Utterly interesting

Steve Vistaunet’s Pinterest is a treasure-trove of photos of exuberant cassette spine designs from the gilded age of the mix-tape, ranging from the hand-drawn to early desktop publishing experiments.

Death is a natural conclusion to all life, yet when it claims our beloved entertainment icons, disbelief often follows. From John Lennon to Jim Morrison and Elvis Presley, their passing leaves an indelible mark, reminding us of their lasting impact Artists Jean-Marie Delbes and Hatim El Hihi have recreated a number of well known album covers with deceased band members removed. (Some will need to be updated, sadly)

One of the key and most chilling moments in the film Jaws comes when Shaw's character Quint delivers a harrowing four-minute monologue about the time he battled tiger sharks in the water after the USS Indianapolis was torpedoed by the Japanese Navy and sank at the end of World War II. Shaw's impassioned delivery of the monologue is often credited with humanising the characters in the film and bringing them together. But, Shaw being Shaw, actually filming the iconic moment wasn't exactly easy. "We shot it twice," Spielberg told Ain't It Cool News. "The first time we attempted to shoot it Robert came over to me and said, 'You know, Steven, all three of these characters have been drinking and I think I could do a much better job in this speech if you actually let me have a few drinks before I do the speech.' And I unwisely gave him permission." "I guess he had more than a few drinks because two crew members actually had to carry him onto the Orca and help him into his chair. I had two cameras on the scene and we never got through the scene, he was just too far gone. So I wrapped," he added. But he pulled it together the next morning "At about 2 o'clock in the morning my phone rings and it's Robert," Spielberg continued. "He had a complete blackout and had no memory of what had gone down that day. He said, 'Steven, tell me I didn't embarrass you.' He was very sweet, but he was panic-stricken. He said, 'Steven, please tell me I didn't embarrass you. What happened? Are you going to give me a chance to do it again?' I said, 'Yes, the second you're ready we'll do it again.'" "The next morning he came to the set, he was ready at 7:30 and out of make-up and it was like watching [Laurence] Olivier on stage," Spielberg said. "We did it in probably four takes. I think we were all watching a great performance and the actors on camera were watching a great performance." USS Indianapolis (CA-35), 1945. During World War II, the USS Indianapolis served in the Pacific Theater and was tasked with delivering parts for Little Boy to Tinian, intended for the bombing of Hiroshima. After completing this mission and a brief stop in Guam, the Indianapolis set course for the Philippines. At 12:15 AM on July 30, 1945, the Japanese submarine cruiser I-58 launched two Type 95 torpedoes at the US Navy ship, hitting its starboard side. The Indianapolis sank in just 12 minutes, and approximately 300 sailors lost their lives on board. The remaining 895 crew members were left stranded in the ocean, facing the danger of shark attacks, as Quint described. After four days, the survivors were rescued, but only 316 emerged from the harrowing ordeal alive. The main points in Quint’s monologue remain valid. However, there are a few minor inaccuracies. For example, the veteran mentions that 1,100 men went into the water, while the actual number was closer to 895. Additionally, he states the date of the inciden t as June 29, 1945, when the USS Indianapolis actually sank shortly after midnight on July 30. A third point, if it can even be considered one, is that many of the men in the water died from dehydration, drowning, or exposure. Nonetheless, this is hardly an issue since all those in the water, whether alive or dead, were prey for the sharks. Aside from these minor and somewhat pedantic issues, everything else, from their mission to the types of aircraft that spotted and rescued the survivors, is accurate; Quint’s monologue is not only a haunting part of Jaws – it’s true. Given that the monologue’s content is based on fact, the only remaining question is who actually wrote it for Jaws . For a long time, credit was largely given to John Milius. According to Steven Spielberg, Milius delivered the speech over the phone, producing what he described as a 10-page monologue, which was then refined by Robert Shaw. In a behind-the-scenes featurette on the film’s production, Spielberg commented, “It’s Milius’ words, and it’s Shaw’s editing.” However, co-screenwriter Carl Gottlieb offers a different account. In an interview with The Writer’s Guild Foundation, he asserted that Shaw was the true author of the final version. Gottlieb explained that there were initially ten separate drafts of the speech, including one he had written himself. All versions were handed to Shaw, who reviewed them before producing the version that ultimately appeared in the film. As Gottlieb recalled, Shaw “took it all, synthesized it. And one night, while we are all at dinner, he came in with a handful of paper and said, ‘I think I have the pesky speech licked.’ And he basically performed it for the table, and we all went, ‘Wow.’ And Steven said, ‘That’s what we’re shooting.’”

If I was ever confronted with my likeness in a museum I would freak.

Born in 1821, Sir Richard Francis Burton was a renowned British explorer, writer, orientalist scholar, and soldier. He gained fame for his extensive travels and explorations across Asia, Africa, and the Americas, showcasing an exceptional command of languages and deep understanding of diverse cultures. It is said that Burton was proficient in 29 languages. Among Burton's most notable accomplishments are his documented pilgrimage to Mecca in disguise, a daring feat during a time when access for non-Muslims was forbidden under threat of death. He is also celebrated for his unabridged translation of One Thousand and One Nights, commonly known as The Arabian Nights, as well as his English rendition of the Kama Sutra and The Perfumed Garden, often referred to as the "Arab Kama Sutra." Additionally, Burton, alongside John Hanning Speke, embarked on an expedition to become the first Europeans to explore the Great Lakes of Africa in pursuit of the Nile's source. Despite facing criticism and career setbacks due to his outspoken opposition to British colonial policies, Burton's scholarly contributions were vast and varied. Despite not completing his university studies, he emerged as a prolific author, producing numerous books and scholarly articles covering an array of topics such as human behaviour, travel, falconry, fencing, sexual practices, and ethnography. Born in Torquay, Burton hailed from a family that led a nomadic lifestyle during his formative years, traversing England, France, and Italy. Throughout these travels, various tutors accompanied them to educate young Burton. Displaying a remarkable aptitude for languages, he swiftly mastered French, Italian, Neapolitan, and Latin, along with several dialects. It's said that during his youth, Burton engaged in a romance with a Roma girl, from whom he gleaned the basics of the Romani language. These early wanderings may have instilled in Burton a sense of being an outsider, a sentiment that lingered with him throughout his life. At the age of 19, Burton entered Trinity College, Oxford, in November 1840. Prior to securing accommodation at the college, he briefly resided in the home of William Alexander Greenhill, a physician at the Radcliffe Infirmary, where he crossed paths with John Henry Newman, whose churchwarden happened to be Greenhill. Despite his intellectual prowess, Burton found himself at odds with both his instructors and fellow students. In his first term, he reportedly challenged a peer to a duel following a jest about Burton's distinctive moustache. Undeterred by the adversity, Burton continued to indulge his passion