Download 397 Free Art Catalogs from The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Ear­li­er this year, the Guggen­heim Muse­um put online 65 mod­ern art books, giv­ing you free access to books intro­duc­ing the work of Alexan­der CalderEdvard MunchFran­cis BaconGus­tav Klimt & Egon Schiele, and Kandin­sky. Now, just a few short months lat­er, the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art has launched Met­Pub­li­ca­tions, a por­tal that will “even­tu­al­ly offer access to near­ly all books, Bul­letins, and Jour­nals” pub­lished by the Met since 1870.

Of the many resources you can explore, here’s one obvi­ous high­light: Met­Pub­li­ca­tions now makes avail­able 397 out-of-print titles, includ­ing lots of infor­ma­tive and visu­al­ly-packed art cat­a­logs from the muse­um’s past exhi­bi­tions. You can read the books online or down­load them in PDF for­mat (although I should warn you that the PDF down­loads take some time, so be patient). When you rum­mage around, you’ll come across works like these and more:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

MoMA Puts Pol­lock, Rothko & de Koon­ing on Your iPad

Google “Art Project” Brings Great Paint­ings & Muse­ums to You

The His­to­ry of West­ern Archi­tec­ture: From Ancient Greece to Roco­co (A Free Online Course)

Down­load 375 Free eBooks

 

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Alan Rickman Does Epic Violence to a Cup of Tea in Super Slow Motion

“Epic Tea Time with Alan Rick­man” comes from a video series called Por­traits in Dra­mat­ic Time, which fea­tures “an array of glacial­ly paced per­for­mances of the­ater artists and actors.” Accord­ing to its cre­ator David Michalek, the por­traits, each offer­ing “a phys­i­cal metaphor for an emo­tion­al con­di­tion,” were orig­i­nal­ly pro­ject­ed onto a build­ing facade at Lin­coln Cen­ter in New York City dur­ing a 2011 fes­ti­val. This par­tic­u­lar por­trait shows actor Alan Rick­man (you know him from Har­ry Pot­ter, Dog­ma, Die Hard, etc.) doing epic vio­lence to a cup of tea. As one YouTu­ber put it, “It’s a bit like watch­ing God cre­ate the uni­verse. A very angry God.”

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The Enduring Analog Underworld of Gramercy Typewriter

Are type­writ­ers going the way of vinyl?

Note to those cave dwellers who’ve yet to suc­cumb to Mad Men mania, it’s not that same route so trav­eled by the dodo. For a while it looked like the world’s sup­ply of Under­woods and Olivet­tis was being req­ui­si­tioned for hip­ster jew­el­ry, but their recent come­back is root­ed in their intend­ed pur­pose. These days, they’re near fetish objects for roman­tic young writ­ers con­ceived in the shad­ow of the Mac Clas­sic.

Mean­while, the likes of Cor­mac McCarthy and David McCul­lough, author of 1776, have yet to turn their backs on their beloved, quite like­ly lucky ana­log imple­ments.

All due respect to the young Turks seek­ing to dig­i­tize the dinosaur, but the real hero of the type­writer’s post mil­len­ni­al sur­vival is Paul Schweitzer, the ink fin­gered med­i­cine man at the helm of Gramer­cy Type­writer. His once-robust com­pe­ti­tion con­signed to the ash heap, Schweitzer has both the stub­born­ness and exper­tise to tough it out, in an ana­log lair that’s the antithe­sis of sleek.

No one will fault you if your heart lies with your var­i­ous screens. But let’s not for­get where you came from.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Mak­ing Paper in L.A., Pianos in Paris: Old Crafts­men Hang­ing on in a Chang­ing World

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the author of a half dozen some books includ­ing the decid­ed­ly ana­log Zinester’s Guide to NYC.

Ezra Pound’s Fiery 1939 Reading of His Early Poem, ‘Sestina: Altaforte’

In this rare record­ing from 1939, Ezra Pound gives a pas­sion­ate read­ing of his ear­ly work about a war­mon­ger­ing 12th cen­tu­ry trou­ba­dour, a poem called “Ses­ti­na: Altaforte.”

The poem was writ­ten in ear­ly 1909, when Pound was an ambi­tious 23-year-old Amer­i­can liv­ing in Lon­don. At that time Pound was in the habit of spend­ing hours every day por­ing over books in the British Muse­um read­ing room.

