Bernadette Mayer

If poetry makes nothing happen, it also makes very little in the way of income. Take the acclaimed poet Bernadette Mayer. Often aligned with the Language Poets, Mayer overcame entrenched sexism to establish herself as one of the most influential poets of her generation. At 73, she’s still producing work. And yet she only made about $17,000 last year. That’s hardly enough to live on, even after Mayer and her partner moved out of New York City. Tech moguls like Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk talk about Universal Basic Income as a fix for increasing automation. But could poetry — culturally necessary but essentially unmarketable — provide an even more compelling argument for UBI? Some minimal allowance might deliver poets like Mayer from financial ruin. What do the rest of us lose when poets can no longer afford to pursue their life’s work?

If poetry makes nothing happen, it also makes very little in the way of income. Take the acclaimed poet Bernadette Mayer. Often aligned with the Language Poets, Mayer overcame entrenched sexism to establish herself as one of the most influential poets of her generation. At 73, she’s still producing work. And yet she only made about $17,000 last year. That’s hardly enough to live on, even after Mayer and her partner moved out of New York City. Tech moguls like Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk talk about Universal Basic Income as a fix for increasing automation. But could poetry — culturally necessary but essentially unmarketable — provide an even more compelling argument for UBI? Some minimal allowance might deliver poets like Mayer from financial ruin. What do the rest of us lose when poets can no longer afford to pursue their life’s work?

Give Everybody Everything: The Financial Life of Bernadette Mayer

What happens when the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves turn out to be wrong? And what if the attempt to shape our life stories to fit some formulaic narrative arc fundamentally distorts them? Could different narrative forms tell more honest stories? Or do all narratives falsify reality in their own way? Three artists suggest new ways forward for narrative storytelling and making sense of the world. Maggie Nelson seeks to write stories that, in place of a traditional plot, instead reflect a mode of being in the world. Visual artist Brian Belott blends found sounds, Groucho Marxian humor, and playful nonsense into anarchic vocal freakouts. And writer and artist Renee Gladman confounds the boundaries of reading, drawing, and seeing to connect thinkers with landscape and turn ideas into architecture.

What happens when the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves turn out to be wrong? And what if the attempt to shape our life stories to fit some formulaic narrative arc fundamentally distorts them? Could different narrative forms tell more honest stories? Or do all narratives falsify reality in their own way? Three artists suggest new ways forward for narrative storytelling and making sense of the world. Maggie Nelson seeks to write stories that, in place of a traditional plot, instead reflect a mode of being in the world. Visual artist Brian Belott blends found sounds, Groucho Marxian humor, and playful nonsense into anarchic vocal freakouts. And writer and artist Renee Gladman confounds the boundaries of reading, drawing, and seeing to connect thinkers with landscape and turn ideas into architecture.

The Narrative Line

Buck Gooter is quite possibly the hardest-working band you’ve never heard of. Since forming in 2005, the band has logged 18 albums and 531 live shows. Their latest, Finer Thorns, just came out. But they’ve never had a hit, never been reviewed by Pitchfork. A punk duo from Harrisonburg, Virginia, Buck Gooter is Billy Brett, 33, and Terry Turtle, 66. On paper, they’re an odd couple, separated as they are by a generation and change. But on stage, they’ve formed a tight and incredibly productive musical collaboration. Together, Brett and Turtle criss-cross the country in a Subaru Forester to play heavy, abrasive rock music to small groups of 20-somethings in basements. They crash on couches, and when couches aren’t available, on floors. Buck Gooter is not alone — surely there are thousands of bands like this, releasing music to no fanfare and touring for little or no money. In this cultural moment, when it can seem like ubiquity is the only criterion for artistic success, what keeps a band like Buck Gooter going?

Buck Gooter is quite possibly the hardest-working band you’ve never heard of. Since forming in 2005, the band has logged 18 albums and 531 live shows. Their latest, <a href="https://buckgooter.bandcamp.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Finer Thorns</a>, just came out. But they’ve never had a hit, never been reviewed by Pitchfork. A punk duo from Harrisonburg, Virginia, Buck Gooter is Billy Brett, 33, and Terry Turtle, 66. On paper, they’re an odd couple, separated as they are by a generation and change. But on stage, they’ve formed a tight and incredibly productive musical collaboration. Together, Brett and Turtle criss-cross the country in a Subaru Forester to play heavy, abrasive rock music to small groups of 20-somethings in basements. They crash on couches, and when couches aren’t available, on floors. Buck Gooter is not alone — surely there are thousands of bands like this, releasing music to no fanfare and touring for little or no money. In this cultural moment, when it can seem like ubiquity is the only criterion for artistic success, what keeps a band like Buck Gooter going?

Consider the Grackles

[Explicit language] In 2017, David Lynch’s metaphysical detective soap opera Twin Peaks returned to cable television screens 26 years after its network cancellation. Most of the original characters resurfaced, but in several cases, either those characters or the actors playing them—or both—were dying. Over its 18 new episodes, this specter of commingled on- and off-screen mortality became as much the substance of the show as the narrative of mysteries, disappearances, violence, slapstick, romances, and resurrections that played out in the foreground. In the original series, Kyle MacLachlan, as FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper, investigated the murder of Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee), the all-American high school student with a double life. From there, the show spiraled into a web of secrets, conspiracies, red herrings, in-jokes, and epiphanies. Twin Peaks: The Return jettisoned much of the original series’ plot-based baggage. Instead, it explored the abstract possibilities of the form, tracing mystical and mundane contingencies that ran along a live wire from Lynch’s 1977 film Eraserhead directly into the circuitry of present-day Twin Peaks. It is here critic Howard Hampton locates his own kinship with the world of Twin Peaks, together with the true source of the show’s screwball gravitas: the late Catherine Coulson as “the Log Lady,” Margaret Lanterman. Coulson had been with Lynch since his Eraserhead days. A beacon, a cipher, a beloved emblem of Lynch’s universe on the verge of death herself, she delivers a benediction disguised as an oracle’s warning.

[Explicit language] In 2017, David Lynch’s metaphysical detective soap opera Twin Peaks returned to cable television screens 26 years after its network cancellation. Most of the original characters resurfaced, but in several cases, either those characters or the actors playing them—or both—were dying. Over its 18 new episodes, this specter of commingled on- and off-screen mortality became as much the substance of the show as the narrative of mysteries, disappearances, violence, slapstick, romances, and resurrections that played out in the foreground. In the original series, Kyle MacLachlan, as FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper, investigated the murder of Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee), the all-American high school student with a double life. From there, the show spiraled into a web of secrets, conspiracies, red herrings, in-jokes, and epiphanies. Twin Peaks: The Return jettisoned much of the original series’ plot-based baggage. Instead, it explored the abstract possibilities of the form, tracing mystical and mundane contingencies that ran along a live wire from Lynch’s 1977 film Eraserhead directly into the circuitry of present-day Twin Peaks. It is here critic Howard Hampton locates his own kinship with the world of Twin Peaks, together with the true source of the show’s screwball gravitas: the late Catherine Coulson as “the Log Lady,” Margaret Lanterman. Coulson had been with Lynch since his Eraserhead days. A beacon, a cipher, a beloved emblem of Lynch’s universe on the verge of death herself, she delivers a benediction disguised as an oracle’s warning.

