ABBA Set to Release Their First Album in 40 Years: Hear Two New Tracks, and Get a Glimpse of Their Digital Live Show

45 years ago, ABBA’s music was inescapable. 25 years ago, it had become a seem­ing­ly unwel­come reminder of the inani­ties of the 1970s in gen­er­al and the days of dis­co in par­tic­u­lar. But now, it’s revered: rare is the 21st-cen­tu­ry music crit­ic who absolute­ly refus­es to acknowl­edge the Swedish four­some’s mas­tery of pure pop song­writ­ing and stu­dio pro­duc­tion. With cur­rent musi­cians, too, nam­ing ABBA among their inspi­ra­tions with­out embar­rass­ment, the time has sure­ly come for ABBA them­selves to return to the spot­light — a spot­light that first illu­mi­nat­ed them for the world in 1974, when their per­for­mance of “Water­loo” won the Euro­vi­sion Song Con­test.

ABBA’s streak last­ed until the ear­ly 1980s, end­ing in a hia­tus that ulti­mate­ly stretched out to some 40 years. Pop cul­ture has changed quite a bit in that time, but tech­nol­o­gy much more so. The band have thus put togeth­er a thor­ough­ly mod­ern come­back involv­ing not just a new album, but also a live show star­ring com­put­er-gen­er­at­ed ver­sions of mem­bers Björn Ulvaeus, Ben­ny Ander­s­son, Agnetha Fält­skog, and Anni-Frid Lyn­gstad — “Abbatars,” as Ulvaeus calls them.

Begin­ning next year, they’ll play ABBA’s hits in a cus­tom-built 3,000-seat are­na in Lon­don’s Olympic park, engi­neered to accom­pa­ny each song with their own elab­o­rate light show. Ani­mat­ed with motion-cap­tured per­for­mances by the real ABBA, their appear­ance has been mod­eled after the way the band looked in the 1970s (if not quite the way they dressed).

Titled Voy­age, this dig­i­tal ABBA expe­ri­ence will open in 2022, thus solv­ing the prob­lem of tour­ing that had long dis­cour­aged a reunion. “We would like peo­ple to remem­ber us as we were,” Ulvaeus said in the late 2000s. “Young, exu­ber­ant, full of ener­gy and ambi­tion.” But with all four now-sep­tu­a­ge­nar­i­an mem­bers still alive and able to make music, remain­ing whol­ly inac­tive seems to have start­ed feel­ing like a shame. They made their return to the stu­dio in 2018, record­ing the new songs “I Still Have Faith in You” and “Don’t Shut Me Down,” both of which will appear on the new album, also called Voy­age, com­ing out in Novem­ber. All this will bring back mem­o­ries for long­time fans, as well as pro­vide a thrilling expe­ri­ence for their many lis­ten­ers too young to have expe­ri­enced an ABBA show or album release before. But I can’t be the only mem­ber of my gen­er­a­tion won­der­ing if, twen­ty years from now, we’ll be buy­ing tick­ets for a dig­i­tal­ly re-cre­at­ed Ace of Base.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How ABBA Won Euro­vi­sion and Became Inter­na­tion­al Pop Stars (1974)

When ABBA Wrote Music for the Cold War-Themed Musi­cal, Chess: “One of the Best Rock Scores Ever Pro­duced for the The­atre” (1984)

Lis­ten to ABBA’s “Danc­ing Queen” Played on a 1914 Fair­ground Organ

This Man Flew to Japan to Sing ABBA’s “Mam­ma Mia” in a Big Cold Riv­er

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.

How Mushroom Time-Lapses Are Filmed: A Glimpse Into the Pioneering Time-Lapse Cinematography Behind the Netflix Documentary Fantastic Fungi

Mush­rooms are hav­ing a moment, thanks in part to pio­neer­ing time-lapse cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Louie Schwartzberg’s doc­u­men­tary Fan­tas­tic Fun­gi.

Now stream­ing on Net­flix, the film has giv­en rise to a bumper crop of funghi fantat­ics, who sprang up like, well, mush­rooms, to join the exist­ing ranks of cit­i­zen sci­en­tistsculi­nary fansweek­end for­agersama­teur grow­ers, and spir­i­tu­al seek­ers.

Schwartzberg, who ear­li­er visu­al­ized pol­li­na­tion from the flower’s point of view in the Meryl Streep-nar­rat­ed Wings of Life, is a true believ­er in the pow­er of mush­rooms, cit­ing funghi’s role in soil cre­ation and health, and their poten­tial for rem­e­dy­ing a num­ber of press­ing glob­al prob­lems, as well as a host of human ail­ments.

Fan­tas­tic Funghi focus­es on sev­en pil­lars of ben­e­fits brought to the table by the fun­gal king­dom and its Inter­net-like under­ground net­work of myceli­um:

  1. Bio­di­ver­si­ty

A num­ber of projects are explor­ing the ways in which the myceli­um world can pull us back from the bring of  deser­ti­za­tion, water short­age, food short­age, bee colony col­lapsetox­ic con­t­a­m­i­nants, nuclear dis­as­ters, oil spills, plas­tic pol­lu­tion, and glob­al warm­ing.

  1. Inno­va­tion

Mush­room-relat­ed indus­tries are eager to press funghi into ser­vice as envi­ron­men­tal­ly sus­tain­able faux leatherbuild­ing mate­ri­als, pack­ag­ing, and meat alter­na­tives.

  1. Food

From fine din­ing to for­ag­ing off-the-grid, mush­rooms are prized for their culi­nary and nutri­tion­al ben­e­fits.

  1. Phys­i­cal Health and Well­ness

Will the hum­ble mush­room prove mighty enough to do an end run around pow­er­ful drug com­pa­nies as a source of inte­gra­tive med­i­cine to help com­bat dia­betes, liv­er dis­ease, inflam­ma­tion, insom­nia and cog­ni­tive decline?