“I resolved that at thir­ty I would know more about poet­ry than any man liv­ing,” wrote Pound, “that I would know the dynam­ic con­tent from the shell, that I would know what was account­ed poet­ry every­where, what part of poet­ry was ‘inde­struc­tible,’ what part could not be lost by trans­la­tion, and–scarcely less impor­tant what effects were obtain­able in one lan­guage only and were utter­ly inca­pable of being trans­lat­ed.”

In pur­suit of this goal, Pound “learned more or less of nine for­eign lan­guages.” Among those was Occ­i­tan, or Langue d’oc, the lan­guage of the medieval trou­ba­dours. Pound had become fas­ci­nat­ed with the trou­ba­dours while studing romance lit­er­a­ture at Hamil­ton Col­lege and the Uni­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­va­nia. One fig­ure who espe­cial­ly intrigued him was Bertran de Born, the late-12th cen­tu­ry noble­man, war­rior and trou­ba­dour who was immor­tal­ized by Dante Alighieri in Can­to XXVIII of the Infer­no as one of the sow­ers of dis­cord in Cir­cle Eight, con­demned to be hacked to pieces over and over again for his role in foment­ing a quar­rel between King Hen­ry II of Eng­land and his sons Richard II (the “Lion­heart”) and Prince Hen­ry. In John Cia­rdi’s trans­la­tion of the Infer­no, Dante describes the hideous fig­ure of Bertran, his head cut off for the sin of sow­ing dis­cord between kins­men:

I saw it there; I seem to see it still–
a body with­out a head, that moved along
like all the oth­ers in that spew and spill.

It held the sev­ered head by its own hair,
swing­ing it like a lantern in its hand;
and the head looked at us and wept in its despair.

It made itself a lamp of its own head,
and they were two in one and one in two;
how this can be, He knows who so com­mand­ed. 

Pound would even­tu­al­ly trans­late sev­er­al of Bertran’s sur­viv­ing poems, but he found it dif­fi­cult. He decid­ed first to write his own poem in the voice of Bertran, incor­po­rat­ing blood­thirsty images from the medieval poet­’s own verse and set­ting the new poem in the 12th cen­tu­ry Ses­ti­na form, which orig­i­nat­ed with the trou­ba­dours of south­ern France. In his essay “How I Began,” Pound recalls the com­po­si­tion of “Ses­ti­na: Altaforte”:

I had De Born on my mind. I had found him untrans­lat­able. Then it occurred to me that I might present him in this man­ner. I want­ed the curi­ous invo­lu­tion and recur­rence of the Ses­ti­na. I knew more or less of the arrange­ment. I wrote the first stro­phe and then went to the Muse­um to make sure of the right order of per­mu­ta­tions, for I was then liv­ing in Lang­ham Street, next to the “pub,” and had hard­ly any books with me. I did the rest of the poem at a sit­ting. Tech­ni­cal­ly it is one of my best, though a poem of such a theme could nev­er be very impor­tant.

The Ses­ti­na is a com­plex form with 39 lines (six stan­zas of six lines each fol­lowed by an envoi of three lines) all end­ing with one of six words that are grouped togeth­er in each stan­za. For “Ses­ti­na: Altaforte,” Pound chose the words “clash,” “crim­son,” “oppos­ing,” “rejoic­ing,” “music” and “peace.” The images of clash­ing swords and crim­son blood earned Pound’s poem the nick­name “Bloody Ses­ti­na.” It was the first of his poems to make it into Ford Mad­dox Huef­fer­’s pres­ti­gious Eng­lish Review. When Pound recit­ed the poem in 1909 at a gath­er­ing of poets at a Lon­don restau­rant, he report­ed­ly put so much pas­sion into his per­for­mance that “the table shook and cut­lery vibrat­ed in res­o­nance with his voice.”

That same pas­sion can be heard in the record­ing above, made thir­ty years lat­er when Pound was vis­it­ing Amer­i­ca for the first time in 28 years. It was record­ed on May 17, 1939 in the Wood­ber­ry Poet­ry Room at Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty. For dra­mat­ic effect, Pound accom­pa­nied him­self on a ket­tle­drum. To read the words of “Ses­ti­na: Altaforte” as you lis­ten to Pound’s voice, click here to open the text in a new win­dow. And to hear all of Pound’s 1939 record­ings, go to PennSound, where you can hear those record­ings and many more by Pound.

