An Animated Stan Lee Explains Why the F‑Word Is “the Most Useful Word in the English Language” (NSFW)

FYI. The lan­guage in this video is not safe for work. And, now, on with the show.

In the last cou­ple years of his life, Stan Lee was ill, his health fail­ing, but he stayed engaged and remained his old wise­crack­ing self. His hand­picked suc­ces­sor for edi­tor-in-chief at Mar­vel, Roy Thomas, tells the sto­ry of the last time he saw Lee and showed him his then-new biog­ra­phy of the comics leg­end, The Stan Lee Sto­ry. They talked about the Spi­der-Man com­ic strip they’d writ­ten togeth­er for two decades until a cou­ple years back. Oth­er famil­iar sub­jects came and went. Lee “was ready to go” and seemed at peace, Thomas says.

“But he was still talk­ing about doing more cameos. As long as he had the ener­gy for it and didn’t have to trav­el, Stan was always up to do some more cameos.” Lee’s cameos con­tin­ue after his death in 2018, as is the way now with deceased icons. He has made three live-action appear­ances posthu­mous­ly, in footage shot before his death, one posthu­mous appear­ance in an ani­mat­ed super­hero film, and anoth­er in a Spi­der-Man video game. Soon, these vignettes may be all pop­u­lar audi­ences know of him.

Who knows how much footage–or will­ing­ness to cre­ate CGI Stan Lees—Disney has in store for future Mar­vel films. But a memo­r­i­al in script­ed one-lin­ers seems to miss out on a whole lot of Stan Lee. The man could be count­ed on to make the set on time. (Accord­ing to Jason Mewes, Lee had din­ner with his wife every sin­gle night with­out fail at 6:00 pm sharp.) But he could also be unpre­dictable in some very delight­ful ways.

Thomas tells a sto­ry, for exam­ple, of vis­it­ing Lee in the 80s in a Cal­i­for­nia house with mar­ble floors. “At one point he excused him­self, and he came back on roller skates…. I’d nev­er seen any­one roller-skat­ing on a mar­ble floor.” The short film above ani­mates anoth­er of these unscript­ed moments, when Lee lit­er­al­ly went off-script to deliv­er an extem­po­ra­ne­ous mono­logue on the f‑word. Of course, “I don’t say it, ‘cause I don’t say dirty words,” he begins, before let­ting it rip in an argu­ment for the f‑word as “the most use­ful word in the Eng­lish lan­guage.”

Lee’s off-the-cuff George Car­lin rou­tine rolls right into his rea­son for being in the record­ing booth: get­ting a take of his sig­na­ture excla­ma­tion, “Excelsior!”—the word the cre­ator or co-cre­ator of Spi­der-Man, Thor, Iron Man, Ant Man, Black Wid­ow, Black Pan­ther (and most the rest of the Mar­vel Uni­verse) reserved for empha­sis in his heart­felt, whole­some let­ters to fans over the decades. After he says his catch­phrase, James Whit­brook writes at io9, he goes “right back into hav­ing a laugh with every­one around him. It’s a love­ly, if pro­fane, remem­brance of an icon,” and, unfor­tu­nate­ly, not the kind of thing like­ly to make it in future cameo appear­ances.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Stan Lee (RIP) Gets an Exu­ber­ant Fan Let­ter from 15-Year-Old George R.R. Mar­tin, 1963

R.I.P. Stan Lee: Take His Free Online Course “The Rise of Super­heroes and Their Impact On Pop Cul­ture”

The Great Stan Lee Reads Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven”

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

Hear 11-Year-Old Björk Sing “I Love to Love”: Her First Recorded Song (1976)

Sev­er­al years back, we fea­tured an eleven-year-old Björk read­ing a nativ­i­ty sto­ry in her native Ice­landic, backed by unsmil­ing old­er kids from the Children’s Music School in Reyk­javík. In this new find, also dat­ing from 1976, you can hear that same eleven-year-old Björk singing in Eng­lish, in what marks her first record­ing. Above, she sings the Tina Charles song “I Love to Love” for a school recital. Accord­ing to Laugh­ing Squid, the “teach­ers were so impressed with her voice, they sent the record­ing to the nation­al radio sta­tion where it received a great deal of play.” Soon there­after (in 1977) came her first album, fea­tur­ing cov­er art pro­vid­ed by her mom. We’ve pre­vi­ous­ly explored that here on OC.