  1. Men­tal Health

Researchers at Johns Hop­kinsUCLA, and NYU are run­ning clin­i­cal tri­als on the ben­e­fits of psy­che­del­ic psilo­cy­bin mush­rooms as a tool for treat­ing addic­tion, depres­sion, anx­i­ety, PTSD and sui­ci­dal ideation.

  1. Spir­i­tu­al­i­ty

Of course, there’s also a rich tra­di­tion of reli­gions and indi­vid­ual seek­ers deploy­ing mind alter­ing psy­choac­tive mush­rooms as a form of sacra­ment or a tool for plumb­ing the mys­ter­ies of life.

  1. The Arts

Direc­tor Schwartzberg under­stand­ably views mush­rooms as muse, a fit­ting sub­ject for pho­tog­ra­phy, music, film, poet­ry, art and oth­er cre­ative endeav­ors.

 

With regard to this final pil­lar, many view­ers may be sur­prised to learn how much of the 15 years Schwartzberg ded­i­cat­ed to cap­tur­ing the exquis­ite cycle of fun­gal regen­er­a­tion and decom­po­si­tion took place indoors.

As he explains in the Wired video above, his pre­ci­sion equip­ment excels at cap­tur­ing devel­op­ment that’s invis­i­ble to the human eye, but is no match for such nat­ur­al world dis­rup­tions as insects and wind.

Instead, he and his team built con­trolled grow­ing envi­ron­ments, where high­ly sen­si­tive time lapse cam­eras, dol­lies, timed grow lights, and more cin­e­mat­ic light­ing instru­ments could be left in place.

Set dress­ings of moss and logs, cou­pled with a very short depth of field helped to bring the Great Out­doors onscreen, with occa­sion­al chro­makeyed panora­mas of the nat­ur­al world fill­ing in the gaps.

Even in such lab-like con­di­tions, cer­tain ele­ments were nec­es­sar­i­ly left to chance. Mush­rooms grow noto­ri­ous­ly quick­ly, and even with con­stant mon­i­tor­ing and cal­cu­la­tions, there was plen­ty of poten­tial for one of his stars to miss their mark, shoot­ing out of frame.

Just one of the ways that mush­rooms and humans oper­ate on rad­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent time­lines. The direc­tor bowed to the shrooms, return­ing to square one on the fre­quent occa­sions when a sequence got away from him.

Pro­vid­ing view­ers an immer­sive expe­ri­ence of the under­ground myceli­um net­work required high pow­ered micro­scopes, a sol­id cement floor, and a bit of movie mag­ic to finesse. What you see in the final cut is the work of CGI ani­ma­tors, who used Schwartzberg’s footage as their blue­print.

Net­flix sub­scribers can stream Fan­tas­tic Fun­gi for free.

From Octo­ber 15 — 17, film­mak­er Louie Schwartzberg is host­ing a free, vir­tu­al Fan­tas­tic Fun­gi Glob­al Sum­mit. Reg­is­ter here.

You can also browse his col­lec­tion of com­mu­ni­ty mush­room recipes and sub­mit your own, down­load Fan­tas­tic Fungi’s Stoned Ape poster, or have a ram­ble through a trove of relat­ed videos and arti­cles in the Mush Room.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

John Cage Had a Sur­pris­ing Mush­room Obses­sion (Which Began with His Pover­ty in the Depres­sion)

Alger­ian Cave Paint­ings Sug­gest Humans Did Mag­ic Mush­rooms 9,000 Years Ago

The Gold­en Guide to Hal­lu­cino­genic Plants: Dis­cov­er the 1977 Illus­trat­ed Guide Cre­at­ed by Harvard’s Ground­break­ing Eth­nob­otanist Richard Evan Schultes

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

The Brilliant 19th-Century Astronomical Drawings of Étienne Léopold Trouvelot


The first pho­to of the moon was tak­en in 1850 by Louis Daguerre, from whom the daguer­rotype gets its name. We have no idea what that first image looked like as it was lost in a stu­dio fire. But the need to cat­a­log the heav­ens with mod­ern tools had start­ed, and was both fas­ci­nat­ing as it was lack­ing. Into this evo­lu­tion of sci­ence and art stepped Éti­enne Léopold Trou­velot, the French immi­grant, liv­ing in the States, an ama­teur sci­en­tist and an illus­tra­tor. He would dis­miss pho­tog­ra­phy of the heav­ens as “so blurred and indis­tinct that no details of any great val­ue can be secured.” And by illus­trat­ing instead by he saw through tele­scopes, he secured a place in art *and* sci­ence his­to­ry.

Trou­velot might have thought his sci­en­tif­ic papers would be his lega­cy. He wrote fifty in his life­time. Instead it is his rough­ly 7,000 illus­tra­tions of plan­ets, comets, and oth­er phe­nom­e­na that still please us to this day. The New York Pub­lic Library has put 15 of his best up on their site, and over at this page, you can com­pare what Trou­velot saw—-the great astronomer Emma Con­verse called Trou­velot the “prince of observers”—-to pho­tos from NASA’s archive.

Even if his Mars is a bit fan­ci­ful, look­ing translu­cent like a fish egg, his under­stand­ing of the plan­et echoes in the fol­low­ing cen­tu­ry of sci-fi para­noia. Some­thing strange must be there, he sug­gests.

Har­vard hired him to sketch at their college’s obser­va­to­ry, and he used pas­tels to bring the plan­ets to life. Engrav­ing or ink would not have worked as well as these soft shapes and deter­mined lines. His ren­der­ing of the moon sur­face is accu­rate but also fan­ci­ful, like whipped cream. And his sun spots might not be accu­rate, but they repli­cat­ed the god-like forces at work on its tumul­tuous sur­face. His Sat­urn is the most real­is­tic of them all. Even the NASA image doesn’t look too dif­fer­ent to Trouvelot’s art.