for languages, delving into the study of Arabic. He also devoted time to mastering the arts of falconry and fencing. However, his rebellious streak became apparent when he attended a steeplechase in April 1842, openly flouting college regulations. When confronted by college authorities, Burton brazenly argued for students' rights to attend such events. Hoping for a lenient punishment such as suspension, Burton instead faced permanent expulsion from Trinity College. In response to his expulsion, Burton enlisted in the army of the East India Company at the recommendation of former classmates already serving. He harboured aspirations of participating in the first Afghan war, but by the time he reached India, the conflict had concluded. During his time in India, Burton acquired fluency in a multitude of languages including Hindustani, Gujarati, Punjabi, Sindhi, Saraiki, and Marathi, in addition to Persian and Arabic. His immersion in Hindu culture reached such depths that his Hindu tutor granted him permission to wear the janeo, a symbol of Brahmanical status. His tutor, Him Chand, a Nagar Brahmin, may have been viewed as unconventional within his own religious community due to his association with Burton. Burton's fascination with Indian cultures and religions was well-documented, distinguishing him from his fellow soldiers. Among his idiosyncrasies, he maintained a notable interest in the diverse cultures and religious practices of India. In a unique pursuit, he endeavoured to comprehend the language of monkeys, keeping a sizable collection of tame primates and purportedly learning around sixty "words" from them. Due to his formidable combat skills and propensity for engaging in single combat, he earned the moniker "Ruffian Dick" among his comrades. Burton's extensive seven-year stay in India provided him with an intimate understanding of Muslim customs and behaviours, setting the stage for his daring attempt at the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina in 1853. This journey, meticulously planned while disguised among the Muslims of Sindh, catapulted Burton to fame. In preparation, he undertook thorough studies and practices, even undergoing the Muslim rite of circumcision to reduce the risk of exposure. Despite not being the first non-Muslim European to embark on the Hajj, Burton's pilgrimage stood out as the most renowned and meticulously documented of its time. Employing various disguises, including that of a Pashtun, Burton meticulously navigated the complexities of Islamic traditions and Eastern etiquette. His perilous trek to Mecca was fraught with danger, as his caravan faced attacks from bandits, a common hazard during that era. Burton aptly summarized the peril he faced, acknowledging that although neither the Koran nor the Sultan commanded the death of non-Muslims within the sanctuary limits, detection by the local populace could prove fatal. Upon completion of the pilgrimage, Burton earned the esteemed title of Hajji and the privilege of donning the revered green head wrap. Subsequently, in May 1854, he journeyed to Aden in preparation for his Somaliland Expedition, sponsored by the Royal Geographical Society. This expedition, spanning from October 29, 1854, to February 9, 1855, centered around the port of Zeila, where Burton, disguised as an Arab merchant named Hajji Mirza Abdullah, awaited the opportune moment to proceed to Harar. Despite facing challenges such as a shortage of supplies, Burton successfully reached Harar on January 3, 1855, where he was warmly received by the Amir. However, his stay in the city, ostensibly as a guest of the Amir, was more akin to captivity. Nevertheless, Burton's resourcefulness enabled his safe return to Berbera by January 31, 1855, a journey marked by peril and survival against the harsh elements of the desert. Following his pilgrimage, Burton embarked on another ambitious expedition alongside Lieutenant Speke, Lieutenant G. E. Herne, and Lieutenant William Stroyan, accompanied by a team of African bearers and guides. The group aimed to uncover the source of the Nile River. Arriving at Berbera aboard the schooner HCS Mahi on April 7, 1855, they set up camp near the town. However, their expedition faced a grim turn when they were attacked by Somali warriors from the Isaaq clan while encamped near Berbera. The officers estimated the assailants to number around 200. In the ensuing clash, Stroyan tragically lost his life, and Speke was captured and wounded in multiple places before eventually escaping. Burton himself sustained a severe injury, impaled by a javelin that pierced one cheek and exited the other, leaving a distinctive scar visible in portraits and photographs. Despite his grievous wound, Burton managed to flee, with the javelin still lodged in his head. This encounter left Burton with a lasting impression of the Somali people, whom he described as "fierce and turbulent." Nevertheless, the expedition's failure incurred harsh scrutiny from authorities, prompting a two-year investigation into Burton's role in the disaster. Though largely absolved of blame, the incident cast a shadow over Burton's career, impacting his prospects moving forward. The Source of the Nile In 1856, the Royal Geographical Society sponsored another expedition for Burton and Speke, aiming to explore the previously uncharted Lake regions of Central Africa. Their journey would take them from Zanzibar to Ujiji, following a caravan route established in 1825 by an Arab trader dealing in slaves and ivory. Setting off on June 5, 1857, from Zanzibar, where they had been hosted by Atkins Hamerton, the British consul, their caravan comprised Baluchi mercenaries under the leadership of Ramji, 36 porters, and eventually a total of 132 individuals, all guided by Said bin Salim. From the outset, Burton and Speke encountered numerous challenges, including diseases like malaria, fevers, and other ailments, often requiring them to be carried in hammocks. Their pack animals perished, and some of the natives deserted, taking essential supplies with them. Nevertheless, on November 7, 1857, they reached Kazeh, setting out for Ujiji on December 14. While Speke was keen to head north, confident they would discover the source of the Nile at what he later named Victoria Nyanza, Burton insisted on heading west. The expedition reached Lake Tanganyika on February 13, 1858, leaving Burton in awe of the magnificent sight, although Speke, temporarily blinded, was unable to fully appreciate it. Despite losing much of their surveying equipment and facing various setbacks, they pressed on. Burton fell ill again on the return journey, while Speke continued exploring independently, eventually locating Lake Victoria, or Victoria Nyanza, on August 3. Despite lacking supplies and proper instruments for thorough surveying, Speke was convinced it was the Nile's source. Burton chronicled their journey in "Lake Regions of Equatorial Africa" (1860), while Speke documented his perspective in "The Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile" (1863). Returning to Zanzibar on March 4, 1859, they departed for Aden on March 22. Speke immediately sailed for London aboard HMS Furious, where he delivered lectures and secured funding for a second expedition from the Society. Burton arrived in London on May 21, only to find Speke already in the limelight, a situation that stirred rivalry between them. Speke also published "What Led to the Discovery of the Source of the Nile" (1863), while Burton's "Zanzibar; City, Island, and Coast" was eventually published in 1872. Burton On Sex Burton's writings are notably candid regarding his fascination with sex and sexuality. Throughout his travel accounts, he delves into the intimate lives of the inhabitants of the regions he traversed, often including detailed observations about sexual practices. His curiosity extended to measuring the penile lengths of male locals, a practice he documented in his travel literature. Additionally, he