Posts Tagged ‘music’
“[Handel] is the only person I would wish to see before I die, and the only person I would wish to be, were I not Bach.”*…
An essay from Charles King, adapted from his recent book, Every Valley: The Desperate Lives and Troubled Times that Made Handel’s Messiah…
… In the summer of 1717, as Handel ran through the movements of his Water Music, floating alongside George I’s royal barge on the Thames, he could only have marveled at his own meteoric rise. Yet he would also have been aware of the precariousness of the regime that now sustained him. An outsider dependent on staying on the right side of the powerful, Handel understood the many divisions that snaked through his adopted society. His income, as well as his art, rested on the favor of people who could also easily withdraw it. A generous supporter or advance ticket sales might cover some of the cost of a production, but opening night then hung on the goodwill of a patron or a public violently sensitive to prices. A change in ticket price could spark a riot, with theatergoers storming the stage and tearing apart sets and chandeliers. When shows ran at a loss, the typical course was for a producer simply “to banish himself from the kingdom” and outrun the creditors, an early historian reported, as one of the King’s Theater managers had chosen to do.
Amid the continuing craze for Italian music, in early 1719, a circle of opera enthusiasts proposed a different model. Their concept was to create a new production outfit structured as a joint-stock company. Supporters would be investors rather than donors, expecting a return on their outlay but also bearing the risk should things fail. A who’s who of Handel’s landlords and acquaintances signed on, among them Richard Boyle, Earl of Burlington, who owned the Piccadilly home where Handel had lived for a time, and James Brydges, later Duke of Chandos, under whose patronage Handel had begun his first serious attempt at setting English texts. Their hope was to gain a royal charter—the official imprimatur of the king, which could then be used to pull in further partners and paying audiences. By that summer, they had persuaded King George to grant the charter for what would become the Royal Academy of Music and provide a thousand pounds annually as capital. Other investors added perhaps nineteen thousand pounds in all. The Royal Academy’s board of directors named Handel as “Master of the Orchester with a Sallary” and empowered him to steal away Italian singers and musicians from their European engagements.
Over the previous century, Venetians, Florentines, Neapolitans, and others had together set in motion a revolution in sonic common sense: a profound change in the conventions of musical form, perceptions of beauty, and expectations about what counted as obvious or wrongheaded art.
Living in the artistic realm that Italians had created meant accepting the existing order of the world while also undermining it. You started by imagining a normalcy different from the one outside your window. A woman might sing a man’s part as a travesty—en travesti, meaning literally a change of clothes—a term that would only later come to mean abnormal or an affront. A man could sing from the edges of his vocal cords and leap into a high falsetto, his false voice. He could do so with even greater range as a castrato, someone whose testes had been removed before his voice had hardened in puberty, a procedure practiced in Italy, the Ottoman Empire, and elsewhere for centuries. Onstage he might play a steel-clad knight, soaring above the battlefield with the voice of an angel. Castrati superstars—Nicolini, Pasqualini, Paoluccio, Momo, Farinelli, Senesino, Guadagni—were paid gargantuan fees for a season’s performances. In public they could be swarmed by adoring admirers, both male and female. “Some of them had got it into their Heads, that truly the Ladies were in Love with them,” a lengthy French treatise on Italian castrati reported in 1718, “and fondly flattered themselves with mighty Conquests.”
In a theater, the powerful could sound like women. Ancient gods could walk among men. Wars could end not in gore and death but in communal song. Doing all of this well required intellect and discernment, knowledge of musical form and its effects, and, most important, a sense of sociability. Players and singers were guided by instructions written on a staff, but the notes were suggestions rather than edicts. In a soundscape that allowed uncertainty and impromptu change, musicians had to be both self-aware and neighborly, a skill also necessitated by the technology of the time. A quiet harpsichord could speak comfortably alongside a human voice or a few violins, but not more. A lute-like theorbo, with its gentle strings and absurdly long neck, could manage a coiled horn as a partner, but only if its bell were turned discreetly away from the listener. Even a trumpet could cooperate peaceably with other instruments when played in its upper register, where the physics of its metal tubing gave the player more notes to choose from, its timbre more like a warbling bird than a blaring call to arms.
