Car­ling)

Wes Anderson’s New Com­mer­cials Sell the Hyundai Azera

Fellini’s Fan­tas­tic TV Com­mer­cials

David Lynch’s Sur­re­al Com­mer­cials

Jean-Luc Godard’s After-Shave Com­mer­cial for Schick

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Khan Academy Releases New App for iPhone & iPod Touch, Giving You Mobile Access to 3600 Videos

Non-prof­it Khan Acad­e­my, an orga­ni­za­tion ded­i­cat­ed to “pro­vid­ing a free world-class edu­ca­tion for any­one any­where,” does so pri­mar­i­ly through online video cours­es and lec­tures. The over 3600 videos are free and access is open to any­one (any­where), allow­ing K‑12 stu­dents to study math, sci­ence, com­put­er sci­ence, finance & eco­nom­ics, human­i­ties, and test prep. The orga­ni­za­tion was found­ed in 2006 by MIT and Har­vard grad Salman Khan, who began by tutor­ing rel­a­tives and friends in Bangladesh while he worked as a hedge fund ana­lyst in the States. His videos became so in-demand that he decid­ed to quit his job and dis­trib­ute them full-time, fund­ed by dona­tions from indi­vid­u­als and major donors like the Bill and Melin­da Gates Foun­da­tion.

While there is a healthy amount of skep­ti­cism about the effi­ca­cy of Khan’s meth­ods, there’s no short­age of demand for the kind of instruc­tion he offers to stu­dents all over the world. To fur­ther meet that demand, Khan Acad­e­my has just released an app for iPhone and iPod Touch. Unlike the app released this past March for the iPad, the iPhone ver­sion does not allow inter­ac­tiv­i­ty. Users can view videos but can­not, as with the iPad app, down­load playlists, read sub­ti­tles, and log progress, mak­ing this ver­sion “more for con­sump­tion rather than full inter­ac­tion.” Nev­er­the­less, and whether crit­ics like it or not, this rep­re­sents a fur­ther step for dis­tance learn­ing, as edu­ca­tion increas­ing­ly moves out of the class­room and into the hand­held devices of net­works of stu­dents no longer restrict­ed by geog­ra­phy or phys­i­cal mobil­i­ty.

The app has been added to our brand-spank­ing new col­lec­tion: 200 Free K‑12 Edu­ca­tion­al Resources: Video Lessons, Web Sites, Apps & More

Via Makeuse­of

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Big Brother Captures the Better Qualities of Humanity

Thanks, I need­ed that!

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Hold Me Closer, Tony Danza and Other Misheard Lyrics for Your Listening Pleasure

As the Ramones so mem­o­rably did­n’t sing, “Twen­ty-twen­ty-twen­ty-four hours to go…I want a piece of bacon.” Sub­sti­tute ham, and you’ve got your­self Col­lec­tive Caden­za’s His­to­ry of Mis­heard Lyrics, Opus No. 13. The clas­si­cal­ly trained per­form­ers are noth­ing if not game. The visu­al aids are ridicu­lous­ly on mes­sage. The goal? A one-take musi­cal com­pendi­um of pop’s most com­mon­ly mis­ap­pre­hend­ed phras­es. (Pri­or projects include sub­ject­ing “What a Won­der­ful World” to six­teen musi­cal gen­res and a love­ly His­to­ry of Lyrics That Aren’t Lyrics.)

With all the cur­rent debate over the real world wor­thi­ness of expen­sive col­lege edu­ca­tions, it’s reas­sur­ing to see recent Jul­liard grads help­ing them­selves to the crown once sport­ed by Mr. Jaws and Dr. Demen­to.

And now, read­ers, it’s your turn to shake it like a polar bear nin­ja. Was your favorite aur­al fail acknowl­edged above? Or will you be using the space below to demand its inclu­sion in a fol­low up?