describes sexual techniques prevalent in the areas he visited, sometimes implying personal involvement, thus challenging the sexual and racial norms of his era. The Kama Shastra Society and its publications, which Burton engaged with, were deemed scandalous by many contemporaries. Biographers hold differing views on whether Burton engaged in homosexual activities, as he never explicitly acknowledges it in his writings. Speculation arose during his military service when Charles James Napier allegedly tasked Burton with investigating a male brothel frequented by British soldiers undercover. While there's no concrete evidence of Burton's involvement or that he submitted a report, some suggest it could be one of Burton's embellishments. A persistent story surrounding Burton, mentioned in some obituaries, alleges that during his disguised pilgrimage to Mecca, he narrowly avoided exposure when seen urinating standing up, a practice not customary for Arabs. It was rumoured that he killed the witness to avoid detection, although Burton vehemently denied this, dismissing it as unlikely given the risk it posed to his cover. Despite his denials, Burton occasionally entertained the notion, perhaps revelling in the notoriety it brought him. These accusations, coupled with Burton's contentious demeanour, purportedly hindered his advancement in both military and diplomatic spheres. As one obituary noted, his inclination to shock and penchant for self-incrimination, whether factual or not, made him unsuitable for conventional official roles. Burton's reputation was such that he was often distrusted and disliked by his peers, leading to speculation and suspicion about his character and actions. One of Burton's most renowned works is his translation of The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, commonly referred to as The Arabian Nights in English due to earlier translations by Antoine Galland. Originally published in ten volumes in 1885, with seven additional volumes added later, this translation was a limited edition of one thousand copies printed by the Kama Shastra Society, exclusively for subscribers. It was guaranteed that no larger printing of the books in this format would ever be produced. The tales collected in these volumes often contained sexual themes and were regarded as pornography at the time of their publication. Notably, Volume 10 included a 14,000-word essay titled "Pederasty" in its Terminal Essay, making it the most extensive and explicit discussion of homosexuality in any language at that time. Burton introduced the concept of the "Sotadic zone," speculating that male homosexuality was prevalent in certain southern latitudes. Another well-known work by Burton is his translation of The Kama Sutra. While it is inaccurate to credit him as the sole translator since the original manuscript was in ancient Sanskrit, a language he did not understand, Burton collaborated with Forster Fitzgerald Arbuthnot on the project. He provided translations from later manuscripts of the text. The Kama Shastra Society published the book for the first time in 1883, and numerous editions of the Burton translation remain in circulation today. Burton passed away in Trieste in the early hours of October 20, 1890, due to a heart attack. Despite his atheistic beliefs and upbringing in the Church of England, his wife Isabel arranged for a priest to administer the last rites, leading to a subsequent disagreement between Isabel and some of Burton's acquaintances. There is speculation that Burton may have passed away late on October 19, before the last rites were performed. The couple was interred in a tomb shaped like a Bedouin tent, a design crafted by Isabel, located in the cemetery of St Mary Magdalen Roman Catholic Church in Mortlake, southwest London. Through a window at the rear of the tent, visitors can view the coffins of Sir Richard and Lady Burton, accessible by a short fixed ladder. Additionally, there is a memorial stained-glass window dedicated to Burton in the church's lady chapel, also erected by Isabel, portraying Burton as a medieval knight. The Burton Collection, featuring his personal effects, paintings, photographs, and related artifacts, is housed at the Orleans House Gallery in Twickenham. Notably, among these items is a small quartz stone from Mesopotamia inscribed with supposed Kufic script, which has remained undeciphered by experts to date.

In 1996, a stirring incident unfolded as a black teenager bravely shielded a white man from an enraged mob, mistaken in their belief that he supported the racist Ku Klux Klan. This act of remarkable courage and empathy continues to inspire people today. Keshia Thomas, then 18 years old, found herself in her hometown of Ann Arbor, Michigan, during a Ku Klux Klan rally. Ann Arbor, renowned for its liberal ideals, progressive values, and diverse community, was an unlikely choice for the KKK to hold their rally. Consequently, hundreds gathered to voice their opposition to the group's message. Despite the tense atmosphere, the situation remained under control. Police, outfitted in riot gear and armed with tear gas, formed a barrier to protect a small group of Klansmen dressed in white robes and hoods. Meanwhile, Thomas stood among a cohort of anti-KKK demonstrators on the opposite side of a barrier erected for the occasion. "There's a Klansman in the crowd." Then a woman with a megaphone shouted, "There's a Klansman in the crowd." They turned around to see a white, middle-aged man wearing a Confederate flag T-shirt. He tried to walk away from them, but the protesters, including Thomas, followed, "just to chase him out". It remained uncertain whether the man was a Ku Klux Klan supporter, but to the anti-KKK protesters, his attire and tattoos epitomised everything they stood against. For them, the Confederate flag he displayed symbolised hatred and racism, while the SS tattoo on his arm suggested allegiance to white supremacy, or even more alarming ideologies. There were shouts of "Kill the Nazi" and the man began to run - but he was knocked to the ground. A group surrounded him, kicking him and hitting him with the wooden sticks of their placards. Mob mentality had taken over. "It became barbaric," says Thomas. "When people are in a crowd they are more likely to do things they would never do as an individual. Someone had to step out of the pack and say, 'This isn't right.'" So the teenager, then still at high school, threw herself on top of a man she did not know and shielded him from the blows. "When they dropped him to the ground, it felt like two angels had lifted my body up and laid me down." To Mark Brunner, a student photographer who witnessed the incident, what made Thomas' actions truly remarkable was the person she chose to save. "She put herself at physical risk to protect someone who, in my opinion, would not have done the same for her," he says. "Who does that in this world?" So what gave Thomas the impetus to help a man whose views it appeared were so different from her own? Her religious beliefs played a part. But her own experience of violence was a factor, too. "I knew what it was like to be hurt," she says. "The many times that that happened, I wish someone would have stood up for me." The circumstances - which she does not want to describe - were different. "But violence is violence - nobody deserves to be hurt, especially not for an idea." Thomas has never heard from the man she saved, but she did once meet a member of his family. Months later, someone came up to her in a coffee shop and said thanks. "What for?" she asked. "That was my dad," the young man replied. Thomas believed that the presence of the man's son added even more weight to her actions; by intervening, she may have averted the possibility of additional violence. "For the most part, people who hurt... they come from hurt. It is a cycle. Let's say they had killed him or hurt him really bad. How does the son feel? Does he carry on the violence?"

