Play Mark Twain’s “Memory-Builder,” His Game for Remembering Historical Facts & Dates

twain game

Mark Twain wrote The Adven­tures of Tom Sawyer, The Adven­tures of Huck­le­ber­ry Finn, and A Con­necti­cut Yan­kee in King Arthur’s Court, of course, but like any good lumi­nary of 19th-cen­tu­ry Amer­i­ca, he also put togeth­er a few inven­tions on the side. These non-lit­er­ary achieve­ments of Twain’s includ­ed an “Improve­ment in Adjustable and Detach­able Straps for Gar­ments” (as the patent calls it) meant to replace sus­penders, a “self-past­ing” scrap­book”, and the “Mem­o­ry-Builder, a game for acquir­ing and retain­ing all sorts of facts and dates.”

“Twain believed that mem­o­riza­tion — a com­mon strat­e­gy of 19th-cen­tu­ry school­ing — was a wor­thy, if tire­some, pur­suit, and looked for ways to make it more inter­est­ing for annoyed stu­dents,” writes Slate’s Rebec­ca Onion. This line of think­ing led him to cre­ate the Mem­o­ry-Builder, which he described as a “game which shall fill the chil­dren’s heads with dates with­out study” in an 1883 let­ter to a friend. He explained the back­ground of his edu­ca­tion­al phi­los­o­phy in much fuller detail in a 1914 piece from Harper’s mag­a­zine:

Six­teen years ago when my chil­dren were lit­tle crea­tures the gov­erness was try­ing to ham­mer some primer his­to­ries into their heads. Part of this fun — if you like to call it that — con­sist­ed in the mem­o­riz­ing of the acces­sion dates of the thir­ty-sev­en per­son­ages who had ruled Eng­land from the Con­queror down. These lit­tle peo­ple found it a bit­ter, hard con­tract. It was all dates, they all looked alike, and they would­n’t stick. Day after day of the sum­mer vaca­tion drib­bled by, and still the kings held the fort; the chil­dren could­n’t con­quer any six of them.

This expe­ri­ence gave rise to a cou­ple of dif­fer­ent learn­ing meth­ods, of which the Mem­o­ry-Builder (patent­ed in 1885) would prove the best-known. Though Twain worked out a way to play it on a crib­bage board con­vert­ed into a his­tor­i­cal time­line, you can play a tech­no­log­i­cal­ly much-updat­ed but mate­ri­al­ly iden­ti­cal ver­sion of the game online (with the same crib­bage pins and the same strange­ly intense focus on those roy­als) at the web site of the Uni­ver­si­ty of Ore­gon’s library. Alter­na­tive­ly, you can play an adap­ta­tion that deals with the life and times of Twain him­self at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Vir­gini­a’s web site.

Whether or not the Mem­o­ry-Builder can help you learn your his­to­ry, you’ll have to find out for your­self. Not hav­ing caught on at the time, Twain’s game did­n’t get far out of the pro­to­type stage, but the idea behind it has sur­vived in the form of one of Twain’s many so-very-quotable quotes: “I have nev­er let my school­ing inter­fere with my edu­ca­tion.” Some­thing tells me he’d approve of see­ing his game on the inter­net, sure­ly the tool that has done more to get edu­ca­tion into the learn­er’s own hands than any­thing else in human his­to­ry so far. (Um, have you seen our list of 1100 Free Online Cours­es?)

via Slate

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mark Twain Pre­dicts the Inter­net in 1898: Read His Sci-Fi Crime Sto­ry, “From The ‘Lon­don Times’ in 1904”

Mark Twain Wrote the First Book Ever Writ­ten With a Type­writer

Mark Twain Shirt­less in 1883 Pho­to

Mark Twain Cap­tured on Film by Thomas Edi­son in 1909. It’s the Only Known Footage of the Author.

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Take a “Breath” and Watch Samuel Beckett’s One-Minute Play

As Samuel Beckett’s writ­ing pro­gressed through the ’60s, it became even more min­i­mal, despair­ing, and bleak. It was as if he was par­ing away as much as he could to see if the­ater was left stand­ing. If a paint­ing could be one col­or like Ad Rein­hardt, what would be the Rein­hardt of the­ater? Jonathan Crow men­tioned yes­ter­day how Beck­et­t’s 1969 play Breath, for instance, “runs just a minute long and fea­tures just the sound of breath­ing.” There is a bit more to it than that. Not a lot more, but yes, more. Here’s the play’s script in full:

Cur­tain.

1. Faint light on stage lit­tered with mis­cel­la­neous rub­bish.  Hold for about five sec­onds.

2.  Faint brief cry and imme­di­ate­ly inspi­ra­tion and slow increase of light togeth­er reach­ing max­i­mum togeth­er in about ten sec­onds.  Silence and hold about five sec­onds.

3.  Expi­ra­tion and slow decrease of light togeth­er reach­ing min­i­mum togeth­er (light as in I) in about ten sec­onds and imme­di­ate­ly cry as before.  Silence and hold for about five sec­onds.

Beck­ett adds some notes:

Rub­bish.  No ver­ti­cals, all scat­tered and lying.

Cry.  Instant of record­ed vagi­tus.  Impor­tant that two cries be iden­ti­cal, switch­ing on and off strict­ly syn­chro­nized light and breath.

