An Oscar-Winning Animation of Charles Dickens’ Classic Tale, A Christmas Carol (1971)

I HAVE endeav­oured in this Ghost­ly lit­tle book, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my read­ers out of humour with them­selves, with each oth­er, with the sea­son, or with me. May it haunt their hous­es pleas­ant­ly, and no one wish to lay it. — Charles Dick­ens

Some twen­ty years before Tim Bur­ton’s The Night­mare Before Christ­mas, anoth­er ani­mat­ed enter­tain­ment inject­ed “the most won­der­ful time of the year” with a potent dose of hor­ror.

Sure­ly I’m not the only child of the 70s to have been equal parts mes­mer­ized and strick­en by direc­tor Richard Williams’ faith­ful, if high­ly con­densed, inter­pre­ta­tion of Charles Dick­ens’ A Christ­mas Car­ol.

The 25-minute short fea­tures a host of hair-rais­ing images drawn direct­ly from Dick­ens’ text, from a spec­tral hearse in Scrooge’s hall­way and the Ghost of Marley’s gap­ing maw, to a night sky pop­u­lat­ed with mis­er­able, howl­ing phan­toms and the mon­strous chil­dren lurk­ing beneath the Ghost of Christ­mas Present’s skirts:

Yel­low, mea­gre, ragged, scowl­ing, wolfish; but pros­trate, too, in their humil­i­ty. Where grace­ful youth should have filled their fea­tures out, and touched them with its fresh­est tints, a stale and shriv­elled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twist­ed them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, dev­ils lurked, and glared out men­ac­ing. No change, no degra­da­tion, no per­ver­sion of human­i­ty, in any grade, through all the mys­ter­ies of won­der­ful cre­ation, has mon­sters half so hor­ri­ble and dread… This boy is Igno­rance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that writ­ten which is Doom, unless the writ­ing be erased. 

Pro­duc­er Chuck Jones, whose ear­li­er ani­mat­ed hol­i­day spe­cial, Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christ­mas!, is in keep­ing with his clas­sic work on Bugs Bun­ny and oth­er Warn­er Bros. faves, insist­ed that this car­toon should mir­ror the look of the John Leech steel engrav­ings illus­trat­ing Dick­ens’ 1843 orig­i­nal.

D.T. Neth­ery, a for­mer Dis­ney ani­ma­tion artist and fan of this Christ­mas Car­ol explains that the desired Vic­to­ri­an look was achieved with a labor-inten­sive process that involved draw­ing direct­ly on cels with Mars Omnichrom grease pen­cil, then paint­ing the backs and pho­tograph­ing them against detailed water­col­ored back­grounds.

As direc­tor Williams recalls below, he and a team includ­ing mas­ter ani­ma­tors Ken Har­ris and Abe Lev­i­tow were rac­ing against an impos­si­bly tight dead­line that left them pulling 14-hour days and 7‑day work weeksReport­ed­ly, the final ver­sion was com­plet­ed with just an hour to spare. (“We slept under our desks for this thing.”)

As Michael Lyons observes in Ani­ma­tion Scoop, the exhaust­ed ani­ma­tors went above and beyond with Jones’ request for a pan over London’s rooftops, “mak­ing the entire twen­ty-five min­utes of the short film take on the appear­ance of art work that has come to life”:

…there are scenes that seem to involve cam­era pans, or sequences in which the cam­era seem­ing­ly cir­cles around the char­ac­ters. Much of this involved not just ani­mat­ing the char­ac­ters, but the back­grounds as well and in dif­fer­ent sizes as they move toward and away from the frame. The hand-craft­ed qual­i­ty, cou­pled with a three-dimen­sion­al feel in these moments, is down­right tac­tile.

Revered British char­ac­ter actors Alis­tair Sim (Scrooge) and Michael Hordern (Marley’s Ghost) lent some extra class, repris­ing their roles from the ever­green, black-and-white 1951 adap­ta­tion.

The short­’s tele­vi­sion pre­miere caused such a sen­sa­tion that it was giv­en a sub­se­quent the­atri­cal release, putting it in the run­ning for an Oscar for Best Ani­mat­ed Short Sub­ject. (It won, beat­ing out Tup-Tup from Croa­t­ia and the NSFW-ish Kama Sutra Rides Again which Stan­ley Kubrick had hand­picked to play before A Clock­work Orange in the UK.)

