shadab

Schytte
آهنگساز, پیانیست و معلم دانمارکی دوره کلاسیک-رمانتیک که اتودهای او برای هنرجویان پیانو معروف هستند.
بیشتر بخوانید:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ludvig_Schytte

Like nearly all folk songs, “We Shall Overcome” has a convoluted, obscure history that traces back to no single source. The Library of Congress locates the song’s origins in “African American hymns from the early 20th century” and an article on About.com dates the melody to an antebellum song called “No More Auction Block for Me” and the lyrics to a turn-of-the-century hymn written by the Reverend Charles Tindley of Philadelphia. The original lyric was one of personal salvation—“I’ll Overcome Someday”—but at least by 1945, when the song was taken up by striking tobacco workers in Charleston, S.C., it was transmuted into a statement of solidarity as “We Will Overcome.” Needless to say, in its final form, “We Shall Overcome” became the unofficial anthem of the labor and Civil Rights movements and eventually came to be sung “in North Korea, in Beirut, Tiananmen Square and in South Africa’s Soweto Township.”

Pete Seeger—who passed away yesterday at the age of 94—has long been credited with the dissemination of “We Shall Overcome,” but he was always quick to cite his sources. Seeger heard the song in 1947 from folklorist Zilphia Horton, music director at Tennessee’s Highlander Folk Center who, Seeger said, “had a beautiful alto voice and sang it with no rhythm.” As he told NPR recently, his touches were also those of other singers:

I gave it kind of ump-chinka, ump-chinka, ump-chinka, ump-chinka, ump-chinka, ump. It was medium slow as I sang it, but the banjo kept a steady rhythm going. I remember teaching it to a gang in Carnegie Hall that year, and the following year I put it in a little music magazine called People’s Songs. Over the years, I remember singing it two different ways. I’m usually credited with changing ['Will'] to ‘Shall,’ but there was a black woman who taught at Highlander Center, a wonderful person named Septima Clark. And she always liked shall, too, I’m told.

According to Seeger in the interview above—conducted by Josh Baron before a 2010 performance—the person most responsible for “making it the number one song back in those days” was the Music Director of the Highlander Folk Center, Guy Carawan, who “sent messages to the civil rights movement all through the South from Texas to Florida to Maryland.” Carawan “introduced this song with a new rhythm that I had never heard before.” Seeger goes on to describe the rhythm in detail, then says “it was the hit song of the weekend in February 1960…. It was not a song, it was the song all across the South. I’ve found out since then that the song started off as a union song in the 19th century.”

In this particular interview, Seeger takes full credit for changing the “will” to “shall.” Although it was “the only record [he] made which sold,” he didn’t seek to cash in on his changes (Seeger shared the copyright with Zilphia Horton, Carawan, and Frank Hamilton). As you can easily see from the numerous eulogies and tributes popping up all over (or a quick scan of the “Pete Seeger Appreciation Page”), Seeger deserves to be remembered for much more than his sixties folk singing, but he perhaps did more than anyone to make “We Shall Overcome” a song sung by a nation. And as he tells it, it was song he hoped would resonate worldwide:

I was singing for some young Lutheran church people in Sundance, Idaho, and there were some older people who were mistrustful of my lefty politics.  They said: ‘Who are you intending to overcome?’ I said: ‘Well, in Selma, Alabama they’re probably thinking of Chief Pritchett.; they will overcome. And I am sure Dr. King is thinking of the system of segregation across the whole country, not just the South. For me, it means the entire world. We’ll overcome our tendencies to solve our problems with killing and learn to work together to bring this world together.

Via Blank on Blank

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

Pete Seeger Tells the Story Behind “We Shall Overcome” is a post from: Open Culture. You can follow Open Culture by signing up for our Daily Email. That is the most reliable and convenient option. You can also find us on Facebook, Twitter, and Google Plus.

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شعری از آرتور رمبو

 

"پرچم به پیش می‌رود با دورنمایی ناساز

و همهمه‌ی واژگان ما

صدای طبل‌ها را می‌بلعد."

در مراکزی بزرگ پروار خواهیم شد

با بدبینانه‌ترین روسپی‌گری‌ها.

و شورش‌های منطقی را سلاخی خواهیم کرد.