Breath.  Ampli­fied record­ing.

Max­i­mum light.  Not bright.  If 0 = dark and 10 = bright, light should move from about 3 to 6 and back.

The play came about when one of the most impor­tant Eng­lish the­ater crit­ics of his time Ken­neth Tynan asked for short skits for an erot­ic revue he was putting on in 1969, called Oh! Cal­cut­ta. Oth­ers invi­tees includ­ed Jules Feif­fer, John Lennon, Edna O’Brien, Jacques Levy, Sam Shep­ard, and Leonard Melfi. The plan was to per­form each skit but keep each writer’s name a secret. Beck­ett report­ed­ly wrote the play on a post­card and sent it to Tynan, then became enraged when he heard that instead of rub­bish on stage, Tynan had used naked bod­ies *and* in fact had explic­it­ly cred­it­ed Beck­ett in the pro­gram. Breath wouldn’t get a prop­er stag­ing until 1999 in London’s West End, as part of an evening with Beckett’s more sub­stan­tial Krapp’s Last Tape. You can read reports of how the audi­ence react­ed.

Sev­er­al direc­tors have brought Breath to life. Artist Damien Hirst had a go for the 2002 Beck­ett on Film project. As seen above, his ver­sion has very spec­tac­u­lar rub­bish gath­ered from a hos­pi­tal and, glimpsed in the final sec­onds, a cig­a­rette butt swasti­ka.

Below, check out a more “tra­di­tion­al” inter­pre­ta­tion of the play from the Nation­al The­atre School of Canada’s Tech Pro­duc­tion class. After that comes a repeat of Hirst’s ver­sion, and then one more alter­na­tive, Dar­ren Smyth’s 2009 TV sta­t­ic-filled attempt. (The rest of the video is a mixed bag of the Alan Par­sons Project and a Tim Bur­ton short, don’t ask why.)

Despite Beckett’s morose rep­u­ta­tion, there’s always a black humor under­neath it all. And if you’re going to ask the man to write an “erot­ic skit,” this is what you get, the futil­i­ty of life from womb to tomb in a minute.

Final­ly, you can watch an infor­ma­tive mini lec­ture on the play, pre­sent­ed by Dr. Cather­ine Brown for the New Col­lege of the Human­i­ties.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch the Open­ing Cred­its of an Imag­i­nary 70s Cop Show Star­ring Samuel Beck­ett

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills and/or watch his films here.

The Books Samuel Beckett Read and Really Liked (1941–1956)

becket list 1

Samuel Beck­ett, Pic, 1″ by Roger Pic. Via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Clad in a black turtle­neck and with a shock of white hair, Samuel Beck­ett was a gaunt, gloomy high priest of mod­ernism. After the 1955 pre­miere of Samuel Beckett’s play Wait­ing for Godot (watch him stage a per­for­mance here), Ken­neth Tynan quipped, ”It has no plot, no cli­max, no denoue­ment; no begin­ning, no mid­dle and no end.” From there, Beckett’s work only got more aus­tere, bleak and despair­ing. His 1969 play Breath, for instance, runs just a minute long and fea­tures just the sound of breath­ing.

An intense­ly pri­vate man, he man­aged to mes­mer­ize the pub­lic even as he turned away from the lime­light. When he won the Nobel Prize in 1969, his wife Suzanne, fear­ing the onslaught of fame that the award would bring, decried it as a “cat­a­stro­phe.”

A recent­ly pub­lished col­lec­tion of his let­ters from 1941–1956, the peri­od lead­ing up to his inter­na­tion­al suc­cess with his play Wait­ing for Godot, casts some light on at least one cor­ner of the man’s pri­vate life – what books were pil­ing up on his bed stand. Below is an anno­tat­ed list of what he was read­ing dur­ing that time. Not sur­pris­ing­ly, he real­ly dug Albert Camus’s The Stranger. “Try and read it,” he writes. “I think it is impor­tant.” He dis­miss­es Agatha Christie’s Crooked House as “very tired Christie” but prais­es Around the World in 80 Days, “It is live­ly stuff.” But the book he reserves the most praise for is J.D. Salinger’s Catch­er in the Rye. “I liked it very much indeed, more than any­thing for a long time.”

You can see the full list below. It was orig­i­nal­ly pub­lished online by Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty Press in 2011. Books with an aster­isk next to the title can be found in our col­lec­tion of 700 Free eBooks.

Andro­maqueby Jean Racine: “I read Andro­maque again with greater admi­ra­tion than ever and I think more under­stand­ing, at least more under­stand­ing of the chances of the the­atre today.”

Around the World in 80 Days* by Jules Verne: “It is live­ly stuff.”

The Cas­tle by Franz Kaf­ka: “I felt at home, too much so – per­haps that is what stopped me from read­ing on. Case closed there and then.”

The Catch­er in the Rye by J.D. Salinger: “I liked it very much indeed, more than any­thing for a long time.”

Crooked House by Agatha Christie: “very tired Christie”

Effi Briest* by Theodor Fontane: “I read it for the fourth time the oth­er day with the same old tears in the same old places.”