With the­aters in Dal­lasLos Ange­lesPort­landProv­i­denceTal­la­has­see and Van­cou­ver can­celling planned live pro­duc­tions of A Christ­mas Car­ol out of con­cern for the pub­lic health dur­ing this lat­est wave of the pan­dem­ic, we’re hap­py to get our Dick­en­sian fix, snug­gled up on the couch with this ani­mat­ed 50-year-old arti­fact of our child­hood.…

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Neil Gaiman Read A Christ­mas Car­ol Just as Dick­ens Read It

Charles Dick­ens’ Hand-Edit­ed Copy of His Clas­sic Hol­i­day Tale, A Christ­mas Car­ol

A Christ­mas Car­ol, A Vin­tage Radio Broad­cast by Orson Welles (1939)

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­maol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Hear Brian Eno Sing The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows” as Part of The Best Live Album of the Glam/Prog Era (1976)

After leav­ing Roxy Music and its tour-record-tour-record cycle, Bri­an Eno became a stu­dio record­ing artist, cre­at­ing mul­ti­lay­ered mas­ter­works of pro­gres­sive pop, pro­to-punk, and ambi­ent envi­ron­ments, often on the same album. As a fan, how­ev­er, you had zero chance of see­ing Eno play any of this live. That is, except for one brief moment in 1976 that just hap­pens to be one of the best live albums of the glam/prog era: 801 Live. It’s pure light­ning in a bot­tle, and for a taster may we direct your ears to the open­ing num­ber, a groov­ing, funky, spacey cov­er of “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows” (writ­ten as T.N.K. on the track list).

Here’s the thing, this wasn’t even Eno’s band. This was instead the band of fel­low Roxy Music mem­ber Phil Man­zan­era, who formed an ad-hoc super­group of friends to play three gigs in Eng­land. With Roxy Music tem­porar­i­ly on hia­tus, Man­zan­era brought in Bill Mac­Cormick, from his oth­er side group Qui­et Sun, on bass; Fran­cis Monkman from Curved Air on key­boards; pop­u­lar ses­sion drum­mer Simon Philips; and gui­tarist Lloyd Wat­son, who Eno fans will know from his whacked-out slide on “Some of them Are Old” from his first album. Eno pro­vides the major­i­ty of every­thing else, list­ed in the cred­its as “key­boards, syn­the­siz­ers, gui­tar, vocals and tapes.”

It’s the vocals that are key, though, and his warm tones are per­fect for this re-arranged Bea­t­les clas­sic. They also ele­vate the album through­out from “decent live gig” to essen­tial lis­ten­ing. His ver­sion of Qui­et Sun’s angu­lar “Rong­wrong” is smooth and wist­ful, turn­ing a jokey tune into…well, into an Eno song.

The band only rehearsed three weeks before the three-city tour start­ed, begin­ning in Nor­folk, then play­ing the Read­ing Fes­ti­val, and final­ly end­ing in Lon­don at Queen Eliz­a­beth Hall, where the show was record­ed. For a set-list con­sist­ing of Eno songs, Man­zan­era songs, space jams, two 1960s cov­ers (the oth­er being the Kinks’ “You Real­ly Got Me”) and played by a band that hadn’t real­ly met a month before, it’s a rock-sol­id album. It also sounds fan­tas­tic, almost like a “live in the stu­dio” record­ing save for the applause in-between num­bers.

Eno has rarely played live since then, and when he has it’s been his ambi­ent music, most recent­ly at a one-night-only con­cert with his broth­er at the Acrop­o­lis in Greece. But to hear the vel­vety glam-god rock­ing out? It’s just 801 Live, my friends, and that’s all you real­ly need.

via @MrCompletely

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bri­an Eno Launch­es His Own Radio Sta­tion with Hun­dreds of Unre­leased Tracks: Hear Two Pro­grams

Hear Bri­an Eno’s Rarely-Heard Cov­er of the John­ny Cash Clas­sic, “Ring of Fire”

Bri­an Eno Lists the Ben­e­fits of Singing: A Long Life, Increased Intel­li­gence, and a Sound Civ­i­liza­tion

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the Notes from the Shed pod­cast and is the pro­duc­er of KCR­W’s Curi­ous Coast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills, and/or watch his films here.