Death in Twin Peaks

On this week’s Organist, two stories about the surprising intimacy of anonymity. In the first, thousands of people sign up for a service, created by artist and programmer Max Hawkins, which wakes up thousands strangers with a phone call in the middle of the night then pairs them up at random and records their conversations. The vulnerability of that moment, and the anonymity of having a sleepy and total stranger on the end of the line, leads to recordings of astonishing intimacy. One night, a fighting couple, who have angrily retreated to their separate apartments, wake up to hear the voice of the other on the line, a one-in-four-thousand chance. After talking face-to-face has failed, can this weird art experiment bring them back together? In our second story, Vanessa Lowe—host of KCRW’s Nocturne, a sound-rich podcast featuring stories about the night—walks home from her favorite coffee shop to find a handwritten note sitting under a rock on her front porch. It's from an anonymous stranger, who has listened to her every word in the cafe. The note’s contents pull her into a series of increasingly anxious encounters. Has this process made her more sinister, alienated, and critical than the anonymous note-writer him or herself?

On this week’s Organist, two stories about the surprising intimacy of anonymity. In the first, thousands of people sign up for a <a href="https://callinthenight.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" target="_blank">service</a>, created by artist and programmer Max Hawkins, which wakes up thousands strangers with a phone call in the middle of the night then pairs them up at random and records their conversations. The vulnerability of that moment, and the anonymity of having a sleepy and total stranger on the end of the line, leads to recordings of astonishing intimacy. One night, a fighting couple, who have angrily retreated to their separate apartments, wake up to hear the voice of the other on the line, a one-in-four-thousand chance. After talking face-to-face has failed, can this weird art experiment bring them back together? In our second story, Vanessa Lowe—host of KCRW’s <a href="https://www.kcrw.com/culture/@@resolveuid/db11f1f46d2b47d486b04668869c4f90" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" target="_blank">Nocturne</a>, a sound-rich podcast featuring stories about the night—walks home from her favorite coffee shop to find a handwritten note sitting under a rock on her front porch. It's from an anonymous stranger, who has listened to her every word in the cafe. The note’s contents pull her into a series of increasingly anxious encounters. Has this process made her more sinister, alienated, and critical than the anonymous note-writer him or herself?

A Call in the Night

If you’ve lived in L.A. anytime in the last thirty years, you know Angelyne. She’s the blonde bombshell on the billboards that used to be studded like rhinestones all over the city. Angelyne rose to prominence in the ‘80s, and she was a mashup of elements from the pantheon of Hollywood starlets: platinum hair, an hourglass figure, and a breathy, cooing voice. But Instead of a movie or a TV show or an album, Angelyne’s billboards just advertised herself. A ninth-grader named Kate Wolf interviewed Angelyne at the height of her popularity by pretending she was a reporter for her school newspaper. Twenty-five years later, Kate wins a raffle for a ride in Angelyne’s hot-pink Corvette and asks Angelyne the tough questions about truth, image, aging, and her career as a looming pink archetype of gender.

If you’ve lived in L.A. anytime in the last thirty years, you know Angelyne. She’s the blonde bombshell on the billboards that used to be studded like rhinestones all over the city. Angelyne rose to prominence in the ‘80s, and she was a mashup of elements from the pantheon of Hollywood starlets: platinum hair, an hourglass figure, and a breathy, cooing voice. But Instead of a movie or a TV show or an album, Angelyne’s billboards just advertised herself. A ninth-grader named Kate Wolf interviewed Angelyne at the height of her popularity by pretending she was a reporter for her school newspaper. Twenty-five years later, Kate wins a raffle for a ride in Angelyne’s hot-pink Corvette and asks Angelyne the tough questions about truth, image, aging, and her career as a looming pink archetype of gender.

Angelyne

This week we bring you dogs, many of them. So many dogs that you can’t possibly scratch the soft fur behind all of their ears or gently caress the scruff of all of their necks or pat all of their bellies when they climb onto your lap and roll over prone for your affection. To investigate the connection between humans and canis familiaris, we talk with acclaimed character actor Bob Balaban, who you’ve seen in dozens of movies and TV shows including Best in Show, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Midnight Cowboy, Seinfeld, Waiting for Guffman, Capote, and Moonrise Kingdom. You also might have heard him as the voice of King in Wes Anderson’s Isle of Dogs. When he’s not acting in dog-related films, Balaban is also the author of a series of children’s books about McGrowl, a courageous, bionic dog. We also talk with André Alexis, author of the novel Fifteen Dogs. Alexis got his start as a novelist while dog-sitting eleven huskies in rural Canada. As he sat at his desk trying to write, Alexis also tried to learn the dogs’ language. Could he howl so that they believed he was one of them? And what would the moral consequences of that howling be? This episode also features a short, absurdist radio fiction by Graham Mason in which you, the listener, encounter a highly skilled dog masseuse whose dog-petting prowess will drive a wedge between you and your dog forever.

This week we bring you dogs, many of them. So many dogs that you can’t possibly scratch the soft fur behind all of their ears or gently caress the scruff of all of their necks or pat all of their bellies when they climb onto your lap and roll over prone for your affection. To investigate the connection between humans and canis familiaris, we talk with acclaimed character actor Bob Balaban, who you’ve seen in dozens of movies and TV shows including Best in Show, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Midnight Cowboy, Seinfeld, Waiting for Guffman, Capote, and Moonrise Kingdom. You also might have heard him as the voice of King in Wes Anderson’s Isle of Dogs. When he’s not acting in dog-related films, Balaban is also the author of a series of children’s books about McGrowl, a courageous, bionic dog. We also talk with André Alexis, author of the novel Fifteen Dogs. Alexis got his start as a novelist while dog-sitting eleven huskies in rural Canada. As he sat at his desk trying to write, Alexis also tried to learn the dogs’ language. Could he howl so that they believed he was one of them? And what would the moral consequences of that howling be? This episode also features a short, absurdist radio fiction by <a href="https://www.graham-mason.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer nofollow" target="_blank">Graham Mason</a> in which you, the listener, encounter a highly skilled dog masseuse whose dog-petting prowess will drive a wedge between you and your dog forever.

The Dogfather

Recalling the experimental films of David Lynch or Andrei Tarkovsky, Chris Reynolds’s comic books, newly anthologized as The New World, confound his readers’ expectations at every turn. In these dream-like narratives, Reynolds twists the trope of a space-helmeted comic-book hero into an uncanny figure. Comic-book plotlines, including kidnappings and interplanetary travel, dissipate as the story shifts to focus instead on ominous silences, images of weirdly depopulated cityscapes, and the mysterious appearance of a massive Roman archway. On this episode of the Organist, the artist speaks with the novelist and critic Ed Park. We also hear reflections from the celebrated graphic novelist Seth, who edited and designed this new collection, interwoven with audio adaptations of some of the more beguiling stories from the book.