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

Watch Björk, Age 11, Read a Christ­mas Nativ­i­ty Sto­ry on a 1976 Ice­landic TV Spe­cial

Hear the Album Björk Record­ed as an 11-Year-Old: Fea­tures Cov­er Art Pro­vid­ed By Her Mom (1977)

A Young Björk Decon­structs (Phys­i­cal­ly & The­o­ret­i­cal­ly) a Tele­vi­sion in a Delight­ful Retro Video

The Great Courses Offers Every Course for $40 Until Midnight Tonight

Here’s a hol­i­day sea­son deal worth men­tion­ing. The Great Cours­es (for­mer­ly The Teach­ing Com­pa­ny) is offer­ing every course for $40 in dig­i­tal for­mat (or $60 in DVD for­mat). The deal lasts through mid­night on Black Fri­day.

If you’re not famil­iar with it, the Great Cours­es pro­vides a very nice ser­vice. They trav­el across the U.S., record­ing great pro­fes­sors lec­tur­ing on great top­ics that will appeal to any life­long learn­er. They then make the cours­es avail­able to cus­tomers in dif­fer­ent for­mats (DVD, CD, Video & Audio Down­loads, etc.). The cours­es are very pol­ished and com­plete, and they can be quite rea­son­ably priced, espe­cial­ly when they’re on sale, as they are today. Click here to explore the offer.

Sep­a­rate­ly, it’s also worth men­tion­ing that the Great Cours­es Plus–which makes cours­es avail­able in stream­ing for­mat as part of a month­ly sub­scrip­tion service–is run­ning a Black Fri­day deal where you can get a free tri­al for the ser­vice, plus 20% of pop­u­lar plans.

Note: The Great Cours­es is a part­ner with Open Cul­ture. So if you pur­chase a course, it ben­e­fits not just you and Great Cours­es. It ben­e­fits Open Cul­ture too. So con­sid­er it win-win-win.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Mas­ter­class Is Run­ning a “Buy One, Give One Free” Deal (Until Novem­ber 30)

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

 

With 9,036 Pieces, the Roman Colosseum Is the Largest Lego Set Ever

“For a nor­mal per­son back in the day,” says LEGO designer/architect Rok Kobe about the Colos­se­um in Rome, “You had nev­er seen a build­ing that was over a sto­ry high. And to be con­front­ed with such an amaz­ing piece of engi­neer­ing that’s almost 200-meters wide and 50 meters tall, it was unprece­dent­ed.”

Sim­i­lar­ly, any LEGO fan might feel this awe while greet­ing this month’s debut of the LEGO Colos­se­um. At 9036 pieces it has bro­ken the record as the biggest LEGO set in exis­tence, beat­ing out the Star Wars’ Mil­len­ni­um Fal­con (7,541 pieces) and the Taj Mahal (5,923 pieces). Every few years LEGO steps up its game, which might pos­si­bly end with a neigh­bor­hood-devour­ing repli­ca of the Great Wall of Chi­na. But we’re get­ting ahead of our­selves.

The Colos­se­um’s facade has been faith­ful­ly recre­at­ed on all three lev­els, with the Doric columns at the bot­tom, the Ion­ic columns in the mid­dle, and the Corinthi­an columns on top. And it also adds the con­tem­po­rary part of the are­na that has been rebuilt to show the orig­i­nal lev­el of the are­na in Roman times.

The orig­i­nal Colos­se­um was built over eight years between year 72 AD and 80 AD and between two emper­ors, Ves­pasian and Titus. And though we know it as a sand­stone-col­ored struc­ture these days, arche­ol­o­gists have deter­mined it was also col­ored red, black, and azure. The LEGO ver­sion may not be so dra­mat­ic, but it does con­tain a bit more col­or than the real-life mod­el.

Rok Kobe knows of what he speaks and mod­els. Grow­ing up in Ljubl­jana, capi­tol of Slove­nia, he would play on the Roman ruins in the city cen­ter, espe­cial­ly the Roman Wall. “The five year old would be proud of the adult that got to design this LEGO set,” he says.