These images also help reha­bil­i­tate Trouvelot’s oth­er legacy—-the dread­ed Gyp­sy Moth. Before his stint as ama­teur sci­en­tist, he was also an ama­teur ento­mol­o­gist, and while research­ing silk­worms and silk pro­duc­tion, acci­den­tal­ly let Euro­pean gyp­sy moths into North Amer­i­ca, where they wreaked hav­oc on the forests of North Amer­i­ca. Saturn’s rings may look the same back then as they do now, but so does the dam­age of the gyp­sy moth, which accord­ing to Wikipedia is up to $868 mil­lion in dam­ages per year.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A 9th Cen­tu­ry Man­u­script Teach­es Astron­o­my by Mak­ing Sub­lime Pic­tures Out of Words

Joce­lyn Bell Bur­nell Changed Astron­o­my For­ev­er; Her Ph.D. Advi­sor Won the Nobel Prize for It

A 16th-Cen­tu­ry Astron­o­my Book Fea­tured “Ana­log Com­put­ers” to Cal­cu­late the Shape of the Moon, the Posi­tion of the Sun, and More

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.

The Velvet Underground: Get a First Glimpse of Todd Haynes’ Upcoming Documentary on the Most Influential Avant-Garde Rockers

To the ques­tion of the most influ­en­tial band formed in the 1960s a list of easy answers unfolds, begin­ning with the Bea­t­les, the Beach Boys, and the Rolling Stones. As three of the mak­ers of the best-sell­ing records of all time, those bands all lay fair claim to the title. But even with­in the com­mer­cial dynamo of post­war Amer­i­ca, it was also pos­si­ble to exert great influ­ence with­out top­ping the charts, or indeed with­out even reach­ing them. This is proven by the sto­ry of avant-garde rock­ers the Vel­vet Under­ground, whose mea­ger suc­cess in their day as com­pared with their for­mi­da­ble cul­tur­al lega­cy inspired Bri­an Eno to sum them up with a quip now so well-known as to have become a cliché.

But not even a mind like Eno’s can tru­ly sum up the Vel­vet Under­ground. Bet­ter to tell the band’s sto­ry — the sto­ry, in its way, of art and pop­u­lar cul­ture in mid-to-late 20th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca — in a fea­ture-length doc­u­men­tary, as Todd Haynes has done with The Vel­vet Under­ground, which pre­miered at this year’s Cannes Film Fes­ti­val and debuts on AppleTV+ on Octo­ber 15th.

“Haynes appears to have vac­u­umed up every last pho­to­graph and raw scrap of home-movie and archival footage of the band that exists and stitched it all into a cor­us­cat­ing doc­u­ment that feels like a time-machine kalei­do­scope,” writes Vari­ety crit­ic Owen Gleiber­man. He intro­duces the Vel­vets and their asso­ciates “by play­ing their words off the flick­er­ing black-and-white images of their Warhol screen tests.”

The Vel­vets were, in a sense, a prod­uct of Warhol’s Fac­to­ry. The pop-art icon man­aged the band him­self ear­ly on, con­nect­ing them with the singer who would become the sec­ond tit­u­lar fig­ure on their debut The Vel­vet Under­ground & Nico and design­ing that album’s oft-visu­al­ly-ref­er­enced banana-stick­er cov­er. Hav­ing died in 1987, Warhol could­n’t grant Haynes an inter­view; hav­ing fol­lowed Warhol the next year, nei­ther could Nico. Band leader Lou Reed, too, has now been gone for the bet­ter part of a decade, but he does have plen­ty to say in the 1986 South Bank Show doc­u­men­tary above. Haynes’ The Vel­vet Under­ground includes Reed in archival footage, but also fea­tures new rem­i­nis­cences from sur­viv­ing mem­bers like Mau­reen Tuck­er and John Cale. Like all human beings, the Vel­vets are mor­tal; but their expan­sion of rock­’s son­ic pos­si­bil­i­ties will out­last us all.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

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

Watch Footage of the Vel­vet Under­ground Com­pos­ing “Sun­day Morn­ing,” the First Track on Their Sem­i­nal Debut Album The Vel­vet Under­ground & Nico (1966)

A Sym­pho­ny of Sound (1966): Vel­vet Under­ground Impro­vis­es, Warhol Films It, Until the Cops Turn Up

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

Watch The Vel­vet Under­ground Per­form in Rare Col­or Footage: Scenes from a Viet­nam War Protest Con­cert (1969)

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

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.

The Evolutionary History of Fat: Biologists Explain Why It’s Necessary for Our Survival & Why We’re Biased Against It

The Fat Accep­tance move­ment may seem like a 21st cen­tu­ry phe­nom­e­non, ris­ing to pub­lic con­scious­ness with the suc­cess of high-pro­file writ­ers, actors, film­mak­ers, and activists in recent years. But the move­ment can date its ori­gins to 1967, when WBAI radio per­son­al­i­ty Steve Post held a “fat-in” in Cen­tral Park, bring­ing 500 peo­ple togeth­er to protest, cel­e­brate, and burn diet books and pho­tos of Twig­gy. “That same year,” notes the Cen­ter for Dis­cov­ery, “a man named Llewe­lyn ‘Lew’ Loud­er­back wrote an arti­cle for the Sat­ur­day Evening Post titled, ‘More Peo­ple Should be FAT.’” These ear­ly sal­lies led to the found­ing of the Nation­al Asso­ci­a­tion to Advance Fat Accep­tance (NAAFA) two years lat­er and more rad­i­cal groups in the 70s like the Fat Under­ground.

