Extensive Archive of Avant-Garde & Modernist Magazines (1890–1939) Now Available Online

Surrealisme_1_Oct_1924

Hav­ing once been involved in the found­ing of an arts mag­a­zine, I have expe­ri­enced inti­mate­ly the ways in which such an endeav­or can depend upon a com­mu­ni­ty of equals pool­ing a diver­si­ty of skills. The process can be painful: egos com­pete, cer­tain ele­ments seek to dom­i­nate, but the suc­cess­ful prod­uct of such a col­lab­o­ra­tive effort will rep­re­sent a liv­ing com­mu­ni­ty of artists, writ­ers, edi­tors, and oth­er mas­ters of tech­nique who sub­or­di­nate their indi­vid­ual wills, tem­porar­i­ly, to the will of a col­lec­tive, cre­at­ing new gestalt iden­ti­ties from con­cep­tu­al atoms. As Mono­skop—“a wiki for col­lab­o­ra­tive stud­ies of art, media and the humanities”—points out, “the whole” of an arts mag­a­zine, “could become greater than the sum of its parts.” Often when this hap­pens, a pub­li­ca­tion can serve as the plat­form or nucle­us of an entire­ly new move­ment.

Mono­skop main­tains a dig­i­tal archive of print­ed avant-garde and mod­ernist mag­a­zines dat­ing from the late-19th cen­tu­ry to the late 1930s, pub­lished in locales from Arad to Bucharest, Copen­hagen to War­saw, in addi­tion to the expect­ed New York and Paris. From the lat­ter city comes the 1924 first issue of Sur­re­al­isme at the top of the post.

Periszkop_1_Mar_1925

From the much small­er city of Arad in Roma­nia comes the March, 1925 issue 1 of Periszkóp above, pub­lished in Hun­gar­i­an and fea­tur­ing works by Picas­so, Marc Cha­gall, and many less­er-known East­ern Euro­pean artists. Just below, see anoth­er Paris pub­li­ca­tion: the first, 1929 issue of Doc­u­ments, a sur­re­al­ist jour­nal edit­ed by Georges Bataille and fea­tur­ing such lumi­nar­ies as Cuban nov­el­ist Ale­jo Car­pen­tier and artists Georges Braque, Gior­gio De Chiri­co, Sal­vador Dali, Mar­cel Duchamp, Paul Klee, Joan Miro, and Pablo Picas­so. Fur­ther down, see the first, 1926, issue of the Bauhaus jour­nal, vehi­cle of the famous arts move­ment found­ed by Wal­ter Gropius in 1919.

Documents_Vol_1_1929_1991

The vari­ety of mod­ernist and avant garde pub­li­ca­tions archived at Mono­skop “pro­vide us with a his­tor­i­cal record of sev­er­al gen­er­a­tions of artists and writ­ers.” They also “remind us that our lens­es mat­ter.” In an age of “the relent­less lin­ear­i­ty of dig­i­tal bits and the UX of the glow­ing screen” we tend to lose sight of such crit­i­cal­ly impor­tant mat­ters as design, typog­ra­phy, lay­out, writ­ing, and the “tech­niques of print­ing and mechan­i­cal repro­duc­tion.” Any­one can build a web­site, fill it with “con­tent,” and prop­a­gate it glob­al­ly, giv­ing lit­tle or no thought to aes­thet­ic choic­es and edi­to­r­i­al fram­ing. But the mag­a­zines rep­re­sent­ed in Monoskop’s archive are spe­cial­ized cre­ations, the prod­ucts of very delib­er­ate choic­es made by groups of high­ly skilled indi­vid­u­als with very spe­cif­ic aes­thet­ic agen­das.

Bauhaus_1_1926

A major­i­ty of the pub­li­ca­tions rep­re­sent­ed come from the explo­sive peri­od of mod­ernist exper­i­men­ta­tion between the wars, but sev­er­al, like the jour­nal Rhythm: Art Music Lit­er­a­ture—first pub­lished in 1911—offer glimpses of the ear­ly stir­rings of mod­ernist inno­va­tion in the Anglo­phone world. Oth­ers like the 1890–93 Parisian Entre­tiens poli­tiques et lit­téraires show­case the work of pio­neer­ing ear­ly French mod­ernist fore­bears like Jules Laforgue (a great influ­ence upon T.S. Eliot) and also André Gide and Stéphane Mal­lar­mé. Some of the pub­li­ca­tions here are already famous, like The Lit­tle Review, many much less­er-known. Most pub­lished only a hand­ful of issues.

MAVO_1_Jul_1924

With a few exceptions—such as the 1923 Japan­ese pub­li­ca­tion MAVO shown above—almost all of the jour­nals rep­re­sent­ed at Monoskop’s archive hail from East­ern and West­ern Europe and the U.S.. While “only a few jour­nals had any sig­nif­i­cant impact out­side the avant-garde cir­cles in their time,” the rip­ples of that impact have spread out­ward to encom­pass the art and design worlds that sur­round us today. These exam­ples of the lit­er­ary and design cul­ture of ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry mod­ernist mag­a­zines, like those of late 20th cen­tu­ry post­mod­ern ‘zines, pro­vide us with a dis­til­la­tion of minor move­ments that came to have major sig­nif­i­cance in decades hence.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The ABCs of Dada Explains the Anar­chic, Irra­tional “Anti-Art” Move­ment of Dadaism

The Pulp Fic­tion Archive: The Cheap, Thrilling Sto­ries That Enter­tained a Gen­er­a­tion of Read­ers (1896–1946)