At $798, this is not a friv­o­lous pur­chase. But it will bring an adult hours of fun and keep them occu­pied.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Frank Lloyd Wright Lego Set

Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty to Cre­ate a Lego Pro­fes­sor­ship

The LEGO Tur­ing Machine Gives a Quick Primer on How Your Com­put­er Works

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.

Toni Morrison’s 1,200 Volume Personal Library is Going on Sale: Get a Glimpse of the Books on Her Tribeca Condo Shelves

Images by Brown Har­ris Stevens

I will tell you how I began to be a writer.

I was a read­er.

Toni Mor­ri­son

Those of us who might have grown up har­bor­ing lit­er­ary ambi­tions may have been hum­bled and inspired when we first read Toni Mor­ri­son. She proves over and again, in nov­els, essays, and oth­er­wise, the courage and ded­i­ca­tion that seri­ous writ­ing requires. She has also shown us the courage it takes to be a seri­ous read­er. “Delv­ing into lit­er­a­ture is not escape,” she said in a 2002 inter­view. It is “always a provoca­tive engage­ment with the con­tem­po­rary, the mod­ern world. The issues of the soci­ety we live in.”

In her sem­i­nal text on read­ing, Play­ing in the Dark: White­ness and the Lit­er­ary Imag­i­na­tion, Mor­ri­son showed us how to read as she does. “As a read­er (before becom­ing a writer),” she wrote, “I read as I had been taught to do. But books revealed them­selves rather dif­fer­ent­ly to me as a writer,” in the space of imag­i­na­tive empa­thy. “I have to place enor­mous trust in my abil­i­ty to imag­ine oth­ers and my will­ing­ness to project con­scious­ly into the dan­ger zones such oth­ers may rep­re­sent for me.”

Crit­i­cal read­ers risk vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty, open them­selves to shock and sur­prise: “I want to draw a map… to open as much space for dis­cov­ery… with­out the man­date for con­quest.” This atti­tude makes crit­i­cism an act of “delight, not dis­ap­point­ment,” Mor­ri­son wrote, despite the dif­fer­ent, and unequal, posi­tions we come from as read­ers. “It’s that being open,” she said in 2009, “not scratch­ing for it, not dig­ging for it, not con­struct­ing some­thing but being open to the sit­u­a­tion and trust­ing that what you don’t know will be avail­able to you.”

Want to learn to read like that? You can. And you can also, if you have the cash, own and read the books in Morrison’s per­son­al library, the books she thumbed over and read in that same spir­it of crit­i­cal empa­thy. The over 1,200 books col­lect­ed at her Tribeca con­do can be pur­chased in their entire­ty for a price nego­ti­at­ed with her fam­i­ly. In the pho­tos here from real­tor Brown Har­ris Stevens, who cur­rent­ly list her five mil­lion dol­lar, 3 bed­room apart­ment in a sep­a­rate sale, cer­tain titles leap out from the spines:

Biogra­phies of Paul Robe­son and Charles Dick­ens, Adam Hochschild’s King Leopold’s Ghost, Eric J. Sundquist’s To Wake the Nations, Angela Davis’ An Auto­bi­og­ra­phy, Cor­nel West’s Democ­ra­cy Mat­ters. (Her library seems to be envi­ably alpha­bet­ized, some­thing I’ve meant to get around to for a cou­ple decades now….)

Michelle Sin­clair Col­man at Galerie lists sev­er­al more titles in the library, includ­ing The Orig­i­nal Illus­trat­ed Sher­lock Holmes, “books about and by the Oba­mas and the Clin­tons, W.E.B. DuBois, Langston Hugh­es, Zora Neale Hurston, Gayl Jones, Hen­ry Dumas, James Bald­win, and Mark Twain.” On her night­stand, undis­turbed, sit Robert A. Caro’s biog­ra­phy of Lyn­don John­son, David Maraniss’s Barack Oba­ma: The Sto­ry, and Stephen King’s Revival.

Some oth­er points of inter­est:

  • She owned a beau­ti­ful gold illus­trat­ed copy of Song of Solomon with the book­mark on Chap­ter Four.
  • She dis­played mul­ti­ple-framed Dewey Dec­i­mal cat­a­log library cards of her nov­els.
  • She edit­ed as she read.