No one had yet given music of this type a label. When they did, the one they chose was also a slur, like punk or grunge. It was the French baroque, used in English for the first time in 1765 and perhaps derived from a Portuguese term for a rough pearl or a mouthful of irregular teeth. To its enthusiasts, that was precisely the point. An orchestra of the period was also an intentional community, often assembled for a specific occasion, smaller than in later centuries, and with no need for a conductor—a role covered by the keyboard player or lead violinist and preserved in the modern term concertmaster. The music they made was solicitous and scrappy, risky and intimate. It soared and swerved, thrilling and dangerous, at odds with everything that had come before, and, to the artists who came after, the perfect example of wildness and excess. But to those who lived it, at the core of their work lay the belief that human creativity could best be used to make an intense, weird, and complicated conversation, sloughing off old conventions while manufacturing bold new ones. “We have freed ourselves from the narrow limits of ancient music,” Handel once said…
Baroque music’s glorious revolution: “The Famous Mr. Hendel” from @laphamsquarterly.bsky.social.
* Johann Sebastian Bach (Upon hearing the above statement, Mozart is said to have exclaimed: “Truly, I would say the same myself if I were permitted to put in a word.”)
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As we conjure creation from chaos, we might send beautiful birthday greetings to Giuseppe Sammartini; he was born on this date in 1695. One of the finest oboe (and flute and recorder) players in London, he was a member of Handel’s orchestra— and a noted composer in his own right. Indeed, his recorder concerto is often performed and recorded in tandem with Handel’s (e.g., here).
“The public domain is the basis for our art, our science, and our self-understanding. It is the raw material from which we make new inventions and create new cultural works.”*…
From Nancy Drew to Animal Crackers to The Maltese Falcon, 1930’s greatest works enter the U.S. public domain on January 1, 2026. Aaron Moss counsels us to expect celebration, confusion, and at least one Betty Boop slasher film…
The weather’s getting colder, the nights are getting longer, and Hollywood has decided Betty Boop would be more marketable as a serial killer. It can only mean one thing: Public Domain Day 2026 is upon us.
Regular observers of copyright law’s favorite holiday know the drill: on January 1, 2026, a new crop of creative works from 1930 (along with sound recordings from 1925) will enter the public domain in the United States—ready to be remixed, recycled, or repurposed into B-grade horror films and ill-advised erotica.
This year’s film class is stacked with classics: Howard Hughes’s aviation epic Hell’s Angels (Jean Harlow’s screen debut and, at the time, the most expensive movie ever made); The Big Trail, featuring John Wayne in his first starring role; Greta Garbo’s first talkie, Anna Christie; Bing Crosby’s film debut in King of Jazz; and 1930 Best Picture winner All Quiet on the Western Front. There’s plenty of comedy too, including the Marx Brothers’ Animal Crackers, Laurel and Hardy’s Another Fine Mess, and Soup to Nuts, best remembered for featuring an early iteration of the Three Stooges.
Among the standout literary works in the Public Domain Day Class of 2026 are heavyweights like William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon, Edna Ferber’s bestseller Cimarron, and Evelyn Waugh’s champagne-soaked satire Vile Bodies. Children’s literature fans can look forward to Swallows and Amazons by Arthur Ransome, Watty Piper’s The Little Engine That Could, and Elizabeth Coatsworth’s Newbery Medal winner The Cat Who Went to Heaven.
Not to take anything away from Hammett’s Sam Spade, but it’s an especially strong year for female detectives—both young and old. The earliest Nancy Drew mysteries from 1930 hit the U.S. public domain on January 1, 2026, as does the first outing of the genteel Miss Marple in Agatha Christie’s The Murder at the Vicarage. Maybe they can team up to solve the mystery of why Hollywood is only interested in using public domain characters to make schlocky horror films.