William S. Burrough’s Avant-Garde Movie ‘The Cut Ups’ (1966)

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

Three Outlandish Tracks from Van Morrison’s 1968 “Revenge Album”: “Ring Worm,” “Want a Danish?” & “The Big Royalty Check”

In 1968, Van Mor­ri­son cut tracks for what’s been called his “revenge” or “con­trac­tu­al oblig­a­tion album.” The back­sto­ry, pro­vid­ed by Top Tenz, goes like this:

After a pret­ty unhap­py cou­ple of years with his label Bang Records in the mid-60s, Van Mor­ri­son want­ed out. They demand­ed he deliv­er some more short and pop­py stuff like Brown Eyed Girl, while he want­ed to release 11-minute ren­di­tions of lion imper­son­ations (which he did on the album Saint Dominic’s Pre­view.) The singer became so dis­traught with his label sit­u­a­tion, that he slipped into finan­cial trou­ble and had prob­lems find­ing gigs.

Just when it seemed Mor­ri­son might nev­er deliv­er on his musi­cal poten­tial, Warn­er Music stepped in and bought out his deal with Bang Records. There was still one small con­trac­tu­al detail though. Mor­ri­son was oblig­ed to record exact­ly 36 songs for his old label, who would also con­tin­ue to earn roy­al­ties off any­thing he released for the first year after leav­ing Bang. Not a patient man at the best of times, Van did the only thing he could think of: he record­ed more than 30 songs in a sin­gle record­ing ses­sion, on an out-of-tune gui­tar, about sub­jects as diverse as ring­worm, blow­ing your nose, a dumb guy named George, and whether he want­ed to eat a dan­ish or a sand­wich.

You can hear “Ring Worm” above, and both “Want a Dan­ish?” and “The Big Roy­al­ty Check below.

Deemed unwor­thy, the songs Mor­ri­son banged out (cheap pun, I know!) weren’t released in the 1960s. They even­tu­al­ly saw the light of day, how­ev­er, on the 1994 album Payin Dues, which hap­pens to be avail­able on Spo­ti­fy for free. Accord­ing to rock crit­ic Richie Unter­berg­er, the album ranks as “the least com­mer­cial music ever record­ed by a major rock artist, and the nas­ti­est spit in the eye of com­mer­cial expec­ta­tions and con­trac­tu­al oblig­a­tions.” But, there’s cer­tain­ly an enter­tain­ment fac­tor to the col­lec­tion, and it should be not­ed that Payin Dues also includes some worth­while tracks, includ­ing all of Van Mor­rison’s stu­dio mas­ters from the Bang years, plus the demo of “The Smile You Smile” and an alter­nate take of “Brown Eyed Girl”.

via UBUweb/WFMU

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Bob Dylan and Van Mor­ri­son Sing Togeth­er in Athens, on His­toric Hill Over­look­ing the Acrop­o­lis

The Won­drous Night When Glen Hansard Met Van Mor­ri­son

Bob Dylan and Van Mor­ri­son Sing ‘Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,’ 1998

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Roald Dahl, Who Lost His Daughter to Measles, Writes a Heartbreaking Letter about Vaccinations: “It Really Is Almost a Crime to Allow Your Child to Go Unimmunised”

dahl vaccine

Image by Carl Van Vechten/Library of Con­gress, via Wiki­me­dia Com­mons

Gen­er­a­tions of us know Roald Dahl as, first and fore­most, the author of pop­u­lar chil­dren’s nov­els like The BFGThe Witch­esChar­lie and the Choco­late Fac­to­ry (that book of the “sub­ver­sive” lost chap­ter), and James and the Giant Peach. We remem­ber read­ing those with great delight, and some of us even made it into the rumored lit­er­ary ter­ri­to­ry of his “sto­ries for grown-ups.” But few of us, at least if we grew up in the past few decades, will have famil­iar­ized our­selves with all the pur­pos­es to which Dahl put his pen. Like many fine writ­ers, Dahl always drew some­thing from his per­son­al expe­ri­ence, and few per­son­al expe­ri­ences could have had as much impact as the sud­den death of his measles-strick­en sev­en-year-old daugh­ter Olivia in 1962. A chap­ter of Don­ald Stur­rock­’s biog­ra­phy Sto­ry­teller: The Life of Roald Dahl, excerpt­ed at The Tele­graph, tells of both the event itself and Dahl’s sto­ic, writer­ly (accord­ing to some, per­haps too sto­ic and too writer­ly) way of han­dling it.

But good did come out of Dahl’s response to the tragedy. In 1986, he wrote a leaflet for the Sandwell Health Author­i­ty enti­tled Measles: A Dan­ger­ous Ill­ness, which tells Olivi­a’s sto­ry and pro­vides a swift and well-sup­port­ed argu­ment for uni­ver­sal vac­ci­na­tion against the dis­ease:

Olivia, my eldest daugh­ter, caught measles when she was sev­en years old. As the ill­ness took its usu­al course I can remem­ber read­ing to her often in bed and not feel­ing par­tic­u­lar­ly alarmed about it. Then one morn­ing, when she was well on the road to recov­ery, I was sit­ting on her bed show­ing her how to fash­ion lit­tle ani­mals out of coloured pipe-clean­ers, and when it came to her turn to make one her­self, I noticed that her fin­gers and her mind were not work­ing togeth­er and she could­n’t do any­thing.

“Are you feel­ing all right?” I asked her.

“I feel all sleepy,” she said.

In an hour, she was uncon­scious. In twelve hours she was dead.