And…

  • She had a few nev­er-returned library books. The most inter­est­ing was a copy of her own book, The Bluest Eye, from the Burn­a­by Pub­lic Library with copi­ous notes, under­lines, cross-outs on every sin­gle page.

Were these her own notes, under­lines, and cross-outs? It isn’t clear, but should you pur­chase the library, which can­not be pieced out but only owned as a whole, you can find out for your­self. We hope this his­toric col­lec­tion will one day end up in a library, maybe dig­i­tized for every­one to see. But for now, those of us who can’t afford the pur­chase price can be con­tent with this rare glimpse into Morrison’s sanc­tu­ary, where she did so much writ­ing, think­ing, and maybe most impor­tant­ly for her, so much read­ing. Images on this page come from Brown Har­ris Stevens.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Toni Mor­ri­son Decon­structs White Suprema­cy in Amer­i­ca

Toni Mor­ris­son: For­get Writ­ing About What You Know; Write About What You Don’t Know

Toni Mor­ri­son Dis­pens­es Sound Writ­ing Advice: Tips You Can Apply to Your Own Work

Hear Toni Mor­ri­son (RIP) Present Her Nobel Prize Accep­tance Speech on the Rad­i­cal Pow­er of Lan­guage (1993)

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

A Free 700-Page Chess Manual Explains 1,000 Chess Tactics in Straightforward English

Image by Michael Mag­gs, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

FYI: In 2011, Ward Farnsworth pub­lished a two-vol­ume col­lec­tion called Preda­tor at The Chess­board: A Field Guide To Chess Tac­tics (Vol­ume 1Vol­ume 2where he explains count­less chess tac­tics in plain Eng­lish. In this 700-page col­lec­tion, “there are 20 chap­ters, about 200 top­ics with­in them, and over 1,000 [chess] posi­tions dis­cussed.” Now for the even bet­ter part: Farnsworth has also made these vol­umes avail­able free online. Just vis­it chesstactics.org and scroll down the page. There you will find the con­tent that’s oth­er­wise avail­able in Farnsworth’s books. With this free resource, you can start mak­ing your­self a bet­ter chess play­er when­ev­er you have the urge, or espe­cial­ly as you watch The Queen’s Gam­bit on Net­flix.

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:

Clay­ma­tion Film Recre­ates His­toric Chess Match Immor­tal­ized in Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey

Gar­ry Kas­parov Now Teach­ing an Online Course on Chess

A Human Chess Match Gets Played in Leningrad, 1924

Man Ray Designs a Supreme­ly Ele­gant, Geo­met­ric Chess Set in 1920 (and It’s Now Re-Issued for the Rest of Us)

Play Chess Against the Ghost of Mar­cel Duchamp: A Free Online Chess Game

A Beau­ti­ful Short Doc­u­men­tary Takes You Inside New York City’s Last Great Chess Store

A Brief His­to­ry of Chess: An Ani­mat­ed Intro­duc­tion to the 1,500-Year-Old Game

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Masterclass Is Running a “Buy One, Give One Free” Deal (Until November 30)

FYI: Mas­ter­class is run­ning a Buy One, Share One Free until Novem­ber 30.

Here’s the gist: If you buy an All-Access pass to their 90+ cours­es, you will receive anoth­er All-Access Pass to give to some­one else at no addi­tion­al charge. An All-Access pass costs $180 (or $15 per month), and lasts one year. For that fee, you–and a fam­i­ly mem­ber or friend–can watch cours­es cre­at­ed by Annie Lei­bovitz, Neil Gaiman, Mal­colm Glad­well, Wern­er Her­zog, Mar­tin Scors­ese, David Mamet, Jane Goodall, Mar­garet Atwood, Helen Mir­ren, Her­bie Han­cock, Alice Waters, Bil­ly Collins and so many more. If you’re think­ing this sounds like a pret­ty good way to get through quar­an­tine, we’d have to agree. The deal is avail­able now.