Recalling the experimental films of David Lynch or Andrei Tarkovsky, Chris Reynolds’s comic books, newly anthologized as The New World, confound his readers’ expectations at every turn. In these dream-like narratives, Reynolds twists the trope of a space-helmeted comic-book hero into an uncanny figure. Comic-book plotlines, including kidnappings and interplanetary travel, dissipate as the story shifts to focus instead on ominous silences, images of weirdly depopulated cityscapes, and the mysterious appearance of a massive Roman archway. On this episode of the Organist, the artist speaks with the novelist and critic Ed Park. We also hear reflections from the celebrated graphic novelist Seth, who edited and designed this new collection, interwoven with audio adaptations of some of the more beguiling stories from the book.

The New World

Temple Grandin, an animal scientist and autism advocate, describes how she uses sound to make cattle slaughterhouses more humane. Journalist Bella Bathurst describes how she lost her hearing while conducting interviews with the last generation of Scottish lighthouse keepers and then how it felt, twelve years later, to regain it. Along the way, we’ll listen deeply to ABBA and the Beach Boys and hear an excerpt from Alexander Provan’s experimental essay/soundscape/bildungsroman Measuring Device with Organs, which explores sound connoisseurship and the tones that high-fidelity eliminates as unsavory. Provan’s work is available as both an LP and MP3 from Triple Canopy.

Temple Grandin, an animal scientist and autism advocate, describes how she uses sound to make cattle slaughterhouses more humane. Journalist Bella Bathurst describes how she lost her hearing while conducting interviews with the last generation of Scottish lighthouse keepers and then how it felt, twelve years later, to regain it. Along the way, we’ll listen deeply to ABBA and the Beach Boys and hear an excerpt from Alexander Provan’s experimental essay/soundscape/bildungsroman Measuring Device with Organs, which explores sound connoisseurship and the tones that high-fidelity eliminates as unsavory. Provan’s work is available as both an LP and MP3 from <a href="https://www.canopycanopycanopy.com/contents/measuring-device-with-organs" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Triple Canopy</a>.

Low Fidelity

This week we visit the shady glen where language and music make out with each other, in a field surrounded by phonemes, intonation, and the throw-away vocables of human expression. What’s important here isn’t what we say, but how we say it. We talk with artists working at the boundary between language and music: the composer Kate Soper, the poet Jeremy Sigler, and the drummer Milford Graves.

This week we visit the shady glen where language and music make out with each other, in a field surrounded by phonemes, intonation, and the throw-away vocables of human expression. What’s important here isn’t what we say, but how we say it. We talk with artists working at the boundary between language and music: the composer Kate Soper, the poet Jeremy Sigler, and the drummer Milford Graves.

Between Speaking and Singing

Take a weird, thoughtful and pleasurable journey into literature, music, art, philosophy, the internet, language, and history with McSweeney's and KCRW.

sometimes challenging but always worth it

amazing

this is almost certainly one of the best podcasts in the entire world.

don’t miss it

The Organist

This week, weâ€™re sharing a highly subjective journey through one narrow, eccentric, corridor of radio advertising, as heard through the ears of one man. His name is Clive Desmond. Clive is a radio advertising producer, writer, and composer. Heâ€™s been doing it for more than thirty years, and heâ€™s won some of the industryâ€™s top awards. Through those years heâ€™s been sort of a zelig figure: you can find his face somewhere in the margins of every one of the mediumâ€™s key aesthetic revolutions. Heâ€™s rescued beautiful forgotten nuggets of radio history, and heâ€™s delicately arranged them into a glittering associative chainâ€”a constellation of jingles and spots that somehow all add up, to a life: The life of Clive Desmond as heard through the radio.Â  Listen below to a special bonus playlist of some of the finest radio-advertising nuggets Clive assembled: In this episode, youâ€™ll also hear Josh Wilker read his review of our program. â€œA man claiming to be from The Organist came to the parking lot gate out back. He said he needed access to the buildingâ€™s electricity meter. We looked at one another through the bars.â€ Josh Wilker is the author of the pop-culture memoirs Cardboard Gods, Benchwarmer, and The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training. He lives in Chicago. You can also check out our episode on Mal Sharpe, a man who was among the first wave of fake newsmen, paving the way from everyone from Borat to Colbert. In this weekâ€™s episode, Clive Desmond cites Mal as one of the originators of the â€œman on the streetâ€ radio commercial. Special thanks to Doug Thompson, Dan Aron, Nick Ream and Jennifer Sharper. All incidental music courtesy of the wonderful artists listed below from Free Music Archive FMA.org Podington Bear, â€œThree Colors,â€ â€œLight Touch,â€ â€œKeep Dancing,â€ â€œClouds Pass Softly Deuxâ€ Lee Rosevere, â€œLet's Start At The Beginning,â€ â€œMaking A Change Blue Dot Sessions, â€œDiatom,â€ â€œThe Zeppelinâ€ Anamorphic Orchestra, â€œMachine Elvesâ€ Chris Zabriskie , "Another Version of You"

This week, weâ€™re sharing a highly subjective journey through one narrow, eccentric, corridor of radio advertising, as heard through the ears of one man. His name is <a href="http://www.podplanet.org/welcome/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Clive Desmond</a>. Clive is a radio advertising producer, writer, and composer. Heâ€™s been doing it for more than thirty years, and heâ€™s won some of the industryâ€™s top awards. Through those years heâ€™s been sort of a zelig figure: you can find his face somewhere in the margins of every one of the mediumâ€™s key aesthetic revolutions. Heâ€™s rescued beautiful forgotten nuggets of radio history, and heâ€™s delicately arranged them into a glittering associative chainâ€”a constellation of jingles and spots that somehow all add up, to a life: The life of Clive Desmond as heard through the radio.Â  Listen below to a special bonus playlist of some of the finest radio-advertising nuggets Clive assembled: In this episode, youâ€™ll also hear <a href="https://cardboardgods.net/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Josh Wilker</a> read his review of our program. â€œA man claiming to be from The Organist came to the parking lot gate out back. He said he needed access to the buildingâ€™s electricity meter. We looked at one another through the bars.â€ Josh Wilker is the author of the pop-culture memoirs Cardboard Gods, Benchwarmer, and The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training. He lives in Chicago. You can also check out <a href="https://www.kcrw.com/news-culture/shows/the-organist/episode-25-the-last-man-on-the-street" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">our episode on Mal Sharpe</a>, a man who was among the first wave of fake newsmen, paving the way from everyone from Borat to Colbert. In this weekâ€™s episode, Clive Desmond cites Mal as one of the originators of the â€œman on the streetâ€ radio commercial. Special thanks to Doug Thompson, Dan Aron, Nick Ream and Jennifer Sharper. All incidental music courtesy of the wonderful artists listed below from Free Music Archive <a href="http://FMA.org" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">FMA.org</a> Podington Bear, â€œThree Colors,â€ â€œLight Touch,â€ â€œKeep Dancing,â€ â€œClouds Pass Softly Deuxâ€ Lee Rosevere, â€œLet's Start At The Beginning,â€ â€œMaking A Change Blue Dot Sessions, â€œDiatom,â€ â€œThe Zeppelinâ€ Anamorphic Orchestra, â€œMachine Elvesâ€ Chris Zabriskie , "Another Version of You"

A 700-Foot Mountain of Whipped Cream

George Saunders

The fiction writer, humorist, and essayist, George Saunders talks with the Organist's executive producer, Ross Simonini about the sonic aspects of his writing and reading. After reading aloud a passage from his most recent story collection, Saunders discusses his use of writerly voice as both a written and spoken device in his work. CONTAINS LANGUAGE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR YOUNG AUDIENCES.  CREDITS This week's show was produced by Ross Simonini with Jenna Weiss-Berman and Andrew Leland. Banner Image Credit: George Saunders. Music: "Fairyland" by Balam Acab.