The measles had turned into a ter­ri­ble thing called measles encephali­tis and there was noth­ing the doc­tors could do to save her. That was twen­ty-four years ago in 1962, but even now, if a child with measles hap­pens to devel­op the same dead­ly reac­tion from measles as Olivia did, there would still be noth­ing the doc­tors could do to help her.

On the oth­er hand, there is today some­thing that par­ents can do to make sure that this sort of tragedy does not hap­pen to a child of theirs. They can insist that their child is immu­nised against measles. I was unable to do that for Olivia in 1962 because in those days a reli­able measles vac­cine had not been dis­cov­ered. Today a good and safe vac­cine is avail­able to every fam­i­ly and all you have to do is to ask your doc­tor to admin­is­ter it.

It is not yet gen­er­al­ly accept­ed that measles can be a dan­ger­ous ill­ness. Believe me, it is. In my opin­ion par­ents who now refuse to have their chil­dren immu­nised are putting the lives of those chil­dren at risk. In Amer­i­ca, where measles immu­ni­sa­tion is com­pul­so­ry, measles like small­pox, has been vir­tu­al­ly wiped out.

Here in Britain, because so many par­ents refuse, either out of obsti­na­cy or igno­rance or fear, to allow their chil­dren to be immu­nised, we still have a hun­dred thou­sand cas­es of measles every year. Out of those, more than 10,000 will suf­fer side effects of one kind or anoth­er. At least 10,000 will devel­op ear or chest infec­tions. About 20 will die.

LET THAT SINK IN.

Every year around 20 chil­dren will die in Britain from measles.

So what about the risks that your chil­dren will run from being immu­nised?

They are almost non-exis­tent. Lis­ten to this. In a dis­trict of around 300,000 peo­ple, there will be only one child every 250 years who will devel­op seri­ous side effects from measles immu­ni­sa­tion! That is about a mil­lion to one chance. I should think there would be more chance of your child chok­ing to death on a choco­late bar than of becom­ing seri­ous­ly ill from a measles immu­ni­sa­tion.

So what on earth are you wor­ry­ing about? It real­ly is almost a crime to allow your child to go unim­mu­nised.

The ide­al time to have it done is at 13 months, but it is nev­er too late. All school-chil­dren who have not yet had a measles immu­ni­sa­tion should beg their par­ents to arrange for them to have one as soon as pos­si­ble.

Inci­den­tal­ly, I ded­i­cat­ed two of my books to Olivia, the first was ‘James and the Giant Peach’. That was when she was still alive. The sec­ond was ‘The BFG’, ded­i­cat­ed to her mem­o­ry after she had died from measles. You will see her name at the begin­ning of each of these books. And I know how hap­py she would be if only she could know that her death had helped to save a good deal of ill­ness and death among oth­er chil­dren.

Alas, this mes­sage has­n’t quite fall­en into irrel­e­vance. What with anti-vac­ci­na­tion move­ments hav­ing some­how picked up a bit of steam in recent years (and with the num­ber of cas­es of measles cas­es now climb­ing again), it might make sense to send Dahl’s leaflet back into print — or, bet­ter yet, to keep it cir­cu­lat­ing far and wide around the inter­net. Not that oth­ers haven’t made cogent pro-vac­ci­na­tion argu­ments of their own, in dif­fer­ent media, with dif­fer­ent illus­tra­tions of the data, and with dif­fer­ent lev­els of pro­fan­i­ty. Take, for instance, Penn and Teller’s seg­ment below, which, find­ing the per­fect tar­get giv­en its man­date against non-evi­dence-based beliefs, takes aim at the propo­si­tion that vac­ci­na­tions cause autism:

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read a Nev­er Pub­lished, “Sub­ver­sive” Chap­ter from Roald Dahl’s Char­lie and the Choco­late Fac­to­ry

The Recipes of Icon­ic Authors: Jane Austen, Sylvia Plath, Roald Dahl, the Mar­quis de Sade & More

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

Conspiracy Theory Rock: The Schoolhouse Rock Parody Saturday Night Live May Have Censored

You’ve prob­a­bly seen “Illu­sion of Choice,” a 2011 info­graph­ic detail­ing how six media con­glom­er­ates “con­trol a stag­ger­ing 90% of what we read, watch, or lis­ten to.” (The enti­ties named are GE, News Corp, Dis­ney, Via­com, Time Warn­er, and CBS.) Anoth­er “Illu­sion of Choice” info­graph­ic from last year doc­u­ments how “ten huge cor­po­ra­tions con­trol the pro­duc­tion of almost every­thing the aver­age per­son buys.” Are these webs of cor­po­rate con­nec­tion kooky con­spir­a­cy the­o­ries or gen­uine cause for alarm? Do the cor­re­la­tions between busi­ness enti­ties cause polit­i­cal cur­rents that under­mine democ­ra­cy and media inde­pen­dence? It’s not par­tic­u­lar­ly con­tro­ver­sial to think so giv­en the amount of mon­ey cor­po­ra­tions spend on lob­by­ing and polit­i­cal cam­paigns. It’s not even par­tic­u­lar­ly con­tro­ver­sial to say so, at least for those of us who aren’t employed by, say, Via­com, Time Warn­er, GE, etc.