There would be no need for fat activism, of course, if there were no bias­es against fat peo­ple. This rais­es the ques­tion: where did those bias­es come from? They are not innate, says Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty evo­lu­tion­ary biol­o­gist Daniel Lieber­man in the Slate video above, but are a prod­uct of a his­to­ry that tracks, coin­ci­den­tal­ly, with the rise of mass mar­ket­ing and mass con­sumerism. We have been sold the idea that thin bod­ies are bet­ter, health­i­er, more attrac­tive, and more desir­able, and that fat is some­thing to be warred against. “How­ev­er, as an evo­lu­tion­ary biol­o­gist, “says Lieber­man, I’ve come to appre­ci­ate that with­out fat, we’d be dead. Humans wouldn’t real­ly be the way we are. Fat is real­ly life.”

A quick perusal of art his­to­ry shows us that larg­er bod­ies have been val­ued around the world in much of human his­to­ry. We now asso­ciate fat with poor health, but it has also sig­naled the oppo­site — a store­house of caloric wealth and healthy fer­til­i­ty. “Our bod­ies have all sorts of tricks to make sure we nev­er run out of ener­gy,” says Lieber­man, “and the main way that we store ener­gy is fat.” Leiber­man and oth­er biol­o­gists in the video sur­vey the role of fat in human sur­vival and thriv­ing. “Fat is an organ,” and sci­en­tists are learn­ing how it com­mu­ni­cates with oth­er sys­tems in the body to reg­u­late ener­gy con­sump­tion and feed our com­par­a­tive­ly enor­mous brains.

Among ani­mals, “humans are espe­cial­ly adapt­ed to be fat.” Even the thinnest among us are cor­pu­lent com­pared to most pri­mates. Still, the aver­age human did not have any oppor­tu­ni­ty to become obese until rel­a­tive­ly recent his­tor­i­cal devel­op­ments — in the grand evo­lu­tion­ary scheme of things — like agri­cul­ture, heavy indus­try, and the sci­ence to pre­serve and store food. When Euro­peans dis­cov­ered sug­ar, then mass pro­duced it on plan­ta­tions and export­ed it around the world, sug­ar con­sump­tion mag­ni­fied expo­nen­tial­ly. The aver­age Amer­i­can now eats 100 pounds of sug­ar per year. The aver­age hunter-gath­er­er might have strug­gled the eat “a pound or two a year” from nat­ur­al sources.

The over-abun­dance of calo­ries has led to a type-II dia­betes epi­dem­ic world­wide that is close­ly relat­ed to sug­ar con­sump­tion. It isn’t nec­es­sar­i­ly relat­ed to hav­ing a larg­er body, although fat deposits in the heart and else­where can wors­en insulin resis­tance (and heart dis­ease); the prob­lem is almost cer­tain­ly linked to excess sug­ar, the con­stant avail­abil­i­ty of high-calo­rie foods, and low incen­tives to exer­cise. Our hunger for sweets and love of com­fort are not char­ac­ter flaws, how­ev­er. They are evo­lu­tion­ary dri­ves that allow us to acquire and con­serve ener­gy, oper­at­ing in a food econ­o­my that often pun­ish­es us for those very dri­ves. Diet­ing not only does­n’t work, as neu­ro­sci­en­tist San­dra Aamodt explains in her TED Talk above, but it often back­fires, mak­ing us even hun­gri­er because our brains per­ceive us as deprived.

As sci­en­tists like Lieber­man gain a bet­ter under­stand­ing of the role of fat in human biol­o­gy, those in the med­ical com­mu­ni­ty are real­iz­ing that doc­tors and nurs­es are hard­ly free from the soci­etal bias­es against fat. Stud­ies show those bias­es can trans­late to poor­er med­ical care and bad advice about diet­ing, a vicious cycle in which health con­di­tions unre­lat­ed to weight go untreat­ed, and are then blamed on weight. Evo­lu­tion­ary biol­o­gy explains the role of fat in human devel­op­ment, and human his­to­ry explains its increase, but the ques­tion of where the hatred of fat comes from is a trick­i­er one for these sci­en­tists to answer. They bare­ly men­tion the role of adver­tis­ing and enter­tain­ment.

In 1979, activists in the “Fat Lib­er­a­tion Man­i­festo” iden­ti­fied the prob­lem as fat people’s “mis­treat­ment by com­mer­cial and sex­ist inter­ests” that have “exploit­ed our bod­ies as objects of ridicule, there­by cre­at­ing an immense­ly prof­itable mar­ket sell­ing the false promise of avoid­ance of, or relief from, that ridicule.” Despite decades of resis­tance, the diet indus­try thrives. A Google search of the phrase “body fat” yields page upon page of unsci­en­tif­ic advice about ide­al body fat per­cent­ages, as though remind­ing the major­i­ty of Amer­i­cans (7 in 10 are clas­si­fied as over­weight or obese) that they should feel there’s some­thing wrong with them.

Blame, shame, and ridicule won’t solve med­ical prob­lems, say the biol­o­gists in the video above, and it cer­tain­ly doesn’t help peo­ple lose weight, if that’s what they need to do. If we bet­ter under­stood the role of fat in keep­ing us healthy, hap­py, and alive, maybe we could over­come our hatred of it and accept oth­ers, and our­selves, in what­ev­er bod­ies we’re in.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How the Food We Eat Affects Our Brain: Learn About the “MIND Diet”

Exer­cise May Prove an Effec­tive Nat­ur­al Treat­ment for Depres­sion & Anx­i­ety, New Study Shows

Why Sit­ting Is The New Smok­ing: An Ani­mat­ed Expla­na­tion

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

What Is “Queering” in Video Game Design? Naomi Clark on Pretty Much Pop: A Culture Podcast #103

While LGBTQ+ rep­re­sen­ta­tion in video games has been improv­ing (as with oth­er media), Nao­mi Clark (who designed games for LEGO, Game­lab, Fresh Plan­et, Rebel Mon­key, et al) has some­thing more dis­rup­tive in mind when argu­ing for game “queer­i­fi­ca­tion.” The pro­to­typ­i­cal video game includes a more-or-less lin­ear pro­gres­sion through a pre-defined sto­ry to a defined win con­di­tion, and any­thing that chal­lenges that tra­di­tion to allow more self-expres­sion is a step in the direc­tion of queer­ing. Many pop­u­lar games now include a sand­box aspect that allows play­ers to make their own deci­sions, and this ges­tures at a con­tin­u­um of free­dom in play­er-game rela­tions, with the extreme being a game that just pro­vides a plat­form for play­ers to cre­ate their own games.