 

بر زمینی نمور و بوی‌ناک!

در خدمت دیوسان‌ترین شکل استثمار

صنعتی یا نظامی.

"بدرود اینجا! تا هرکجا که باشد.

 

ما

سربازانی با اراده‌های قوی

و فلسفه‌ی ما که بی‌رحم خواهد بود

نادان در برابر دانایی

کف بر دهان به وقت آرامی

و بگذار تا جهان به ناله‌ی خود مشغول باشد.

این است پیشرفت حقیقی. به پیش!"

I remember the first time I heard Charles Mingus. My senior year of high school, a friend who, at the time, was studying electric bass at Boston’s Berklee College of Music, introduced me by putting on 1956’s Pithecanthropus Erectus and saying “you have to hear this.” I knew jazz in a passing way—some Ellington, some Miles Davis… not enough to make many distinctions. But I knew right away Mingus was something special. His compositions were so cool, so dynamic and angular and thoughtful, with the push-pull of his measured double bass against the occasional cacophony of piano and sax. Entranced, I sought out more, and discovered favorites like the bluesy “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat”—live at Montreux in 1975 above—from Mingus’s 1959 watershed Mingus Ah Um, a record that shared the spotlight with other instant classics that year, including Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue, John Coltrane’s Giant Steps, and Ornette Coleman’s The Shape of Jazz to Come. (On that note, don’t miss the documentary, 1959: The Year That Changed Jazz.)

Mingus stood among giants, and was a giant himself. But oddly enough, while all of the artists on this list won, often multiple, Grammy awards, Mingus received no nods from the Recording Academy for any of his several dozen original albums. The snubs—if that’s what they were—may have been due to his famously irascible personality, or to the fact that Mingus eluded classification. As his friend Nat Hentoff wrote of him in 1999, jazz critics could not “find a category, a convenient term, to describe him.” Mingus himself told Hentoff, “I am trying to play the truth of what I am. The reason it’s difficult is because I’m changing all the time.” But while the bassist’s musical compositions were ignored, he did receive one nomination, in 1971, for another kind of writing—the liner notes to his 1971 album Let My Children Hear Music, a record he called “the best album I have ever made” (hear it in full below). Mingus’s liner-notes essay—a lost art these days—is titled “What is a Jazz Composer?,” and it’s an insightful exploration of the artist’s own history and compositional technique.

Eloquent, but loose, Mingus’s prose wanders from personal anecdotes to philosophical ruminations. On the role  of jazz soloists as composers, he writes,

Each jazz musician when he takes a horn in his hand- trumpet, bass, saxophone, drums-whatever instrument he plays—each soloist, that is, when he begins to ad lib on a given composition with a title and improvise a new creative melody, this man is taking the place of a composer.

Later, however, Mingus seems skeptical of this idea: “each jazz musician is supposed to be a composer. Whether he is or not, I don’t know.” Although Mingus struggled as a child to read music—and faced racial barriers to a classical career—he trained first on the cello and incorporated many elements of classical music, as well as gospel and big band, into his compositions. When the bop era of improvisation came along, Mingus rolled with it, but found himself looking critically at the new wave represented by, for example, Ornette Coleman’s showy solos. The essay, even so many years after the bop revolution, reflects his ambivalence. He writes:

Today, things are at the other extreme. Everything is supposed to be invented, the guys never repeat anything at all and probably couldn’t. They don’t even write down their own tunes, they just make them up as they sit on the bandstand. It’s all right, I don’t question it. I know and hear what they are doing. But the validity remains to be seen—what comes, what is left, after you hear the melody and after you hear the solo. Unless you just want to hear the feeling, as they say.