The fiction writer, humorist, and essayist, George Saunders talks with the Organist's executive producer, Ross Simonini about the sonic aspects of his writing and reading. After reading aloud a passage from his most recent story collection, Saunders discusses his use of writerly voice as both a written and spoken device in his work. CONTAINS LANGUAGE THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR YOUNG AUDIENCES. CREDITS This week's show was produced by Ross Simonini with Jenna Weiss-Berman and Andrew Leland. Banner Image Credit: George Saunders. Music: "Fairyland" by Balam Acab.

Episode 24: An Interview with George Saunders

Between 1967 and 1975, the Firesign Theatre put out nine albums that carved out a new space somewhere between comedy, sound art, literature, and rock and roll. The music critic Robert Christgau called them “a comedy group that uses the recording studio at least as brilliantly as any rock group.” In this episode, we focus not on how those albums were made, but how they were heard. From teenage house parties to soldiers’ barracks in Vietnam, the Firesign Theatre infiltrated thousands of American headphones and hi-fis. Jeremy Braddock, a scholar and critic currently writing a book on Firesign, brings us the story of how the group’s psychedelic psy-ops tactics created a new kind of collective listening in America. Produced by Myke Dodge Weiskopf and Jeremy Braddock Image courtesy of Firesign Theatre

Between 1967 and 1975, the Firesign Theatre put out nine albums that carved out a new space somewhere between comedy, sound art, literature, and rock and roll. The music critic Robert Christgau called them “a comedy group that uses the recording studio at least as brilliantly as any rock group.” In this episode, we focus not on how those albums were made, but how they were heard. From teenage house parties to soldiers’ barracks in Vietnam, the <a href="http://firesigntheatre.com/index.php" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Firesign Theatre</a> infiltrated thousands of American headphones and hi-fis. Jeremy Braddock, a scholar and critic currently writing a book on Firesign, brings us the story of how the group’s psychedelic psy-ops tactics created a new kind of collective listening in America. Produced by <a href="https://www.kcrw.com/people/myke-dodge-weiskopf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Myke Dodge Weiskopf</a> and <a href="http://jeremybraddock.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Jeremy Braddock</a> Image courtesy of <a href="http://firesigntheatre.com" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Firesign Theatre</a>

How to Be in Two Places at Once: The Firesign Theatre in the US and Vietnam

We’re thrilled to unearth a classic story by legendary radio producer Scott Carrier, an inspiration for radio producers from Ira Glass to Jad Abumrad, which hasn’t been heard since it originally aired on All Things Considered in 1993. CREDITS “The Drywall” was produced by Scott Carrier. David Weinberg interviewed Carrier and Ira Glass for the Organist. Banner Image Credit: Paolo Trabattoni

We’re thrilled to unearth a classic story by legendary radio producer Scott Carrier, an inspiration for radio producers from Ira Glass to Jad Abumrad, which hasn’t been heard since it originally aired on All Things Considered in 1993. CREDITS “The Drywall” was produced by Scott Carrier. David Weinberg interviewed Carrier and Ira Glass for the Organist. Banner Image Credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/mctraba/6230616190/in/photolist-auzx85-auzsA9-82MS9Y-9BF3h2-82K1fa-dVhrhW-82JX7B-82JQKH-bvnJti-4Rs8Ub-9sKdt9-8JyXnf-FZaKD-6nhXXc-ho7Cf-ddXG41-kruKBX-FZ6QM-nmS3Hw-cGqmRw-cGqoPC-eLsSBA-du3o5f-ovLyL4-9J6cvB-48EahY-dTnXsV-6UresM-CsPsC-dxYnhY-5CvCKm-dAiUNJ-dM7cUc-b66V4n-5CvAAb-dmXrNM-aLoJo2-aKFy1M-86VRDW-aMz1zn-dQuiX5-7rXp6w-7CnXKu-5j983a-rFSf-aMyXFF-4vtrMf-aKFB7X-83p6An-aLoKmT/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Paolo Trabattoni</a>

Episode 27: The Drywall

After more than two dozen books ranging from the history of philosophy to David Bowie, Simon Critchley has written his first novel, which connects the Renaissance mnemonic device called memory palace to, among other things, pop songs. For The Organist, Critchley provides a guided tour through the pop music that constructs his life’s memories, offering reflections on Nietzsche, krautrock, Obama, and Swedish synth-pop along the way.

After more than two dozen books ranging from the history of philosophy to David Bowie, Simon Critchley has written his first novel, which connects the Renaissance mnemonic device called memory palace to, among other things, pop songs. For The Organist, Critchley provides a guided tour through the pop music that constructs his life’s memories, offering reflections on Nietzsche, krautrock, Obama, and Swedish synth-pop along the way.

Episode 56: Pop Philosophy

William Bell never became a household name. His debut single, the one he wrote and recorded the year that Satellite Records changed their name to Stax, barely cracked the Top 100 chart. That song, "You Don't Miss Your Water," worked out a bit better for Bell's friend Otis Redding, and for a band called The Byrds. That's more or less the same story as "Born Under a Bad Sign," the song he cowrote with Booker T. Jones, which got covered by Cream and pretty much every blues rock band since 1968. Bell might have had a better chance at stardom if he hadn't got drafted to serve in the U.S. Army in the middle of the sixties, right when Stax was taking off.Â   After Stax dissolved in 1975, Bell tried to reinvent himself. He had a top forty hit for Mercury, an easy-listening number with a funk beat called "Trying to Love Two." He moved to Atlanta, put out a few self-released albums, ran a business, and did well with songwriting royalties. He didn't lose himself in God or women or indulgence after the peak of his career, like some of the other stories we've heard before. He kept his voice and lived a comfortable life. You might say he was hiding in plain sight.  This summer, Stax released Bell's first album for the label in forty years, in what may be the best album of his life. For the Organist, the writer Wyatt Williams drove around Georgia with Bell to bring us this story.  Produced by Wyatt Williams and Jenny AmentÂ 

