Just today, I created an account with Ning, an online platform for which people can create their own specific social networks, under my own name.
Unfortunately, I found the set-up of finding various social networks to be frustratingly limited; if the use of this site in this class falls by the wayside, I won't be returning to it.
On October 5th, 1888, Sir Arthur Sullivan attended a "phonograph party" hosted by the Edison corporation; during the party, Sullivan was persuaded to make a phonograph of his voice. This phonograph (engraved upon a wax cylinder) was meant to serve as a sort of futuristic letter, similar to the e-mail we have today.
Earlier that same year, Sullivan allowed Edison to make a phonograph of his song, "The Lost Chord"; this, among other songs, was played at an international press conference to celebrate Edison's "invention". Surprisingly enough, the recording survived until the present day, and in much better condition than many other recordings (this one of Brahms, for instance).
In honor of Sullivan's graciousness toward his bastard of a host, I have decided to embed both the recording of "The Lost Chord" and the recording of his dinner speech; the text follows below:
"Dear Mr. Edison, if my friend Edmund Yates has been a little incoherent it is in consequence of the excellent dinner and good wines that he has drunk. Therefore I think you will excuse him. He has his lucid intervals. For myself, I can only say that I am astonished and somewhat terrified at the result of this evening's experiments: astonished at the wonderful power you have developed, and terrified at the thought that so much hideous and bad music may be put on record for ever. But all the same I think it is the most wonderful thing that I have ever experienced, and I congratulate you with all my heart on this wonderful discovery. Arthur Sullivan."
There is a palpable difference between Boyd and Bennett's opinions; though Bennett feels that the current generation of "Actualizing Citizens" uses Internet technology to form (in his words) "loose networks of community action", Boyd feels this is a misunderstanding, and that "embarrassing videos and body fluid jokes fare much better than serious critiques ofpower". The two do agree, however, that technology has affected today's society; the way in which it has affected society, then, is where they part ways.
Personally, I'm surprised both essays are supposed to be in the same book; aren't essay anthologies supposed to inform the reader, instead of confusing him?
Handicapped Rights -- Since I am physically handicapped, myself, I would like to raise awareness about me and people like me; however, the mentally handicapped are also usually included in this spectrum, and I, for one, would like to bring up public empathy for such people.
Animal Abuse -- I love animals, so seeing shows (like those on Animal Planet) where so many different animals come out sick, broken, and maimed makes me sick; awareness needs to be raised for those poor creatures, and to prevent other animals becoming like them.
Illiteracy -- So many people in this world still have no ability to either read or write; I would like to spread those gifts to them.
Health Care -- Too many good people in this country are uninsured without proper cause; let's do something about it.
Gay Rights --"Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve" is a logical fallacy; it's time for consenting adults who love each other be granted all the benefits that come with marriage.
In another part of the world, halfway across the globe from Méliès, Australia had decided to enter the film business, herself; the result was the world's first full-length feature film, The Story of the Kelly Gang, written and directed by a little-known filmmaker named Charles Tait.
Unfortunately for film historians, only 17 minutes out of the original hour-long presentation have survived; here are those 17 minutes, the last portion of the film we have, based in part on the life of notorious bushranger Ned Kelly:
Originally trained as a stage magician, Méliès became entranced by filmmaking after seeing a cinema demonstration in 1895. For the rest of the decade, Méliès and his assembled theatre company pushed the boundaries of how one could use film, creating such techniques as the multiple exposure and the stop trick; here are some of his best short films:
Of course, Méliès's most famous film was A Trip to the Moon, released in 1902:
Unfortunately for Méliès, who had intended to release the film in the United States to profit from it, certain film technicians hired by one Thomas Edison secretly made copies of it and distributed it throughout the country; though the film was still hugely successful, Méliès did not make a dime off of it, and thanks to Edison's unscrupulous techniques, the poor filmmaker eventually went bankrupt.
After his brilliant career, Méliès became a toy salesman in a train station in France; it would be two decades before his innovations were to be appreciated for what they were.
Despite his poor lot in life, Méliès was a true pioneer of cinema, being one of the first filmmakers to deal largely in special effects wizardry and, well, just plain fun.
During the rest of the 1890s, Thomas Edison worked on various other related projects, mostly through the help of his underpaid assistants; the most important of these to realizing Edison's bought-off patents was William Kennedy Dickson.
Dickson, a French-born expatriate of Scottish descent, directed and starred in Edison's first publicly-shown film, released in 1891:
By 1893, Dickson had created many more films for Edison, including the momentous Dickson Experimental Sound Film; in it, he played the violin (though not entirely in tune) as Edison barked orders out of sight, shortly before filming began:
Frankly, the only reason I'm including Dickson in this series of posts is because of what he did after his career with Edison; in 1895, he founded the American Mutoscope and Biograph Company, which, just three years later, sued Edison for his claim of having invented the motion picture camera. As key witnesses, Mutoscope called Adolphe Le Prince, Louis Le Prince's son, to testify that his father had patented his device before Edison.