In the world of comics and animation, two Disney shorts featuring early versions of Pluto are also set to enter the public domain. The future canine star first appeared as an unnamed bloodhound in 1930’s The Chain Gang before resurfacing later that year as Minnie Mouse’s pet “Rover” in The Picnic. He wouldn’t officially become Mickey’s dog Pluto until 1931’s The Moose Hunt—a film set to enter the U.S. public domain in 2027…
Read on for a rundown of more film, characters, and music that’s about to be more freely available: “Public Domain Day 2026 Is Coming: Here’s What to Know,” from @copyrightlately.bsky.social.
* James Boyle, The Public Domain: Enclosing the Commons of the Mind
The Holidays are upon us, and with them, (R)D’s annual solstice hiatus. Regular service will resume on or around January 2; in the meantime (and in lieu of an almanac entry), two seasonal offerings.
First, a collection of pieces from JSTOR: “Winter Holidays“…
December means the winter holidays are upon us: Solstice, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, St. Stephen’s Day, and New Year’s Eve, with all your favorite wintertime traditions. Celebrate with some seasonal scholarship below. All stories contain free links to the supporting academic research on JSTOR. Happy Holidays!
And then, with your correspondent’s seasonal best, two timely tunes:
“Curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first passion and the last”*…
From the arcane through the mysterious to the perplexing, a glorious collecton of obscure– but fascinating– knowledge…
Freakpages is a community-curated directory of esoteric articles across the internet, primarily from Wikipedia. Here, we encourage you to learn about interesting topics you have never heard of…
… divided into categories (Society, History, Technology, Psychology, Physics, Biology, Chemistry, Finance, Philosphy), with continuously refreshed selections from both the curators and the community.
A few examples: Egregore, Operation Northwoods, Matrioshka Brain, Zeigarnik Effect, Retrocausality, Horizontal Gene Transfer, Strange Matter Seeding, Keynesian Beauty Contest, Chinese Room…
So many more at: Freakpages
[Image above: source]
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As we explore, we might spare a thought for a man driven by an endles spirit of inquiry, William Thomson, 1st Baron Kelvin; he died on this date in 1907. A mathematician, mathematical physicist, and engineer considered by many “the Newton of his era,” Lord Kelvin was instrumental in the formulation of the first and second laws of thermodynamics, and contributed significantly to unifying physics, which was then in its infancy of development as an emerging academic discipline. He received the Royal Society’s Copley Medal in 1883 and served as its president from 1890 to 1895. In 1892 he became the first scientist to be elevated to the House of Lords. Absolute temperatures are stated in units of kelvin in his honor.
“Curation is a form of pattern recognition – pieces of information or insight which over time amount to an implicit point of view”*…
It’s that time of year again… we’re being inundated by “best-of” lists. Many of them are interesting, if only for the reactions they evoke (“how could you include/omit that???”). A few are gems. Here, two that your correspondent found especially interesting…
First, our (now annual) visit with Tom Whitwell and his “52 things I learned in 2025.” For example…
…
… 11. The Radioactive Shrimp Scare of 2025 was likely caused when a recycling plant in Cikande, Indonesia accidentally melted scrap metal from a piece of medical or industrial equipment containing Caesium-137. A plume of smoke was released across Java, entering the BMS Foods plant which processes 1/3rd of the shrimp imported into the US. [Paris Martineau]…
… 31. In 2023, Nigeria had a million more births than the whole of Europe. [Our World in Data, via Charles Onyango-Obbo]…
… 52. Gall’s law says: “A complex system that works is invariably found to have evolved from a simple system that worked. A complex system designed from scratch never works and cannot be patched up to make it work. You have to start over with a working simple system.” [John Gall p.52]
Next, “The 26 Most Important Ideas For 2026,” from Derek Thompson…
…
… 2. The triumph of streaming video
In my essay “Everything Is Television,” [highy recommended] I wrote that all media are converging toward the same flow of video. Social media is becoming less about keeping up with friends and more about watching short-form videos made by strangers—i.e., television. Podcasts are becoming less about listening to Internet radio and more about watching YouTube talk shows—i.e., television…
[in this entry– as in all of his points– Thompson elobaorates (e.g., here, the end of reading, the victory of streaming, the threat to movie theaters, and the warning that TikTok might be mealting your brain) and substantiates his points with data.]…
… 5. The whole US economy right now is one big bet on artificial intelligence
Housing is in a rut. Farmers are hurting. Manufacturing has been shrinking for months. Hiring is hell. And yet, the US economy continues to grow, powered by an AI infrastructure project unlike anything in modern history…
… 13. Americans aren’t drunk. They’re high.