60 Film Noir Movies Online

noir film pic

Dur­ing the 1940s and 50s, Hol­ly­wood entered a “noir” peri­od, pro­duc­ing riv­et­ing films based on hard-boiled fic­tion. These films were set in dark loca­tions and shot in a black & white aes­thet­ic that fit like a glove. Hard­ened men wore fedo­ras and for­ev­er smoked cig­a­rettes. Women played the femme fatale role bril­liant­ly. Love was the surest way to death. All of these ele­ments fig­ured into what Roger Ebert calls “the most Amer­i­can film genre” in his short Guide to Film Noir.

If you head over to this list of Noir Films, you can find 60 films from the noir genre, includ­ing some clas­sics by John Hus­ton, Orson Welles, Fritz Lang and Ida Lupino. The list also fea­tures some cin­e­mat­ic leg­ends like Humphrey Bog­a­rt, Peter Lorre, Bar­bara Stan­wyck, Edward G. Robin­son, and even Frank Sina­tra. Hope the col­lec­tion helps you get through the days ahead.

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 Essen­tial Ele­ments of Film Noir Explained in One Grand Info­graph­ic

The 5 Essen­tial Rules of Film Noir

Roger Ebert Lists the 10 Essen­tial Char­ac­ter­is­tics of Noir Films

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

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An Origami Samurai Made from a Single Sheet of Rice Paper, Without Any Cutting

Origa­mi artist Juho Könkkölä spent 50 hours fold­ing an origa­mi samu­rai from a sin­gle square sheet of paper, with no cut­ting or rip­ping used in the process. He describes his process on Red­dit:

Fold­ed from a sin­gle square sheet of 95cm x 95cm Wen­zhou rice paper with­out any cut­ting. The fin­ished size of the work is 28cm x 16cm x 19cm. Only dry and wet fold­ing tech­niques were used to fold the mod­el. It took 2 months to design and 1 month to fold, although I was work­ing on few oth­er projects dur­ing that time too.

It took some effort and exper­i­men­ta­tion to fold the tex­ture for the armor, while try­ing to sim­pli­fy it to be some­what man­age­able to fold. I fold­ed 4 rough test attempts in total, and all of them took 3 days to fold each. There are sev­er­al hun­dreds of steps to fold it from the square and there are prob­a­bly thou­sands of indi­vid­ual folds. The asym­me­try in the design allowed me to include sword on only one arm, while being able to make the char­ac­ter look sym­met­ric.

Find the fin­ished prod­uct below. Watch the cre­ative process, from start to fin­ish, above.

via Twist­ed Sifter

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:

MIT Cre­ates Amaz­ing Self-Fold­ing Origa­mi Robots & Leap­ing Chee­tah Robots

The Art of Tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese Wood Join­ery: A Kyoto Wood­work­er Shows How Japan­ese Car­pen­ters Cre­at­ed Wood Struc­tures With­out Nails or Glue

Design­er Cre­ates Origa­mi Card­board Tents to Shel­ter the Home­less from the Win­ter Cold

Down­load Clas­sic Japan­ese Wave and Rip­ple Designs: A Go-to Guide for Japan­ese Artists from 1903

Hun­dreds of Won­der­ful Japan­ese Fire­work Designs from the Ear­ly-1900s: Dig­i­tized and Free to Down­load

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George Harrison “My Sweet Lord” Gets an Official Music Video, Featuring Ringo Starr, Al Yankovic, Patton Oswalt & Many Others

To help cel­e­brate the 50th anniver­sary of George Har­rison’s clas­sic solo album, All Things Must Pass, the clas­sic track, “My Sweet Lord,” has now received an offi­cial music video. And it fea­tures a num­ber of cameo appearances–from oth­er for­mer Bea­t­les (Ringo Starr), to fam­i­ly mem­bers (Olivia Har­ri­son and Dhani Har­ri­son), to oth­er guests (Mark Hamill, Fred Armisen, Al Yankovic, Rosan­na Arquette). Enjoy.