Note: If you sign up for a Mas­ter­Class course by click­ing on the links in this post, Open Cul­ture will receive a small fee that helps sup­port our oper­a­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent

1,700 Free Online Cours­es from Top Uni­ver­si­ties

Use Your Time in Iso­la­tion to Learn Every­thing You’ve Always Want­ed To: Free Online Cours­es, Audio Books, eBooks, Movies, Col­or­ing Books & More

Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

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Famed New Orleans Music Producer Mark Bingham Discusses His Songs and Collaborations: A Nakedly Examined Music Conversation (#136)

You’re most like­ly to know Mark’s work from the string intro­duc­tion to REM’s “Shiny Hap­py Peo­ple,” but he’s been a sta­ple of the New Orleans record­ing scene since he moved there in 1982, pro­duc­ing groups like Flat Duo Jets, Glenn Bran­ca, John Scofield, Mar­i­anne Faith­ful, and the Rebirth Brass Band. He and his stu­dio were also fea­tured on the HBO show Treme. He had a whole life­time of musi­cal devel­op­ment before then, though, first get­ting signed as a teenag­er in Los Ange­les and record­ing a sin­gle as a solo artist. He then left to study music in Indi­ana where he was one of two gui­tarists and sev­er­al singers for the very adven­tur­ous, the­atri­cal Scream­ing Gyp­sy Ban­dits, who released their one album, In the Eye, in 1973. Fol­low­ing the times, he eschewed pro­gres­sive rock for a more min­i­mal­ist but still very arty style in New York City with a band called Social Climbers. He’s released two albums since then under his own name in between pro­duc­tion work: A jazz-rock inflect­ed singer-song­writer album called I Passed for Human in 1989, and then a more root­sy endeav­or called Psalms Of Vengeance in 2009. He is due for a sig­nif­i­cant archive release with­in the next year with some­thing like ten albums of addi­tion­al com­po­si­tions.

In this episode of Naked­ly Exam­ined Music, we pick four of his songs to play in full and dis­cuss. After a short intro­duc­tion over the song “Flies R All Around Me” by Scream­ing Gyp­sy Ban­dits from Back to Dog­head (1970, but not released until 2009), the first full dis­cus­sion cov­ers “Pissoffgod.com” (fea­tured in the video link in this post) from Psalms of Vengeance (2009). We then turn to “Ash Wednes­day and Lent” by Ed Sanders (music by Mark Bing­ham) from Ed’s album Poems for New Orleans (2007). We then look back to “That’s Why” by Social Climbers from their self-titled album (1981). We con­clude with “Blood Moon,” a group impro­vi­sa­tion by Michot’s Melody Mak­ers from Cos­mic Cajuns from Sat­urn (2020). This is a band that plays most­ly tra­di­tion­al cajun music that Mark was pro­duc­ing and has now for two albums joined as their gui­tarist.

Want more? Lis­ten to “Flies” in fullHear the whole Social Climbers album (1981). Mark’s first solo album fea­tured this Coltrane clas­sicLis­ten to Mark back­ing Aaron Neville and John­ny Adams on a Hal Will­ner album of Kurt Weil tunes. Expe­ri­ence one of the tunes he wrote for Allen Gins­berg to read poet­ry over. Watch him live with Michot’s Melody Mak­ers.

Naked­ly Exam­ined Music is a pod­cast host­ed by Mark Lin­sen­may­er, who also hosts The Par­tial­ly Exam­ined Life Phi­los­o­phy Pod­cast and Pret­ty Much Pop: A Cul­ture Pod­cast. He releas­es music under the name Mark Lint.

The Story Behind “Alice’s Restaurant,” Arlo Guthrie’s Song That’s Now a Thanksgiving Tradition

Around the coun­try today, along with a food-coma induc­ing serv­ing of turkey, ham, stuff­ing and all the trim­mings, a great many of you will be fol­low­ing anoth­er tra­di­tion: lis­ten­ing to Arlo Guthrie’s 1968 song “Alice’s Restau­rant.” Accord­ing to one YouTu­ber, when her kids were young, she’d “sit them down togeth­er and play this/torture them with it from begin­ning to end.” The replies sug­gest she’s not alone. Some­where a child has now grown up and is pass­ing the song down to a younger gen­er­a­tion.