The Moon Disaster That Wasn’t: Nixon’s Speech In Case Apollo 11 Failed to Return

Endur­ing con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries aside, the 1969 moon land­ing (above) was a rous­ing suc­cess for the gov­ern­ment space pro­gram known as NASA. After a decade-long space race, dur­ing which it seemed to all observers that the Sovi­ets had the edge, the U.S. land­ed Apol­lo 11–carrying Neil Arm­strong and Buzz Aldrin–at the Sea of Tran­quil­i­ty on July 20, 1969.  Nixon was pres­i­dent, the Viet­nam War and its oppo­si­tion raged, and Leonid Brezh­nev helmed a stag­nant Sovi­et empire.

On the great list of Cold War what-ifs, the near-miss of the Bay of Pigs is sure­ly num­ber one. But for all the space nerds out there, this one ranks pret­ty high: What if Aldrin and Arm­strong nev­er made it back? This was, of course, a dis­tinct pos­si­bil­i­ty, and one that the Nixon admin­is­tra­tion pre­pared for. While we were told dur­ing this last pres­i­den­tial elec­tion that Mitt Rom­ney failed to write a con­ces­sion speech, William Safire, speech­writer for Richard Nixon, did write a speech in the event that Apol­lo 11 couldn’t make the return trip. The speech, enti­tled IN EVENT OF MOON DISASTER, is a some­thing of a terse and poignant mas­ter­piece. Below is an excerpt of Safire’s brief, hypo­thet­i­cal address:

These two men are lay­ing down their lives in mankind’s most noble goal: the search for truth and under­stand­ing.

They will be mourned by their fam­i­lies and friends; they will be mourned by the nation; they will be mourned by the peo­ple of the world; they will be mourned by a Moth­er Earth that dared send two of her sons into the unknown.

In their explo­ration, they stirred the peo­ple of the world to feel as one; in their sac­ri­fice, they bind more tight­ly the broth­er­hood of man.

In ancient days, men looked at the stars and saw their heroes in the con­stel­la­tions. In mod­ern times, we do much the same, but our heroes are epic men of flesh and blood.

Oth­ers will fol­low, and sure­ly find their way home. Man’s search will not be denied. But these men were the first, and they will remain the fore­most in our hearts.

For every human being who looks up at the moon in the nights to come will know that there is some cor­ner of anoth­er world that is for­ev­er mankind.

Would the space pro­gram have con­tin­ued had these two brave pio­neers died on the moon? Cer­tain­ly. But this moment of tri­umph would instead be remembered—like the Chal­lenger dis­as­ter of 1986—as a moment of great loss and a very seri­ous set­back for our for­ays into out­er space.

Read the full speech here at Let­ters of Note.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Michio Kaku Schools Takes on Moon Land­ing-Con­spir­a­cy Believ­er on His Sci­ence Fan­tas­tic Pod­cast

Dark Side of the Moon: A Mock­u­men­tary on Stan­ley Kubrick and the Moon Land­ing Hoax

First Orbit: Cel­e­brat­ing 50th Anniver­sary of Yuri Gagaran’s Space Flight

Ai Weiwei’s Parody of ‘Gangnam Style’

Some­how this one slipped by me, and per­haps by you too. In recent weeks, Chi­nese dis­si­dent artist Ai Wei­wei post­ed a video par­o­dy­ing Gang­nam Style, the unex­pect­ed­ly mas­sive hit record­ed by the South Kore­an rap­per Psy. To date, the music video for Gang­nam Style has been viewed 792 mil­lion times on YouTube. That has to be some kind of record. And every­one has had fun riff­ing on it. The North Kore­ans have used it to mock rival South Kore­an politi­cians. And Ai Wei­wei seems to be tak­ing a shot at Chi­na’s rul­ing par­ty (you see the hand­cuffs, no?). Or maybe he’s just blow­ing off some steam.