Fea­tur­ing In Order of Appear­ance:

Mark Hamill
Fred Armisen
Vanes­sa Bay­er
Moshe Kash­er
Natasha Leg­gero
Jeff Lynne
Reg­gie Watts
Dar­ren Criss
Pat­ton Oswalt
Al Yankovic
David Gborie
Sam Richard­son
Atsuko Okat­su­ka
Rosan­na Arquette
Bran­don Wardell
Ringo Starr
Joe Walsh
Jon Hamm
Brett Met­ter
Anders Holm
Dhani Har­ri­son
Rupert Friend
Angus Samp­son
Tai­ka Wait­i­ti
Eric Ware­heim
Tim Hei­deck­er
Kate Micuc­ci
Riki Lind­home
Alyssa Stono­ha
Mitra Jouhari
Sandy Honig
Olivia Har­ri­son
Aimee Mullins
Court­ney Pau­roso
Natal­ie Palamides
Shep­ard Fairey
Clau­dia O’Do­her­ty
Tom Scharpling
Paul Scheer
Sarah Bak­er

via Boing­Bo­ing

Relat­ed Con­tent 

George Har­ri­son Wrote His Last Let­ter to Austin Pow­ers Cre­ator Mike Myers, Ask­ing for a Mini Me Doll (2001)

George Har­ri­son Explains Why Every­one Should Play the Ukulele

Watch George Harrison’s Final Inter­view and Per­for­mance (1997)

 

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The True Meaning of Queen’s Rock Epic “Bohemian Rhapsody”

We’ve all giv­en at least a lit­tle thought to “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody.” I myself hap­pen to have giv­en it more than a lit­tle, since I and all my class­mates had to learn the song and sing it togeth­er back in sev­enth-grade music class. But I haven’t giv­en it as much thought as music Youtu­ber Poly­phon­ic, whose exe­ge­sis “The True Mean­ing of Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” appears above. “The apex of the 1970s rock exper­i­ment,” Queen’s six-minute rock epic “some­how man­ages to take the trans­for­ma­tive struc­ture of pro­gres­sive rock and shove it into a form that could be a radio rock sta­ple and sell out are­nas world­wide.” It also deliv­ers “an oper­at­ic break­down, a leg­endary gui­tar solo, and icon­ic lyrics that per­fect­ly walk the line between ground­ed and cryp­tic.”

Like all the best lyrics — and espe­cial­ly all the best lyrics of elab­o­rate­ly pro­duced 1970s rock — the words to “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” invite all man­ner of read­ings. Poly­phon­ic opts to take the con­cept of read­ing more lit­er­al­ly, visu­al­ly ren­der­ing his inter­pre­ta­tion of the song through a set of tarot cards.

With­in this tra­di­tion­al frame­work, he makes the thor­ough­ly mod­ern choice of ground­ing these often fan­tas­ti­cal- or even bizarre-sound­ing lyrics in the sex­u­al iden­ti­ty of Queen’s lead singer. Born in Zanz­ibar to a con­ser­v­a­tive Indi­an fam­i­ly, the boy who would become Fred­die Mer­cury would have had more than one rea­son to feel out of place in the world. Do we have here an artis­tic sub­li­ma­tion of his per­son­al iso­la­tion, alien­ation, and self-rein­ven­tion?

When it was released in 1975, “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” met with a crit­i­cal recep­tion here and there impressed, but on the whole indif­fer­ent or per­plexed. Per­haps the song was sim­ply too much, not just musi­cal­ly but cul­tur­al­ly: it draws in a seem­ing­ly hap­haz­ard man­ner from the realms of cow­boys, of opera, of Chris­tian­i­ty, and of much else besides. But to Poly­phon­ic, all these ele­ments reflect the cen­tral theme of Mer­cury’s sur­vival in and ulti­mate defi­ance of a hos­tile world. “In the end,” his char­ac­ter real­izes, “peo­ple’s minds are not going to change, and his own iden­ti­ty isn’t going to change, so there’s no use hang­ing on in fear. Armed with this knowl­edge, Fred­die Mer­cury com­pletes his mag­nif­i­cent trans­for­ma­tion and ascends to rock god­hood.” Such an inter­pre­ta­tion was far from my own mind in mid­dle school, admit­ted­ly, but there were no doubt oth­er stu­dents who could feel the pow­er­ful inspi­ra­tion this son­ic spec­ta­cle con­tin­ues to offer.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Mak­ing of “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody”: Take a Deep Dive Into the Icon­ic Song with Queen’s 2002 Mini Doc­u­men­tary

The Joy of Expe­ri­enc­ing Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” for the Very First Time: Watch Three Reac­tion Videos

Hear How Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” Would Sound If Sung by John­ny Cash, David Bowie, Janis Joplin, Frank Sina­tra & 38 Oth­er Artists

65,000 Fans Break Into a Sin­ga­long of Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” at a Green Day Con­cert in London’s Hyde Park

1910 Fair­ground Organ Plays Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody,” and It Works Like a Charm

Watch Queen’s “Bohemi­an Rhap­sody” Act­ed Out Lit­er­al­ly as a Short Crime Film

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include 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.