In 2010, daily or near-daily drinkers outnumbered daily marijuana users by a two-to-one margin. But since then, a wave of decriminalization has allowed marijuana use to soar into the 2020s, so that today daily marijuana users exceed drinkers for the first time ever…
… 26. [in it’s glorious entirety] Great art can save lives.
We’ll close with one of the finer letters to the editor you’ll read, from the Times of London, on the occasion of the death of playwright Tom Stoppard.
“Saved by Stoppard”: Sir, In 1993 my wife and I went to see the first production of Arcadia by Tom Stoppard (obituary, Dec 1), and in the interval I experienced a Damascene conversion. As a clinical scientist I was trying to understand the enigma of the behaviour of breast cancer, the assumption being that it grew in a linear trajectory spitting off metastases on its way. In the first act of Arcadia, Thomasina asks her tutor, Septimus: “If there is an equation for a curve like a bell, there must be an equation for one like a bluebell, and if a bluebell, why not a rose?” With that Stoppard explains chaos theory, which better explains the behaviour of breast cancer. At the point of diagnosis, the cancer must have already scattered cancer cells into the circulation that nest latent in distant organs. The consequence of that hypothesis was the birth of “adjuvant systemic chemotherapy”, and rapidly we saw a striking fall of the curve that illustrated patients’ survival. Stoppard never learnt how many lives he saved by writing Arcadia. – Michael Baum, Professor emeritus of surgery; visiting professor of medical humanities, UCL
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As we read ’em and reap, we might recall that it was on this date in 1964 that Dusty Springfield was deported from South Africa after performing before a desegregated audience at a show near Capetown. Springfield was the first British artist to stipulate the inclusion of a specific “No Apartheid” clause into her contract, and her disgust with the country’s policy of racial segregation and discrimination helped inspire a cultural boycott of South Africa.
“When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less”*…
In an piece adapted/updated from his recent book, Unabridged: The Thrill of (and Threat to) the Modern Dictionary, Stefan Fatsis explores process(es) that determine our “Word[s] of the Year”…
Thirty-five years ago, the late English professor Allan Metcalf [see here] had an idea. “I was thinking that Time magazine has its Person of the Year,” he told me, “and why can’t we do for words what Time did for people?”
Metcalf assumed that the language pros at the American Dialect Society, which held the first WOTY vote in 1990, would nominate words “headed straight for our everyday vocabulary and secure places in the dictionaries.” But he misjudged human behavior. Lexicography is sober research committed quietly and alone. Word of the Year is a key party: You can’t be sure who you’ll go home with. The inaugural winner, bushlips, meaning “insincere political rhetoric,” barely lasted a news cycle.
After some eye-rolling, criteria were established: Was the word completely new? Had it been used before in other contexts? Was it “a major focus of human activity or behavior” in the previous year? Did it have staying potential? WOTY could be brand-new or newly popular. But it had to have been used widely and reflect the zeitgeist of the annum gone by.