447 years ago, in an event that seems less like real history and more like a Monty Python sketch, a small band of men actually stole the Crown Jewels of England from the Tower of London. And—this is the crucial part—they came within inches of escaping with them. If the timing had been a little different, if a few strokes of luck had gone their way, there might have been a baffled monarch and a rather sheepish set of guards explaining how the nation’s most prized possessions had just walked out the front gate. The tale of this audacious robbery is remarkable enough on its own. But the problem with simply telling the story is that you can’t do so without talking about the man who orchestrated it. And once you start explaining his  story, you quickly realise that Captain Thomas Blood might just be the most astonishing rogue ever to have lived. Without exaggeration, this was a man who, in a whirlwind decade, managed to be a soldier, magistrate, spy, revolutionary, action hero, religious extremist, con artist, master of disguise, highwayman, kidnapper, secret agent, criminal mastermind, and silver-tongued escape artist. He is, quite frankly, a bafflingly ridiculous combination of James Bond, Keyser Söze, Captain Jack Sparrow, and Professor Moriarty. So, let’s dive into the absurdly eventful life of Captain Thomas Blood – the man who stole the Crown Jewels and somehow got rewarded for it. A Name That’s Not Made Up First off, let’s address the elephant in the room. Yes, his surname really was Blood. No, it wasn’t something he invented to sound more intimidating. The Blood family were well-established Protestant Anglo-Irish landowners in County Clare, respected members of society with a long history of service to the English crown. His father has been described as everything from a wealthy blacksmith to a steel mill owner to a landlord, so we can safely assume he was at least  fairly well off. Thomas Blood was born in Clare around 1618, but he was raised and educated in Lancashire, England. This is important because, while he is often referred to as an Irish rogue, he was Anglo-Irish. He likely considered himself part of a greater British kingdom, much like later figures such as the Duke of Wellington. So, while he was certainly proud of his Irish heritage, it’s doubtful he would have thought of himself as separate from England. The War Hero Turned Revolutionary Like many young men of his time, Blood’s early years were shaped by the English Civil War. When hostilities broke out in 1642, he initially supported the Royalist cause. However, he then did something that should have been a warning sign to everyone: he changed sides . The common assumption is that he saw the Royalists losing and decided to hedge his bets. But a more plausible reason is that his father-in-law, an MP for Liverpool, was a staunch Parliamentarian and might have convinced him that the other side was in the right. Whatever the case, Blood proved himself an effective soldier, rising to the rank of Captain in Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army. For his service, he was rewarded with land and a position as a magistrate, setting him up for a comfortable life. He settled down, married an Englishwoman named Margaret Holcroft, and had at least five children. He seemed destined for a peaceful existence. Then, in 1660, the monarchy was restored, and everything went sideways. Regime Change and Revenge Plots When Charles II took the throne, he wasn’t exactly in a forgiving mood towards those who had supported the Commonwealth. Blood fled to Ireland, trying to keep a low profile. But then the king passed an Act of Settlement that stripped former Parliamentarians of their land and gave it back to the Royalists. Suddenly, Blood was 44 years old, bankrupt, and seething with rage. Instead of, say, trying to start a business or moving to a quiet village, Blood did what any sensible person would do in his situation: he plotted to kidnap and ransom the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, James Butler, the Duke of Ormonde. The plan was to storm Dublin Castle, seize Ormonde, and hold him for ransom. This, of course, did not go well. Government spies were onto him, the plot was foiled, and Blood was forced to flee into the Irish countryside, living as a fugitive. He became a master of disguise, spending time as a Catholic priest, an Anabaptist preacher, and even a Quaker, constantly evading capture. Eventually, he managed to escape to the Netherlands, where he immediately ingratiated himself with powerful figures in the Dutch Republic—because of course he did. A Spy, A Kidnapper, and a Not-So-Great Assassin During his time in Holland, Blood reportedly worked for the Dutch as an informant against England. When war broke out between the two countries, he was smuggled back into England, where he promptly made contact with radical groups plotting another uprising. One of Blood’s favourite pastimes seemed to be kidnapping, and in 1670, he tried again—this time targeting his old enemy, the Duke of Ormonde. Blood and his gang ambushed Ormonde’s coach in London, overpowered his guards, tied him up, and attempted to drag him to the gallows at Tyburn for an impromptu execution. Unfortunately for Blood, Ormonde managed to escape, and the plot fell apart. Still, Blood and his men vanished into the night like criminal masterminds. But his greatest crime was yet to come. The Duke of Ormonde The Heist of the Crown Jewels In May 1671, Blood came up with his most daring scheme yet: stealing the Crown Jewels from the Tower of London. His plan was laughably audacious. OK so this was the plan. Blood would don a new disguise- in this case he would pose as a doctor of divinity with a middle aged wife. He recruited an actress to pose as his wife (as his real wife was by now living up with her family in Lancashire and apparently unwell). The couple would visit the Tower of London (which was allowed) posing as a respectable member of the public and ask to see the Crown Jewels. Understand the Crown Jewels at the time were brand new. Oliver Cromwell had destroyed the old Crown Jewels some years previously, and James II had had this new set remade for his coronation. They were actually kept in a store room behind an iron grill; the man charged with protecting them (called Talbot Edwards) could earn some money on the side allowing people gaze at them from behind the grill. When visiting Edwards, the actress would fake feeling unwell. Blood would asked for help. If they were lucky, Mrs Edwards would offer to help her. Either way, Edwards would help the wife and Blood would act grateful and tell the Edwards what awesome people they were and above all that he owed them for this kindness. Then after a bit, they would leave. The plan was to then wait a few days and have Blood would turn up at Edwards house with four pairs of expensive white gloves as a gift to thank Mr & Mrs Edwards for their kindness and use this to begin a friendship with the couple. Blood was to gain the trust of the Edwards family and to seriously build upon it. He was to even arrange for an engagement between Edwards daughter and an imaginary son. Basically, he quickly became a close friend of the family. When this was done the final stage of the robbery was to go into effect. Late one evening, Blood was to turn up and say he had two friends visiting him and the friends had to return home early the next morning and would Edwards be willing to allow his friends just come have a quick look at the Crown Jewels- yes it was late, but it would be such a favour.. When Edwards agreed, Blood would turn up a little bit later with his 'friends' (actually a silk-dyer from Southwark called Parrot and his son in law Tom Hunt), with another member of the team (a young man called Richard Holloway) waiting outside with getaway horses. Chances are these guys were the crew who had tried to kidnap Ormonde. The plan was to have Edwards open the room with the Jewels in, subdue him, snag the Crown Jewels, and make a break for it. This was the plan. And on May 9th 1671? The whole plan came together. Perfectly. Right up until the last minute. Parrot, Hunt and Blood got into the room; their definition of subduing Edwards however, was to throw a blanket over him, smash him on the head with a huge mallet and stab him with stiletto knives a few times. They were not pissing around. They then discovered that the Jewels were too bulky to easily carry. So Parrot began sawing the Rod in half; Blood took the mallet and beat the Crown down flat so he could hide it under his cloak and Hunt took the Royal Orb and stuffed it down his trousers. Supposedly according to some, they were having to shove gem stones into their boots in a mad rush to grab it all before fleeing. Unfortunately, at the exact time this was happening Edward's eldest son, Wythe, was returning home after a decade or so serving in the armed forces; young Wythe was coming back with his commanding officer (one Captain Beckman) and they happened to arrive JUST as Blood and Parrot and Hunt were leaving. At the same time, Edwards recovered and began screaming and his