<a href="http://www.williambell.com/#thisiswhereilive" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">William Bell</a> never became a household name. His debut single, the one he wrote and recorded the year that Satellite Records changed their name to Stax, barely cracked the Top 100 chart. That song, "You Don't Miss Your Water," worked out a bit better for Bell's friend Otis Redding, and for a band called The Byrds. That's more or less the same story as "Born Under a Bad Sign," the song he cowrote with Booker T. Jones, which got covered by Cream and pretty much every blues rock band since 1968. Bell might have had a better chance at stardom if he hadn't got drafted to serve in the U.S. Army in the middle of the sixties, right when Stax was taking off.Â  After Stax dissolved in 1975, Bell tried to reinvent himself. He had a top forty hit for Mercury, an easy-listening number with a funk beat called "Trying to Love Two." He moved to Atlanta, put out a few self-released albums, ran a business, and did well with songwriting royalties. He didn't lose himself in God or women or indulgence after the peak of his career, like some of the other stories we've heard before. He kept his voice and lived a comfortable life. You might say he was hiding in plain sight. This summer, Stax released Bell's <a href="http://bittersoutherner.com/william-bell-three-verses/#.V7YFQ5MrKEI" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">first album</a> for the label in forty years, in what may be the best album of his life. For the Organist, the writer <a href="https://twitter.com/wyatt_williams?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Wyatt Williams</a> drove around Georgia with Bell to bring us this story. Produced by Wyatt Williams and Jenny AmentÂ

Episode 71: Everybody Loves a Winner

A man screams â€œwhy are you closed? Tell us the reason!â€ over and over as he rattles a pair of locked doors outside a Toronto shopping mall. Klaus Kinski berates the officiant at his own wedding while he lavishes a disturbing amount of affection on his bride. A clean-cut guy in glasses beatboxes the entire drum part of Rushâ€™s â€œYYZ.â€ The Tumblr Weird Dude Energy is singularly devoted to collecting the most inexplicable male behavior on the internet. Itâ€™s funny, and itâ€™s weird, but if you study it carefully, it also raises some troubling and complicated questions: questions about contemporary masculinity and community. It even raises questions about violence, misogyny, and Donald Trump. For the Organist, the writer Mark Sussman stared into the testosterone abyss of Weird Dude Energy and sent us back this report. Written by Mark Sussman. Produced by Mickey Capper. Â 

A man screams â€œwhy are you closed? Tell us the reason!â€ over and over as he rattles a pair of locked doors outside a Toronto shopping mall. Klaus Kinski berates the officiant at his own wedding while he lavishes a disturbing amount of affection on his bride. A clean-cut guy in glasses beatboxes the entire drum part of Rushâ€™s â€œYYZ.â€ The Tumblr Weird Dude Energy is singularly devoted to collecting the most inexplicable male behavior on the internet. Itâ€™s funny, and itâ€™s weird, but if you study it carefully, it also raises some troubling and complicated questions: questions about contemporary masculinity and community. It even raises questions about violence, misogyny, and Donald Trump. For the Organist, the writer <a href="http://www.marksussman.org/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Mark Sussman</a> stared into the testosterone abyss of Weird Dude Energy and sent us back this report. Written by <a href="https://twitter.com/marksussman" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Mark Sussman</a>. Produced by Mickey Capper. Â

Episode 69: The Testosterone Abyss

How does music resemble food? How can sound work like medicine? To treat chronic digestive pain, producer Ross Simonini tried everything until visiting hypnotherapist Daniel Ryan, who uses only the sound of his voice through a technique shared by orators, monks, musicians, parents—and magician David Blaine. We also learn about the psychoacoustics of lawn sprinklers with Susan Rogers, a sound engineer who’s recorded albums for David Byrne, Barenaked Ladies, Tricky, and, most famously, Prince’s albums Purple Rain and Sign o' the Times. Rogers is one of the most legendary female sound engineers in an industry long dominated by men. These days, she’s also a professor at the Berklee School of Music, where she researches how our brains process sound. Lastly, author Eugene Lim brings us speculative fiction on the interstellar connections between celebrity CEO Elon Musk and the Organist podcast itself. Hypnosis segment produced by Ross Simonini. Interview with Susan Rogers produced by Jenny Ament.

How does music resemble food? How can sound work like medicine? To treat chronic digestive pain, producer Ross Simonini tried everything until visiting hypnotherapist <a href="https://www.danielryancrt.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Daniel Ryan</a>, who uses only the sound of his voice through a technique shared by orators, monks, musicians, parents—and magician David Blaine. We also learn about the psychoacoustics of lawn sprinklers with <a href="https://www.berklee.edu/people/susan-rogers" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Susan Rogers</a>, a sound engineer who’s recorded albums for David Byrne, Barenaked Ladies, Tricky, and, most famously, Prince’s albums Purple Rain and Sign o' the Times. Rogers is one of the most legendary female sound engineers in an industry long dominated by men. These days, she’s also a professor at the Berklee School of Music, where she researches how our brains process sound. Lastly, author <a href="http://www.eugenelim.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Eugene Lim</a> brings us speculative fiction on the interstellar connections between celebrity CEO Elon Musk and the Organist podcast itself. Hypnosis segment produced by Ross Simonini. Interview with Susan Rogers produced by Jenny Ament.

Sleeping Knowledge

In the early 90s, when Meshell Ndegeocello released Plantation Lullabies, her first album, she helped to usher in the era of neo-soul. Her debut inspired a slew of artists such as Erykah Badu, D’Angelo, and Lauryn Hill. On later albums, Ndegeocello went on to experiment with silky jazz ballads, staccato rapping, quiet meditations—all of it led by the fat, undeniable groove of her bass playing. But even as she began to work with the energy of rock and the introspection of folk, her sound remained steeped in soul. This week, we hear about Ndegeocello’s most recent project, a theatrical work called Can I Get a Witness: The Gospel of James Baldwin. In the last few years, there’s been a resurgence of interest in Baldwin, who died in 1987. Baldwin has emerged as an icon for a new generation of literary essayists—figures like Jesmyn Ward, Ta-Nehisi Coates, and Rachel Kaadzi Ghansah—whose writing carries forward the power and precision in Baldwin’s work, addressing the African-American experience in a range of registers, moving from journalism to memoir to sermon to polemic to fine-grained, fiercely argued sociological and psychological analysis. Meshell Ndegeocello’s adoration of Baldwin is secular, despite its many religious trappings. Ndegeocello has sanctified James Baldwin for his intellectual curiosity, for the way his work leads its listeners and readers to enlightenment through argument, information, and analysis, rather than faith and mysticism. It’s an immersive performance, somewhere between an improvisational concert, a dynamic church service, a rowdy, communal literary reading, and an exuberant celebration of a masterful writer. This week you’ll also hear fiction from Ben Greenman. Ben has collaborated on books with Questlove and George Clinton and is the author most recently of Don Quixotic, a darkly comic investigation of the internal workings on the mind of our forty-fifth president. His story is performed here by actor Hank Harris, who has recently appeared on Twin Peaks and The Man in the High Castle.