But point­ing fin­gers at the cor­po­ra­toc­ra­cy may have not gone over so well for famed com­e­dy writer Robert Smigel in 1998 when his recur­ring ani­mat­ed “Sat­ur­day TV Fun­house” seg­ment pro­duced the “Con­spir­a­cy The­o­ry Rock” bit above for Sat­ur­day Night Live. A par­o­dy of the beloved School­house Rock edu­ca­tion­al ‘toons of the 70s, “Con­spir­a­cy The­o­ry Rock” fea­tures a disheveled gentleman—a stereo­type of the out­sider crackpot—leading a sing-along about the machi­na­tions of the “Media-opoly.” Fig­ured as greedy octopi (rem­i­nis­cent of Matt Taibbi’s “vam­pire squid”), the media giants here, includ­ing GE, West­ing­house, Fox, and Dis­ney, devour the small­er guys—the tra­di­tion­al networks—and “use them to say what­ev­er they please and put down the opin­ions of any­one who dis­agrees.” The seg­ment may have raised the ire of GE, who own NBC. It aired once with the orig­i­nal episode but was sub­se­quent­ly pulled from the show in syn­di­ca­tion, though it’s been includ­ed in sub­se­quent DVD com­pi­la­tions of “Sat­ur­day TV Fun­house.”

Now “Con­spir­a­cy The­o­ry Rock” is cir­cu­lat­ing online—ampli­fied by a Marc Maron tweet—as a “banned” clip, a mis­lead­ing descrip­tion that feeds right into the sto­ry of con­spir­a­cy. Edit­ing a sketch from a syn­di­cat­ed com­e­dy show, after all, is not tan­ta­mount to ban­ning it. While the short piece makes the usu­al com­pelling case against cor­po­rate rule, it does so in a tongue-in-cheek way that allows for the pos­si­bil­i­ty that some of these alle­ga­tions are ten­u­ous exag­ger­a­tions. Our unwashed pre­sen­ter, for exam­ple, ends the seg­ment mum­bling an inco­her­ent non sequitur about Lorne Michaels and Mar­i­on Bar­ry attend­ing the same high school. For his part, Michaels has said the seg­ment was cut because it “wasn’t fun­ny.” He’s got a point—it isn’t—but it’s hard to believe it didn’t raise oth­er objec­tions from net­work exec­u­tives. It wouldn’t be the first time the show has been accused of cen­sor­ing a polit­i­cal sketch.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

5 Musi­cal Guests Banned From Sat­ur­day Night Live: From Elvis Costel­lo to Frank Zap­pa

William S. Bur­roughs on Sat­ur­day Night Live, 1981: A Quick 100th Birth­day Cel­e­bra­tion

School­house Rock at 40: Revis­it a Col­lec­tion of Nos­tal­gia-Induc­ing Edu­ca­tion­al Videos

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

Wonderfully Weird & Ingenious Medieval Books

Medieval Books

Lei­den Uni­ver­si­ty book his­to­ri­an Erik Kwakkel describes his tum­blr site as fol­lows: “I post images from medieval books.” In the words of Samuel L. Jack­son on the immor­tal Snakes on a Plane, you either want to see that, or you don’t. Pre­sum­ing you do (and giv­en your pre­sum­able sta­tus as an Open Cul­ture read­er, it strikes me as a safe bet) know that Kwakkel does­n’t main­tain just any old images of medieval books; his posts tend to high­light the askew, the obscure, and the inno­v­a­tive, fur­ther demon­strat­ing that we need not find the “dark ages” dull. At the top of the post, you can see one pho­to of the sev­er­al he post­ed of the biggest books in the world, in this case the “famous Klencke Atlas” from the 16th cen­tu­ry. “While they are rare, such large spec­i­mens,” writes Kwakkel, “they do rep­re­sent a tra­di­tion. Choir books, for exam­ple, need­ed to be big because they were used by a half cir­cle of singers gath­ered around it in a church set­ting. If you are impressed with the size of these objects, just imag­ine turn­ing their pages!”

Siamese Books

Above, we have an exam­ple of what Kwakkel calls “Siamese twins,” two books bound as one using an odd bind­ing “called ‘dos-à-dos’ (back to back), a type almost exclu­sive­ly pro­duced in the 16th and 17th cen­turies.” You could read one text one way, then turn the thing over and read a whole oth­er text the oth­er way. “You will often find two com­ple­men­tary devo­tion­al works in them, such as a prayer­book and a Psalter, or the Bible’s Old and New Tes­ta­ment. Read­ing the one text you can flip the ‘book’ to con­sult the oth­er” — no doubt a handy item, giv­en the reli­gious pri­or­i­ties of the aver­age read­er in the Europe of that era. The ani­mat­ed image below high­lights a relat­ed and equal­ly unusu­al bind­ing effort, a dos-à-dos from the late 16th cen­tu­ry con­tain­ing “not two but six books, all neat­ly hid­den inside a sin­gle bind­ing (see this motion­less pic to admire it). They are all devo­tion­al texts print­ed in Ger­many dur­ing the 1550s and 1570s (includ­ing Mar­tin Luther, Der kleine Cat­e­chis­mus) and each one is closed with its own tiny clasp.”

dos a dos

If this kind of high­ly vin­tage, labor-inten­sive book­mak­ing gets your blood flow­ing, make sure to see see also Traité des couleurs ser­vant à la pein­ture à l’eau, the 700-page 17th-cen­tu­ry guide to col­ors we fea­tured in July, and which Kwakkel cov­ered on his blog back in April: “Because the man­u­al is writ­ten by hand and there­fore lit­er­al­ly one of a kind, it did not get the ‘reach’ among painters — or atten­tion among mod­ern art his­to­ri­ans — it deserves.” Just one more rea­son to appre­ci­ate the inter­net, even if, as a medi­um, you far pre­fer the medieval book.

Keep tabs on Kwakkel’s tum­blr site for more unusu­al finds, and don’t miss his oth­er blog, Medieval Frag­ments, where he and oth­er schol­ars delve more deeply into the won­der­ful world of medieval books.