daughter began screaming and the thieves panicked and ran. A mad chase started. Remember Edwards home was within the confines of the Tower of London. Blood and his crew still had to get passed two gates to get to the getaway horses. Both were guarded by armed soldiers. Now being chased, Blood and co had to fight their way out. They came to the first gate and the soldier on duty moved to intercept them. Blood pulled a gun and shot. The bullet missed but the soldier threw himself prone and the three thieves ran past him. As they came to the second gate the soldier there saw them but made no move to stop them. He had just seen what appeared to be the first guard shot dead, so while he fired his rifle at the robbers, he missed and let them past... Blood and his team had made it out of the castle and onto the drawbridge... when Captain Beckman (who had been chasing him since he burst out of Edwards house) caught up with him... Blood pulled a second pistol, aimed it at the captains head and fired. Blackman ducked under the shot and tackled Blood causing the now flat Crown to fall onto the floor... Parrot was seized and Hunt was only spared being run through with a sword wielded by Edwards son by Beckman clearly wanted them all alive... Eventually after a prolonged fist fight, Blood surrendered and was arrested. The Prisoner Captain Thomas Blood was now locked up in the self-same Tower of London. This has to be it we think. His extraordinary adventure now has to end? Years on the run, wanted for a host of crimes, and now this? Blood however refused to talk to anyone. Anyone that is, except the King himself. Which was of course absurd. There is no way King Charles II, King of England and Scotland would ever agree to meet this known revolutionary/spy/duelist/thief right? Well, not unless the kings favourite, the 2nd Duke of Buckingham was basically telling the king, 'Look, you simply have to meet this guy- he is unbelievable' non stop for months. Eventually the king relented and Blood was brought in chains to meet the King and Prince Rupert as well as others. King Charles II The Greatest Trick the Devil ever pulled... What happens next is truly extraordinary. Blood impressed the King so much that Charles II forgave him. He not only forgave him- he offered him lands worth 500 pounds a year in income. He not only gave him that, he gave him a pension which by itself would have been enough for him to live comfortably on. By comparison Talbot Edwards received £300 in compensation and even that wasn't paid fully. To say the Duke of Ormonde was disgusted by this, would be an understatement. Instantly the treatment of Blood caused huge gossip around London. How the hell did he get away with this? And the theories abounded. Some said it was his funny/roguish demeanour; he had joked with James, and his charismatic manner won the king over. Others that the King was worried that executing Blood would cause a revolt. But in truth one has to ask- given that every single one of his schemes had failed, given that he was always loyal to Buckingham? That behind the scenes Blood was identified as a secret agent, an agent provocateur, working for the English crown to infiltrate and subvert the many and varied threats against the newly restored monarchy. Perhaps he was rewarded for a decades hard work as a double agent, seemingly walking between the raindrops, and living a life shrouded in shadow. It's not all this stuff we know about him that was the key to his story- but the huge mysterious gaps in his tale. Whatever the true reason, Blood had gone from criminal to mythic figure in a day. The Legend Captain Thomas Blood spent the next decade or so basically as a charismatic member of the royal court. He specialised in being available for people who wished to petition the king, gaining influence and favour. In the end he seems to have fallen foul of court politics and eventually the Duke of Buckingham turned against him. Blood was jailed because of a £10,000 law suit unleashed upon him by his former patron and while released on bail, suddenly got sick and died on Wednesday August 24th 1680. And thus the story ends. Actually it doesn't. You see this is Thomas Blood we are talking about here. And by now his exploits were well known. And people began asking- 'wait a second; he suddenly gets sick and dies JUST as he was about to get hit by a massive law suit? Are you sure he is actually dead?' So great was the skepticism, so famed with his skill at deception, that eventually they decided to check. So they dug him up just to make sure he had really, finally died... The body was his. Secure in the knowledge that Blood was finally, unable to give them the slip anymore, they returned him to the ground and his epic tale finally ends.

Before European contact reshaped the continent and its many cultures, Native American societies offered a markedly different view of gender—one rooted not in binaries or conformity, but in spiritual fluidity and communal respect. Contrary to the rigid gender norms that would be imposed later, Indigenous communities throughout North America recognised, honoured, and even celebrated what we might today refer to as gender diversity. Rather than forcing individuals into fixed male or female roles, Native societies accepted that gender could exist along a spectrum. The term “Two Spirit,” a modern pan-Indigenous phrase coined in 1990, attempts to encapsulate a wide variety of traditional understandings of people who embody both masculine and feminine traits. This concept is not new. It is rooted in centuries of cultural practices and spiritual beliefs in which gender-variant individuals played essential roles. In fact people who had both female and male characteristics were viewed as gifted by nature, and therefore, able to see both sides of everything. According to Duane Brayboy, writing in  Indian Country Today , all native communities acknowledged the following gender roles: “Female, Male, Two Spirit Female, Two Spirit Male and Transgendered.” He goes on to describe how: “Each tribe has their own specific term, but there was a need for a universal term that the general population could understand. The Navajo refer to two spirits as nádleehí (one who is transformed); among the Lakota is winkté (indicative of a male who has a compulsion to behave as a female), niizh manidoowag (two spirit); in Ojibwe, hemaneh (half man, half woman), to name a few.” A World Without Gender Roles In many Native American societies, value was placed not on conformity to masculinity or femininity, but on a person’s contributions to the tribe. People were recognised for their skills, talents, wisdom, and spirit, not their adherence to gender expectations. Tasks were not strictly divided along gendered lines, and children were often raised without the imposition of gender-specific roles. Their clothing was typically gender-neutral, and their path in life—whether as a warrior, healer, cook, or leader—was guided by their calling rather than social prescription. Gender identity and sexual orientation were largely considered private matters. There were no terms akin to “homosexual” or “transgender” in pre-contact Indigenous lexicons in the way Western societies define them today, though the experiences and roles these terms try to describe were recognised and respected in many Indigenous cultures. The Reverence of Two Spirit People People who embodied both male and female characteristics were not seen as anomalies or misfits. They were seen as spiritually gifted, often believed to possess the rare ability to perceive the world through dual lenses. According to Indian Country Today , all Native communities acknowledged a broad range of gender roles, including female, male, Two Spirit female, Two Spirit male, and transgender individuals. Different tribes had distinct words and concepts for these people. For the Navajo, the word was Nádleehí , meaning “one who is transformed.” Among the Lakota, they were called Winkté , a term usually used for a male with a compulsion to behave as a female. The Ojibwe used Niizh Manidoowag —“two-spirited”—while in Cheyenne, the word was Hemaneh , or “half man, half woman.” Though each term had its own specific cultural nuance, the Two Spirit identity often involved a ceremonial role. Two Spirit individuals frequently served as healers, visionaries, matchmakers, caretakers, or spiritual leaders. Some were medicine people; others performed in special rituals. Their capacity to balance male and female energies was seen as spiritually powerful, a trait that enriched the community rather than threatened it. The Case of Osh-Tisch One of the most documented Two Spirit individuals in historical record is Osh-Tisch , a member of the Crow Nation whose name translates as “Finds Them and Kills Them.” Born biologically male, Osh-Tisch lived as a woman and wore women’s clothing. In 1876, during the Battle of the Rosebud—a confrontation between Native forces and the US Army—Osh-Tisch distinguished herself by saving a fellow warrior. Despite facing the ongoing encroachment of colonial forces, she lived as herself, embodying the ancient