Today there are around a dozen Words of the Year (Word of the Years?) in English, and WOTY season runs from late fall to early January. Dictionaries duke it out for attention, some touting their scientific methodology for picking a winner, others offering a nebulous alchemy of number-crunching and feel. The dialect society, the WOTY OG, conducts a live popular vote in a hotel ballroom at a language conference, the outcome based more often than not on vibes alone.
No matter the formula, selecting one word to define a year is serious business. It’s about the sharp lines of language and usage, how society adopts and spreads new terminology, and, increasingly, the dramatic ways that social media influence the way we write, talk, and interact. As a culture we’re forever searching for ways to make sense of our big, complicated, confusing world. WOTY neatly boxes up 365 days in a single, simple word (technically a “vocabulary item”; phrases, compounds, and affixes also are eligible). It’s media catnip and hot-take gold.
“It gives people this sense of ownership,” says New York Times Wordplay columnist Sam Corbin, who’s writing a book about what she calls the WOTY-verse. “We have always been exploring new ways to fill gaps in vocabulary but also respond to culture with words. It’s delicious.”
For the dialect society, which crowns a champ last, the job is so weighty that it takes two days to pick a winner—nominations one night, balloting the next. I’ve participated in around a decade’s worth of votes. I check my journalistic objectivity at the door and do my linguistic duty. Every year, a pattern emerges. A few words totally surprise, some a product of Gen Z (or Gen Alpha) or gamer culture that’s bypassed middle-aged me (hello, skibidi, a 2023 nominee). Recency bias is common—as you’d expect in a vote of trending language. So is observer bias, with crowd approval often directly proportional to shock value (the suffix -ussy winning in 2022; rawdog in 2024).
Looking at the victorious words from a distance, you might nod in recognition of a specific event (chad, 2000; bailout, 2008), cringe at terminology that dates you (World Wide Web, 1995), or wonder what the hell people were thinking (to pluto, a verb meaning to demote, as in what happened to Pluto when it was reclassified from full-fledged to dwarf planet, 2006). But that’s the genius of Word of the Year. We’re suckers for media-driven argument engines. It’s a short walk from “LeBron is better than Jordan!” to “They should have picked rizz!”
Since around 2010, when the newsy app defeated the funner nom—as in the onomatopoetic nomnomnom, to connote eating—younger voters (mostly grad students and junior faculty) have tilted the conversation away from dictionary-type words toward social media and online slang. “It’s generally who makes the best argument in the room, and you can’t predict that,” says Ben Zimmer, chair of the society’s New Words Committee.
A couple of votes stand out for me, for linguistic and cultural reasons. One was in Austin, Texas, in January 2017. Donald Trump had just been elected president, and nearly half of the WOTY nominees were related to him: post-truth, basket of deplorables, unpresidented, alt-right, fake news, locker-room banter, yuuuge. But the mood was ominous, not apocalyptic. It was, after all, pre-inauguration, pre-Charlottesville, pre-impeachments, pre-pandemic, pre-2020 election, pre-January 6, pre-felony indictments, pre-felony convictions, pre-assassination attempts, pre-2024 election, pre-ICE raids: pre-everything.
WOTY promised closure, and everyone was down for that. In the middle of the room, Dan Villareal, a linguistics postdoc, stood up. “Okay,” he said. “It’s 2016. Dumpster fire?” Earlier in the evening, the fire emoji, and also the trashcan and fire emojis used together to represent dumpster fire, won the emoji category. One of the older attendees had asked what dumpster fire meant. “It is used to describe an incredibly catastrophic situation,” Zimmer explained. “Like some people think 2016 was one long dumpster fire.”