Though the case eventually went against Mutoscope, I still give Dickson the benefit of the doubt for attempting to publicize Le Prince's achievements, and for that, he earns a post on my blog for having gone against his horrible boss.
After Louis Le Prince's mysterious disappearance, dozens of imitators sprang up to take advantage of the missing inventor's machine; the most notorious of these was Thomas Edison.
Yes, thatThomas Edison; despite his reputation as the "Wizard of Menlo Park", Edison's main path to inventing was by stealing patents, or generally copying the ideas of more skilled inventors and taking credit for them (the lightbulb, the phonograph, and various electric technologies were all the product of this). He was a ruthless businessman, and one of the first things he did with his lesser copy of Le Prince's technology was crank out crap with it.
You have seen Le Prince's films, and how (despite their briefness) how clear they are, and how the eye can perceive every detail, frame by frame; you will now see Edison's first attempt, made just two years later, entitled Monkeyshines:
Bit of a misleading title, no? Not only is there nothing exciting about the footage, but the first clip is nearly impossible to make out!
We will soon see Edison's next venture into film, but, for now, let's say that his first attempt did not score well.
For this, my second post in a single day (!), I would like to shift gears slightly, from older music media to older film; in particular, let's look at the true (and forgotten) father of film, a man most of you have probably never heard of: Louis Le Prince.
A French inventor, Le Prince spent most of his life working in England, studying photography; he became interested in the art of "moving" photography later in life, spending years toiling over a way to somehow capture life. His first camera had sixteen lenses, which he used several times while in the United States in the mid-1880s, but upon his return to England, he had created (and patented) a camera with a single lens that could successfully film from life: His MkII Camera.
With it, he filmed some of the world's oldest surviving films, but, before he could promote his camera in America, he mysteriously disappeared after boarding a train to Paris on September 16th, 1890; his body was never found, and his pioneering work soon fell into obscurity.
In this day and age, however, Le Prince's work has been rediscovered, and, indeed, celebrated for its ingenuity as the foundation for the motion pictures we see today.
Without further ado, then, I would like to present to you the filmic legacy of Louis Le Prince; they may not be much, but they are precious treasures of world history:
Enjoy them, but try to enjoy them for what they represent, not what they are.
Today, I'd like to talk to you about a performing artist most of you have never heard of: George Formby.
The name might seem familiar to some, but that's only through the films of the ukelele-playing George Formby, Jr.; one of his most famous songs is presented below:
This is, however, not the George Formby we're going to talk about today; instead, you'll be learning about his father, one George Formby, Sr... and, in my opinion, he was even better than his son!
"How?", you might ask? I'll let Wikipedia tell you:
Formby was one of the first people to be invited to make recordings, the first in 1906. He went on to make around 180 records, which was relatively prolific for that period. The Times commented, "There cannot be many people who have not heard at some time in their lives either the words or the refrain of 'John Willie – Come On', 'One of the Boys', 'I was Standing on the Corner of the Street', or 'Playing the Game in the West'." Formby was one of the few performers who had no problems in the business of recording, performing in a relaxed fashion for an invisible audience. He would sing his song, and then go on to talk to the listener, saying things like "Y'know, that fella be'ind that's, err, recordin' this now, y'know they call 'im Syncopation George. I think it's ragtime, I don't know what to call 'im, I think I'll call 'im a parasite! Oh, no... come on, say that's an insect, I don't know but I'll enquire it about it". The only film in which Formby is known to have appeared in was No Fool Like An Old Fool (1914), in which he played John Willie. No copies of the film are known to survive.
Now, without further ado, I give you the lively musical stylings of George Formby, Sr., circa 1915, with "All of a Sudden It Struck Me":
Today, I visited Google Sites, a sister site to the Google web engine, in order to better know this web authoring tool; it helps users create their own sites, then hosts them (via, of course, Google).
I decided to try it out, as per the assigned procedure. I went through the process of picking out templates, the site name, etc., but, when I finally reached the end of the page, I hit a snag; no matter how many times I typed in the letters to the CAPTCHA (that is, those random letters that registration sites make soon-to-be users type in to identify whether or not they are actual human beings), the damned thing would not let me create a site! I am sure that I typed all the letters in correctly, every time, but still it would not let me through; this is a major concern for any possible users who would want to use Google Sites.
In short, despite my technological proficiency, and eagerness to try the site out, I could not, for all my attempts, get in.
EDIT: Upon further review, it appears that the site name I registered, Test Site, had already been used, as had variations upon my own name; as a final resort, I tried it with my first, middle, and last names, and finally managed to create my own test site.
I'm Matt Blanchette, current college student and lover of certain films and music; I'd like to introduce you to some of them, on here.
Lend me your ears, and I'll try not to sing out of tune... ;-)