traditions of her people. Osh-Tisch married a woman and maintained her identity in a period when traditional roles were under immense pressure from outside forces. Her bravery in battle and visibility in society made her a symbol of the enduring role of Two Spirit people even in times of great cultural upheaval. Colonial Erasure and Suppression With the arrival of European colonists, particularly the English, French, and Spanish, these inclusive concepts of gender and sexuality were targeted for elimination. The imposition of Christianity—and its rigid dichotomies of man/woman, good/evil—brought with it an ideological drive to stamp out Indigenous beliefs. Missionaries and colonial administrators viewed gender diversity as immoral, a threat to their cultural and religious order. The Spanish Catholic clergy, for example, destroyed most of the Aztec codices, obliterating Indigenous histories and cosmologies that included Two Spirit traditions. English and American colonists followed suit. American painter and ethnographer George Catlin, known for his portraits of Native Americans, was particularly vocal about his belief that the Two Spirit tradition should be eradicated. He wrote that it “must be extinguished before it can be more fully recorded.” That ominous sentiment reflected a wider campaign of cultural genocide—not just through warfare and land seizure, but through the erasure of beliefs and traditions that conflicted with colonial norms. As a result, many Two Spirit people were forced to live in secrecy or conform to externally imposed gender roles. The spiritual, social, and ceremonial importance they once held was suppressed or erased. Children were forcibly sent to residential schools where their languages, clothing, and identities were systematically stripped from them. The Cost of Suppression In the generations following colonisation, the social stigma imposed by Western morality drove many Two Spirit people into lives of isolation or despair. Once seen as gifted, they became targets of derision, misunderstanding, and violence. With few safe spaces to exist as themselves, some were forced to choose between hiding their identity or ending their lives altogether. Where once Two Spirit individuals were seen as spiritual bridges and keepers of tribal balance, many found themselves unwelcome in both Native and non-Native communities. The resulting alienation continues to affect Indigenous LGBTQ+ individuals today, manifesting in elevated rates of suicide, mental illness, and discrimination. A Cultural Resurgence Despite these traumas, the Two Spirit tradition has never fully disappeared. In the past several decades, Indigenous activists, artists, scholars, and community leaders have worked to reclaim and revitalise these suppressed identities. Gatherings such as the International Two Spirit Gathering  have helped to educate both Native and non-Native audiences about these traditions, framing them within their original cultural and spiritual contexts rather than through the lens of Western gender frameworks. In contemporary times, the term “Two Spirit” offers both a unifying identity and a powerful symbol of resistance. It is a reminder of what once was and a call to restore balance. While it is important to note that the term does not translate directly in many tribal languages—and should not be used carelessly outside its cultural context—it nonetheless serves as a vital tool for education and solidarity. Long before European concepts of gender and sexuality dominated the discourse, Native American cultures lived with a more expansive, spiritually infused understanding of identity. They understood that humanity cannot always be divided cleanly into two categories, and that those who carry both spirits within them are not broken, but whole—vessels of insight, balance, and deep cultural meaning. As the Lakota once believed, a family with a Two Spirit member was a blessed one. In today’s world, remembering and respecting these beliefs is not just a matter of historical interest—it is a step toward healing, for Indigenous communities and for all of us learning how to live beyond binary thinking. Sources: Indian Country Today: “Two Spirit – A Tradition that Cannot Be Erased” Roscoe, Will. Changing Ones: Third and Fourth Genders in Native North America Catlin, George. Letters and Notes on the Manners, Customs, and Condition of the North American Indians Walter L. Williams. The Spirit and the Flesh: Sexual Diversity in American Indian Culture

It was the year 1887, and Henry Morton Stanley was embarking on a journey up the Congo River, during this expedition he unwittingly set in motion a disastrous experiment. This expedition marked his third foray into Africa, a continent that had already etched his name in history. His initial voyage in 1871, as a journalist for an American newspaper, had immortalized him with the iconic words, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" Now, at the age of 46, Stanley found himself leading yet another expedition, venturing into uncharted territories of the rainforest while leaving a portion of his team behind to await essential supplies. However, the leaders of this Rear Column, hailing from esteemed British families, soon descended into infamy. They presided over a series of atrocities: Africans under their command perished needlessly from disease and poisoned food, young women were kidnapped and bought, and savage beatings and mutilations were inflicted upon the natives. Amidst this chaos, Stanley and the forward portion of the expedition battled through the dense Ituri rainforest. They endured torrential rains, hunger, festering sores, malaria, dysentery, and attacks by hostile natives armed with poisoned arrows and spears. Despite these hardships, fewer than one in three of Stanley's companions survived the treacherous journey through the "darkest Africa." Nevertheless, Stanley's resolve remained unshaken. His European comrades marvelled at his indomitable will, while Africans revered him as Bula Matari, the Breaker of Rocks. Reflecting on his experiences in Africa, Stanley acknowledged his rough beginnings and admitted that his schooling amidst the African wilderness had shaped him. Despite criticism suggesting that such experiences were detrimental to European character, Stanley saw them as invaluable lessons. In his time, Stanley's exploits captivated the public imagination. Mark Twain humbly acknowledged Stanley's achievements, while Anton Chekhov hailed his unwavering determination as the epitome of moral strength. Stanley's legacy, forged amidst the trials of the African wilderness, continues to inspire awe and admiration to this day. Over the past century, his once sterling reputation has tarnished considerably. Historians have castigated his collaboration with King Leopold II in the early 1880s, linking him to the exploitative practices of the Belgian monarch's ivory traders, which later inspired Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. With the decline of colonialism and the waning popularity of Victorian ideals, Stanley has been reimagined as a brutal exploiter, a ruthless imperialist who carved his way through Africa with a trail of violence and exploitation. However, a new portrayal of Stanley has emerged in recent years—one that diverges from the traditional narratives of either valiant heroism or tyrannical control. This alternative perspective portrays him not as an indomitable conqueror, but as a strategist who understood the complexities of the wilderness and employed long-term tactics that modern social scientists are only just beginning to unravel. This new version of Stanley was found, appropriately enough, by Livingstone’s biographer, Tim Jeal, a British novelist and expert on Victorian obsessives. Jeal drew on thousands of Stanley’s letters and papers unsealed in the past decade to produce a revisionist tour de force, Stanley: The Impossible Life of Africa’s Greatest Explorer. It depicts a flawed character who seems all the more brave and humane for his ambition and insecurity, virtue and fraud. His self-control in the wilderness becomes even more remarkable considering the secrets he was hiding. Born in Wales to an unmarried 18-year-old mother, Stanley entered the world against a backdrop of adversity. His mother, who would later have four more illegitimate children by different men, left Stanley in the care of his grandfather after his birth. Tragically, Stanley's grandfather passed away when the boy was just five years old, leaving him once again adrift. Taken in by another family briefly, Stanley's life took a dark turn when one of his guardians abandoned him to the confines of a workhouse. In that moment, as the door closed behind his fleeing caretaker, Stanley was engulfed by an overwhelming sense of desolation—a feeling that would linger with him for a lifetime. From that point onward, Stanley, then known as John Rowlands, endeavoured to conceal the shame of his workhouse upbringing and the stigma attached to his birth. At the age of 15, having endured menial tasks such as cleaning and bookkeeping during his time in the