Ear­li­er this month, the artist also pro­duced a new video titled “How to Sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly Remove a Shiny Screw with Chi­nese Char­ac­ter­is­tics From a Mov­ing Vehi­cle in Eigh­teen Turns.” The video, writes Hint­mag, fol­lows Ai Wei­wei “on a bus mak­ing its way through Beijing—notably pass­ing by Tianan­men Square—while lit­er­al­ly unscrew­ing a screw. It’s thought to be a state­ment on the Com­mu­nist Par­ty of Chi­na and the new 18th Nation­al Con­gress, which took office two weeks ago.” You can watch it right below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Who’s Afraid of Ai Wei­wei: A Short Doc­u­men­tary

Ai Wei­wei and the Seeds of Free­dom

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Watch the World’s Oldest Working Digital Computer — the 1951 Harwell Dekatron — Get Fired Up Again

The next time you feel frus­trat­ed with your aging per­son­al com­put­er, just watch the video above. In these fifty sec­onds, the Nation­al Muse­um of Com­put­ing fires up the Har­well Deka­tron, also known as the Wolver­hamp­ton Instru­ment for Teach­ing Com­pu­ta­tion — or, nat­u­ral­ly, the WITCH. Hold­er of the title of the world’s old­est work­ing orig­i­nal dig­i­tal com­put­er, the WITCH, first built in 1951, went into retire­ment from Wolver­hamp­ton’s Stafford­shire Tech­ni­cal Col­lege in 1973. A three-year restora­tion of the com­put­er — all two-and-a-half tons, 828 flash­ing Deka­tron valves, and 480 relays of it — began in 2008. Now, hav­ing just fin­ished return­ing the machine to tip-top shape, they’ve actu­al­ly boot­ed it up, as you can see. “In 1951 the Har­well Deka­tron was one of per­haps a dozen com­put­ers in the world,” The Nation­al Muse­um of Com­put­ing’s press release quotes its trustee Kevin Mur­rell as say­ing, “and since then it has led a charmed life sur­viv­ing intact while its con­tem­po­raries were recy­cled or destroyed.”

The Har­well Atom­ic Ener­gy Research Estab­lish­ment pro­vid­ed the Deka­tron its first tasks, crank­ing out cal­cu­la­tions for­mer­ly done by hand. When it passed into obso­les­cence there in 1957, Stafford­shire Tech­ni­cal Col­lege took the mas­sive com­put­er off Har­well’s hands, and there it became the WITCH, used for teach­ing pur­pos­es over the next six­teen years. When it out­lived even its edu­ca­tion­al use, the WITCH went on dis­play at the Birm­ing­ham Muse­um of Sci­ence and Indus­try, and final­ly to dis­man­tle­ment and stor­age. Now it offers a whirring, clat­ter­ing, flash­ing, retro-tech­no­log­i­cal spec­ta­cle to new gen­er­a­tions of com­put­er enthu­si­asts. Some of them may be shocked to learn that, by virtue of sheer age, it does­n’t adhere to some of the very qual­i­ties of dig­i­tal com­put­ing they take for grant­ed: it does­n’t cal­cu­late in bina­ry code, but dec­i­mal code, hence the name “Deka­tron.” Though its prac­ti­cal appli­ca­tions would seem lim­it­ed in the mod­ern world, rest assured that some young hob­by­ist is even now pon­der­ing how to get the thing onto the web.

h/t: Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed con­tent:

A Short His­to­ry of Roman­ian Com­put­ing: From 1961 to 1989

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

William S. Burroughs’ “The Thanksgiving Prayer,” Shot by Gus Van Sant

“Thanks­giv­ing Day, Nov. 28, 1986” first appeared in print in Tor­na­do Alley, a chap­book pub­lished by William S. Bur­roughs in 1989. Two years lat­er, Gus Van Sant (Good Will Hunt­ing, My Own Pri­vate Ida­ho, Milk) shot a mon­tage that brought the poem to film, mak­ing it at least the sec­ond time the direc­tor adapt­ed the beat writer to film.