Your host Mark Lin­sen­may­er and guest co-host Tyler His­lop engage Nao­mi about top­ics like how games train us, char­ac­ter cre­ation, glitch­es, speed runs, gam­i­fy­ing  tasks, and eco­nom­ic and indus­try pres­sures in game design. Some games we touch on include The Sims, The Last of Us, Cyber­punk, and Mass Effect.

Read Naomi’s pre­sen­ta­tion on “Queer­ing Human-Game Rela­tions.” Get involved with the NYU Game­cen­ter where Nao­mi works. You can also play her ear­ly game Sis­sy­fight 2000 free online. A cou­ple of her oth­er cre­ations that come up in our dis­cus­sion include Won­der City and the card game Con­sen­ta­cle. Read her wis­dom on Quo­ra and fol­low her on Twit­ter @metasynthie.

Some sources reviewed to pre­pare for this episode include:

This episode includes bonus dis­cus­sion you can access by sup­port­ing the pod­cast at patreon.com/prettymuchpop. 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.

What Makes Rodin’s The Thinker a Great Sculpture: An Introduction to Rodin Life, Craft & Iconic Work

Auguste Rodin’s The Thinker exists in about 28 full-size bronze casts, each approx­i­mate­ly 73 inch­es high, in muse­ums around the world, as well as sev­er­al dozen cast­ings of small­er size and plas­ter mod­els and stud­ies. The Thinker also exists as one of the most copied and par­o­died art­works in world his­to­ry, per­haps because of its ubiq­ui­ty. “Unfor­tu­nate­ly,” Joseph Phe­lan writes at the Art­cy­clo­pe­dia, “there is a side of Rodin’s work that has become kitsch through cheap repro­duc­tions and com­mer­cial rip-offs.”

In pop­u­lar inter­pre­ta­tions, The Thinker rep­re­sents philo­soph­i­cal abstrac­tion. But Rodin’s fig­ure doesn’t con­tem­plate Plato’s forms or Kant’s cat­e­gories. He dreams of hell, and brings a vision of eter­nal tor­ment into being. He is a rep­re­sen­ta­tion of the poet Dante (hence his orig­i­nal name, The Poet) in Rodin’s most ambi­tious mas­ter­work, The Gates of Hell, made on com­mis­sion from the Muse­um of Dec­o­ra­tive Arts in Paris. The sub­ject, “bas-reliefs rep­re­sent­ing The Divine Com­e­dy,” was “sure­ly sug­gest­ed by Rodin him­self, as he was an avid read­er of Dante,” the Asso­ci­a­tion for Pub­lic Art points out.

Divorced from its orig­i­nal con­text — a work begun in 1880 and only com­plet­ed after the artist’s death in 1917 — The Thinker becomes “a uni­ver­sal image,” the Nation­al Gallery of Art writes — one that “reveals in phys­i­cal terms the men­tal effort and even phys­i­cal anguish of cre­ativ­i­ty.” As Rodin him­self put it, “what makes my Thinker think is that he thinks not only with his brain, with his knit­ted brow, his dis­tend­ed nos­trils and com­pressed lips, but with every mus­cle of his arms, back, and legs, with his clenched fist and grip­ping toes.” If we can see his thought­ful pos­ture with fresh eyes, we’ll notice his extreme stress, ten­sion, and pain.

Rodin worked on The Gates of Hell for the final 37 years of his life, and didn’t live to see it cast in full dur­ing his life­time. The mas­sive bronze doors — which also pro­duced such famous Rodin sculp­tures as The Three Shades and The Kiss — con­tain around 200 indi­vid­ual fig­ures and groups of suf­fer­ers from the Infer­no. “For Rodin,” notes the Rodin Muse­um, “the chaot­ic pop­u­la­tion on The Gates of Hell enjoyed only one final free­dom — the abil­i­ty to express their agony with com­plete aban­don … The fig­ures on the doors poignant­ly and heart-rend­ing evoke uni­ver­sal human emo­tions and expe­ri­ences.”

While hell’s denizens writhe and burn below him, The Thinker, perched atop the door, curls in on him­self with the strain of imag­i­na­tion. What­ev­er his orig­i­nal inspi­ra­tion, he came unglued from the Infer­no, his mod­u­lar nature part of the sculptor’s orig­i­nal design. The Thinker is Dante, but also “in a very real sense,” the Met writes, “The Thinker is Rodin. Brutish­ly mus­cled yet engrossed in thought, coiled in ten­sion yet loose in repose.” As a uni­ver­sal sym­bol for con­tem­pla­tion, he is also an image of bring­ing art into being through the sheer force of one’s mind.