Hugh Hefner Defends “the Playboy Philosophy” to William F. Buckley (1966)

“Mr. Hefn­er’s mag­a­zine is most wide­ly known for its total expo­sure of the human female,” says William F. Buck­ley, intro­duc­ing the guest on this 1966 broad­cast of his talk show Fir­ing Line. “Though of course oth­er things hap­pen in its pages.” Not long before, pub­lish­er and plea­sure empire-builder Hugh Hefn­er’s Play­boy mag­a­zine ran a series of arti­cles on “the Play­boy phi­los­o­phy,” a set of obser­va­tions of and propo­si­tions about human sex­u­al­i­ty that pro­vid­ed these men fod­der for their tele­vised debate. Hefn­er stands against reli­gious­ly man­dat­ed, chasti­ty-cen­tered codes of sex­u­al moral­i­ty; Buck­ley demands to know how Hefn­er earned the qual­i­fi­ca­tions to issue new codes of his own. Describ­ing the Play­boy phi­los­o­phy as “sort of a hedo­nis­tic util­i­tar­i­an­ism,” Buck­ley tries simul­ta­ne­ous­ly to under­stand and demol­ish these 20th-cen­tu­ry revi­sions of the rules of sex.

“The Play­boy founder is no match for the Catholic who snipes him at will with ‘moral’ bul­lets,” writes the poster of the video. “The acer­bic, dry Buck­ley is on attack mode with a con­ser­v­a­tive audi­ence, in moral pan­ic, behind him. The Catholic had the era of con­ser­vatism behind him. [ … ] In the 21st cen­tu­ry though, Buck­ley (passed 2008) would have a hard­er time defend­ing moral­i­ty with Hefn­er.” One won­ders how, were Buck­ley still alive, he and Hefn­er might approach these issues were they to revis­it this debate today. Times have cer­tain­ly changed, but I sus­pect Buck­ley would raise the same core objec­tion to Hefn­er’s argu­ment that loos­en­ing the old stric­tures on sex leads, per­haps coun­ter­in­tu­itive­ly, to more sat­is­fied, more monog­a­mous pair­ings: “How in the hell do you know?” Though this and cer­tain oth­er of Buck­ley’s ques­tions occa­sion­al­ly wrong-foot Hefn­er, the faith­ful can rest assured that he keeps enough cool to fire up his sig­na­ture pipe on cam­era.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

375+ Episodes of William F. Buckley’s Fir­ing Line Now Online: Fea­tures Talks with Chom­sky, Borges, Ker­ouac, Gins­berg & More

Yeah, Baby! Deep Pur­ple Gets Sha­gadel­ic on Play­boy After Dark

James Bald­win Bests William F. Buck­ley in 1965 Debate at Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty

Jack Ker­ouac Meets William F. Buck­ley (1968)

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

Watch Herbie Hancock Demo a Fairlight CMI Synthesizer on Sesame Street (1983)

Rea­son num­ber 1,834,334 to love the inter­net: a clip from a 1983 episode of Sesame Street star­ring Her­bie Han­cock demon­strat­ing the Fairlight CMI syn­the­siz­er to a group of kids, includ­ing a very young Tatyana Ali (who grew up to play Ash­ley Banks on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air). The Fairlight CMI (Com­put­er Music Instru­ment) was a syn­the­siz­er and sam­pler with 28 megabytes or more of mem­o­ry, used by a ros­ter of clas­sic elec­tron­ic artists like Jean-Michel Jarre, Jan Ham­mer, Art of Noise, and Depeche Mode, to name only a few.

And, of course, by Her­bie Han­cock, one of the first jazz pianists to embrace elec­tron­ic key­boards (and who’s also been known to rock a key­tar). The Fairlight, pro­duced in sev­er­al ver­sions between 1979 and 1985 by an Aus­tralian (!) com­pa­ny, was state-of-the-art for its time. In this clip, its oper­a­tion appears to be a two man job, since Han­cock is backed by an engi­neer, Clive.

In anoth­er demon­stra­tion of the Fairlight’s capa­bil­i­ties (below), however–from hard-to-find doc­u­men­tary I Love Quin­cy–Her­bie works alone. Well, almost. He’s joined by Quin­cy Jones, just kind of hang­ing out while Han­cock does his thing. Jones says the sounds Han­cock makes on the syn­the­siz­er are like “sculpt­ing… tak­ing a pure elec­tric sig­nal and sculpt­ing it into some­thing of beau­ty.” Worth not­ing in the video: this ver­sion of the Fairlight incor­po­rat­ed a touch­screen mon­i­tor, with a sty­lus to allow the engi­neer to high­light and select oper­a­tions. Watch Her­bie demon­strate the Fairlight’s capa­bil­i­ties as a syn­the­siz­er, sam­pler, and sequencer. As fas­ci­nat­ing as music nerds will find this, those fans out there who aren’t gear­heads should still appre­ci­ate these ear­ly clips of Han­cock, whether hors­ing around with the Sesame Street kids or geek­ing out in the stu­dio with Quin­cy Jones.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Her­bie Han­cock Is Now Teach­ing His First Online Course on Jazz

All Hail the Beat: How the 1980 Roland TR-808 Drum Machine Changed Pop Music

Her­bie Han­cock: All That’s Jazz. A Doc­u­men­tary

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

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.