In the early 90s, when <a href="http://www.meshell.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Meshell Ndegeocello</a> released Plantation Lullabies, her first album, she helped to usher in the era of neo-soul. Her debut inspired a slew of artists such as Erykah Badu, D’Angelo, and Lauryn Hill. On later albums, Ndegeocello went on to experiment with silky jazz ballads, staccato rapping, quiet meditations—all of it led by the fat, undeniable groove of her bass playing. But even as she began to work with the energy of rock and the introspection of folk, her sound remained steeped in soul. This week, we hear about Ndegeocello’s most recent project, a theatrical work called Can I Get a Witness: The Gospel of James Baldwin. In the last few years, there’s been a resurgence of interest in Baldwin, who died in 1987. Baldwin has emerged as an icon for a new generation of literary essayists—figures like Jesmyn Ward, Ta-Nehisi Coates, and Rachel Kaadzi Ghansah—whose writing carries forward the power and precision in Baldwin’s work, addressing the African-American experience in a range of registers, moving from journalism to memoir to sermon to polemic to fine-grained, fiercely argued sociological and psychological analysis. Meshell Ndegeocello’s adoration of Baldwin is secular, despite its many religious trappings. Ndegeocello has sanctified James Baldwin for his intellectual curiosity, for the way his work leads its listeners and readers to enlightenment through argument, information, and analysis, rather than faith and mysticism. It’s an immersive performance, somewhere between an improvisational concert, a dynamic church service, a rowdy, communal literary reading, and an exuberant celebration of a masterful writer. This week you’ll also hear fiction from <a href="http://bgreenman.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Ben Greenman</a>. Ben has collaborated on books with Questlove and George Clinton and is the author most recently of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/external-search?tag=kcco04-20&amp;keyword=0983868344" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Don Quixotic</a>, a darkly comic investigation of the internal workings on the mind of our forty-fifth president. His story is performed here by actor <a href="http://tvshankharris.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Hank Harris</a>, who has recently appeared on Twin Peaks and The Man in the High Castle.

The Gospel of Ndegeocello

Neko Case, whose musical career spans over two decades, brings the listener on a journey of the music that has shaped her, from the time she was a child listening to "Taking Care of Business" by Bachman Turner Overdrive until now, listening to "People Have the Power" by Patti Smith. Over the years she's listened to 80s hardcore, country, gospel, and punk, all of which have contributed to her unique sound. CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE. CREDITS Produced by Jenna Weiss-Berman, Ross Simonini and Andrew Leland. Thanks to Gary Scott, Jenny Radelet, Melissa Morton, Mario Diaz and Monika Scott.  Pre-order the latest album from Neko's side project, the New Pornographers, out August 25th.

Neko Case, whose musical career spans over two decades, brings the listener on a journey of the music that has shaped her, from the time she was a child listening to "Taking Care of Business" by Bachman Turner Overdrive until now, listening to "People Have the Power" by Patti Smith. Over the years she's listened to 80s hardcore, country, gospel, and punk, all of which have contributed to her unique sound. CONTAINS ADULT LANGUAGE. CREDITS Produced by Jenna Weiss-Berman, Ross Simonini and Andrew Leland. Thanks to Gary Scott, Jenny Radelet, Melissa Morton, Mario Diaz and Monika Scott. <a href="http://thenewpornographers.com/buybrillbruisers.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Pre-order</a> the latest album from Neko's side project, the New Pornographers, out August 25th.

Episode 26: You're the Man

This week we bring you voices from heaven, hell, and everywhere in between. In documentary films, the authoritative “Voice of God” style of narration presents a seemingly omniscient, impartial, deep-voiced male narrator. No one has had more practice with the role than Peter Coyote, best known as the narrator of Ken Burns’ documentaries (The West, The Roosevelts, The National Parks). Here, Coyote gives a master class on the major differences in meaning that arise from tiny shifts in register, pulling a story out of melodrama into an illusion of objectivity. Ellie Kemper (star of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt) shares a mysterious sound that’s stayed with her for twenty-three years, and describes a high-school musical performance that changed her life. Penelope Spheeris is best known as the director of Wayne’s World, but while filming the legendary documentary The Decline of Western Civilization Part III, about homeless L.A. punks, she met her long-time boyfriend SIN, who performs dissonant guitar rock as psychological therapy to exorcise the demons in his mind: “It’s like listening to hell.” And our host describes his changing relationship to voices and narration as he adapts to his own degenerative blindness. Finally, we’ll inaugurate a new recurring segment, “The iTunes Library of Babel,” in which we present short excerpts from an infinite Borgesian library of podcasts. Produced by Myke Dodge Weiskopf, Jenny Ament, Ross Simonini, and Andrew Leland. Library of Babel excerpts produced by Fil Corbitt and Owen Poindexter.

This week we bring you voices from heaven, hell, and everywhere in between. In documentary films, the authoritative “Voice of God” style of narration presents a seemingly omniscient, impartial, deep-voiced male narrator. No one has had more practice with the role than Peter Coyote, best known as the narrator of Ken Burns’ documentaries (The West, The Roosevelts, The National Parks). Here, Coyote gives a master class on the major differences in meaning that arise from tiny shifts in register, pulling a story out of melodrama into an illusion of objectivity. Ellie Kemper (star of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt) shares a mysterious sound that’s stayed with her for twenty-three years, and describes a high-school musical performance that changed her life. Penelope Spheeris is best known as the director of Wayne’s World, but while filming the legendary documentary The Decline of Western Civilization Part III, about homeless L.A. punks, she met her long-time boyfriend SIN, who performs dissonant guitar rock as psychological therapy to exorcise the demons in his mind: “It’s like listening to hell.” And our host describes his changing relationship to voices and narration as he adapts to his own degenerative blindness. Finally, we’ll inaugurate a new recurring segment, “The iTunes Library of Babel,” in which we present short excerpts from an infinite Borgesian library of podcasts. Produced by Myke Dodge Weiskopf, Jenny Ament, Ross Simonini, and Andrew Leland. Library of Babel excerpts produced by <a href="http://filcorbitt.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Fil Corbitt</a> and <a href="https://www.owenpoindexter.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Owen Poindexter</a>.

The Voice of God

Scott McClanahan is from West Virginia, which accounts for his twang, and also for his love/hate relationship with the American South. In his 2013 memoir, Crapalachia, McClanahan tells his origin story, growing up in the backwoods of the South. McClanahan is a lovable nihilist when he discusses his writing, as producer Eliza Smith discovered when she spoke with Scott about his work for the Organist. This episode also features â€œThe Firestarter,â€ one of McClanahanâ€™s short stories that Smith adapted into a radio play for the Organist, in which a man causes car accidents by virtue of his being there to witness them. CREDITS Produced by Eliza Smith. Radio play adapted by Eliza Smith and Jacob Winik with original music by Carly Bond and Robert Shelton.

<a href="http://hollerpresents.com/scott.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Scott McClanahan</a> is from West Virginia, which accounts for his twang, and also for his love/hate relationship with the American South. In his 2013 memoir, Crapalachia, McClanahan tells his origin story, growing up in the backwoods of the South. McClanahan is a lovable nihilist when he discusses his writing, as producer Eliza Smith discovered when she spoke with Scott about his work for the Organist. This episode also features â€œThe Firestarter,â€ one of McClanahanâ€™s short stories that Smith adapted into a radio play for the Organist, in which a man causes car accidents by virtue of his being there to witness them. CREDITS Produced by <a href="http://elizamaesmith.com" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Eliza Smith</a>. Radio play adapted by Eliza Smith and <a href="http://jacobwinik.com" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Jacob Winik</a> with original music by <a href="http://soundcloud.com/carly-bond" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Carly Bond</a> and <a href="http://robsheltonrecording.com" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Robert Shelton</a>.