Rodin, after all, “nev­er pro­duced a work of plas­ter, bronze, or even mar­ble with his own hands,” says the Great Art Explained video above, pre­fer­ring “an indus­tri­al approach to pro­duc­ing art” that meant a  super­vi­so­ry role over crews of work­ers, rais­ing ques­tions about “authen­tic­i­ty and orig­i­nal­i­ty.” Per­haps Rodin “shows us that an artist should be judged by what’s in his head, not in his hands,” but The Thinker shows us that what’s in the head is also in the hands, the gnarled back, tense sinewy arms, and curled up toes.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Rare Film of Sculp­tor Auguste Rodin Work­ing at His Stu­dio in Paris (1915)

A Free Online Course on Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy from Yale Uni­ver­si­ty

Watch 1915 Video of Mon­et, Renoir, Rodin & Degas: The New Motion Pic­ture Cam­era Cap­tures the Inno­v­a­tive Artists

The Sto­ry Behind Rodin’s ‘The Kiss’

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

A 94-Year-Old English Teacher and Her Former Students Reunite in Their Old Classroom & Debate the Merits of Bob Dylan’s Nobel Prize

In fic­tion the inspi­ra­tional high-school Eng­lish teacher is a cliché, despite (or indeed due to) the fact that so many of us have had at least one of them in real life. For gen­er­a­tions of stu­dents who passed through San Fran­cis­co’s pres­ti­gious Low­ell High School, that teacher was Flossie Lewis. Long after her retire­ment, she went sur­pris­ing­ly viral in a 2016 PBS inter­view clip about her thoughts on aging. It seemed she retained her pow­er to inspire, not just for her more than sev­en mil­lion online view­ers, but also for the PBS pro­duc­ers who lat­er reunit­ed her with her for­mer stu­dents in the very same class­room where she once taught them.

You can see this reunion take place in the video above, which also includes Flossie telling her own sto­ry of hav­ing fled Brook­lyn spin­ster­hood on a Grey­hound bus head­ed west. “I could com­mand the atten­tion of a class,” she says of the source of her pow­er as a teacher. “I had a voice. I had that kind of per­son­al­i­ty that did not seem teacher­ly, but was provoca­tive.”

One­time stu­dent Daniel Han­dler, bet­ter known as the nov­el­ist Lemo­ny Snick­et, cred­its Flossie with an “abil­i­ty to star­tle.” Anoth­er, now an archi­tect, remem­bers “grav­i­tas” — and his hav­ing been “intim­i­dat­ed by her name. Flossie is a very unusu­al name.” Or at least it is today, its pop­u­lar­i­ty (dri­ven, it seems, by the Bobb­sey Twins books) hav­ing peaked in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry.

Flossie is also rep­re­sen­ta­tive of her gen­er­a­tion in anoth­er way: not par­tic­u­lar­ly car­ing for the music of Bob Dylan. Though she can’t have been thrilled with that gui­tar-play­ing (rel­a­tive) young­ster’s 2016 Nobel Prize for Lit­er­a­ture, she’s will­ing to hear her stu­dents out on the sub­ject. “The triv­ial task before us is to decide whether Bob­by Dylan is worth the lau­re­ate,” she declares to the group of Low­ell alum­ni gath­ered in her old class­room. Now all mid­dle-aged, her for­mer stu­dents include Dylan defend­ers and Dylan deniers alike, but what unites them are their undimmed mem­o­ries of their teacher’s mix­ture of rig­or, com­pas­sion, and sheer eccen­tric­i­ty. As one of them recalls, “You read us a son­net from Shake­speare and said, ‘It’s no good.’ ” What­ev­er his gen­er­a­tional rel­e­vance, the poet from Hib­bing may nev­er have stood a chance.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Bob Dylan’s New­ly-Released Nobel Lec­ture: A Med­i­ta­tion on Music, Lit­er­a­ture & Lyrics

Bob Dylan Reads From T.S. Eliot’s Great Mod­ernist Poem The Waste Land

“Tan­gled Up in Blue”: Deci­pher­ing a Bob Dylan Mas­ter­piece

David Fos­ter Wallace’s 1994 Syl­labus: How to Teach Seri­ous Lit­er­a­ture with Light­weight Books

Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch Reads Albert Camus’ Touch­ing Thank You Let­ter to His Ele­men­tary School Teacher

Come­di­an Ricky Ger­vais Tells a Seri­ous Sto­ry About How He Learned to Write Cre­ative­ly

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.

Chinese Youth Announce That They’re “Lying Flat” and Resisting the Pressures of Modern Life

The “Lying Flat” move­ment tak­ing hold among young peo­ple in Chi­na involves doing exact­ly what it sug­gests: work­ing lit­tle, rest­ing a lot, and cul­ti­vat­ing the most min­i­mal­ist lifestyle pos­si­ble. Unlike Tim­o­thy Leary’s 1960’s mantra, “turn on, tune in, drop out,” lying flat, or tang ping (躺平), takes no stance on a coun­ter­cul­tur­al ethos or the con­sump­tion of mind-alter­ing drugs. But it has caused the author­i­ties alarm, even among Eng­lish-lan­guage observers. Con­sid­er the Brook­ings Insti­tute head­line, “The ‘lying flat’ move­ment stand­ing in the way of China’s inno­va­tion dri­ve.” Stand­ing in the way of inno­va­tion is a car­di­nal sin of cap­i­tal­ism, one rea­son the “niche Chi­nese Gen Z meme” of tang ping, Jane Li writes, “is ring­ing alarm bells for Bei­jing.”

The phe­nom­e­non began — where else — on social media, when 31-year-old for­mer fac­to­ry work­er Luo Huazhong “drew the cur­tains and crawled into bed,” Cas­sady Rosen­blum writes at The New York Times. Luo then “post­ed a pic­ture of him­self [in bed] to the Chi­nese web­site Baidu along with a mes­sage: ‘Lying Flat is Jus­tice.’”

His man­i­festo (above) claimed the “right to choose a slow lifestyle” by doing lit­tle work to get by, read­ing, gar­den­ing, exer­cis­ing, and, yes, lying supine as often as he liked. To fur­ther elab­o­rate, Luo wrote, “lying flat is my sophis­tic move­ment,” with a ref­er­ence to Dio­genes the Cyn­ic, the Greek philoso­pher “said to have lived inside a bar­rel to crit­i­cize the excess­es of Athen­ian aris­to­crats.”