Medieval Color

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Wear­able Books: In Medieval Times, They Took Old Man­u­scripts & Turned Them into Clothes

Dutch Book From 1692 Doc­u­ments Every Col­or Under the Sun: A Pre-Pan­tone Guide to Col­ors

Medieval Cats Behav­ing Bad­ly: Kit­ties That Left Paw Prints … and Peed … on 15th Cen­tu­ry Man­u­scripts

Dante’s Divine Com­e­dy Illus­trat­ed in a Remark­able Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­script (c. 1450)

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

Read a Never Published, “Subversive” Chapter from Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

chocolate factory unpublished chapter

50 years after the pub­li­ca­tion of Roald Dahl’s beloved chil­dren’s book, Char­lie and the Choco­late Fac­to­ry, The Guardian has post­ed online a nev­er-before-pub­lished draft of the book’s fifth chap­ter. It was cut from the first print­ed edi­tions of Dahl’s clas­sic, writes The Guardian, because it was con­sid­ered “too wild, sub­ver­sive and insuf­fi­cient­ly moral for the ten­der minds of British chil­dren.” You, the read­er liv­ing in 2014, will like­ly have a hard time fig­ur­ing out what the fuss was about.

The lost chap­ter, appro­pri­ate­ly illus­trat­ed by Sir Quentin Blake, begins:

The remain­ing eight chil­dren, togeth­er with their moth­ers and fathers, were ush­ered out into the long white cor­ri­dor once again.

“I won­der how Augus­tus Pot­tle and Miran­da Grope are feel­ing now?” Char­lie Buck­et asked his moth­er.

“Not too cocky, I should­n’t think” Mrs Buck­et answered. “Here – hold on to my hand, will you, dar­ling. That’s right. Hold on tight and try not to let go. And don’t you go doing any­thing sil­ly in here, either, you under­stand, or you might get sucked up into one of those dread­ful pipes your­self, or some­thing even worse maybe. Who knows?”

Lit­tle Char­lie took a tighter hold of Mrs Buck­et’s hand as they walked down the long cor­ri­dor. Soon they came to a door on which it said:

THE VANILLA FUDGE ROOM

“Hey, this is where Augus­tus Pot­tle went to, isn’t it?” Char­lie Buck­et said.

“No”, Mr Won­ka told him. “Augus­tus Pot­tle is in Choco­late Fudge. This is Vanil­la. Come inside, every­body, and take a peek.”

The chap­ter con­tin­ues at The Guardian.

Relat­ed Free­bies: If you head over to Quentin Blake’s web site, you can find some items that are “fun & free” — like free e‑cards designed by Blake; free wall­pa­per for your iPhone, iPad and desk­top; and free draw­ings that you can col­or in. Mean­while Audible.com offers The Roald Dahl Audio Col­lec­tion, which fea­tures Dahl him­self read­ing sec­tions from Char­lie and the Choco­late Fac­to­ry. You can get the col­lec­tion for free by join­ing Audi­ble’s 30-day Free Tri­al pro­gram. Please read the details about the Free Tri­al pro­gram here, and know that we have a part­ner­ship with Audible.com. So, if you make a pur­chase, it will help sup­port Open Cul­ture.

via Men­tal Floss

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Miranda July’s Quirky Film Presents Somebody, the New App That Connects Strangers in the Real World

Hav­ing owned an iPhone for all of one month, I’m still a bit leery of all it can pur­port­ed­ly do for me. Con­ve­nience is great, but I’m not sure I’m ready to cede con­trol of all the lit­tle tasks, chal­lenges, and puz­zles my own imper­fect brain has been han­dling more or less well for near­ly half a cen­tu­ry.

I don’t hate blun­der­ing. And I real­ly like inter­act­ing with librar­i­ans, local res­i­dents, and strangers who might be will­ing to use my cam­era to take a group pho­to in a restau­rant or scenic loca­tion. 

Film­mak­er Miran­da July’s just released Some­body is, I sus­pect, some­thing of a niche app.

If you cringe at the idea of flash mobs, Improv Every­where, and audi­ence inter­ac­tive the­ater, it is most def­i­nite­ly not for you. 

It’s absolute­ly per­fect for me (or will be once I get up to speed on my touch­screen.)

Basi­cal­ly, you take a self­ie, cre­ate a pro­file, and wait for a stranger to select you to deliv­er a live mes­sage as his or her proxy. In addi­tion to trawl­ing the area for the des­ig­nat­ed recip­i­ent, you may be called upon to weep, hug, or get on your knees to get that mes­sage across.

Will you make a new friend? Prob­a­bly not, but you will def­i­nite­ly share a moment.

And because no good deed goes unre­ward­ed, your per­for­mance will be open to the vagaries of cus­tomer review, a humil­i­a­tion July does not shy from in the pro­mo­tion­al video above.

Is this app for real?

Yes, espe­cial­ly if you live in LA, New York, or anoth­er cul­tur­al­ly rich Some­body hotspot.

If you don’t—or if receiv­ing a mes­sage deliv­ered, in all like­li­hood, by a tech savvy hip­ster, makes your flesh crawl—you can still enjoy the film as a com­ment on our dig­i­tal exis­tence, as well as a reflec­tion of July’s ongo­ing desire to con­nect.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Miran­da July’s Short Film on Avoid­ing the Pit­falls of Pro­cras­ti­na­tion

Learn to Make But­tons with Film­mak­er Miran­da July

David Sedaris Reads You a Sto­ry By Miran­da July

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, home­school­er, and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

Download for Free 2.6 Million Images from Books Published Over Last 500 Years on Flickr

flickr archive globe

Thanks to Kalev Lee­taru, a Yahoo! Fel­low in Res­i­dence at George­town Uni­ver­si­ty, you can now head over to a new col­lec­tion at Flickr and search through an archive of 2.6 mil­lion pub­lic domain images, all extract­ed from books, mag­a­zines and news­pa­pers pub­lished over a 500 year peri­od. Even­tu­al­ly this archive will grow to 14.6 mil­lion images.