The Hunch­back of Notre Dame* by Vic­tor Hugo

Jour­ney to the End of the Night by Louis-Fer­di­nand Céline

Lautrea­mont and Sade by Mau­rice Blan­chot: “Some excel­lent ideas, or rather start­ing-points for ideas, and a fair bit of ver­biage, to be read quick­ly, not as a trans­la­tor does. What emerges from it though is a tru­ly gigan­tic Sade, jeal­ous of Satan and of his eter­nal tor­ments, and con­fronting nature more than with humankind.”

Man’s Fate by Andre Mal­raux

Mos­qui­toes by William Faulkn­er: “with a pref­ace by Que­neau that would make an ostrich puke”

The Stranger by Albert Camus: “Try and read it, I think it is impor­tant.”

The Temp­ta­tion to Exist by Emil Cio­ran: “Great stuff here and there. Must reread his first.”

La 628-E8* by Octave Mir­beau: “Damned good piece of work.”

via Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty Press

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Samuel Beck­ett Directs His Absur­dist Play Wait­ing for Godot (1985)

Mon­ster­piece The­ater Presents Wait­ing for Elmo, Calls BS on Samuel Beck­ett

Rare Audio: Samuel Beck­ett Reads Two Poems From His Nov­el Watt

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow. And check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing lots of pic­tures of bad­gers and even more pic­tures of vice pres­i­dents with octo­pus­es on their heads.  The Veep­to­pus store is here.

The Story of Lorem Ipsum: How Scrambled Text by Cicero Became the Standard For Typesetters Everywhere

In high school, the lan­guage I most fell in love with hap­pened to be a dead one: Latin. Sure, it’s spo­ken at the Vat­i­can, and when I first began to study the tongue of Vir­gil and Cat­ul­lus, friends joked that I could only use it if I moved to Rome. Tempt­ing, but church Latin bare­ly resem­bles the clas­si­cal writ­ten lan­guage, a high­ly for­mal gram­mar full of sym­me­tries and puz­zles. You don’t speak clas­si­cal Latin; you solve it, labor over it, and gloat, to no one in par­tic­u­lar, when you’ve ren­dered it some­what intel­li­gi­ble. Giv­en that the study of an ancient lan­guage is rarely a con­ver­sa­tion­al art, it can some­times feel a lit­tle alien­at­ing.

And so you might imag­ine how pleased I was to dis­cov­er what looked like clas­si­cal Latin in the real world: the text known to design­ers around the globe as “Lorem Ipsum,” also called “filler text” and (erro­neous­ly) “Greek copy.”

The idea, Priceo­nom­ics informs us, is to force peo­ple to look at the lay­out and font, not read the words. Also, “nobody would mis­take it for their native lan­guage,” there­fore Lorem Ipsum is “less like­ly than oth­er filler text to be mis­tak­en for final copy and pub­lished by acci­dent.” If you’ve done any web design, you’ve prob­a­bly seen it, look­ing some­thing like this:

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, con­secte­tur adip­isc­ing elit, sed do eius­mod tem­por inci­didunt ut labore et dolore magna ali­qua. Ut enim ad min­im veni­am, quis nos­trud exerci­ta­tion ullam­co laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea com­mo­do con­se­quat. Duis aute irure dolor in rep­re­hen­der­it in volup­tate velit esse cil­lum dolore eu fugiat nul­la pariatur. Excep­teur sint occae­cat cup­i­datat non proident, sunt in cul­pa qui offi­cia deserunt mol­lit anim id est labo­rum.

When I first encoun­tered this text, I did what any Latin geek will—set about try­ing to trans­late it. But it wasn’t long before I real­ized that Lorem Ipsum is most­ly gib­ber­ish, a gar­bling of Latin that makes no real sense. The first word, “Lorem,” isn’t even a word; instead it’s a piece of the word “dolorem,” mean­ing pain, suf­fer­ing, or sor­row. So where did this mash-up of Latin-like syn­tax come from, and how did it get so scram­bled? First, the source of Lorem Ipsum—tracked down by Ham­p­den-Syd­ney Direc­tor of Pub­li­ca­tions Richard McClintock—is Roman lawyer, states­man, and philoso­pher Cicero, from an essay called “On the Extremes of Good and Evil,” or De Finibus Bono­rum et Mal­o­rum.

675px-Cicero_-_Musei_Capitolini

Why Cicero? Put most sim­ply, writes Priceo­nom­ics, “for a long time, Cicero was every­where.” His fame as the most skilled of Roman rhetori­cians meant that his writ­ing became the bench­mark for prose in Latin, the stan­dard Euro­pean lan­guage of the mid­dle ages. The pas­sage that gen­er­at­ed Lorem Ipsum trans­lates in part to a sen­ti­ment Latin­ists will well under­stand:

Nor is there any­one who loves or pur­sues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but occa­sion­al­ly cir­cum­stances occur in which toil and pain can pro­cure him some great plea­sure.

Dolorem Ipsum, “pain in and of itself,” sums up the tor­tu­ous feel­ing of try­ing to ren­der some of Cicero’s com­plex, ver­bose sen­tences into Eng­lish. Doing so with tol­er­a­ble pro­fi­cien­cy is, for some of us, “great plea­sure” indeed.

