Grunge rock's greatest videos

It sounds weird, but this is the music I grew up on. It's amazing to me how dated it seems only fifteen years later -- the shaggy yet carefully-coiffed hair, the Doc Marten boots that went halfway to the knee, the closets full of nearly identical flannel shirts and ripped, stonewashed jeans -- and the guttural snarl and overprocessed guitars. Yep ... grunge. It also happened to be the era, in my humble opinion, when MTV really started to come into its own; perhaps one day we'll remember Grunge by its dark, frenetic music videos the way we remember the Civil War by its blurry daguerreotypes. Now here they are, grunge's ridiculous, according-to-us best-of:

Alice in Chains: "Man in the Box"
In this rough-edged gem, the Grim Reaper stalks the barnyard. No one captured the brooding self-loathing of grunge quite the way Alice in Chains did. They never wrote a happy song, and this is certainly no exception.

Temple of the Dog: "Hunger Strike"
This grunge-rock supergroup featured Soundgarden's Chris Cornell and soon-to-be Pearl Jam rockers Eddie Vedder and Mike McCready. In this video for their big hit, they're all standing on the same wheaty island (let's assume it's off the coast of Seattle), but they're all standing apart from one another: typical "in my own Hell"-style grunge rock isolationism. (Kids in the Hall's movie Brain Candy featured a right-on-the-money grunge parody song, the lyrics of which go something like "Some days it's dark / Some days I work / I walk alone ...") These guys definitely walk alone.

Mother Love Bone: "Stardog Champion"
Mother Love Bone's Andrew Wood would've ruled the grunge scene had he not OD'd in 1990. If he hadn't, however, band members Jeff Ament and Stone Gossard might not have gone on to form Pearl Jam, and then where would my childhood be? But seriously: MLB sounds like Robert Plant if Robert Plant was born in Singles-era Seattle.

Primus: "Tommy the Cat"
Is Primus grunge? Inasmuch as they defy easy classification, I'd argue that they're also very much a product of the grunge era, though their downright silly style stands in sharp contrast to the constant grimace worn by most grungers from 1989-1994. It's just a shame that Tom Waits, who voices "Tommy," declined to be in the video. (Secret fact: I bought a fretless bass in high school because of this song.)

Stone Temple Pilots: "Wicked Garden"
Sporting the weirdest band name in grunge, "STP" was initially just the letters -- like the motor oil -- until the guys decided they needed more than an acronym. They played as Stereo Temple Pirates for awhile, until their label pressured them to change it (though singer Scott Weiland does sound a little like a pirate ... "I wanna run through your wicked gaaarrrden!")

Soundgarden: "Black Hole Sun"
Is this an ad for Botox? Seriously, though: while the effects may look a little tame by today's standards, the "Black Hole Sun" video was really a watershed moment for MTV (and for grunge), marking the beginning of serious computer-generated special effects in videos, and signaling a move toward shiny, hypercolor creepiness rather than dark, gritty creepiness (a la the "Man in the Box" video, for instance). And by the way, that little girl still gives me nightmares. (Then again, most do.)

Pearl Jam: "Jeremy"
Unique among the videos portrayed here -- with the possible exception of "Heart-Shaped Box" -- "Jeremy" doesn't feel dated. Perhaps it's because, other than being a rockin' tune, in it Vedder portrays someone besides himself feeling angry and isolated; it's got a nice specificity to it where other grunge songs feel general. The video reflects that.

Nirvana: "Heart-Shaped Box"
Santa on the cross! Mechanical crows! Krist Novoselic's impossibly lavender pants! Maybe the best song of the grunge era, and certainly the best video. It takes the saturated colors and freaky religious imagery of "Black Hole Sun" and makes it into art rather than just a freakshow.

Stones, Bones, and Wrecks
A Chinese Museum Is Offering Cash to Whoever Can Decipher These 3000-Year-Old Inscriptions

During the 19th century, farmers in China’s Henan Province began discovering oracle bones—engraved ox scapulae and tortoise shells used by Shang Dynasty leaders for record-keeping and divination purposes—while plowing their fields. More bones were excavated in subsequent years, and their inscriptions were revealed to be the earliest known form of systematic writing in East Asia. But over the decades, scholars still haven’t come close to cracking half of the mysterious script’s roughly 5000 characters—which is why one Chinese museum is asking member of the public for help, in exchange for a generous cash reward.

As Atlas Obscura reports, the National Museum of Chinese Writing in Anyang, Henan Province has offered to pay citizen researchers about $15,000 for each unknown character translated, and $7500 if they provide a disputed character’s definitive meaning. Submissions must be supported with evidence, and reviewed by at least two language specialists.

The museum began farming out their oracle bone translation efforts in Fall 2016. The costly ongoing project has hit a stalemate, and scholars hope that the public’s collective smarts—combined with new advances in technology, including cloud computing and big data—will yield new information and save them research money.