Hunter S. Thompson Sets His Christmas Tree on Fire, Almost Burns His House Down (1990)

It was some­thing of a Christ­mas rit­u­al at Hunter S. Thomp­son’s Col­orado cab­in, Owl Farm. Every year, his sec­re­tary Deb­o­rah Fuller would take down the Christ­mas tree and leave it on the front porch rather than dis­pose of it entire­ly. That’s because Hunter, more often than not, want­ed to set it on fire. In 1990, Sam Allis, a writer for then for­mi­da­ble TIME mag­a­zine, vis­it­ed Thomp­son’s home and watched the fiery tra­di­tion unfold. He wrote:

I gave up on the inter­view and start­ed wor­ry­ing about my life when Hunter Thomp­son squirt­ed two cans of fire starter on the Christ­mas tree he was going to burn in his liv­ing-room fire­place, a few feet away from an unopened wood­en crate of 9‑mm bul­lets. That the tree was far too large to fit into the fire­place mat­tered not a whit to Hunter, who was sport­ing a dime-store wig at the time and resem­bled Tony Perkins in Psy­cho. Min­utes ear­li­er, he had smashed a Polaroid cam­era on the floor.

Hunter had decid­ed to video­tape the Christ­mas tree burn­ing, and we lat­er heard on the replay the ter­ri­fied voic­es of Deb­o­rah Fuller, his long­time sec­re­tary-baby sit­ter, and me off-cam­era plead­ing with him, “NO, HUNTER, NO! PLEASE, HUNTER, DON’T DO IT!” The orig­i­nal man­u­script of Hell’s Angels was on the table, and there were the bul­lets. Noth­ing doing. Thomp­son was a man pos­sessed by now, full of the Chivas Regal he had been slurp­ing straight from the bot­tle and the gin he had been mix­ing with pink lemon­ade for hours.

The wood­en man­tle above the fire­place appar­ent­ly still has burn marks on it today. It’s one of the many things you can check out when Owl Creek starts run­ning muse­um tours some time in the future.

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:

Hunter S. Thompson’s Har­row­ing, Chem­i­cal-Filled Dai­ly Rou­tine

Hunter S. Thomp­son, Exis­ten­tial­ist Life Coach, Gives Tips for Find­ing Mean­ing in Life

Free: Read the Orig­i­nal 23,000-Word Essay That Became Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1971)

The Dune Franchise Tries Again — Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #110

The world now has anoth­er Dune film, and this time Warn­er Bros. is seri­ous about a fran­chise, with at least one sequel planned and a pre­quel TV series in the works. With thou­sands of years worth of world build­ing, the books by Frank Her­bert and the world now being fleshed out by his son Bri­an Her­bert with Kevin J. Ander­son offer more source mate­r­i­al than Star Wars for poten­tial film­mak­ers to play with, but is this world any­where near as fun?

Your hosts Mark Lin­sen­may­er and Bri­an Hirt are joined by Bri­an Casey (broth­er of The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life’s Dylan Casey) and Three if By Space senior edi­tor Erin Con­rad to talk about whether this series is real­ly adapt­able to the screen at all, and we con­sid­er past attempts by David Lynch and Ale­jan­dro Jodor­owsky (rather slight­ing the tedious TV ver­sion). Is the new ver­sion more suc­cess­ful? More fem­i­nist? Less colo­nial­ist?

Is the lore just too packed into the books to con­vey ade­quate­ly? When Frank Her­bert jumps for­ward 3000 years, is that a path that movie­go­ers will want to fol­low, even if famil­iar char­ac­ters can still be present as talk­a­tive ances­tral mem­o­ries in new char­ac­ters’ heads or come back as clones?

For points of com­par­i­son, we touch on not only Star Wars, but Out­lander, Picard, The Orville, Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, Walk­ing Dead, The Dark Tow­er, and more.

Some arti­cles that fed into our dis­cus­sion include:

Fol­low Erin @ErinConrad2.

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion you can access by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop or by choos­ing a paid sub­scrip­tion through Apple Pod­casts. This pod­cast is part of the Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life pod­cast net­work.

Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast is the first pod­cast curat­ed by Open Cul­ture. Browse all Pret­ty Much Pop posts.