Mingus was an oddity in the post-bop world; he generally eschewed the soloist approach. Instead, he seems to see himself operating in a classical, or at least more formal, tradition, drawing as much from Stravinsky as from Ellington. As one writer puts it, his music was “schizophrenic in that it both harked back to the New Orleans roots of jazz and looked forward to progressive chamber jazz and ‘third stream’ jazz. His compositions ranged wildly in mood and dynamics, from puntillistic counterpoint to massive Wagner-ian explosions.” In his liner notes, he laments the limited instrumentation of jazz, which he finds “stifling.” Mingus makes it clear that as a composer, he strives for highbrow respectability, while also stressing that he thinks the virtuosity of jazz has pushed all forms forward, including classical. Bequeathing his album to his successors, his musical “children,” Mingus urges future jazz composers to expand their range into symphonic territory:

I think it is time our children were raised to think they can play bassoon, oboe, English horn, French horn, lull percussion, violin, cello. The results would be-well the Philharmonic would not be the only answer for us then. If we so-called jazz musicians who are the composers, the spontaneous composers, started including these instruments in our music, it would open everything up, it would get rid of prejudice because the musicianship would be so high in caliber that the symphony couldn’t refuse us.

Some of Mingus’s contemporaries found his classical aspirations cold and offputting. For example, Mingus describes in an interview how Fats Navarro—who said he “always played with hate”—chided the bassist by saying, “Mingus, you just played the theory. you didn’t tell me how you felt. You didn’t say, ‘Hello, Fats, I love you.’ You didn’t play nothing beautiful” (an observation Mingus says “woke him up”).

The liner notes essay is replete with other reminisces of Mingus’s musical coming-of-age, from his love for Debussy, Stravinsky, and Strauss, to his tutelage under “master musician” Lloyd Reese. You can read the whole thing here at the official Mingus site, which features more of his writing, such as “An Open Letter to Miles Davis,” originally published in Down Beat Magazine in 1955.

Related Content:

1959: The Year that Changed Jazz

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

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|این مقاله مصاحبه ای است با لویی آلتوسر که توسط "Maria Antonietta Macciocchi" صورت گرفته است و ترجمه آن به زبان انگلیسی توسط "Andy Blunden" انجام شده است.

I’m impressed by the undertaking. Neville Jason and Naxos Audio Books have completed an unabridged audio version of Proust’s epic, seven-part novel, Remembrance of Things Past. Proust published the first volume, Swann’s Way, one hundred years ago, in 1913, and completed the last volume, Time Regained, fourteen years later, in 1927. By that time, Proust had a masterpiece on his hands — a very long masterpiece. The classic (available in our collection of Free eBooks) spans some 3,000 pages and contains more than 1.5 million words. Until now, Remembrance of Things Past has never been available in an unabridged audio format, perhaps because it would amount to the longest audio book ever made (or something approaching that). But Neville Jason has pulled it off, producing a 151-hour recording that’s now available on Audible.com. Below, we’ve provided seven free audio excerpts (one from each volume), and if you care to sign up for Audible’s 30-Day Free Trial, you can download any one volume for free. And, keep in mind, whenever someone signs up for a free trial, it helps support Open Culture. If Proust isn’t your cup of tea, you can find many other great works in our collection of 525 Free Audio Books.

Swann’s Way 

Within a Budding Grove

The Guermantes Way 

Sodom and Gomorrah

The Captive 

The Fugitive 

Time Regained

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Watch Monty Python’s “Summarize Proust Competition” on the 100th Anniversary of Swann’s Way

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Let’s sneak in a quick birthday celebration before the 4th. Franz Kafka was born on this day (July 3), a good 130 years ago. To commemorate the occasion, we’re presenting Piotr Dumala’s 1992 short animated film called, quite simply, Franz Kafka. Dumala’s animation technique grew out of his training as a sculptor, when he started experimenting with scratching images into painted plaster. Later he developed a more full blown method known as “destructive animation,” which is on full display in the film. You can learn more about Dumala and his approach here. The 16-minute film is based on The Diaries of Franz Kafka, and now appears in our collection of 525 Free Movies Online. Also on our site, you can view Dumala’s adaptation of Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment.

Note: This film/post originally appeared on our site in 2010. Still enamored by Dumala’s work, we thought it was time to bring it back.

Related Content:

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Find works by Kafka in our Free eBooks and Free Audio Books collections

1 comment(s)

 1)

ما

ایستادگان بر لبه‌ی رخدادیم

استوارترین ایستادگان

بر پر شیب‌ترین لبه‌ی رخداد

بر جای مانده‌ایم

به ضرورت تاریخی مبهم

-که ریشخندمان می‌کند-

و از پس آشویتس

تنها

شعر سروده‌ایم.