Commuters Play Beethoven’s “Bus Station Sonata” in the UK

At the Hay­mar­ket Bus Sta­tion in New­cas­tle (UK), com­muters and passers-by were invit­ed to con­tribute a note or two to a Beethoven Sonata. Men and women, young and old, peo­ple from dif­fer­ent walks of life — they all lent a hand and shared in a cen­turies-old musi­cal tra­di­tion. Com­pared to some of the elab­o­rate flash­mob per­for­mances we’ve seen, this pre­sen­ta­tion was rather sim­ple. But, as you know, some­times less is more.

Thanks Anton for send­ing our way.

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“Name That Tune” at the Bob Dylan Concert (Echoes of Newport, 1965)

On Thurs­day night, I final­ly under­stood it — how fans felt back in July 1965, when Bob Dylan strapped on an elec­tric gui­tar and did son­ic vio­lence to the norms and expec­ta­tions of the New­port Folk Fes­ti­val. Fans want­ed to hear the Bob Dylan they knew and loved — the folk Dylan who played a sim­ple acoustic gui­tar, har­mon­i­ca and not much more. But the times were-a-changin, and they got some­thing dif­fer­ent, very dif­fer­ent. See here.

Almost 50 years lat­er, Dylan keeps giv­ing his fans a dif­fer­ent Dylan. When the Nev­er End­ing Tour rolled through San Fran­cis­co this week, he played songs the fans came to hear — clas­sics like Love Minus Zero/No Lim­it, Like A Rolling Stone, Tan­gled Up in Blue, and A Hard Rain’s A‑Gonna Fall. Except he set them to new melodies, and between his grav­el­ly voice and the grav­el­ly sound sys­tem, it took some fans min­utes to real­ize what they were lis­ten­ing to. I cite one exam­ple above. In how many min­utes can you name that tune?

(Note: The song above was orig­i­nal­ly record­ed in Dres­den in July. It was also played in SF this past week.)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

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

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Watch Scarlet Street, Fritz Lang’s Censored Noir Film, Starring the Great Edward G. Robinson (1945)

scarlet_street

A mil­que­toast cashier. A schem­ing pros­ti­tute. Her even hard­er-schem­ing boyfriend. The mis­rep­re­sen­ta­tion of art. A faked death. A sud­den, very real, mur­der. All of these hard noir ele­ments find their way into Scar­let Street, Fritz Lang’s ini­tial­ly dis­missed but sev­er­al times re-eval­u­at­ed 1945 crime pic­ture. We remem­ber the Aus­tri­an auteur, and right­ly so, for such immor­tal pieces of ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry Euro­pean cin­e­ma as Metrop­o­lis, M, and the Dr. Mabuse tril­o­gy.

But from the mid-thir­ties onward, Lang direct­ed Eng­lish-lan­guage films pro­lif­i­cal­ly, often using nov­els as source mate­r­i­al. You can watch Scar­let Street, a work from that peri­od which has drawn more and more cinephilic atten­tion since its release, free online. Star­ring Edward G. Robin­son as a cloth­ing-store clerk and hap­less part-time painter along­side Joan Ben­nett as his work­ing-girl object of frus­trat­ed desire, the film appeared as the sec­ond adap­ta­tion of Georges de La Fouchardière’s book La Chi­enne, the first hav­ing come from Jean Renoir.