New York’s Lost Skyscraper: The Rise and Fall of the Singer Tower

New York is nev­er just one city; it’s always sev­er­al, inter­act­ing with – or push­ing out – each oth­er. This goes for the city’s archi­tec­ture as much as for its pop­u­la­tion. Its stra­ta of pub­lic works projects, cul­tur­al insti­tu­tions, depart­ment stores, hotels, hos­tels, hous­ing, and sky­scrap­ing office build­ings tell the sto­ry of its evo­lu­tion. Now, artists, urban­ists, and archi­tects protest face­less con­dos and big box stores. In decades past, they fought the face­less tow­ers that rose into the atmos­phere and blocked the sun. Such oppo­si­tion stretch­es back well over 100 years, to the turn-of-the-cen­tu­ry New York of the Flat­iron Build­ing and Beaux Arts won­ders like Penn Sta­tion, a build­ing, The New York Times writes, that “once made trav­el­ers feel impor­tant.”

“In the 1890’s,” writes Christo­pher Gray, Paris-trained archi­tect Ernest Flagg “denounced the grow­ing crop of sky­scrap­ers, and by the turn of the 20th cen­tu­ry he was hor­ri­fied by the dark­ened streets and raw side walls pro­duced by such build­ings.” Flagg’s opin­ions were of lit­tle inter­est to his New York employ­ers, so he “shift­ed his focus to reform­ing sky­scraper design” instead of decry­ing them out­right.

The endeav­or pro­duced a mod­ern mar­vel, “a one-of-a-kind tow­er” ris­ing above the New York City sky­line, notes the video above, “a total mas­ter­piece of archi­tec­ture and engi­neer­ing unlike any­thing seen before” — the Singer Tow­er, built for the Singer Sewing Machine Com­pa­ny in 1908.

So impres­sive was it for its time that Flag­g’s build­ing won com­par­isons to the pyra­mids of Ancient Egypt. For a brief moment, between the years 1908 and 1909, it was the tallest build­ing in the world, until it lost the title to the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Life Insur­ance Com­pa­ny Tow­er, anoth­er unusu­al build­ing unlike the rec­tan­gu­lar sky­scrap­ers against which Flagg railed. Uncon­cerned with max­i­miz­ing avail­able real estate, he “urged that sky­scraper tow­ers more than 10 or 15 sto­ries high should be set back from the prop­er­ty lines, so that the tow­er occu­pied only one-quar­ter of the lot,” writes Gray. “All four sides could then be treat­ed archi­tec­tural­ly, and ‘we should soon have a city of tow­ers instead of a city of dis­mal ravines.’ ”

Work­ing in a Beaux-Arts style, Flagg put his the­o­ries to the test in the Singer Tow­er, also called the Singer Build­ing, expand­ing an orig­i­nal 10-sto­ry base to 14 sto­ries, then build­ing a small­er 33 ‑sto­ry tow­er atop it. Capped by a dome with a lantern and flag­pole ris­ing from it, the tow­er’s “bul­bous top became one of New York’s best known land­marks.” Its lob­by had the ornate lux­u­ry “seen in world’s fair and expo­si­tion archi­tec­ture of the peri­od.” But Flag­g’s vision of “a city of free-stand­ing tow­ers” would remain the dream of a sin­gle archi­tect. Despite his work for leg­is­la­tion to curb sky­scrap­ers that took up entire city blocks, such build­ings, includ­ing the 34-sto­ry City Invest­ing Build­ing, would con­tin­ue to rise around the dis­tinc­tive Singer Tow­er.

Final­ly, Flag­g’s quirks proved too much for New York’s real estate elite. When the Singer com­pa­ny moved its head­quar­ters in 1961, inter­est in the Tow­er remained low “because the small square footage of the build­ing’s nar­row tow­er was anti­thet­i­cal to the boom­ing growth of mod­ern busi­ness, which demand­ed more, not less, office space,” writes Katie Hiler. Decon­struc­tion of the first sky­scraper “ever to be peace­ful­ly demol­ished” began in 1967, five years after the demo­li­tion of Penn Sta­tion. In place of the Singer Tow­er would rise the 54-sto­ry One Lib­er­ty Plaza, a har­bin­ger of things to come in the city’s new finan­cial hub, the World Trade Cen­ter.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Watch the Com­plete­ly Unsafe, Ver­ti­go-Induc­ing Footage of Work­ers Build­ing New York’s Icon­ic Sky­scrap­ers