Episode 52: The Firestarter

After the death of Pulitzer Prize–winning poet Franz Wright in 2015, his wife Beth gave producer Bianca Giaever 546 audio tapes that he made as he was dying. Unable to type because of pain in his wrists, Franz used an audio recorder to dictate his poetry, but it picked up much more: Franz talked with his wife, made phone calls, cursed at his cat, and fantasized about the first human to ever speak. Franz was known in the poetry world as a genius and a lunatic. His father was James Wright, who won the Pulitzer Prize in poetry in 1972. Franz was plagued by mental illness and addiction, and he attempted suicide many times. When Bianca visited his apartment in Waltham, Massachusetts, she was amazed by what she saw. Writing covered the apartment. Franz wrote poetry directly on the fridge, painted poetry on the walls, and even scribbled on coffee filters. All over the house Bianca found love notes they had written to each other. Franz had been given a terminal cancer diagnosis, but the tapes record an incredible vitality in the face of death. His wife’s decision to give her these tapes changed Bianca’s life. You can find photos of the apartment Franz and Beth shared, including the poetry Franz wrote on a styrofoam Dunkin’ Donuts cup just after he awoke from surgery, at mcsweeneys.net. This story was produced by Bianca and Jay Allison, and originally aired on the public radio website Transom.org. You can find the original story and read about their process here. Support for this project came from the National Endowment for the Arts.

After the death of Pulitzer Prize–winning poet Franz Wright in 2015, his wife Beth gave producer Bianca Giaever 546 audio tapes that he made as he was dying. Unable to type because of pain in his wrists, Franz used an audio recorder to dictate his poetry, but it picked up much more: Franz talked with his wife, made phone calls, cursed at his cat, and fantasized about the first human to ever speak. Franz was known in the poetry world as a genius and a lunatic. His father was James Wright, who won the Pulitzer Prize in poetry in 1972. Franz was plagued by mental illness and addiction, and he attempted suicide many times. When Bianca visited his apartment in Waltham, Massachusetts, she was amazed by what she saw. Writing covered the apartment. Franz wrote poetry directly on the fridge, painted poetry on the walls, and even scribbled on coffee filters. All over the house Bianca found love notes they had written to each other. Franz had been given a terminal cancer diagnosis, but the tapes record an incredible vitality in the face of death. His wife’s decision to give her these tapes changed Bianca’s life. You can find photos of the apartment Franz and Beth shared, including the poetry Franz wrote on a styrofoam Dunkin’ Donuts cup just after he awoke from surgery, at <a href="https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/two-years-with-franz" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">mcsweeneys.net</a>. This story was produced by Bianca and Jay Allison, and originally aired on the public radio website <a href="https://transom.org/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Transom.org</a>. You can find the original story and read about their process <a href="https://transom.org/2018/two-years-franz/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a>. Support for this project came from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Two Years With Franz

Kyle Mooney grew up in San Diego, and many of his characters resemble hilariously contradictory and authentic depressive SoCal bros and antisocial, tenderhearted high school goths. In this interview, he talks about the deep YouTube research he does to produce the perfectly pitched homemade videos he makes for Saturday Night Live. Also: David J, the bassist from Bauhaus and Love and Rockets, recounts an uncanny encounter with David Bowie, where a single harmonica line spans the ages, from a jukebox in 1971 into the afterlife. Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdwchohlMjI Image: Film still from The Hunger (1983), dir. Tony Scott

Kyle Mooney grew up in San Diego, and many of his characters resemble hilariously contradictory and authentic depressive SoCal bros and antisocial, tenderhearted high school goths. In this interview, he talks about the deep YouTube research he does to produce the perfectly pitched homemade videos he makes for Saturday Night Live. Also: David J, the bassist from Bauhaus and Love and Rockets, recounts an uncanny encounter with David Bowie, where a single harmonica line spans the ages, from a jukebox in 1971 into the afterlife. Link: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdwchohlMjI" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gdwchohlMjI</a> Image: Film still from The Hunger (1983), dir. Tony Scott

Episode 70: A New Career in a New Town

Interviews with three musicians who suffer from hearing disorders. Stephin Merritt of the Magnetic Fields discusses his hyperacusis, a sensitivity to loud sounds. Chris Johanson of Sun Foot and electronic musician Gobby explore their tinnitus, a persistent ringing in the ear. Â CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

Interviews with three musicians who suffer from hearing disorders. <a href="http://www.houseoftomorrow.com/merritt.php" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Stephin Merritt</a> of the Magnetic Fields discusses his hyperacusis, a sensitivity to loud sounds. Chris Johanson of Sun Foot and electronic musician Gobby explore their tinnitus, a persistent ringing in the ear. Â CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE

Episode 33: Auditory Nerves

Louis Chude-Sokei is a Nigerian-Jamaican- American writer and scholar at the University of Seattle, Washington. In this episode, he discusses the music culture surrounding Nigeria’s internet scammers (known as “Yahoozees”), his own experience as a black immigrant in Los Angeles’ Inglewood neighborhood during the era of NWA, and the way blackface performance is perceived outside the U.S. He’s the author of The Last Darky: Bert Williams, Black-on- Black Minstrelsy, and the African Diaspora (Duke University, 2006), which examines the life of Bert Williams, a top vaudeville performer-- a black blackface performer-- and one of the most famous entertainers of his era. His new book, The Sound of Culture: Diaspora and Black Technopoetics (Wesleyan, 2015), tackles the complex relationships between blackness, robotics, and technology. In this way, the book is in conversation with Afrofuturism. First coined by the cultural critic Mark Dery, Afrofuturism is a growing field of art, music, and academic scholarship which finds its roots in sci-fi imagery in black culture: Sun Ra, George Clinton, Octavia Butler, and Samuel R. Delaney. Afrofuturism seeks to find alternates to the current sometimes harrowing circumstances of contemporary black life through imagined futures and emergent possibilities. Its expression is visible in the work of Janelle Monae, producer Flying Lotus, and rap duo Shabazz Palaces. In his conversation with Ben Bush for the Organist, Chude-Sokei emphasizes the emerging field’s pre-20th century roots as well as non-US aspects that have until now fallen outside the critical paradigm related to Afrofuturism—from PT Barnum’s black cyborg to the metaphysical echo of instrumental dub reggae.    Links: A playlist based on songs discussed in this episode (and in The Sound of Culture)  Louis Chude-Sokei on Joice Heth, PT Barnum’s black cyborg Bina48 on the OrganistVideo trailer  Credits: Interview by Ben Bush. Produced by Mickey Capper.