But how did Cicero, that mas­ter styl­ist, come to be so bad­ly man­han­dled as to be near­ly unrec­og­niz­able? Lorem Ipsum has a his­to­ry that long pre­dates online con­tent man­age­ment. It has been used as filler text since the six­teenth cen­tu­ry when—as McClin­tock theorized—“some type­set­ter had to make a type spec­i­men book, to demo dif­fer­ent fonts” and decid­ed that “the text should be insen­si­ble, so as not to dis­tract from the page’s graph­i­cal fea­tures.” It appears that this enter­pris­ing crafts­man snatched up a page of Cicero he had lying around and turned it into non­sense. The text, says McClin­tock, “has sur­vived not only four cen­turies of let­ter-by-let­ter reset­ting but even the leap into elec­tron­ic type­set­ting, essen­tial­ly unchanged.”

The sto­ry of Lorem Ipsum is a fas­ci­nat­ing one—if you’re into that kind of thing—but its longevi­ty rais­es a fur­ther ques­tion: should we still be using it at all, this man­gling of a dead lan­guage, in a medi­um as vital and dynam­ic as web pub­lish­ing, where “con­tent” refers to hun­dreds of design ele­ments besides font. Is Lorem Ipsum a quaint piece of nos­tal­gia that’s out­lived its use­ful­ness? In answer, you may wish to read Karen McGrane’s spir­it­ed defense of the prac­tice. Or, if you feel it’s time to let the gar­bled Latin go the way of man­u­al type­set­ting machines, con­sid­er per­haps as an alter­na­tive “Niet­zsche Ipsum,” which gen­er­ates ran­dom para­graphs of most­ly verb-less, inco­her­ent Niet­zsche-like text, in Eng­lish. Hey, at least it looks like a real lan­guage.

via Priceo­nom­ics

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Learn Latin, Old Eng­lish, San­skrit, Clas­si­cal Greek & Oth­er Ancient Lan­guages in 10 Lessons

The First Children’s Pic­ture Book, 1658’s Orbis Sen­su­al­i­um Pic­tus

On the Impor­tance of the Cre­ative Brief: Frank Gehry, Maira Kalman & Oth­ers Explain its Essen­tial Role

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

Watch Meryl Streep Have Fun with Accents: Bronx, Polish, Irish, Australian, Yiddish & More

Meryl Streep, fre­quent­ly hailed as one of our Great­est Liv­ing Actress­es — she claims there’s no such thing — com­mands a near-ency­clo­pe­dic mas­tery of accents.

Oth­ers may pre­pare for their roles by work­ing with a dialect coach or lis­ten­ing to tapes of native speak­ers, but Streep push­es to the lim­it, as indi­cat­ed in the con­ver­sa­tion with author Andre Dubus III, below.

She not only learned Pol­ish in order to play a trou­bled Holo­caust sur­vivor in Sophie’s Choice, she thought deeply about the way gen­der roles and peri­od inform vocal pre­sen­ta­tion.

Clear­ly a lot of effort goes into the per­for­mances that leave British crit­ics cheer­ing Streep as she sails above play­ing fields lit­tered with Amer­i­can actors who dared attempt Eng­lish accents.

Her com­mit­ment to her craft is inad­ver­tent­ly to blame for pop­u­lar­iz­ing the phrase “dingo’s got my baby.”

How refresh­ing that this ver­sa­tile and accom­plished actor is not pre­cious about her skills. She game­ly trot­ted them out for the come­di­an Ellen DeGeneres’ par­lor game, above. Looks like fun, pro­vid­ed one’s not an intro­vert. Each play­er draws a card labelled with an accent, sticks it to the brim of a sil­ly hat, then tried to guess the accent, based on her partner’s impromp­tu per­for­mance.

“Brook­lyn?” Streep gig­gles when the Louisiana-born DeGeneres has a go at Boston.

Her stab at the Bronx shows off her improv chops far bet­ter than the most recent stunt DeGeneres roped her into.

(For what it’s worth, Ben Affleck also excelled at this game. The late Robin Williams was less con­vinc­ing, but char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly irre­press­ible, even when called upon to imper­son­ate speak­ers of oth­er races.)

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and low bud­get the­ater impre­sario. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Watch an Animated Buckminster Fuller Tell Studs Terkel All About “the Geodesic Life”

Will human­i­ty ever pro­duce anoth­er mind quite like Buck­min­ster Fuller’s? It does­n’t seem to have done so thus far. Even in Fuller’s own time, peo­ple could­n’t quite believe the intel­lec­tu­al idio­syn­crasy of the inven­tor who came up with the geo­des­ic dome, the Dymax­ion Car, and much, much more. “Time and again,” he once said, “I am asked, ‘who else do you know who thinks the way you do, or does what you do?’ I find it very strange to have to answer, ‘I don’t know any­body else.’ It’s not because I think of myself as unique, but sim­ply because I did choose a very dif­fer­ent grand strat­e­gy.”