The Sto­ry Behind the Icon­ic Pho­to­graph of 11 Con­struc­tion Work­ers Lunch­ing 840 Feet Above New York City (1932)

An Intro­duc­tion to the Chrysler Build­ing, New York’s Art Deco Mas­ter­piece, by John Malkovich (1994)

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

Before Bauhaus: How Goth Became Goth

“You look so goth today” one might say to a friend wear­ing too much eye­lin­er or black nail pol­ish or leather pants. But goth is so much more than just a look, the mak­er of the above video claims, walk­ing view­ers through a brief his­to­ry of the blues, rock, punk, post-punk, and new roman­tic waves made to the sound and style of what came to be called goth rock (though none of these artists described them­selves that way). The video essay claims goth has been hijacked by ersatz pre­tenders like Mar­i­lyn Man­son and My Chem­i­cal Romance, who might look the part but bear lit­tle resem­blance son­i­cal­ly or cul­tur­al­ly to fore­bears like The Doors, The Cure, The Birth­day Par­ty, or (this video’s stop­ping point) goth rock dar­lings Bauhaus.

Maybe the dis­tinc­tions seem like triv­ial sub­cul­tur­al squab­bling, but the essay rais­es an inter­est­ing ques­tion about the ori­gin of the word “goth” as a sub­cul­tur­al­ly descrip­tive term. It’s easy to see how some­one might mis­take oughties emo rock­ers for 80s goths; it’s per­haps more of a stretch to see how 70s and 80s goth rock car­ried forth the cre­ative spir­it of a medieval archi­tec­tur­al style or a 19th-cen­tu­ry lit­er­ary genre. Super­fi­cial­ly, we might say the oper­a­tive link is “dark and scary,” but if that’s all it takes to be “goth,” then we’re back to goth as cos­tume rather than a set of artis­tic tenets. Exam­in­ing the Goth­ic a bit more close­ly may give us clues to the dis­tinc­tive­ness of Goth.

Author Nick Groom iden­ti­fies a his­tor­i­cal ten­sion with­in the Goth­ic. First used in the 16th cen­tu­ry to describe the ornate pan-Euro­pean style that arose back in the 12th cen­tu­ry, the term was pejo­ra­tive, imply­ing that the glo­ries of Rome had been replaced by the bar­barism of the Ger­man Goths (despite the fact that Goth­ic style orig­i­nat­ed in France). The Goth­ic was revived in the 18th and 19th cen­turies — at first almost sin­gle-hand­ed­ly by Horace Wal­pole, who wrote the first Goth­ic nov­el and turned his home, Straw­ber­ry Hill, into a Goth­ic theme park of sorts. By this point, says Groom above, the Goth­ic had tak­en on dual con­no­ta­tions in Eng­lish usage — pos­i­tive­ly, the Goth­ic was a rebel­lious spir­it: The Magna Car­ta was Goth. Mar­tin Luther was Goth.

On the oth­er hand, the Goth­ic referred to the occult, to Medieval Catholic rites and super­sti­tions, to ancient ruins, mon­sters, and gar­goyles. This is the Goth­ic with which we’re famil­iar, but it comes to us — via Wal­pole, Bram Stok­er, Edgar Allan Poe, etc. — as kitsch. “Goth­ic fic­tion began as a sophis­ti­cat­ed joke,” John Mul­lan observes of Walpole’s weird nov­el, The Cas­tle of Otran­to. For all its invest­ment in the dark­er regions of human expe­ri­ence, the Goth­ic, and there­by the Goth, has always had a cer­tain sense of humor about itself, cre­at­ing cav­ernous sounds that evoke cathe­dral acoustics, per­formed with an iron­ic the­atri­cal­i­ty that dra­ma­tizes lit­er­ary, Roman­tic excess­es — qual­i­ties, it must be said, few bands before or since embod­ied quite so suc­cinct­ly as goth rock dar­lings Bauhaus.