If you’ve seen Bur­roughs use Shakepseare’s face for tar­get prac­tice, or if you’ve watched The Junky’s Christ­masyou’ll know that he was­n’t kind to con­ven­tion or tra­di­tion. And there are no pris­on­ers tak­en here, as you’ll see above. Now time for a lit­tle Thanks­giv­ing din­ner.…

h/t Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Gus Van Sant Adapts William S. Bur­roughs: An Ear­ly 16mm Short

William S. Bur­roughs Reads His First Nov­el, Junky

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

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Even res­olute non-Dead­heads have been pass­ing around “Dead­head,” Nick Paum­garten’s recent New York­er piece on “the vast record­ed lega­cy of the Grate­ful Dead.” Like much of the most inter­est­ing mag­a­zine jour­nal­ism, the arti­cle digs deep into and pro­vides a primer on a sub­cul­ture that goes deep. Casu­al Dead lis­ten­ers know there exists a large and ded­i­cat­ed body of fer­vent­ly un-casu­al Dead lis­ten­ers, the fans who may have fol­lowed the band around on its tour­ing days but now col­lect every last one of its record­ed per­for­mances, offi­cial, unof­fi­cial, or oth­er­wise. “It was denser, fever­ish, oth­er­world­ly,” Paum­garten describes his first expe­ri­ence hear­ing a Dead boot­leg. “If you took an inter­est, you’d copy a few tapes, lis­ten to those over and over, until they began to make sense, and then copy some more. Before long, you might have a scat­ter­shot col­lec­tion, with a cou­ple of tapes from each year. It was all Grate­ful Dead, but because of the vari­abil­i­ty in son­ic fideli­ty, and because the band had been at it for twen­ty years, there were many dif­fer­ent fla­vors and moods. Even the com­pro­mised sound qual­i­ty became a per­verse part of the appeal. Each tape seemed to have its own par­tic­u­lar note of decay, like the taste of the barn­yard in a wine or a cheese.”

Do you aspire to join those Paum­garten calls “the tape­heads, the geeks, the throngs of worka­day Phil Schaaps, who approach the band’s body of work with the inten­si­ty and the atten­tion to detail that one might bring to bird­ing, base­ball, or the Tal­mud”? If so, the inter­net, and specif­i­cal­ly the Inter­net Archive’s Grate­ful Dead col­lec­tion, has cranked the bar­ri­er to entry way down. Its 11,215 free Grate­ful Dead record­ings should keep you busy for some time. “You can browse the record­ings by year, so if you click on, say, 1973 you will see links to two hun­dred and nine­ty-four record­ings, begin­ning with four ver­sions of a Feb­ru­ary 9th con­cert at Stan­ford and end­ing with sev­er­al ver­sions of Decem­ber 19th in Tam­pa,” writes Paum­garten. “Most users mere­ly stream the music; it’s a hun­dred cas­sette trays, in the Cloud.” If you need a break from these con­certs, in all their vari­able-fideli­ty glo­ry, lis­ten to Paum­garten talk mat­ters Dead with music crit­ic Sasha Frere-Jones on the New York­er Out Loud pod­cast (lis­ten here). And if you find the Dead not quite to your taste — gui­tarist Jer­ry Gar­cia famous­ly com­pared their ded­i­cat­ed niche audi­ence to “peo­ple who like licorice” — why not move on to the Fugazi archive?

Relat­ed con­tent:

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

NASA & Grate­ful Dead Drum­mer Mick­ey Hart Record Cos­mic Sounds of the Uni­verse on New Album

UC San­ta Cruz Opens a Deadhead’s Delight: The Grate­ful Dead Archive is Now Online

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Photography of Ludwig Wittgenstein

Philoso­phers have often rumi­nat­ed on the aes­thet­ics of pho­tog­ra­phy. Roland Barthes’ Cam­era Luci­da begins with a poignant memo­ri­al­iza­tion of his moth­er, as remem­bered through her pho­to­graph. Pierre Bourdieu’s Pho­tog­ra­phy: A Mid­dle-Brow Art won­dered why and how the medi­um became so wide­spread that “there are few house­holds, at least in towns, which do not pos­sess a cam­era.” And Jacques Derrida’s posthu­mous Athens, Still Remains, a trav­el mem­oir accom­pa­nied by the pho­tographs of Jean-Fran­cois Bon­homme, begins with the mys­ti­cal phrase “We owe our­selves to death.”