workhouse, Stanley ventured to New Orleans. It was there that he assumed the identity of Henry Morton Stanley, an American persona he concocted for himself. Claiming to have adopted the name from a fictional kind-hearted cotton trader in New Orleans who had purportedly imparted lessons of moral resistance to him, Stanley fashioned a narrative to shield himself from the harsh realities of his past. Even at a tender age of 11, while enduring the hardships of the Welsh workhouse, Stanley exhibited a peculiar propensity for self-imposed discipline. He embarked on self-experiments, testing the strength of his willpower by voluntarily subjecting himself to additional challenges. Whether it was abstaining from wishing for more food or sharing his scant rations with others, Stanley demonstrated an early inclination towards self-denial and altruism, perhaps in an effort to assert control over his circumstances. In hindsight, when Stanley later stumbled upon accounts of the Rear Column's atrocities and misconduct, he reflected in his journal that most observers would hastily label these men as inherently wicked. However, Stanley, having experienced the harsh realities of the African interior, understood the profound transformation undergone by individuals stripped of familiar comforts and societal norms. Deprived of basic necessities like meat, bread, wine, and the comforting presence of friends and family, these men were thrust into a world of uncertainty and hardship. Ravaged by fever and plagued by anxiety, their once amiable dispositions eroded, leaving behind mere shadows of their former selves. This phenomenon, as elucidated by economist George Loewenstein, underscores the "hot-cold empathy gap"—the inability to foresee one's behaviour in moments of great adversity or temptation during periods of calm rationality. Loewenstein contends that making resolutions for future behaviour during tranquil moments often leads to unrealistic commitments, akin to agreeing to a diet when one is not hungry. Thus, Stanley advocates for a more pragmatic approach, one that conserves willpower for critical moments of need. He discovered through his own trials in the African wilderness that there exist mental strategies to preserve willpower for essential tasks when it is most needed. Stanley's acquaintance with the harsh realities of Africa began at the age of 30 when he embarked on a mission in 1871 to locate the renowned explorer Livingstone, who had been missing for two years. Amidst the perils of the journey—struggling through swamps, battling malaria, and narrowly escaping a massacre during a civil war—Stanley's resolve never wavered. Despite the dwindling numbers of his expedition party, he made a solemn vow to himself by candlelight, pledging to persist in his quest until he found Livingstone alive or discovered his remains. This unwavering determination, forged in the face of adversity, epitomises Stanley's resilience and unwavering commitment to his cause. Picture yourself as Stanley, emerging from your tent one early morning in the depths of the Ituri rainforest. The darkness envelops you, a constant companion for months on end. Your stomach, ravaged by parasites and disease, protests with every step. Your diet consists of meager sustenance—berries, roots, fungi, insects—scavenged from the unforgiving wilderness. Starvation Camp, a grim reminder of the toll exacted by hunger and illness, lies behind you, its inhabitants too weakened to continue the journey. Yet, despite the hardships, you remain alive. In the face of such adversity, what action do you take? For Stanley, the answer is simple: shave. It's a routine he has adhered to faithfully, even amidst the most dire circumstances. As recalled by his wife, Dorothy Tennant, Stanley's commitment to grooming never wavered, even in the depths of the Great Forest or on the eve of battle. Consider Stanley in a moment of solitude amidst the wilderness. Instead of devoting his energy solely to the search for sustenance, Stanley maintains a peculiar ritual: shaving. It may seem a trivial act in the face of such dire circumstances, but for Stanley, it serves a profound purpose—a cue towards orderliness and self-discipline, as corroborated by recent studies. In controlled experiments, individuals in tidy environments exhibited higher levels of self-control compared to those in disarray. Whether in a neat laboratory or on a well-designed website, orderly settings subtly guided individuals towards disciplined decision-making and altruistic behaviours. For Stanley, the act of shaving each day offered a similar cue towards orderliness, conserving precious mental energy amidst the harsh conditions of the African interior. His routine not only reinforced self-discipline but also served as a buffer against the depletion of willpower. At the age of 33, after his famed encounter with Livingstone, Stanley found love. Despite considering himself inept with women, his newfound celebrity status expanded his social circles in London, where he met Alice Pike, a visiting American. Despite their differing backgrounds, they became engaged, with plans to marry upon Stanley's return from his next expedition. Embarking on a perilous journey down the Congo River, Stanley faced myriad hardships, including attacks from cannibals and bouts of illness. Yet, through it all, he clung to the hope of reuniting with Alice. Even upon learning of her marriage to another, Stanley found solace in the distraction provided by their relationship—a beacon of light amidst his arduous journey. In retrospect, Stanley's approach mirrors the successful strategies observed in childhood experiments and medical settings. By focusing on external distractions and fostering a sense of self-forgetfulness, individuals like Stanley manage to endure and overcome even the most daunting challenges. For example, he attributed the failure of the Rear Column to their leader's decision to delay departure from camp, waiting endlessly for additional porters instead of venturing into the jungle sooner. According to Stanley, taking action would have alleviated their doubts and uncertainties, rather than enduring the deadly monotony. Despite the hardships of traversing the forest with sick and dying men, Stanley found solace in the engrossing tasks at hand, which served as a mental escape from despair and madness. Although Stanley is often depicted as aloof and severe, particularly due to his famous encounter with Livingstone, there are doubts regarding the authenticity of the renowned greeting "Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" According to Jeal, there is no record of Stanley uttering this phrase during the encounter, suggesting it may have been invented later to enhance his image. Contrary to his harsh reputation, Stanley displayed remarkable humanity towards Africans, forming strong bonds with his companions and disciplining officers who mistreated locals. Stanley emphasised the importance of self-control, asserting that it was more critical than gunpowder in navigating the perils of African travel. He believed that genuine sympathy for the natives was essential for maintaining self-control amidst the challenges of exploration. While religious teachings historically served as a guide for moral conduct, Stanley, like other nonbelievers, sought secular approaches to instill a sense of duty and morality. Despite losing his faith early on, Stanley found inspiration in literature, often quoting verses such as those from Tennyson's "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington" to motivate his companions during their arduous journey through the Ituri jungle. Not once or twice in our fair island-story, The path of duty was the way to glory. Stanley’s men didn’t always appreciate his efforts—the Tennyson lines got very old for some of them—but his approach embodied an acknowledged principle of self-control: Focus on lofty thoughts. Stanley, who always combined his ambitions for personal glory with a desire to be “good,” found his calling along with Livingstone when he saw firsthand the devastation wrought by the expanding network of Arab and East African slave traders. From then on, he considered it a mission to end the slave trade. Stanley found solace in the notion that he was on a divine mission, sustaining him through hardships, familial rejection, and the disapproval of British society. While his rhetoric may appear grandiose by contemporary standards, he genuinely believed in his purpose. In moments of despair, such as during his journey down the Congo River, he found comfort in the idea that his physical suffering was insignificant compared to his greater, transcendent self, which remained resilient and untainted by his earthly trials. During times of crisis, Stanley's reflections hinted at a deeper, more secular resilience than mere religious faith. His concept of the "real self" transcended religious notions of the soul, instead emphasising his indomitable willpower. This inner strength, cultivated through a lifetime of adversity and honed in the wilderness, was his true source of endurance and determination.