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Goth

“A Brief His­to­ry of Goths”: From the Goths, to Goth­ic Lit­er­a­ture, to Goth Music

Three-Hour Mix­tape Offers a Son­ic Intro­duc­tion to Under­ground Goth Music

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

How George Martin Defined the Sound of the Beatles: From String Quartets to Backwards Guitar Solos

Peter Jack­son’s new doc­u­men­tary series Get Back allows its view­ers to spend about eight hours watch­ing the Bea­t­les at work in the stu­dio. In that time, a fair few non-Bea­t­les linger in the frame as well: from Yoko Ono to key­boardist Bil­ly Pre­ston to a cou­ple of grumpy young police­man try­ing to shut down the cli­mac­tic rooftop con­cert. If you’ve seen Get Back, you’ll also have noticed one fel­low some­what taller, old­er, and more taste­ful­ly dressed than every­one else, who, though often in the stu­dio, seems not to have had much to do. This, as every Bea­t­les afi­ciona­do knows, is George Mar­tin: the EMI record pro­duc­er who, sev­en years ear­li­er, had been tasked with help­ing the not-yet-Fab Four start prop­er­ly record­ing their songs.

From then on Mar­tin kept work­ing close­ly with John, Paul, George, and Ringo, and that, as Poly­phon­ic argues in the video above, grants him right­ful claim to the cov­et­ed title of “Fifth Bea­t­le.” Mar­tin, he explains, “was the pro­duc­er, com­pos­er, and arranger for most of the Bea­t­les’ career, and his con­tri­bu­tions are direct­ly respon­si­ble for some of the band’s most icon­ic songs.” Take “Yes­ter­day,” a sim­ple gui­tar-based num­ber enriched, at Mar­t­in’s sug­ges­tion, by a string quar­tet. Though Paul ini­tial­ly balked at this no doubt square-sound­ing addi­tion, he was per­suad­ed by the results. For the first time but not the last, the con­trast between the musi­cal back­grounds of band and pro­duc­er — the for­mer being obsessed with Amer­i­can rock-and-roll and the lat­ter hav­ing come out of the BBC’s clas­si­cal-music depart­ment — paid off.

The fol­low­ing year, Mar­tin con­tributed an even more pow­er­ful (and Psy­cho-inspired) string arrange­ment to “Eleanor Rig­by” as well as “all kinds of stu­dio exper­i­men­ta­tion,” includ­ing the run-in-reverse gui­tar solo on “I’m Only Sleep­ing” and the hyp­not­ic tape loops on “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows.”  Despite not belong­ing to a gen­er­a­tion espe­cial­ly invest­ed in the psy­che­del­ic expe­ri­ence, he made pos­si­ble the mind-blow­ing son­ic tex­tures of songs like “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er” and “I Am the Wal­rus.” The unusu­al vari­ety of sound in the lat­ter owes a great deal to Mar­t­in’s tech­ni­cal know-how and will­ing­ness to exper­i­ment: “If I said ‘I want the radio on it,’ George would make it so that I could mix it in, and the radio would be com­ing through the machines,” John remem­bers in the 1975 inter­view clip below.

John acknowl­edges that Mar­tin did­n’t just real­ize the Bea­t­les’ uncon­ven­tion­al musi­cal ideas, but con­tributed his own more tra­di­tion­al but no less effec­tive ones: “He’d also come up with things like: ‘Well, have you heard an oboe?’ ” Because “he taught us a lot, and I’m sure we taught him a lot,” not much in the Bea­t­les’ record cat­a­log is ascrib­able sim­ply to him or them. By the time of Get Back, the Bea­t­les had decid­ed to return to their live-per­form­ing roots by record­ing an album with­out stu­dio over­dubs, and much few­er orches­tras and back­ward tape loops. Those ses­sions put Mar­tin in the back­ground, but there­after he “returned tri­umphant­ly” on Abbey Road. From the orches­tra­tion on “Here Comes the Sun” to the “ethe­re­al harp­si­chord riff” on “Because” to “some of the great­est moments ever record­ed” on the side-two med­ley, that album stands as per­haps the most com­pelling tes­ta­ment to the achieve­ments of the Fab Five. 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear the Unique, Orig­i­nal Com­po­si­tions of George Mar­tin, Beloved Bea­t­les Pro­duc­er (RIP)

The Bea­t­les’ 8 Pio­neer­ing Inno­va­tions: A Video Essay Explor­ing How the Fab Four Changed Pop Music

George Mar­tin, Leg­endary Bea­t­les Pro­duc­er, Shows How to Mix the Per­fect Song Dry Mar­ti­ni

Break­ing Down the Bea­t­les’ Get Back Doc­u­men­tary: Stream Episode #111 of the Pret­ty Much Pop Pod­cast

The Beach Boys’ Bri­an Wil­son & Bea­t­les Pro­duc­er George Mar­tin Break Down “God Only Knows,” the “Great­est Song Ever Writ­ten”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include 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.


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