For Barthes and Der­ri­da, pho­tog­ra­phy was a medi­um of sus­pend­ed mortality—every pho­to­graph a memen­to mori. For anoth­er philoso­pher, the cryp­tic, poly­math, and noto­ri­ous­ly surly Lud­wig Wittgen­stein, pho­tog­ra­phy was a con­crete expres­sion of his pre­ferred means of per­cep­tion. As he famous­ly wrote in the Philo­soph­i­cal Inves­ti­ga­tions, “Don’t think, look!” For the unsen­ti­men­tal­ly cere­bral Wittgen­stein, a pho­to­graph is not a memo­r­i­al, but a “prob­a­bil­i­ty.” The philosopher’s archive at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cam­bridge includes the pho­to­graph above, a true “prob­a­bil­i­ty” in that it does not rep­re­sent any one per­son but is a com­pos­ite image of his face and the faces of his three sis­ters, made in col­lab­o­ra­tion with the “found­ing father of eugen­ics,” Fran­cis Gal­ton. The four sep­a­rate pho­tographs that Wittgen­stein and Gal­ton blend­ed togeth­er are below.

Of the com­pos­ite image, keep­er of the Wittgen­stein archives Michael Nedo writes that “Wittgen­stein was aim­ing for dif­fer­ent clar­i­ty expressed by the pho­tog­ra­phy of fuzzi­ness.”:

Gal­ton want­ed to work out one prob­a­bil­i­ty, where­as Wittgen­stein saw this as a sum­ma­ry in which all man­ner of pos­si­bil­i­ties are revealed in the fuzzi­ness.

Fuzzi­ness is a word rarely applied to Wittgenstein’s thought—at least his ear­ly work in the Trac­ta­tus Logi­co-Philo­soph­i­cus where his only goal is a clar­i­ty of thought that sup­pos­ed­ly dis­solves all the “fuzzy” prob­lems of phi­los­o­phy in a series of ellip­ti­cal apho­risms. The philoso­pher also called him­self a “dis­ci­ple of Freud,” in that he sought to “think in pic­tures,” and reach beyond lan­guage to the images pro­duced by dreams and the uncon­scious, “to enable us to see things dif­fer­ent­ly.” Wittgenstein’s pho­tographs are as strange­ly detached and mys­te­ri­ous as the man him­self. Salon has a gallery of the philosopher’s pho­tographs, which includes the por­trait of him (below), tak­en at his instruc­tion in Swansea, Wales in 1947. It’s an icon­ic image; Wittgen­stein half-sneers dis­dain­ful­ly at the cam­era, his steady gaze a chal­lenge, while the black­board behind him shows a riot of scratch­es and scrawls. In the upper right-hand cor­ner, the word RAW hangs omi­nous­ly above the philosopher’s head.

Wittgenstein’s grim por­trait presents a con­trast to the warmer recent pho­to­graph­ic por­traits of philoso­phers like those in Steve Pyke’s new book of philoso­pher por­traits Philoso­phers. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured Pyke’s por­traits of philoso­phers like Richard Rorty, David Chalmers, and Arthur Dan­to. For much a much less for­mal series of por­traits of con­tem­po­rary philoso­phers as every­day peo­ple, swing by the Tum­blr Looks Philo­soph­i­cal.

Josh Jones is a doc­tor­al can­di­date in Eng­lish at Ford­ham Uni­ver­si­ty and a co-founder and for­mer man­ag­ing edi­tor of Guer­ni­ca / A Mag­a­zine of Arts and Pol­i­tics.


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