The Wellcome Library in London has released over 100,000 of its historical medical images for high-resolution download, and BBC News dug through the collection to unearth treasures such as the etching above. Apparently, circa 1785 medical science believed that gout was caused by the devil, too much wine, or…playing the viola da gamba?
The curving flourishes of music notation have always been something a mystery to me, although every day I, like many people, use other arcane symbols without thinking twice about it. The at (@) sign, the dollar sign ($) and the ampersand (&), for example, all function like ligatures or some sort of shorthand. They’ve been demystified by popular use in email, clues on “Wheel of Fortune,” and their inclusion on computer keyboards. But music notation is a semantic system that is entirely different from the written word; a non-spoken alphabet of pitch and rhythm. So, with apologies to the more musically inclined reader, I looked into the origin of the treble clef and the answer was quite simple. The treble clef, the top symbol you see in the photo above, is also known as the G-clef, which gives you the first clue to its origin.
So for my own edification, if nothing else, let’s start with the basics. A clef is a sign placed on a music staff that indicates what pitch is represented by each line and space on the staff. The history of Western musical notation describes an effort toward the development a simple, symbolic representations of pitch and rhythm. It begins near the end of the 9th century when notation for the Plainsong of the Western Church, better known as Gregorian Chant, was first recorded with “neumes”. These were simple dashes or dots above lyrics that indicated a relative change in pitch. At the end of the 10th century, musical scribes increased the precision of his early notation by introducing a horizontal line to indicate a base pitch (see above image). The pitch of this line was indicated by a letter at its start – typically F or C and, as higher range songs become more common, G. Neumes were no longer relative only to one another, but to a standard. This was the beginning of the musical staff.
By now the potato is pretty much inseparably linked with Ireland’s cooking and history, but the plant itself is a native of Peru and thus would not have appeared on Irish plates until relatively modern times, after Europeans started bringing their New World discoveries back across the Atlantic. So what did the Irish eat before the potato was introduced into their diets?
In short: got milk? The Irish loved dairy in all its forms, but they prized butter above all.
And the Irish didn’t like their butter just one way: from the 12th century on, there are records of butter flavored with onion and garlic
Huh, whaddya know. All along I thought that cheap Italian restaurants invented garlic butter.
(Speaking of which, what did the Italians eat before tomatoes?)
On this 75th anniversary of the Anschluss that annexed Austria into Nazi Germany, the Vienna Philharmonic has published on its website a study led by historian Oliver Rathkolb that details its ties to the Nazi regime. In total, 13 Jewish musicians were driven from the orchestra, and nearly half of its members in 1942 were active Nazis. Even as late as 1966 or 1967, after Baldur von Schirach was released from Spandau prison, the orchestra’s lead trumpeter (a former SS himself) presented the head of the Hitler Youth with a replacement “ring of honor” that von Schirach originally received from the orchestra during World War 2 but had lost in the interim.
Even the orchestra’s famous New Year’s Concerts are tainted:
The Philharmonic is most popularly known for its annual New Year’s Concert, a Strauss waltz extravaganza that is broadcast to an audience of more than 50 million in 80 countries. It now emerges that the concert originated as a propaganda instrument under Nazi rule in 1939.
In the center of Hiroshima, in a part of the city totally destroyed by the explosion and ensuing fires, a long-lost photograph taken shortly after the blast has been discovered among a collection of articles about the bombing.
The picture is a rare glimpse of the bomb’s immediate aftermath, showing the distinct two-tiered cloud as it was seen from Kaitaichi, part of present-day Kaita, six miles east of Hiroshima’s center. Reprints of the image did appear in a 1988 Japanese-language publication, but the whereabouts of the original were unknown. There are only a couple of other photos in existence (two, possibly three) that capture the cloud from the vantage point of the ground; and, according to the Japanese paper Asahi Shimbun, there is only one other photograph that provides as clear a picture of the separated tiers of the cloud, and that is a photo taken from the Enola Gay as it zipped away.