ivy league, fig leaf: elite university matriculating classes from the 1940s and 1950s were compelled to disrobe and be photographed
Europeans first encountered war drum and subsequently adopted the martial accompaniment during the Crusades in the Holy Land, where such batteries of percussion spooked their horses.
Catching up on the fascinating and shameful narrative of the Albigensian Crusade prosecuted in Languedoc (Toulouse) by the Catholic Church against the heretical Cathars that led to the Spanish Inquisition, I learned that one of the earliest well-documented occurrences of a soundtrack, an anthem for battle although probably not creating the same atmosphere as stirring and thunderous leitmotif of some modern war movie nor the ceremonial and regimented noise of a parade, was during this succession of sieges throughout the region. As rear detachment, away from the fighting, monks and priests as well as other roadies that crusading attracted, the choir would belt out rousing choruses of one particular hymn, whose popularity and recognition was already established in France, of Veni Sancte Spiritus (Come Holy Spirit)—penned, according to tradition, by Pope Innocent III who launched the whole campaign as well. In a bellicose setting, all chanting and rumbling can take on intimidating aspects, but this singing seems really creepy to me.
dormit in pace: Bob Canada’s Blogworld (always worth the visit) pays tribute to horror mastermind Wes Craven
second features: campy, unrealised filmography of Elvis Presley
internationale: mid-century modern design’s roots in revolutionary Russia
no yoke: US government conspiracy against mayonnaise with no animal products
pity the fool: that time Boy George was a guest star on the A-Team
Despite the relative profusion of medieval torture museums and the odd device displayed in a cellar or alcove—settings that lend an air of authenticity, it is interesting to think how an inflated idea of savagery has been perpetuated, and in fact torture and public gatherings to watch an execution were exceedingly rare occurrences.
Such spectacles did happen from time to time to seed the imagination and set an example, of course, but these were in the main orchestrated to assert legitimacy for new regimes—to suppress revolts and to claim a divine right of republic when dynastic orders were pushed aside. The artefacts, often shameless reconstructions cannibalised from other less exciting machine parts, planks and ploughshares from an appropriate age with no disclosure to the visitor—real or imaginary, are sort of a caprice, an idyll of hobbyists that I am not sure from what tradition of urban legends originate—though it seems rather Victorian to cultivate such diversions. Whatever the compulsion was to begin with, it seems that the historically selective and seldom practices carry the same forces of propaganda, though inverted, by suggesting that the same contemporary lexicon is hyperbole and drawing on the brutality of an uncivilised past, which was probably much more restrained.