As of today, more than 200,000 oracle bones have been discovered—around 50,000 of which bear text—so scholars still have a lot to learn about the Shang Dynasty. Many of the ancient script's characters are difficult to verify, as they represent places and people from long ago. However, decoding even just one character could lead to a substantial breakthrough, experts say: "If we interpret a noun or a verb, it can bring many scripts on oracle bones to life, and we can understand ancient history better,” Chinese history professor Zhu Yanmin told the South China Morning Post.

[h/t Atlas Obscura]

6 Eponyms Named After the Wrong Person
Original image
Salmonella species growing on agar.

Having something named after you is the ultimate accomplishment for any inventor, mathematician, scientist, or researcher. Unfortunately, the credit for an invention or discovery does not always go to the correct person—senior colleagues sometimes snatch the glory, fakers pull the wool over people's eyes, or the fickle general public just latches onto the wrong name.


In 1885, while investigating common livestock diseases at the Bureau of Animal Industry in Washington, D.C., pathologist Theobald Smith first isolated the salmonella bacteria in pigs suffering from hog cholera. Smith’s research finally identified the bacteria responsible for one of the most common causes of food poisoning in humans. Unfortunately, Smith’s limelight-grabbing supervisor, Daniel E. Salmon, insisted on taking sole credit for the discovery. As a result, the bacteria was named after him. Don’t feel too sorry for Theobald Smith, though: He soon emerged from Salmon’s shadow, going on to make the important discovery that ticks could be a vector in the spread of disease, among other achievements.


An etching of Amerigo Vespucci
Henry Guttmann/Getty Images

Florentine explorer Amerigo Vespucci (1451–1512) claimed to have made numerous voyages to the New World, the first in 1497, before Columbus. Textual evidence suggests Vespucci did take part in a number of expeditions across the Atlantic, but generally does not support the idea that he set eyes on the New World before Columbus. Nevertheless, Vespucci’s accounts of his voyages—which today read as far-fetched—were hugely popular and translated into many languages. As a result, when German cartographer Martin Waldseemüller was drawing his map of the Novus Mundi (or New World) in 1507 he marked it with the name "America" in Vespucci’s honor. He later regretted the choice, omitting the name from future maps, but it was too late, and the name stuck.


A black and white image of young women wearing bloomers
Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Dress reform became a big issue in mid-19th century America, when women were restricted by long, heavy skirts that dragged in the mud and made any sort of physical activity difficult. Women’s rights activist Elizabeth Smith Miller was inspired by traditional Turkish dress to begin wearing loose trousers gathered at the ankle underneath a shorter skirt. Miller’s new outfit immediately caused a splash, with some decrying it as scandalous and others inspired to adopt the garb.

Amelia Jenks Bloomer was editor of the women’s temperance journal The Lily, and she took to copying Miller’s style of dress. She was so impressed with the new freedom it gave her that she began promoting the “reform dress” in her magazine, printing patterns so others might make their own. Bloomer sported the dress when she spoke at events and soon the press began to associate the outfit with her, dubbing it “Bloomer’s costume.” The name stuck.


Execution machines had been known prior to the French Revolution, but they were refined after Paris physician and politician Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotin suggested they might be a more humane form of execution than the usual methods (hanging, burning alive, etc.). The first guillotine was actually designed by Dr. Antoine Louis, Secretary of the Academy of Surgery, and was known as a louisette. The quick and efficient machine was quickly adopted as the main method of execution in revolutionary France, and as the bodies piled up the public began to refer to it as la guillotine, for the man who first suggested its use. Guillotin was very distressed at the association, and when he died in 1814 his family asked the French government to change the name of the hated machine. The government refused and so the family changed their name instead to escape the dreadful association.


Alison Bechdel
Alison Bechdel
Steve Jennings/Getty Images

The Bechdel Test is a tool to highlight gender inequality in film, television, and fiction. The idea is that in order to pass the test, the movie, show, or book in question must include at least one scene in which two women have a conversation that isn’t about a man. The test was popularized by the cartoonist Alison Bechdel in 1985 in her comic strip “Dykes to Watch Out For,” and has since become known by her name. However, Bechdel asserts that the idea originated with her friend Lisa Wallace (and was also inspired by the writer Virginia Woolf), and she would prefer for it to be known as the Bechdel-Wallace test.


Influential sociologist Robert K. Merton suggested the idea of the “Matthew Effect” in a 1968 paper noting that senior colleagues who are already famous tend to get the credit for their junior colleagues’ discoveries. (Merton named his phenomenon [PDF] after the parable of talents in the Gospel of Matthew, in which wise servants invest money their master has given them.)

Merton was a well-respected academic, and when he was due to retire in 1979, a book of essays celebrating his work was proposed. One person who contributed an essay was University of Chicago professor of statistics Stephen Stigler, who had corresponded with Merton about his ideas. Stigler decided to pen an essay that celebrated and proved Merton’s theory. As a result, he took Merton’s idea and created Stigler’s Law of Eponymy, which states that “No scientific discovery is named after its original discoverer”—the joke being that Stigler himself was taking Merton’s own theory and naming it after himself. To further prove the rule, the “new” law has been adopted by the academic community, and a number of papers and articles have since been written on "Stigler’s Law."


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