This new Flickr archive accom­plish­es some­thing quite impor­tant. While oth­er projects (e.g., Google Books) have dig­i­tized books and focused on text — on print­ed words — this project con­cen­trates on images. Lee­taru told the BBC, “For all these years all the libraries have been dig­i­tiz­ing their books, but they have been putting them up as PDFs or text search­able works.”  “They have been focus­ing on the books as a col­lec­tion of words. This inverts that.”

flicker reo speedwagon

The Flickr project draws on 600 mil­lion pages that were orig­i­nal­ly scanned by the Inter­net Archive. And it uses spe­cial soft­ware to extract images from those pages, plus the text that sur­rounds the images. I arrived at the image above when I searched for “auto­mo­bile.” The page asso­ci­at­ed with the image tells me that the image comes from an old edi­tion of the icon­ic Amer­i­can news­pa­per, The Sat­ur­day Evening Post. A relat­ed link puts the image in con­text, allow­ing me to see that we’re deal­ing with a 1920 ad for an REO Speed­wag­on. Now you know the ori­gin of the band’s name!

venice flickr

I should prob­a­bly add a note about how to search through the archive, because it’s not entire­ly obvi­ous. From the home page of the archive, you can do a key­word search. As you’re fill­ing in the key­word, Flickr will autopop­u­late the box with the words “Inter­net Archive Book Images’ Pho­to­stream.” Make sure you click on those autopop­u­lat­ed words, or else your search results will include images from oth­er parts of Flickr.

Or here’s an eas­i­er approach: sim­ply go to this inte­ri­or page and con­duct a search. It should yield results from the book image archive, and noth­ing more.

In case you’re won­der­ing, all images can be down­loaded for free. They’re all pub­lic domain.

More infor­ma­tion about the new Flickr project can be found at the Inter­net Archive.

In the relat­eds below, you can find oth­er great image archives that recent­ly went online.

flicker gall

via the BBC and Peter Kauf­man

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Fol­ger Shake­speare Library Puts 80,000 Images of Lit­er­ary Art Online, and They’re All Free to Use

The Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art Puts 400,000 High-Res Images Online & Makes Them Free to Use

New York Pub­lic Library Puts 20,000 Hi-Res Maps Online & Makes Them Free to Down­load and Use

The British Library Puts 1,000,000 Images into the Pub­lic Domain, Mak­ing Them Free to Reuse & Remix

The Rijksmu­se­um Puts 125,000 Dutch Mas­ter­pieces Online, and Lets You Remix Its Art

Where to Find Free Art Images & Books from Great Muse­ums, and Free Books from Uni­ver­si­ty Press­es

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Fans Reconstruct Authentic Version of Star Wars, As It Was Shown in Theaters in 1977

I watched Star Wars for the first time in 1977 at the ten­der age of four. And like a lot of peo­ple in my gen­er­a­tion and younger, that first time was a major, for­ma­tive expe­ri­ence in my life. I got all the toys. I fan­ta­sized about being Han Solo. And dur­ing the sum­mer of ’83, I blew my allowance by watch­ing Return of the Jedi every day for a week in the the­ater. George Lucas’ epic space opera is the rea­son why I spent a life­time watch­ing, mak­ing and writ­ing about movies. And if you asked any movie crit­ic, fan or film­mak­er who grew up in the ‘80s, they will prob­a­bly tell you a sim­i­lar sto­ry.

Over the years though, Lucas suc­cumbed to the dark side of the Force. His pre­quel tril­o­gy, start­ing with tru­ly god awful The Phan­tom Men­ace (1999), is as visu­al­ly over­stuffed as it is cin­e­mat­i­cal­ly inert. (Some­where, there’s a dis­ser­ta­tion to be writ­ten about how wide­spread feel­ings of betray­al from the pre­quels psy­chi­cal­ly pre­pared Amer­i­ca for the anx­i­ety and dis­ap­point­ments of the Bush admin­is­tra­tion.)

Worse, fans who want to con­sole them­selves by watch­ing Star Wars as they remem­ber see­ing it back in the ‘80s are out of luck. Lucas has been qui­et­ly butcher­ing the orig­i­nal movies by adding CGI, sound effects and even whole char­ac­ters – like (gag) Jar Jar Binks — to suc­ces­sive spe­cial edi­tion updates. The prob­lem is these updat­ed ver­sions feel bifur­cat­ed. It’s as if two dif­fer­ent movies with two dif­fer­ent aes­thet­ics were clum­si­ly stitched togeth­er. Lucas’ spare, mus­cu­lar com­po­si­tions in the orig­i­nal movie sit uneasi­ly next to its car­toony, over-wrought addi­tions. Yet this Franken­stein ver­sion is the one that Lucas insists you watch. The orig­i­nal cut is just plain not for sale. Lucas even refused to give the Nation­al Film Reg­istry the 1977 cut of Star Wars for future preser­va­tion. “It’s like this is the movie I want­ed it to be,” said Lucas in an inter­view in 2004, “and I’m sor­ry if you saw half a com­plet­ed film and fell in love with it, but I want it to be the way I want it to be.”