Fuller — or Bucky, his pre­ferred nick­name — says more about that grand strat­e­gy and the expe­ri­ences that led him to devel­op it in the inter­views, con­duct­ed by Studs Terkel in 1965 and 1970, from which that quote comes. You can hear it in the video above, which brings the mate­r­i­al to life by visu­al­iz­ing the ele­ments of Fuller’s life and ideas through the hand of ani­ma­tor Jen­nifer Yoo. The video recent­ly debuted as part of The Exper­i­menters, a three-episode series meant to ani­mate the words of thinkers like Fuller, Jane Goodall, and Richard Feyn­man, con­cen­trat­ing on “the inspi­ra­tions from each of their per­son­al lives that helped influ­ence their careers and earth-chang­ing dis­cov­er­ies.”

Fuller enthu­si­asts have always insist­ed that his ideas have only grown more rel­e­vant with time, but now that the ear­ly 21st cen­tu­ry has found us rethink­ing the way we live — how we do it and how we make spaces to do it in being per­haps Fuller’s most abid­ing obses­sion — his engage­ment with the con­cept of “con­tin­u­al­ly doing more with less” real­ly does sound smarter than ever. If you enjoy the patch of Buck­y’s uni­verse The Exper­i­menters expos­es, con­sid­er chas­ing these four min­utes of “Buck­min­ster Fuller on the Geo­des­ic Life” with 42 hours of his video lec­ture series Every­thing I Know. The man did­n’t just think dif­fer­ent­ly from the rest of us, after all — he also thought a lot more.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bet­ter Liv­ing Through Buck­min­ster Fuller’s Utopi­an Designs: Revis­it the Dymax­ion Car, House, and Map

Every­thing I Know: 42 Hours of Buck­min­ster Fuller’s Vision­ary Lec­tures Free Online (1975)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Hear Classical Music Composed by Friedrich Nietzsche: 43 Original Tracks

Nietzsche

A philoso­pher per­haps more wide­ly known for his prodi­gious mus­tache than for the vari­eties of his thought, Friedrich Niet­zsche often seems to be mis­read more than read. Even some­one like Michel Fou­cault could gloss over a cru­cial fact about Nietzsche’s body of work: Fou­cault remarked in an unpub­lished inter­view that Nietzsche’s “won­der­ful ideas” were “used by the Nazi Par­ty.” But that use, he neglect­ed to men­tion, came about through a scheme hatched by Nietzsche’s sis­ter, after his men­tal col­lapse and death, to edit, change, and oth­er­wise manip­u­late the thinker’s work in a way The Tele­graph deemed “crim­i­nal.” Fou­cault may not have known the full con­text, but Niet­zsche had about as much sym­pa­thy for fas­cism as he did for Christianity–both rea­sons for his break with com­pos­er Richard Wag­n­er.

What Niet­zsche loved most was music. Even in the wake of this scan­dal, with Niet­zsche ful­ly reha­bil­i­tat­ed at the schol­ar­ly lev­el at least, the philoso­pher is gen­er­al­ly read piece­meal, used to prop up some ide­ol­o­gy or crit­i­cal the­o­ry or anoth­er, a ten­den­cy his anti-sys­tem­at­ic, apho­ris­tic work inspires. A more holis­tic approach yields two impor­tant gen­er­al obser­va­tions: Niet­zsche found the mun­dane work of pol­i­tics and nation­al­ist con­quest, with its trib­al­ism and moral pre­ten­sions, thor­ough­ly dis­taste­ful. Instead, he con­sid­ered the cre­ative work of artists, writ­ers, and musi­cians, as well as sci­en­tists, of para­mount impor­tance.

Niet­zsche almost entered med­i­cine and was him­self an artist: “before he engaged him­self ful­ly as a philoso­pher, he had already cre­at­ed a sub­stan­tial out­put as poet and com­pos­er,” writes Albany Records. In an 1887 let­ter writ­ten three years before his death, Niet­zsche claimed, “There has nev­er been a philoso­pher who has been in essence a musi­cian to such an extent as I am,” though he also admit­ted he “might be a thor­ough­ly unsuc­cess­ful musi­cian.” In any case, he hoped that at least some of his com­po­si­tions would become known and heard as com­ple­men­tary to his philo­soph­i­cal project.

Now seri­ous read­ers of Niet­zsche, or those sim­ply curi­ous about his musi­cian­ship, can hear most of those com­po­si­tions in a Spo­ti­fy playlist above. Per­formed by Cana­di­an musi­cians Lau­ret­ta Alt­man, Wolf­gang Bot­ten­berg, and the Mon­tre­al Orpheus Singers, the music ranges from spright­ly to pen­sive, roman­tic to mourn­ful, and some of it seems to come right out of the Protes­tant hym­nals he grew up with as the son of a Luther­an min­is­ter. Niet­zsche com­posed music through­out his life—a com­plete chronol­o­gy spans the years 1854, when he was only ten, to 1887. See The Niet­zsche Chan­nel for a thor­ough list of pub­lished Niet­zsche record­ings and sheet music. To lis­ten to the music here, you will need to down­load and reg­is­ter for Spo­ti­fy.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

130+ Free Online Phi­los­o­phy Cours­es

The Phi­los­o­phy of Niet­zsche: An Intro­duc­tion by Alain de Bot­ton

A Free Playlist of Music From The Works Of James Joyce (Plus Songs Inspired by the Mod­ernist Author)