Dio­genes did more than that. He and his fol­low­ers reject­ed every­thing about Athen­ian soci­ety, from work and mar­riage to the abstract rea­son­ing of Pla­to. Luo might have turned to a more tra­di­tion­al source for “lying flat” — the Daoist prin­ci­ple of wu-wei, or non-doing. But lying flat is not so much about liv­ing in har­mo­ny with nature as it is a state of exhaus­tion, a full-body admis­sion that the promis­es of cap­i­tal­ism — work hard now, rest hard lat­er — have not and will not mate­ri­al­ize. They are phan­toms, mirages, pre­cise­ly the kind of fic­tions that made Dio­genes bark with laugh­ter. The truth, Rosen­blum writes, is that for “essen­tial” work­ers at the bot­tom all the way up to the “inner sanc­tums” of Gold­man Sachs, “work has become intol­er­a­ble. Rest is resis­tance.”

In a work cul­ture that cel­e­brates “996” — 12-hour days, six days a week– rest may be the only form of resis­tance. Polit­i­cal repres­sion and lack of upward mobil­i­ty have fos­tered “an almost monas­tic out­look” in Chi­na, writes Li, “includ­ing not get­ting mar­ried, not hav­ing chil­dren, not hav­ing a job, not own­ing prop­er­ty, and con­sum­ing as lit­tle as pos­si­ble.” Since pick­ing up tens of thou­sands of fol­low­ers online, the lying flat move­ment has become the tar­get of a cen­sor­ship cam­paign aimed at stop­ping young Chi­nese work­ers from check­ing out. One gov­ern­ment-backed news­pa­per called the move­ment “shame­ful,” and news agency Xin­hua unfa­vor­ably com­pared “lying flat­tists” to front-line med­ical work­ers. The orig­i­nal man­i­festo, Lying Flat groups, and mes­sage boards where users post­ed pho­tos of seals, cats, and them­selves lying flat have been tak­en down.

Zijia Song writes of tang ping as part­ly a response to a tra­di­tion­al Chi­nese cul­ture of com­pet­i­tive­ness and over­work, but notes that there are sim­i­lar move­ments in Japan, Korea, and the U.S., where “Black activists, writ­ers and thinkers are among the clear­est voic­es artic­u­lat­ing this spir­i­tu­al malaise and its solu­tions,” writes Rosen­blum, “per­haps because they’ve borne the brunt of cap­i­tal­ism more than oth­er groups of Amer­i­cans.” What­ev­er their nation­al ori­gin, each of these state­ments defi­ant­ly claims the right to rest, pos­ing a threat not only to the Par­ty but to an ide­al of human life as end­less over­work for shiny trin­kets and emp­ty promis­es, dur­ing a glob­al pan­dem­ic and cli­mate cri­sis that have revealed to us like noth­ing else the need to slow down, rest, and com­plete­ly reimag­ine the way we live.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Bertrand Rus­sell & Buck­min­ster Fuller on Why We Should Work Less, and Live & Learn More

Bri­an Eno’s Advice for Those Who Want to Do Their Best Cre­ative Work: Don’t Get a Job

Will You Real­ly Achieve Hap­pi­ness If You Final­ly Win the Rat Race? Don’t Answer the Ques­tion Until You’ve Watched Steve Cutts’ New Ani­ma­tion

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

An Archaeologist Creates the Definitive Guide to Beer Cans

Image via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

As a bev­er­age of choice and neces­si­ty for much of the pop­u­la­tion in parts of the ancient world, beer has played an impor­tant role in archae­ol­o­gy. Beer cans, on the oth­er hand, have not. Unlike mil­len­nia-old recipes, beer cans seem like no more than trash, even in a field where trash is high­ly trea­sured. This is a mis­take, says arche­ol­o­gist Jane Busch. “The his­tor­i­cal archae­ol­o­gist who ignores the beer can at his site is like the pre­his­toric arche­ol­o­gist who ignores his­toric pot­tery.”

David Maxwell, an expert in ani­mal bones who trained as a Mayanist, has rec­og­nized the truth of this state­ment by turn­ing his pas­sion for beer can col­lect­ing into beer can archae­ol­o­gy, a tiny niche with­in the small­er field of “tin can archae­ol­o­gy.” Maxwell became the reign­ing expert on beer can dat­ing when “in 1993, he pub­lished a field-iden­ti­fi­ca­tion guide in His­tor­i­cal Archae­ol­o­gy,” notes Jes­si­ca Gin­grich at Atlas Obscu­ra, “which has since become an indus­try stan­dard and his most-read work.”

The first com­mer­cial canned beer appeared in 1935, after sev­er­al unsuc­cess­ful exper­i­ments start­ing in 1909. Exper­i­ments in beer can­ning took a hia­tus dur­ing Pro­hi­bi­tion, and canned beer itself went off the mar­ket dur­ing WWII as sup­plies of tin plate were rerout­ed to the war effort. Dur­ing that inter­reg­num, only the mil­i­tary shipped canned beer, to sol­diers over­seas in olive and camo-col­ored cans. When sales resumed after the war, beer cans assumed more rou­tinized design ele­ments. Maxwell him­self became fas­ci­nat­ed with beer cans from afar. “While canned beer sales explod­ed in the Unit­ed States after World War II, Gin­grich writes, “the indus­try failed to take off in Cana­da until the 1980s.”

As a child in Cana­da, Maxwell col­lect­ed bot­tle caps. “All the beer came in the same shape bot­tle,” he says. Cans seemed exot­ic, espe­cial­ly those of an old­er vin­tage. “They had punch­es to open them instead of pull rings, and all I knew was that they pre­dat­ed me.” The val­ue of dis­pos­able arti­facts less than 100 years old isn’t imme­di­ate­ly appar­ent to most peo­ple, says Jim Rock, a pio­neer of tin can stud­ies who calls cans “the Rod­ney Dan­ger­field of arche­ol­o­gy. They just don’t get any respect.” But the fact is “all arche­ol­o­gy is garbage,” says Maxwell.