Thank­ful­ly, hard­core Star Wars fans are telling Lucas, respect­ful­ly, to go cram it. As Rose Eveleth in The Atlantic reports, a ded­i­cat­ed online com­mu­ni­ty has set out to cre­ate a “despe­cial­ized” edi­tion of Star Wars that strips away all of Lucas’s dig­i­tal non­sense and restores the movie to its orig­i­nal 1977 state. The de fac­to leader of this move­ment is Petr Harmy, a 25-year-old guy from the Czech Repub­lic who with the help of a legion of tech­ni­cal­ly savvy film nerds has pieced togeth­er footage from exist­ing prints and old­er DVD releas­es to cre­ate the Despe­cial­ized Edi­tion v. 2.5. (Direc­tions on where you can locate it are here.) Above Harmy talks in detail about how he accom­plished this feat. And below you can see some side-by-side com­par­isons. More can be found on Petr Harmy’s page. Final­ly, in the com­ments sec­tion below, Harmy also points us toward pages with Despe­cial­ized stills for Star Wars and The Empire Strikes Back.

Comparison014

Comparison031

Comparison032

Via The Atlantic

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

How Star Wars Bor­rowed From Aki­ra Kurosawa’s Great Samu­rai Films

Frei­heit, George Lucas’ Short Stu­dent Film About a Fatal Run from Com­mu­nism (1966)

Watch the Very First Trail­ers for Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back & Return of the Jedi (1976–83)

Joseph Camp­bell and Bill Moy­ers Break Down Star Wars as an Epic, Uni­ver­sal Myth

Hun­dreds of Fans Col­lec­tive­ly Remade Star Wars; Now They Remake The Empire Strikes Back

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 @jonccrowAnd check out his blog Veep­to­pus, fea­tur­ing one new draw­ing of a vice pres­i­dent with an octo­pus on his head dai­ly. 

A 96-Song Playlist of Music in Haruki Murakami’s Novels: Miles Davis, Glenn Gould, the Beach Boys & More

murakami-playlist

Last month we fea­tured the par­tic­u­lars of nov­el­ist Haru­ki Murakami’s pas­sion for jazz, includ­ing a big Youtube playlist of songs select­ed from Por­trait in Jazz, his book of essays on the music. But we also allud­ed to Murakami’s admis­sion of run­ning to a sound­track pro­vid­ed by The Lovin’ Spoon­ful, which sug­gests lis­ten­ing habits not enslaved to purism. His books — one of the very best known of which takes its name straight from a Bea­t­les song (“Nor­we­gian Wood”) — tend to come pre-loaded with ref­er­ences to sev­er­al vari­eties of music, almost always West­ern and usu­al­ly Amer­i­can.  “The Fierce Imag­i­na­tion of Haru­ki Muraka­mi,” Sam Ander­son­’s pro­file of the writer on the occa­sion of the release of his pre­vi­ous nov­el 1Q84, name-checks not just Stan Getz but Janáček’s Sin­foni­et­ta, The Rolling Stones’ Sym­pa­thy for the Dev­il, Eric Clap­ton’s Rep­tile, Bruce Spring­steen’s ver­sion of “Old Dan Tuck­er,” and The Many Sides of Gene Pit­neyThe title of Murakami’s new Col­or­less Tsuku­ru Taza­ki and His Years of Pil­grim­age, writes The Week’s Scott Mes­low, ref­er­ences Franz Liszt’s ‘Years of Pil­grim­age’ suite, “which plays a cen­tral role in the nov­el­’s nar­ra­tive. The point­ed ref­er­ence isn’t exact­ly a major detour from Muraka­mi.”

Giv­en the writer’s increas­ing reliance on music and the notion of “songs that lit­er­al­ly have the pow­er to change the world,” to say noth­ing of his “abil­i­ty to sin­gle-hand­ed­ly dri­ve musi­cal trends,” it can prove an illu­mi­nat­ing exer­cise to assem­ble Muraka­mi playlists. Select­ing 96 tracks, Mes­low has cre­at­ed his own playlist (above) that empha­sizes the breadth of genre in the music incor­po­rat­ed into Murakami’s fic­tion: from Ray Charles to Bren­da Lee, Duke Elling­ton to Bob­by Darin, Glenn Gould to the Beach Boys. Each song appears in one of Murakami’s nov­els, and Mes­low even includes cita­tions for each track: “I had some cof­fee while lis­ten­ing to May­nard Fer­guson’s ‘Star Wars.’ ” “Her milk was on the house if she would play the Bea­t­les’ ‘Here Comes the Sun,’ said the girl.” Imag­ine The Great­est Hits of Bob­by Darin minus ‘Mack the Knife.’ That’s what my life would be like with­out you.” “The room begins to dark­en. In the deep­en­ing dark­ness, ‘I Can’t Go For That’ con­tin­ues to play.” It all coheres in some­thing to lis­ten to while explor­ing Murakami’s world: in your imag­i­na­tion, in real life, or in his trade­mark realms between. 

To lis­ten to the playlist above, you will first need to down­load Spo­ti­fy. Please note that once you mouse over the playlist, you can scroll through all 96 songs. Look for the ver­ti­cal scroll­bar along the right side of the playlist.