Normalize, post-truth, and the fire emoji also got WOTY nominations—the first time an emoji had made the final group. So did woke. “Granted it’s been around a while,” cherubic Stanford linguist John Rickford, a titan in the field, said. “But only if you stay woke can you put out the dumpster fire.” The house was brought down, and I figured it was game over. But then another postdoc, Nicole Holliday, lobbied against the word—“because it was appropriated from the Black solidarity movement in the 1960s and I think that we are so late to this game and last year was anything but woke,” she said. Dumpster fire beat woke in a runoff.
The journey of the two words since then demonstrates WOTY’s unpredictability and its historical value. Dumpster fire was relatively new and the WOTY early-warning system worked; Merriam-Webster added it just 14 months later. Woke, by contrast, would take a far more disturbing linguistic ride. The dialect society voters who (literally) snapped their fingers in approval for woke would watch it get twisted by political commentators and a demagogic right-wing into what was tantamount to a slur.
The dialect society’s last two votes also feel, in hindsight, like markers. When the group gathered in New York to pick the 2023 winner, Joe Biden was president and Trump was a long shot to return to power. The Israel-Hamas war drew a nomination of ceasefire, but the Barbie movie, AI, and online slang dominated the discourse. The most spirited debate was over a word that didn’t appear in Sam Corbin’s Times write-up of the event: cunty, “having an audaciously exceptional appearance or attitude.”
The winner straddled the line between serious and fun: enshittification, meaning a gradual deterioration in the quality of internet platforms like Facebook, Twitter, and TikTok. The word captured the growing frustration with internet subservience and AI overlords. The 2024 vote, in Philadelphia, also was relatively apolitical; maybe we were all terrified about Trump’s impending inauguration. Rawdog was subversive and fun. The runner-up, sanewashing, was doomy, but more of a criticism of how the media handled Trump than of Trump himself.
Kicking off the 2025 WOTY campaign, Dictionary.com eschewed the perilous state of the union and opted for the ubiquitous (and annoying, to adults) Gen Alpha nonsense catchphrase 67 (also written 6-7 or six seven). The British dictionary Collins went with the AI term vibe coding, which it said “captures something fundamental about our evolving relationship with technology.” Other dictionaries are likely to lean into our quick descent into competitive authoritarianism and choose an existing word that was of the moment and looked up a lot: totalitarian, fascism (for which former Dictionary.com editor John Kelly made the case), deportation, crackdown, tariff, shutdown. (Surreal and unprecedented, fyi, have already had a turn; chaos is available.)
For the American Dialect Society voters, current-events words need to capture the seriousness of the political moment, possess some cultural stickiness, and be lexically dynamic. Language writer Nancy Friedman, who tracks potential WOTYs on her Substack, Fritinancy, flagged DOGE as a verb meaning to fire or purge and as a “combining form,” as in DOGEboys or DOGEbags. Various tariff spinoffs—such as tariffied, which has appeared in lots of headlines—also show promise. Other candidates unite the sober and the clever: Kavanaugh stop, broligarchy, trolligarchy, sadopopulism.
Brianne Hughes, a linguist and writer, maintains a running list of 2025 WOTY hopefuls on the alt-dictionary site Wordnik—around 250 of them so far, including #NoKings, Coldplayed, clanker, aura farming, Straw Hat Pirates, Gen Z stare, and chopped unc, a combo of the internet slang chopped and unc. (Some late additions: Young Republicans, in the wake of a Politico story revealing racist banter in a GOP group chat; Trumpstein files; and Gestapo Barbie, a derogative nickname for Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem.)
“Choosing the Word of the Year is No Easy Feat“- the history of who and how, from @stefanfatsis.bsky.social in @literaryhub.bsky.social
See also Fatsis on the precarious status of the dictionary: “I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything.”
* Lewis Carroll (Humpty Dumpty in Through the Looking-Glass)
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As we contemplate coinage, we might recall that it was on this date in 1964 that The Animals recorded “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood,” which had been first recorded by Nina Simone earlier that year. It was the first single released from their album Animal Tracks (followed by “We Gotta Get Out of This Place”).
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