“An uncom­pro­mis­ing sub­ver­sive remake,” crit­ic Den­nis Schwartz calls Scar­let Street, “with a par­tic­u­lar­ly acute Amer­i­can accent.” In Cin­e­ma Jour­nal, Matthew Bern­stein called it “dense, well-struc­tured film noir.” But the pic­ture came in for a crit­i­cal drub­bing at first: the New York Times’ Bosley Crowther called it “a slug­gish and man­u­fac­tured tale,” and Time bemoaned its “painful­ly obvi­ous sto­ry.” But what­ev­er the argu­ments about the movie’s artis­tic mer­it, it clear­ly touched a nerve with the New York State Cen­sor Board, who banned it on grounds that it “would tend to cor­rupt morals.“ ‘ The city cen­sor of Atlanta cit­ed “the sor­did life it por­trayed, the treat­ment of illic­it love, [and] the fail­ure of the char­ac­ters to receive ortho­dox pun­ish­ment from the police,” call­ing it “licen­tious, pro­fane, obscure and con­trary to the good order of the com­mu­ni­ty.” Does Scar­let Street retain its pow­er to shock? Did Lang craft it with a com­plex­i­ty and ele­gance not obvi­ous to Amer­i­can audi­ences of the mid-for­ties? Click play and find out for your­self.

Scar­let Street appears in our col­lec­tion of Free Film Noir Movies and our larg­er col­lec­tion of 500 Free Movies Online

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

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch The Hitch-Hik­er by Ida Lupino (the Only Female Direc­tor of a 1950s Noir Film)

Orson Welles’ The Stranger: Watch The Full Movie Online

Watch D.O.A., Rudolph Maté’s “Inno­v­a­tive and Down­right Twist­ed” Noir Film (1950)

Cartoonist Kate Beaton Plays on Literary Classics — The Great Gatsby, Julius Caesar & More

Lis­ten, Old Sport, as far as that Leonar­do DiCaprio Gats­by movie goes, I haven’t seen it. But I’ll bet a swim­ming pool of gin it’s nowhere near as  fun­ny as car­toon­ist Kate Beat­on’s 3‑panel takes on F. Scott Fitzger­ald’s clas­sic nov­el.

Of course, F. Scot­t’s orig­i­nal was­n’t exact­ly what one would call a knee slap­per — where­as Beat­on’s com­ic col­lec­tion, Hark! A Vagrant, mer­its a per­ma­nent spot in one’s bath­room library. Beat­on’s take on The Great Gats­by is by no means a lit­er­al adap­ta­tion, but her mean-faced, ven­om-tongued cre­ations get it spir­i­tu­al­ly right. They also do a num­ber on Bronte, Jane Austen, Niet­zsche and Shake­speare’s Julius Cae­sar, to name but a few of the author’s oth­er lit­er­ary tar­gets. (See her archive here.) Not bad for a Cana­di­an with degrees in His­to­ry and Anthro­pol­o­gy. Is it wrong to think Zel­da would approve?

At any rate, it’s high time some­one blew the lid off of what’s behind the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eck­el­berg. Grat­i­fy­ing, too, to see Tom and Daisy’s child get­ting some long past due con­sid­er­a­tion. Now that I think about it, our com­pul­sion to keep beat­ing on boats against the cur­rent is kind of fun­ny. Top draw­er stuff, Old Sport, top draw­er stuff.

Find works by F. Scott Fitzger­ald in our col­lec­tions of Free Audio Books and Free eBooks.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Phi­los­o­phy Made Fun: Read the Free Pre­view Edi­tion of the Action Philoso­phers! Com­ic

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the author of a half dozen some books includ­ing No Touch Mon­key! And Oth­er Trav­el Lessons Learned Too Late.

Muhammad Ali Plans to Fight on Mars in Lost 1966 Interview

Per­haps you remem­ber the short ani­mat­ed film, I Met the Wal­rus. It revis­its the moment when Jer­ry Lev­i­tan, a 14-year-old kid, slipped into John Lennon’s Toron­to hotel room in 1969 and asked the Bea­t­le for an inter­view. And he got one. The film pro­vides all the proof you need.

Now here’s a nice com­pan­ion sto­ry. It’s the sum­mer of 1966, and 17-year-old Michael Ais­ner approach­es Muham­mad Ali, then the heavy­weight cham­pi­on of the world, and asks him to appear on his high school radio show. The kid per­sists and even­tu­al­ly lands the inter­view. The audio seg­ment, rarely heard until now, reminds us what makes Ali so charis­mat­ic and endear­ing. The champ answers some of Ais­ner’s ques­tions seri­ous­ly. But he also launch­es into a hilar­i­ous riff about how he plans to take a space­ship to Mars, bat­tle the Mar­t­ian champ (named some­thing like Win­nekawana­ka) and there­by win the “Uni­ver­sal Title.” Pret­ty price­less. The com­plete audio seg­ment appears here.

Fol­low us on Face­book and Twit­ter, and share the cul­tur­al good­ness with your friends!


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