“Alice’s Restau­rant” is about Thanks­giv­ing in the same way that it’s about a restau­rant owned by Alice–very lit­tle. Instead, it’s a long shag­gy but true tale about Guthrie and his friend Rick Rob­bins help­ing their friends out after a Thanks­giv­ing din­ner that “couldn’t be beat”. With trash fill­ing up the gut­ted for­mer small-town Mass­a­chu­setts church where Alice and her hus­band were liv­ing, the two fill up their VW van with the refuse and ille­gal­ly dump it in the back woods. Guthrie gets arrest­ed, tak­en to court, and fined for lit­ter­ing, only to have his new crim­i­nal record lat­er dis­qual­i­fy him for the draft.

That’s the des­ti­na­tion, but it’s the jour­ney that makes the song, an 18-plus minute “talk­ing blues” that Guthrie would have learned from his dad, folk leg­end Woody Guthrie. Woody in turn learned it from a 1920s coun­try and Blues musi­cian called Chris Bouch­illon, who talked his way through songs because his singing voice wasn’t all that good. And the sim­ple pick­ing style Guthrie traces from Mis­sis­sip­pi John Hurt to Pete Seeger and Ram­blin’ Jack Elliot all the way back to the moth­er­land: “In its infan­cy, that’s an African style approach to a six-string gui­tar and I have always loved it,” he told Rolling Stone.

Guthrie start­ed writ­ing the song, titling it “Alice’s Restau­rant Mas­sacree,” an eso­teric word mean­ing a series of absurd events. He work­shopped it in cof­fee hous­es and live venues, adding to it, tak­ing bits out that weren’t work­ing, play­ing with the time, from 18 min­utes all the way up to 35. In Feb­ru­ary of 1967 Guthrie was invit­ed to play live on New York City’s WBAI-FM. The record­ing became a hit, and helped the non-prof­it sta­tion fund-raise, broad­cast­ing the song when a total dol­lar amount was hit. When the song got too much air­play, they also fund-raised to stop play­ing the song.

Then came the New­port Folk Fes­ti­val, where the day­time crowd of 3,500 loved it so much that Guthrie returned for the evening set to play it to 9,500, joined on stage with a who’s‑who of folk leg­ends includ­ing Pete Seeger and Oscar Brand. This was a big deal for an 18-year-old musi­cian. The album came in Octo­ber of that year, where the song took up a whole side. A movie adap­ta­tion appeared two years lat­er, with the actu­al peo­ple from the song–including police chief William Oban­hein (Offi­cer Obie in the song) and the blind Judge James Hannon–playing them­selves in the movie.

The song might not have its stay­ing pow­er if it wasn’t for its themes of resist­ing author­i­ty and bureau­cra­cy, pos­si­bly even more than the anti-war mes­sage at its end.

“I’ve remained dis­trust­ful of author­i­ty for my entire life,” Guthrie told Smith­son­ian Mag­a­zine, “I believe it’s one of the great strengths of a democ­ra­cy, that we take seri­ous­ly our role as the ulti­mate author­i­ties by our inter­est and our votes. Younger peo­ple have always had a rebel­lious streak. It goes with the ter­ri­to­ry of grow­ing up.”

Guthrie retired from tour­ing, and had retired the song even ear­li­er than that. But it lives on every Thanks­giv­ing in many house­holds. As he told Rolling Stone, that’s a fine lega­cy:

“Hey if they’re gonna play one song of yours on the radio one day a year, it might as well be the longest one you wrote!”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Two Leg­ends, Lead Bel­ly & Woody Guthrie, Per­form­ing on the Same Radio Show (1940)

William S. Bur­roughs Reads His Sar­cas­tic “Thanks­giv­ing Prayer” in a 1988 Film By Gus Van Sant

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s 13 Tips for What to Do with Your Left­over Thanks­giv­ing Turkey

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.

A Flying Car Took to the Skies Back in 1949: See the Taylor Aerocar in Action

“A secret ques­tion hov­ers over us, a sense of dis­ap­point­ment, a bro­ken promise we were giv­en as chil­dren about what our adult world was sup­posed to be like,” the late anthro­pol­o­gist David Grae­ber once wrote in the Baf­fler. This refers to “a par­tic­u­lar gen­er­a­tional promise — giv­en to those who were chil­dren in the fifties, six­ties, sev­en­ties, or eight­ies — one that was nev­er quite artic­u­lat­ed as a promise but rather as a set of assump­tions about what our adult world would be like.” In the con­fus­ing­ly dis­ap­point­ing future we now inhab­it, one ques­tion hov­ers above them all: “Where, in short, are the fly­ing cars?”