Despite the well-deserved praise Jimmy Page receives for his innovative rock-blues shredding technique, including his violin-bowed walls of noise and fast-paced licks, it's easy to overlook his exceptional skill as a rhythm player. The rough mix of Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love”---which chugs along without the studio version’s signature stock car-engine sound in the refrain---brings Page’s rhythms to the fore. The song's production also demonstrates Page’s skill in the studio. The guitarist masterminded the sound of “Whole Lotta Love” and the recording of AOR groundbreaker Led Zeppelin II, and he tells the story of the song’s creation, along with that unforgettable riff, in an interview with The Wall Street Journal: I came up with the guitar riff for "Whole Lotta Love" in the summer of '68, on my houseboat along the Thames in Pangbourne, England. I suppose my early love for big intros by rockabilly guitarists was an inspiration, but as soon as I developed the riff, I knew it was strong enough to drive the entire song, not just open it. When I played the riff for the band in my living room several weeks later during rehearsals for our first album, the excitement was immediate and collective. We felt the riff was addictive, like a forbidden thing. The band carried the initial mix with them during their U.S. tour in May and June of 1969, adding overdubs in studios located in Los Angeles and New York. Page explains the process of creating the song's reverb-heavy sound with engineer George Chkiantz and mixer Eddie Kramer, tailoring each element for optimal playback on stereo FM radio. “For the song to work as this panoramic audio experience,” he says, “I needed Bonzo [drummer John Bonham] to really stand out, so that every stick stroke sounded clear and you could really feel them. If the drums were recorded just right, we could lay in everything else.” He compares Robert Plant’s searing vocal to his guitar work: Robert's vocal was just as extreme. He kept gaining confidence during the session and gave it everything he had. His vocals, like my solos, were about performance. He was pushing to see what he could get out of his voice. We were performing for each other, almost competitively. The pre-echo and extensive reverb on Plant's vocals during the breakdown of the song were actually unintended occurrences. A different recording of Plant's voice accidentally overlapped on the master tape. Page and Kramer chose to keep it and enhance it with effects to give the impression that it was intentional.More improvisational studio wizardry between the two produced the crazed outro. “Jimmy and I went nuts on the knobs,” recalls Kramer, “We had eight dials controlling the levels on eight individual tracks, so we rehearsed the choreography of what we were going to do to create the far-out sounds.” Similar to the accusations of musical plagiarism in the case of "Stairway to Heaven," the band faced a lawsuit over alleged copyright infringement in relation to "Whole Lotta Love" from Willie.Dixon, who wrote Muddy Water’s “You Need Love.” Page and Plant both admit the debt, but Page defends his contribution, saying “if you take Robert's vocal out, there's no musical reference.” In any case, they were eventually forced to give Dixon co-credit for the song. In a 1990 interview with Musician, Plant had the following to say about the about the controversy: “Page's riff was Page's riff. It was there before anything else. I just thought, 'well, what am I going to sing?' That was it, a nick. Now happily paid for. At the time, there was a lot of conversation about what to do. It was decided that it was so far away in time and influence that… well, you only get caught when you're successful. That's the game.”

From the fantastic website History Bones, here's a little insight into London of the past. While you're here, do have a look at the History Bones Instagram right here. 19th Century Victorian London saw its share of violence. In the poorer areas, overcrowding and lack of jobs sent crime skyrocketing. Garroting (strangulation with a ligature) was a popular method of attacking someone. It got to a point where folks thought ruffians were around every corner ready to pounce. The "Peelers" (Metropolitan Police named for founder Sir Robert Peele) were even issued anti-garroting collars, 4- inch high thick leather collars. The media sensationalised the trend so much that a "panic" ensued. Peelers were also issued a truncheon, a bulls-eye lantern which hung from the belt, handcuffs, a rattle (to sound an alarm) and a heavy duty reinforced top hat referred to as a stovepipe hat. The hat had can strips on the inside and was also covered in leather to provide the wearer protection from blows to the head.

As a young child, Dylan Thomas enjoyed listening to his father, David John Thomas, reading Shakespeare to him before bedtime. Despite his limited understanding at that age, the boy was captivated by the beautiful language. David John Thomas, who worked as an English teacher at a grammar school in southern Wales, harboured a deep desire to pursue a career as a poet, feeling dissatisfied with his current circumstances. Many years later when the father lay on his deathbed, Dylan Thomas wrote a poem that captures the profound sense of empathy he felt for the dying old man. The poem, "Do not go gentle into that good night," was written in 1951, only two years before the poet's own untimely death at the age of 39. Despite the impossibility of escaping death, the anguished son implores his father to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." The poem is a beautiful example of the villanelle form, which features two rhymes and two alternating refrains in verse arranged into five tercets, or three-lined stanzas, and a concluding quatrain in which the two refrains are brought together as a couplet at the very end. You can hear Thomas's famous 1952 recital of the poem above. To see the poem's structure and read along as you listen, click here to open the text in a new window.