Louis Chude-Sokei is a Nigerian-Jamaican- American writer and scholar at the University of Seattle, Washington. In this episode, he discusses the music culture surrounding Nigeria’s internet scammers (known as “Yahoozees”), his own experience as a black immigrant in Los Angeles’ Inglewood neighborhood during the era of NWA, and the way blackface performance is perceived outside the U.S. He’s the author of The Last Darky: Bert Williams, Black-on- Black Minstrelsy, and the African Diaspora (Duke University, 2006), which examines the life of Bert Williams, a top vaudeville performer-- a black blackface performer-- and one of the most famous entertainers of his era. His new book, The Sound of Culture: Diaspora and Black Technopoetics (Wesleyan, 2015), tackles the complex relationships between blackness, robotics, and technology. In this way, the book is in conversation with Afrofuturism. First coined by the cultural critic Mark Dery, Afrofuturism is a growing field of art, music, and academic scholarship which finds its roots in sci-fi imagery in black culture: Sun Ra, George Clinton, Octavia Butler, and Samuel R. Delaney. Afrofuturism seeks to find alternates to the current sometimes harrowing circumstances of contemporary black life through imagined futures and emergent possibilities. Its expression is visible in the work of Janelle Monae, producer Flying Lotus, and rap duo Shabazz Palaces. In his conversation with Ben Bush for the Organist, Chude-Sokei emphasizes the emerging field’s pre-20th century roots as well as non-US aspects that have until now fallen outside the critical paradigm related to Afrofuturism—from PT Barnum’s black cyborg to the metaphysical echo of instrumental dub reggae.   Links: <a href="https://play.spotify.com/user/notamouse/playlist/0PN9FFmHfrjdY2ikKecVup" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">A playlist based on songs discussed in this episode (and in The Sound of Culture) </a> <a href="http://www.believermag.com/issues/201406/?read=article_chude_sokei" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Louis Chude-Sokei on Joice Heth, PT Barnum’s black cyborg</a> <a href="http://kcrw.com/news-culture/shows/the-organist/episode-59-wish-you-were-here" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Bina48 on the Organist</a><a href="https://vimeo.com/143954594" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Video trailer</a><a href="http://www.believermag.com/issues/201406/?read=article_chude_sokei" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"></a> Credits: Interview by Ben Bush. Produced by Mickey Capper.

Episode 68: The Metaphysics of Dub

In this original radio drama written by Lena Dunham and performed by Dunham with Jack Antonoff, going insane and going straight to voicemail are intimately linked.  NOTE: This episode contains explicit content. CREDITS: Written by Lena Dunham. Performed by Lena Dunham and Jack Antonoff. Produced by Jenna Weiss- Berman. Music by Andrew Dost.

In this original radio drama written by Lena Dunham and performed by Dunham with Jack Antonoff, going insane and going straight to voicemail are intimately linked. NOTE: This episode contains explicit content. CREDITS: Written by Lena Dunham. Performed by Lena Dunham and Jack Antonoff. Produced by Jenna Weiss- Berman. Music by Andrew Dost.

Episode 54: Hey Jonathan

Craig Dykers is a founding partner of Snøhetta, whose projects include the expansion of San Francisco’s Modern Art museum, the Bibliotheca Alexandrina in Egypt, and the redesign of Times Square. In these projects and others, Dykers and his team contend with an invisible challenge all architects must face: acoustics. In his conversation with the Organist, Dykers argues that proper acoustics can lower your blood pressure, speed up or slow down your movement through a space, and even encourage gentle smooching.

Craig Dykers is a founding partner of <a href="http://snohetta.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Snøhetta</a>, whose projects include the expansion of San Francisco’s Modern Art museum, the Bibliotheca Alexandrina in Egypt, and the redesign of Times Square. In these projects and others, Dykers and his team contend with an invisible challenge all architects must face: acoustics. In his conversation with the Organist, Dykers argues that proper acoustics can lower your blood pressure, speed up or slow down your movement through a space, and even encourage gentle smooching.

Episode 66: Toward an Architectural Theory of Hugs

This week we explore two beliefs that persist in the absence of proof. In a recent appearance on Jimmy Kimmel, Donald Glover made comments linking him to a community known as “Stevie truthers,” conspiracy theorists who believe that Stevie Wonder is faking his own blindness. When Glover asks Wonder for permission to use one of his songs on his TV show Atlanta, he wonders how Stevie will be able to watch the episode—but Wonder’s work in soundtracks goes back to 1979, when he scored the New Age documentary The Secret Life of Plants, which proposes that plants are in fact conscious beings capable of communication (sometimes with aliens). That film abounds in pseudoscience, but it went on to make a lasting impact on both science and the arts. It set back the serious study of plant behavior by a generation, making the field itself a subject of ridicule in the scientific community, but also inspired musical experiments in which plants’ chemical reactions generate electronic compositions of real beauty.

This week we explore two beliefs that persist in the absence of proof. In a recent appearance on Jimmy Kimmel, Donald Glover made comments linking him to a community known as “Stevie truthers,” conspiracy theorists who believe that Stevie Wonder is faking his own blindness. When Glover asks Wonder for permission to use one of his songs on his TV show Atlanta, he wonders how Stevie will be able to watch the episode—but Wonder’s work in soundtracks goes back to 1979, when he scored the New Age documentary The Secret Life of Plants, which proposes that plants are in fact conscious beings capable of communication (sometimes with aliens). That film abounds in pseudoscience, but it went on to make a lasting impact on both science and the arts. It set back the serious study of plant behavior by a generation, making the field itself a subject of ridicule in the scientific community, but also inspired musical experiments in which plants’ chemical reactions generate electronic compositions of real beauty.

The Secret Life of Plants

Caveh Zahedi conflates reality TV, experimental documentary, and discomfort comedy in unsettling high-stakes films about his own life. In each episode of his TV project The Show about the Show, the actors and crew recreate the conflicts, interpersonal dramas, and unwittingly shared secrets that occurred during the filming of the previous episode. Each level takes us further behind the performance, landing the viewer deep inside the eccentric mind of Caveh himself. With an oddly life-affirming honesty, his work violates ethical boundaries and triggers the unraveling of his marriage. Is it worth losing someone you love to make the art you believe in? When the Organist sends producer Rachel James to document the production of his TV show, she too becomes drawn into Cavehâ€™s inescapable vortex of metanarrative. Produced by Rachel James and Mickey Capper

<a href="http://www.cavehzahedi.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Caveh Zahedi</a> conflates reality TV, experimental documentary, and discomfort comedy in unsettling high-stakes films about his own life. In each episode of his TV project <a href="https://www.bricartsmedia.org/tv-shows-videos/show-about-show" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Show about the Show</a>, the actors and crew recreate the conflicts, interpersonal dramas, and unwittingly shared secrets that occurred during the filming of the previous episode. Each level takes us further behind the performance, landing the viewer deep inside the eccentric mind of Caveh himself. With an oddly life-affirming honesty, his work violates ethical boundaries and triggers the unraveling of his marriage. Is it worth losing someone you love to make the art you believe in? When the Organist sends producer Rachel James to document the production of his TV show, she too becomes drawn into Cavehâ€™s inescapable vortex of metanarrative. Produced by <a href="http://www.rachelsimonejames.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Rachel James</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/FMcapper" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Mickey Capper</a>

The Show About the Show About the Show

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