Even those of us not yet born in the mid-20th cen­tu­ry can sense the cul­tur­al import of the fly­ing car to that era, and not just from its sci­ence fic­tion. Chuck Berry was singing about fly­ing cars back in 1956: His song “You Can’t Catch Me” tells of rac­ing down the New Jer­sey Turn­pike in a cus­tom-made “air­mo­bile,” a “Flight DeV­ille with a pow­er­ful motor and some hide­away wings.”


This was­n’t whol­ly fan­tas­ti­cal, giv­en that an actu­al fly­ing car had been built sev­en years ear­li­er. Demon­strat­ed in the news­reel from that year at the top of  the post, the Aero­car came designed and built by a solo inven­tor, for­mer World War II pilot Moul­ton Tay­lor of Longview, Wash­ing­ton, who in 1959 would appear on the pop­u­lar game show I’ve Got a Secret.

The pro­gram’s pan­elists attempt to guess the nature of Tay­lor’s inven­tion as he puts it togeth­er onstage, for the Aero­car required some assem­bly. Though con­sid­er­ably more com­pli­cat­ed than the push-but­ton mech­a­nism imag­ined by Berry, the process took only five min­utes to con­vert from auto­mo­bile to air­plane, or so the inven­tor promised. Despite secur­ing the Civ­il Avi­a­tion Author­i­ty’s approval for mass pro­duc­tion, Tay­lor could­n’t find a suf­fi­cient num­ber of buy­ers, and in the end only built six Aero­cars. But one of them still flies, as seen on the first episode of the 2008 series James May’s Big Ideas. “I wouldn’t have flown it if I’d seen the wings were attached with elab­o­rate paper­clips,” writes the for­mer Top Gear co-host, “but by the time I real­ized this, we were already at 2,000 feet.”

“As an air­plane, it was actu­al­ly pret­ty good,” May admits, “but then, it would be, because an air­plane is what it was.” As a car, “it was dia­bol­i­cal. Worse than the Bee­tle, to be hon­est, and not helped by the require­ment to drag all the unwant­ed air­planey bits behind you on a trail­er.” Still, the expe­ri­ence of fly­ing in the Aero­car clear­ly thrilled him, as it would any car or plane enthu­si­ast. Even in a non-air­wor­thy state the Aero­car cer­tain­ly thrills Matthew Burchette, cura­tor at Seat­tle’s Muse­um of Flight. In the video above he intro­duces the muse­um’s Aero­car III, the last one Tay­lor built. “If you’re about my age, you real­ly want­ed your jet­pack,” says the gray-haired Burchette, though a fly­ing car would also have done the trick. Alas, more than half a cen­tu­ry after Tay­lor’s ambi­tious project, human­i­ty seems to have made no appar­ent progress in that depart­ment; jet­packs, how­ev­er, seem to be com­ing along nice­ly.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

New­ly Unearthed Footage Shows Albert Ein­stein Dri­ving a Fly­ing Car (1931)

The Time­less Beau­ty of the Cit­roën DS, the Car Mythol­o­gized by Roland Barthes (1957)

A Har­row­ing Test Dri­ve of Buck­min­ster Fuller’s 1933 Dymax­ion Car: Art That Is Scary to Ride

178,000 Images Doc­u­ment­ing the His­to­ry of the Car Now Avail­able on a New Stan­ford Web Site

NASA Puts 400+ His­toric Exper­i­men­tal Flight Videos on YouTube

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, on Face­book, or on Insta­gram.

The Beatles Create an Abstract Collaborative Painting, Images of a Woman, During Three Days of Lockdown in Japan (1966)

One of the ear­li­est known non-human visu­al artists, Con­go the chim­panzee, learned to draw in 1956 at the age of two. Moody, fierce­ly pro­tec­tive of his work, and par­tic­u­lar about his process, he made around 400 draw­ings and paint­ings in a style described as “lyri­cal abstract impres­sion­ism.” He appeared sev­er­al times on British tele­vi­sion before his death in 1964. He count­ed Picas­so among his fans and, in a 2005 auc­tion, out­sold Warhol and Renoir.