The Dig­i­tal Niet­zsche: Down­load Nietzsche’s Major Works as Free eBooks

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

An Animated Marc Maron Recalls Interviewing a Shirtless Iggy Pop in LA Garage

Marc Maron’s WTF pod­cast now clocks in at 585 episodes. Cer­tain­ly one I remem­ber — and so does Maron too — is Episode 400, which fea­tured the god­fa­ther of punk, Iggy Pop. Above, an ani­mat­ed Marc Maron recalls the many musi­cians he’s inter­viewed in his Los Ange­les garage. And espe­cial­ly the sum­mer day when Pop paid a vis­it, tore off his shirt, and gave his own nip­ple a lit­tle twist. Good times in LA.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Prof. Iggy Pop Deliv­ers the BBC’s 2014 John Peel Lec­ture on “Free Music in a Cap­i­tal­ist Soci­ety”

Hear a Great Radio Doc­u­men­tary on William S. Bur­roughs Nar­rat­ed by Iggy Pop

Iggy Pop Con­ducts a Tour of New York’s Low­er East Side, Cir­ca 1993

Elementary School Students Perform in a Play Inspired by David Lynch’s Twin Peaks

david lynch school play

Image by Janet McMil­lan appeared in The Mil­wau­kee Record

For those of us with kids, the grade school play is usu­al­ly a com­bi­na­tion of parental pride and teeth-grat­ing nos­tal­gic civic les­son and/or Bible study. Not so at Mil­wau­kee, WI’s High­land Com­mu­ni­ty School where super cool dra­ma teacher Bar­ry Weber has writ­ten and pro­duced Judy Plays with Fire, a love let­ter to David Lynch and Mark Frost’s Twin Peaks and oth­er Lyn­chophil­ia.

The play has all the hall­marks of the director–red cur­tains, strobe lights, smoke machines, a Badala­men­ti-esque score–along with a back­wards-speak­ing char­ac­ter in a red suit, two earnest and upstand­ing detec­tives, lum­ber­jacks, rab­bits, mys­te­ri­ous peo­ple in white masks, a Log Lady-like char­ac­ter who talks to a Slinky, and a mid­dle Amer­i­ca town called “Cen­ter­ville” that, like Lau­ra Palmer, is “full of secrets.” One char­ac­ter mimes Nina Simone’s “Don’t Let Me Be Under­stood” into a LED wand–shades of Dean Stock­well in Blue Vel­vet. Char­ac­ter names like Mr. Frost and the MacLach­lans nod to the cre­ators and actors behind Twin Peaks. The entire cast is played by 4th, 5th, and 6th graders, and apart from Mr. Weber, the pro­duc­tion is crewed by High­land stu­dents as well.

This isn’t Weber’s first go at push­ing the bound­aries of school the­ater. His stu­dent the­ater group put on 2014’s ZERO, a cyber­punk tale, and a post-apoc­a­lyp­tic zom­bie pro­duc­tion in 2010 called Pen­guin Attack.
The pro­duc­tion got the atten­tion of the Mil­wau­kee Record who sent reporter Matt Wild out to see the three per­for­mance run that fin­ished last Fri­day. He even gave it a bit of a Vari­ety-style review, say­ing that

“In the case of Judy, (Maeve) Haley is ter­rif­ic as the inquis­i­tive Coop­er sur­ro­gate, though diminu­tive CJ Young steals the show as the schem­ing Mr. Frost. Whether he’s bark­ing orders to his flunkies or lord­ing over his ani­ma­tron­ic house band, Young—who had to take time off from act­ing two years ago due to con­flicts with bas­ket­ball practice—imbues his char­ac­ter with a sur­pris­ing amount of grav­i­tas and men­ace.”

Matt Wild also talked to Weber, who spoke of his desire to give kids more chal­leng­ing works.

“I want to make sure that when I write the scripts there are no ‘trees,’” Weber says, ref­er­enc­ing grade school plays that often give stu­dents thank­less roles as inan­i­mate objects. “I want to write the kind of plays that as a kid I would have real­ly want­ed to do. I cer­tain­ly didn’t know who David Lynch was when I was a kid, but I’m sure I would have real­ly enjoyed it.”

No video has sur­faced yet to match the intrigu­ing pro­duc­tion stills, but we’re on the look­out. In the mean­time, how well do you know Judy?

via Wel­come to Twin Peaks

Relat­ed Con­tent

David Lynch Falls in Love: A Clas­sic Scene From Twin Peaks

The Paint­ings of Filmmaker/Visual Artist David Lynch

Watch David Lynch’s Hotel Room: The Com­plete Minis­eries Fea­tur­ing Har­ry Dean Stan­ton, Grif­fin Dunne, and Crispin Glover (1993)

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts who cur­rent­ly hosts the FunkZone Pod­cast. You can also fol­low him on Twit­ter at @tedmills and/or watch his films here.

Philip K. Dick Makes Off-the-Wall Predictions for the Future: Mars Colonies, Alien Viruses & More (1981)

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Philip K. Dick died in 1982, but read­ers — more read­ers than ever, in all prob­a­bil­i­ty — still thrill to his dar­ing, uncon­ven­tion­al imag­i­na­tion, and how tight­ly he could weave the inven­tions of that imag­i­na­tion into mun­dane real­i­ty. (Some­times they won­der, as in his meet­ing with God, to what extent he him­self could tell the two apart.) And like many strong-visioned writ­ers of what rough­ly fell into the cat­e­go­ry of sci­ence fic­tion, Dick got con­sult­ed now and again as some­thing of a futur­ist.