 

2)

ما ایستاده‌ایم

بر لبه‌ی رخداد

نه چون رودی که می‌خروشد

یا چون چشمه‌ای که می‌جوشد

یا سنگی که فرو می‌غلطد

یا مشتی که فرا می‌جهد

یا حتی آلتی که نعوذ می‌کند

ما ایستادگانیم

به ماننده‌ی کفتاری که می‌نگرد

یا مردابی که می‌گندد

یا کوهی که می‌ماند

و این همه

...

باز هم ضرورت تاریخ است.

 

3)

در تربلینکا کسی شعر نمی‌سرود

جز چکامه‌ی ترسی دم‌کرده

در گولاک تنی نمی‌فرسود

بی حرارت ایمانی به سرمای آهن و برف

در صبرا صدای فصیحی شعر نمی‌خواند

مگر مادری بر پاره پاره‌های کودکی

شعر نجوای روزهای ایستاست

افلاطون عزیز

شاعران را به مدینه‌ات بازگردان

 

سه و نیم)

اشباح نگاهم می‌کنند

کابوس اوج می‌گیرد

می‌شناسم چشم‌هایت را

در همهمه‌ی کشنده‌ی نگاه‌ها

ایستاده‌ام

تو گذشته‌ای

من شاعرم

شاعر شعری ایستا

و تو انقلاب بودی

با چشم‌هایی که زبانه می‌کشید.

می‌سرایم

لمیده روی کاناپه‌ی آبی خانه‌مان

انقلابی را که انقلابی نداشت.

 

4)

ایستاده‌ایم

بر لبه‌ی رخداد

خورشید در پس‌مان غروب می‌کند

از پیش‌مان بر می‌آید

و باز

و باز.

نقادی

خطوط عمودی شعرم را

ریشخند می‌کند

و از سطور افقی ایراد می‌گیرد.

خسته می‌شوم از شعر

نفسی چاق می‌کنم

رخداد با چشم‌های تو نگاهم می‌کند

می‌بندم چشم‌هایم را

می‌دانم

یک روز

از بلندای آخرین محور مختصات بوطیقایی...

گور پدر ضرورت تاریخ!

 

شعری از فرناندو پسوآ

بخواب

آنگاه که تو را می‌نگرم...

رهایم کن به رویا...

چیزی درونم شاد نیست.

می‌خواهمت به رویا

نه برای عشق.

 

تنانگی‌ات

هرچه آرام

سرد است در قامت خواهش من.

تمنایم خسته است.

در آغوش نمی‌خواهم

رویای بودنت را.

 

بخواب، بخواب، بخواب

تنیده در لبخندت...

بی‌قرار به رویایت می‌بینم

فریبنده رویایی

و من می‌بینمش

بی از احساسی.

شعری از آتائوالپا یوپانکی

 

پرسیدم:

پدربزرگ، خدا کجاست؟

غمگین شد

پدربزرگ

و هیچ نگفت؛

 

پدربزرگ سرِ زمینش مرد

بی دعایی یا اعترافی

و سرخپوستان به خاکش سپردند

با آواز نی‌ها و طبل‌هاشان.

 

پرسیدم:

پدر، خدا کجاست؟

چهره در هم کشید

پدر

و هیچ نگفت؛

 

پدر در معدن مرد

بی طبیبی یا محافظتی

رنگ خون معدنچیان را دارد

طلای قدیسین.

 

برادرم در کوه‌ها زندگی می‌کند

بی آن‌که چیزی بداند

از شکوفه‌ها؛

عرق، مالاریا و مارها

تمام زندگی یک چوب‌بر است.

هیچ‌گاه از او نپرسیدم

که آیا می‌داند خدا کجاست؛

که عالی‌مقامی چنان را

راهی به خانه‌اش نیست.

 

در آزادی‌ام آواز خوانده‌ام

و در زندان نیز؛

صدای مردمانی را شنیده‌ام

که بسیار بهتر از من می‌خواندند؛

اما در این زمین

چیزی هست بس مهم‌تر از خداوند

که کسی خون خود را قی نمی‌کند

تا دیگری به شادی بنشیند!

 

می‌تواند باشد یا نباشد

خدایی برای محرومان؛

اما هرچه هست

قدیسان را یقین دارم

که حتی شبی را گرسنه نخواهند خوابید