One won­ders if who­ev­er gave the four-head­ed beast known as the Bea­t­les can­vas and paint (“pos­si­bly Bri­an Epstein or their Japan­ese pro­mot­er, Tats Nagashima”) remem­bered Con­go as the fab four bounced off the walls in their hotel rooms in Tokyo dur­ing their last, 1966 tour, when extra secu­ri­ty forced them to stay inside for three full days. Or per­haps their keep­ers were inspired by the humane prac­tice of art ther­a­py, com­ing into its own at the same time in men­tal health cir­cles with the found­ing of the British Asso­ci­a­tion of Art Ther­a­pists in 1964.

“Accord­ing to pho­tog­ra­ph­er Robert Whitak­er,” David Wol­man writes at The Atlantic, the Bea­t­les’ man­ag­er “brought the guys a bunch of art sup­plies to help pass the time. Then Epstein set a large can­vas on a table and placed a lamp in the mid­dle. Each mem­ber of the group set to work paint­ing a corner—comic strip­py for Ringo, psy­che­del­ic for John.” Paul’s cor­ner resem­bles an odd­ly erot­ic sea crea­ture, George’s the spir­i­tu­al abstrac­tions of Kandin­sky. Accord­ing to the Bea­t­les Bible, it was Nagashima “who sug­gest­ed that the com­plet­ed paint­ing be auc­tioned for char­i­ty.”

Whitak­er doc­u­ment­ed the exper­i­ment and lat­er pro­nounced it an imme­di­ate suc­cess: “I nev­er saw them calmer, more con­tent­ed than at this time… They’d stop, go and do a con­cert, and then it was ‘Let’s go back to the pic­ture!’” Once fin­ished, the lamp was lift­ed, all four signed their names in the cen­ter, and the paint­ing was titled Images of A Woman, which may be no indi­ca­tion of the artists’ inten­tions. Who knows what kind of scouser humor passed between them as they worked.

The paint­ing then passed to cin­e­ma exec­u­tive Tet­sus­aburo Shi­moya­ma, whose wid­ow auc­tioned it in 1989 to wealthy record store own­er Takao Nishi­no, who had seen them at Budokan in 1966 dur­ing the same his­toric tour that pro­duced the paint­ing. Then it end­ed up under a bed for twen­ty years before being auc­tioned again in 2012. It’s cer­tain­ly true the band, most espe­cial­ly Paul and John, had always tak­en to visu­al art, as artists them­selves or as col­lec­tors and appre­ci­a­tors. But this is some­thing spe­cial. It rep­re­sents their only col­lab­o­ra­tive art­work, aside from some doo­dles on a card sent to the Mon­ter­rey orga­niz­ers.

When look­ing at Whitaker’s pho­tographs of the band at work (see video mon­tage above), one doesn’t, of course, think of Con­go the chimp or the patients of a psy­chi­atric hos­pi­tal. Instead, they look like stu­dents in a ‘60s alter­na­tive school, set loose to cre­ate with­out inter­rup­tion (but for the occa­sion­al mega-con­cert) to their hearts’ con­tent. Maybe Epstein or Nagashima had just seen the 1966 Nation­al Film Board of Cana­da doc­u­men­tary Sum­mer­hill, about just such a school in Eng­land? What­ev­er inspired the zeitgeist‑y moment, we can see why it nev­er came again. That year, they played their final con­cert and retired to the stu­dio, where they could lock them­selves away with their pre­ferred means of cre­ative dis­trac­tion.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

When the Bea­t­les Refused to Play Before Seg­re­gat­ed Audi­ences on Their First U.S. Tour (1964)

Meet Con­go the Chimp, London’s Sen­sa­tion­al 1950s Abstract Painter

How “Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er” Con­tains “the Cra­zi­est Edit” in Bea­t­les His­to­ry

Audio: The Bea­t­les Play Their Final Con­cert at Can­dle­stick Park, 1966

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


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