In 1980, David Wal­lechin­sky, Amy Wal­lace, and Irv­ing Wal­lace (the Book of Lists peo­ple) round­ed up visions of the future from all man­ner of sages past and present, pre­scient and incom­pe­tent, in order to cre­ate The Book of Pre­dic­tions. Dick­’s con­tri­bu­tions, repub­lished in the Sep­tem­ber 2003 issue of fanzine PKD Otaku, go like this.

  • 1983: The Sovi­et Union will devel­op an oper­a­tional par­ti­cle-beam accel­er­a­tor, mak­ing mis­sile attack against that coun­try impos­si­ble. At the same time the U.S.S.R. will deploy this weapon as a satel­lite killer. The U.S. will turn, then, to nerve gas.
  • 1984: The U.S. will per­fect a sys­tem by which hydro­gen, stored in met­al hydrides, will serve as a fuel source, elim­i­nat­ing a need for oil.
  • 1985: By or before this date there will be a titan­ic nuclear acci­dent either in the U.S.S.R. or in the U.S., result­ing in shut­ting down all nuclear pow­er plants.
  • 1986: Such satel­lites as HEAO‑2 will uncov­er vast, unsus­pect­ed high ener­gy phe­nom­e­non in the uni­verse, indi­cat­ing that there is suf­fi­cient mass to col­lapse the uni­verse back when it has reached its expan­sion lim­it.
  • 1989: The U.S. and the Sovi­et Union will agree to set up one vast meta­com­put­er as a cen­tral source for infor­ma­tion avail­able to the entire world; this will be essen­tial due to the huge amount of infor­ma­tion com­ing into exis­tence.
  • 1993: An arti­fi­cial life form will be cre­at­ed in a lab, prob­a­bly in the U.S.S.R., thus reduc­ing our inter­est in locat­ing life forms on oth­er plan­ets.
  • 1995: Com­put­er use by ordi­nary cit­i­zens (already avail­able in 1980) will trans­form the pub­lic from pas­sive view­ers of TV into men­tal­ly alert, high­ly trained, infor­ma­tion-pro­cess­ing experts.
  • 1997: The first closed-dome colonies will be suc­cess­ful­ly estab­lished on Luna and Mars. Through DNA mod­i­fi­ca­tion, qua­si-mutant humans will be cre­at­ed who can sur­vive under non-Ter­ran con­di­tions, i.e., alien envi­ron­ments.
  • 1998: The Sovi­et Union will test a propul­sion dri­ve that moves a star­ship at the veloc­i­ty of light; a pilot ship will set out for Prox­i­ma Cen­tau­rus, soon to be fol­lowed by an Amer­i­can ship.
  • 2000: An alien virus, brought back by an inter­plan­e­tary ship, will dec­i­mate the pop­u­la­tion of Earth, but leave the colonies on Luna and Mars intact.
  • 2012: Using tachyons (par­ti­cles that move back­ward in time) as a car­ri­er, the Sovi­et Union will attempt to alter the past with sci­en­tif­ic infor­ma­tion.

Cher­ry-pick­ers among us will fix­ate on Dick­’s near-hits: the devel­op­ment of DNA mod­i­fi­ca­tion, a 1985 nuclear acci­dent in the U.S.S.R. (Cher­nobyl hap­pened in 1986), and com­put­er use by ordi­nary cit­i­zens (though our sta­tus as “men­tal­ly alert, high­ly trained, infor­ma­tion-pro­cess­ing experts” admit­ted­ly remains ques­tion­able). Oth­ers might pre­fer to high­light the most improb­a­ble, such as the elim­i­nat­ed need for oil, the cre­ation of arti­fi­cial life, and not just the 21st-cen­tu­ry exis­tence but even­tu­al time-trav­el­ing capa­bil­i­ties of the Sovi­et Union.

Still, even in his fic­tion, Dick does have his moments of prophe­cy, espe­cial­ly for those who share his para­noia that we’ve unwit­ting­ly let our­selves slip into sur­veil­lance-state con­di­tions. But I’ve always found him best, espe­cial­ly in the what-if-Japan-won-the-war sto­ry The Man in the High Cas­tle, as a teller of alter­nate his­to­ries, whether of the past, present, or future. These pre­dic­tions, stretch­ing from just after the writer’s death to just before our time, strike me as noth­ing so much as the premis­es for the best nov­el Philip K. Dick nev­er wrote.