Pho­to above is attrib­uted to “wakari­m­a­sita of Flickr”

via The Week

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Read 5 Sto­ries By Haru­ki Muraka­mi Free Online (For a Lim­it­ed Time)

A Pho­to­graph­ic Tour of Haru­ki Murakami’s Tokyo, Where Dream, Mem­o­ry, and Real­i­ty Meet

Haru­ki Murakami’s Pas­sion for Jazz: Dis­cov­er the Novelist’s Jazz Playlist, Jazz Essay & Jazz Bar

In Search of Haru­ki Muraka­mi, Japan’s Great Post­mod­ernist Nov­el­ist

Haru­ki Muraka­mi Trans­lates The Great Gats­by, the Nov­el That Influ­enced Him Most

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture 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.

Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, Traffic & Other Bands Play Huge London Festival “Christmas on Earth Continued” (1967)

A tru­ly spec­tac­u­lar event, 1967’s “Christ­mas on Earth Continued”—a super-con­cert described in one pro­mo poster as an “All Night Christ­mas Dream Party”—gets sad­ly remem­bered as the last major show Syd Bar­ret played with Pink Floyd—ending the set dazed and motion­less onstage, his arms hang­ing limp at his sides. Barrett’s break­down wasn’t the only thing that kept this mas­sive hap­pen­ing, “the last gasp of the British under­ground scene,” from tak­ing off as it should have.

As the blog Mar­malade Skies recalls, the con­cert, held in the “vast Lon­don Olympia,” had “hope­less­ly inad­e­quate” pub­lic­i­ty.” This, and a “par­tic­u­lar­ly severe win­ter freeze” meant sparse atten­dance and “finan­cial dis­as­ter for the orga­niz­ers.” In addi­tion, a planned film of the event failed to mate­ri­al­ize, “owing to poor pic­ture qual­i­ty of the footage.”

Christmas-On-Earth-2.fullpage-1

Despite all this, it seems, you real­ly had to have been there. The line­up alone will make lovers of 60s psych-rock sali­vate: Jimi Hen­drix Expe­ri­ence, Eric Bur­don, Pink Floyd, The Move, Soft Machine, Tomor­row… The Who didn’t make it, but the unbilled Traf­fic did. We’re lucky to have some of the footage from that win­ter night. Check out Traf­fic below (with a very young Steve Win­wood), play­ing “Dear Mr. Fan­ta­sy.”

Lib­er­al Eng­land blog­ger Jonathan Calder calls the Traf­fic clip “price­less” and quotes Mar­malade Skies’ vivid descrip­tion of the nights fes­tiv­i­ties:

Soft Machine, with Kevin Ayers resplen­dent in pre-punk black string vest, cli­maxed with the ulti­mate Dada ver­sion of ‘We did it again’ as Robert Wyatt leapt into a full bath of water, that just hap­pened to be on-stage with them! At least, we assumed it was water. 

Tomor­row pow­ered through their unique mix of heav­i­ly Bea­t­les influ­enced psy­che­delia. Dur­ing ‘Straw­ber­ry Fields For­ev­er’ Twink (drums) and Junior (bass) per­formed a mimed fight whilst being sub­ject­ed to the most pow­er­ful strobe light effects I’ve ever wit­nessed. Steve Howe was a rev­e­la­tion, mov­ing from raga to clas­si­cal to Bar­rett — style anar­chy with an almost arro­gant ease. 

Traf­fic, still with Dave Mason, even per­formed ‘Hole in my shoe’. Steve Win­wood was into his white cheese­cloth peri­od, and their music was so unlike any­thing else around that they occu­pied a total­ly orig­i­nal space. The song, ‘Here we go round the Mul­ber­ry Bush’ was very typ­i­cal of their trip­py, watery sound at that time. 

Hen­drix — voom! All light shows were killed for his per­for­mance. Noel Red­ding was con­stant­ly nig­gling Jimi, play­ing bass behind his head as Jimi per­formed his tricks with his gui­tar. It was the first time I saw Hen­drix with his Gib­son Fly­ing Arrow, and the ten­sion on-stage pro­duced some elec­tri­fy­ing music.

At the top of the post see Hen­drix in back­stage footage, effort­less­ly coax­ing some beau­ti­ful 12-bar blues from that Gib­son fly­ing V. The film clips of him onstage—blowing an obvi­ous­ly very turned-on audience’s col­lec­tive mind—will con­vince you this was the only place on earth to be on Decem­ber 22, 1967.

And that fate­ful Floyd per­for­mance? We don’t seem to have any film, but we do have the audio, and you can hear it below, slight­ly sped up, it seems. The band were debut­ing their new 3D light­show, which—as much as Barrett’s sad loss of his faculties—left quite an impres­sion on the crowd. One anony­mous com­menter on Calder’s blog, who claims to have seen been in atten­dance at the ten­der age of 18, writes, “I was so impressed with the Soft Machine and Pink Floyd light­shows that I bought an old movie pro­jec­tor from a thrift shop and me and my flat­mate spent hours putting col­or slides into the pro­jec­tor grate and watched them melt psy­che­del­i­cal­ly on the wall.” No doubt impres­sion­able young­sters all over the UK indulged in sim­i­lar kinds of good clean fun, with Piper at the Gates of Dawn on the hi-fi. If like me, you were born too late to expe­ri­ence the zenith of the psy­che­del­ic 60s, then flip off the lights, let your trip­pi­est screen saver take over, and lis­ten to Pink Floyd decon­struct them­selves below.

via Lib­er­al Eng­land

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jimi Hen­drix at Wood­stock: The Com­plete Per­for­mance in Video & Audio (1969)

Jimi Hen­drix Plays the Bea­t­les: “Sgt. Pepper’s,” “Day Trip­per,” and “Tomor­row Nev­er Knows”

Pink Floyd Plays With Their Brand New Singer & Gui­tarist David Gilmour on French TV (1968)

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


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