Dat­ing cans gives arche­ol­o­gists a pic­ture of mod­ern con­sump­tion pat­terns — and pat­terns of eco­log­i­cal destruc­tion — in the refuse tossed on high­ways and the stra­ta of trash found in con­struc­tion sites, land­fills, and even ancient dig sites, where dat­ing beer cans can tell arche­ol­o­gists when ear­li­er tres­passers might have arrived, removed or altered arti­facts, and left their trash behind. Maxwell, who has recent­ly down­sized his col­lec­tion from 4500 to 1700 cans to save space, admits that a nar­row focus on the beer can takes a spe­cial com­bi­na­tion of skills.

“Col­lec­tors are a fab­u­lous resource for aca­d­e­mics,” he says. “These are the guys who do the grunt work” — the end­less­ly curi­ous cit­i­zen sci­en­tists of archae­ol­o­gy. “I can’t think of any­one else who would do that except some­one who is obses­sive about what it is that they are col­lect­ing.” In Maxwell, the obses­sive col­lec­tor and rig­or­ous aca­d­e­m­ic just hap­pened to come togeth­er to pro­duce the defin­i­tive guide. (See Beer Cans: A Guide for the Archae­ol­o­gist online.) But even he has had to “face the ques­tion of what deserves to be archived and kept,” Nico­la Jones writes at Sapi­ens. In dis­card­ing 3,000 of his own cans, most of them acquired through col­lec­tors online, he had to admit that “though the rusty cans were a part of his­to­ry, they weren’t worth much to the rest of the world.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Beer Archae­ol­o­gy: Yes, It’s a Thing

The Sci­ence of Beer: A New Free Online Course Promis­es to Enhance Your Appre­ci­a­tion of the Time­less Bev­er­age

The First Known Pho­to­graph of Peo­ple Shar­ing a Beer (1843)

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

Build Wooden Models of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Great Building: The Guggenheim, Unity Temple, Johnson Wax Headquarters & More

Frank Lloyd Wright had his eccen­tric­i­ties, in not just his per­son­al and pro­fes­sion­al con­duct but also the very lan­guage with which he described the world. Among the endur­ing­ly fas­ci­nat­ing ele­ments of his idi­olect is the word Uson­ian, which refers to things of or per­tain­ing to the Unit­ed States of Amer­i­ca.  Wright did­n’t coin the term: its ear­li­est record­ed user is the ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry writer James Duff Law, who declared that “We of the Unit­ed States, in jus­tice to Cana­di­ans and Mex­i­cans, have no right to use the title ‘Amer­i­cans’ when refer­ring to mat­ters per­tain­ing exclu­sive­ly to our­selves.” The most famous archi­tect in Amer­i­can his­to­ry took Uson­ian fur­ther, using it to label an Amer­i­can archi­tec­tur­al sen­si­bil­i­ty — of, nat­u­ral­ly, his own design.

Though Wright did envi­sion an ide­al­ly Uson­ian city, his clear­est expres­sions of the aes­thet­ic stand today in the form of the Uson­ian hous­es. Built between 1934 and 1958, these six­ty or so res­i­dences take advan­tage, as Wright saw it, of the range of dis­tinc­tive set­tings offered up by the land­scapes of the Unit­ed States.

Designed with fea­tures like gar­den ter­races, cleresto­ry win­dows, flat roofs with wide over­hangs, and easy visu­al and phys­i­cal pas­sage between the indoors and out­doors, these urban-rur­al hybrids still today draw the admi­ra­tion of archi­tects and non-archi­tects alike. But tru­ly to under­stand a Uson­ian house, per­haps you must build one your­self: luck­i­ly, the Lit­tle Build­ing Com­pa­ny offers a mod­el kit that lets you do just that.

Their Wright line­up also includes minia­ture wood­en ver­sions of his 1908 Uni­ty Tem­ple in Oak Park, his 1937 John­son Wax Head­quar­ters in Racine, and his 1937 Solomon R. Guggen­heim Muse­um in New York. The dif­fer­ences in scale and com­plex­i­ty between these build­ings make for a nat­ur­al mod­el-build­ing dif­fi­cul­ty curve: once you’ve done a Wright house, you’ll be ready for a Wright tem­ple; once you’ve done a Wright tem­ple, you’ll be ready for a Wright cor­po­rate head­quar­ters, and so on. Not only will the effort hone your man­u­al dex­ter­i­ty, it will height­en your appre­ci­a­tion for the Amer­i­can archi­tec­ture-defin­ing inno­va­tions Wright pulled off in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry. But do you have to be from the Unit­ed States to under­stand the Uson­ian? Based in Aus­tralia and sell­ing to the world, the Lit­tle Build­ing Com­pa­ny sug­gests not.

via MyMod­ern­Met

Relat­ed Con­tent:

12 Famous Frank Lloyd Wright Hous­es Offer Vir­tu­al Tours: Hol­ly­hock House, Tal­iesin West, Falling­wa­ter & More

Frank Lloyd Wright Designs an Urban Utopia: See His Hand-Drawn Sketch­es of Broad­acre City (1932)

The Mod­ernist Gas Sta­tions of Frank Lloyd Wright and Mies van der Rohe

How Frank Lloyd Wright’s Son Invent­ed Lin­coln Logs, “America’s Nation­al Toy” (1916)

That Far Cor­ner: Frank Lloyd Wright in Los Ange­les – a Free Online Doc­u­men­tary

Omoshi­roi Blocks: Japan­ese Memo Pads Reveal Intri­cate Build­ings As The Pages Get Used

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.


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