You can find 33 of his sto­ries online here.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Philip K. Dick Takes You Inside His Life-Chang­ing Mys­ti­cal Expe­ri­ence

Robert Crumb Illus­trates Philip K. Dick’s Infa­mous, Hal­lu­ci­na­to­ry Meet­ing with God (1974)

33 Sci-Fi Sto­ries by Philip K. Dick as Free Audio Books & Free eBooks

Philip K. Dick Pre­views Blade Run­ner: “The Impact of the Film is Going to be Over­whelm­ing” (1981)

Arthur C. Clarke Pre­dicts the Future in 1964 … And Kind of Nails It

Isaac Asi­mov Pre­dicts in 1964 What the World Will Look Like Today — in 2014

Mark Twain Pre­dicts the Inter­net in 1898: Read His Sci-Fi Crime Sto­ry, “From The ‘Lon­don Times’ in 1904”

In 1968, Stan­ley Kubrick Makes Pre­dic­tions for 2001: Human­i­ty Will Con­quer Old Age, Watch 3D TV & Learn Ger­man in 20 Min­utes

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture as well as the video series The City in Cin­e­ma and writes essays on cities, lan­guage, Asia, and men’s style. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

1933 Article on Frida Kahlo: “Wife of the Master Mural Painter Gleefully Dabbles in Works of Art”

Kahlo One

Wal­ter Keane—supposed painter of “Big Eyed Chil­dren” and sub­ject of a recent Tim Bur­ton film—made a killing, attain­ing almost Thomas Kinkade-like sta­tus in the mid­dle­brow art mar­ket of the 1950s and 60s. As it turns out, his wife, Mar­garet was in fact the artist, “paint­ing 16 hours a day,” accord­ing to a Guardian pro­file. In some part, the sto­ry may illus­trate how easy it was for a man like Wal­ter to get mil­lions of peo­ple to see what they want­ed to see in the pic­ture of success—a charis­mat­ic, tal­ent­ed man in front, his qui­et, duti­ful wife behind. Bur­ton may not have tak­en too much license with the com­mon­place atti­tudes of the day when he has Christoph Waltz’s Wal­ter Keane tell Mar­garet, “Sad­ly, peo­ple don’t buy lady art.”

And yet, far from the Keane’s San Fran­cis­co, and per­haps as far as a per­son can get from Margaret’s frus­trat­ed acqui­es­cence, we have Fri­da Kahlo cre­at­ing a body of work that would even­tu­al­ly over­shad­ow her husband’s, mural­ist Diego Rivera. Unlike Wal­ter Keane, Rivera was a very good painter who did not attempt to over­shad­ow his wife. Instead of pro­fes­sion­al jeal­ousy, he had plen­ty of the per­son­al vari­ety. Even so, Rivera encour­aged Kahlo’s career and rec­og­nized her for­mi­da­ble tal­ent, and she, in turn, sup­port­ed him. In 1933, when Flo­rence Davies—whom Kahlo biog­ra­ph­er Ger­ry Souter describes as “a local news hen”—caught up with her in Detroit, Kahlo “played the cheeky, but ador­ing wife” of Diego while he labored to fin­ish his famous Detroit mur­al project.

That may be so, but she did not do so at her own expense. Quite the con­trary. Asked if Diego taught her to paint, she replies, “’No, I didn’t study with Diego. I didn’t study with any­one. I just start­ed to paint.’” At which point, writes Davies, “her eyes begin to twin­kle” as she goes on to say, “’Of course, he does pret­ty well for a lit­tle boy, but it is I who am the big artist.’” Davies prais­es Kahlo’s style as “skill­ful and beau­ti­ful” and the artist her­self as “a minia­ture-like lit­tle per­son with her long black braids wound demure­ly about her head and a fool­ish lit­tle ruf­fled apron over her black silk dress.” And yet, despite Kahlo’s con­fi­dence and seri­ous intent, rep­re­sent­ed by a promi­nent pho­to of her at seri­ous work, Davies—or more like­ly her editor—decided to title the arti­cle, “Wife of the Mas­ter Mur­al Painter Glee­ful­ly Dab­bles in Works of Art,” a move that reminds me of Wal­ter Keane’s patron­iz­ing atti­tude.

Kahlo Two

The belit­tling head­line is quaint and dis­heart­en­ing, speak­ing to us, like the unearthed 1938 let­ter from Dis­ney to an aspir­ing female ani­ma­tor, of the cru­el­ty of casu­al sex­ism. Davies appar­ent­ly filed anoth­er arti­cle on Rivera the year pri­or. This time the head­line doesn’t men­tion Fri­da, though her fierce unflinch­ing gaze, not Rivera’s wrestler’s mug, again adorns the spread. One sen­tence in the arti­cle says it all: “Fre­da [sic], it must be under­stood, is Seno­ra Rivera, who came very near to steal­ing the show.” Davies then goes on to again describe Kahlo’s appear­ance, not­ing of her work only that “she does paint with great charm.” Six years lat­er, Kahlo would indeed steal the show at her first and only solo show in the Unit­ed States, then again in Paris, where sur­re­al­ist mae­stro Andre Bre­ton cham­pi­oned her work and the Lou­vre bought a paint­ing, its first by a twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry Mex­i­can artist.

And Mar­garet Keane? She even­tu­al­ly sued Wal­ter and now reaps her own rewards. You can buy one of her paint­ings here.

via @rabihalameddine

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Fri­da Kahlo Writes a Per­son­al Let­ter to Geor­gia O’Keeffe After O’Keeffe’s Ner­vous Break­down (1933)

Pho­tos of a Very Young Fri­da Kahlo, Tak­en by Her Dad

A Quick Ani­ma­tion of Fri­da Kahlo’s Famous Self Por­trait

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


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