{design} – Page 5 – { feuilleton }

MacKellar, Smiths & Jordan’s mortised card cuts

This one is partly intended as an aide-memoire for my future self should I need to recall where these particular illustrations are located. The Internet Archive has a good collection of specimen books created by type foundries, most of them American volumes although there are a few from Britain, France and Germany. The bulk of these books comprise typeface samples which I usually ignore, my interest being in the sections near the end which contain all manner of decorative detail: borders, ornaments and the small illustrations (“cuts”) that today would be classed as clip art. A few of these books have proved very useful when I’ve been working on a design that requires imitation of the decoration found in 19th-century print design (my cover for The Atropine Tree is a recent example) but I don’t always remember which book contains the elements I might want, hence this post.

Another of those cannibalistic advertising animals.

If you’re looking for antique print decoration then the catalogues published by the Johnson Type Foundry of Philadelphia (later MacKellar, Smiths & Jordan) are the ones to go for. I’ve copied or adapated ornaments and decorative details from this book on many occasions over the past ten years. The Internet Archive had a more substantial MSJ catalogue in their collection but it was a bad scan, one that was poor enough to receive some rare complaining comments from other Archive users. Happily another copy of the same book, The Eleventh Book of Specimens of Printing Types (1878), arrived there recently. The Johnson/MSJ catalogues are a much better source of decorative material than those created by their competitors, with a wider variety of combination ornaments (tiny details which could be pieced together to create unique borders or other peripheral decorations) and, in the eleventh volume, a larger stock of illustrations for advertising purposes. Before discovering these scanned catalogues I’d been relying on books from Dover and Pepin Press as source material for antique design. Pepin published a book/CD-ROM collection in 1999, Graphic Frames, which reproduces a number of the advertising cuts from the eleventh MSJ catalogue, including a couple of the ones shown here. The scans are seldom ideal in their raw state, I usually end up tracing the required design as a new version which I then convert to a vector shape. But they’re valuable in being the actual print decoration from the period, not modern reconstructions (or interpretations) of “Victorian” design.

The “Mortised Card Cuts” and “Mortised Comic Cuts” in the MSJ catalogue were comic illustrations intended for advertising purposes, although any “comic” quality is more likely to appear grotesque to our eyes. Shouting figures with very large, yawning mouths are popular in these kinds of drawings, as are dogs with singularly ugly faces. You can even see a forerunner of the “Kilroy” graffiti in the figure with a nose poking over the advert. I used a few of these faces for my Alice in Wonderland picture series in 2009: the top half of the smoking figure appears in “Advice from a Caterpillar” while other faces may be seen in the background of “Who Stole the Tarts?”.

Sondheim enthusiasts may recognise this particular figure as the origin of the razor-wielding character on the poster for the original Broadway run of Sweeney Todd – The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. Designer Frank Verlizzo (aka “Fraver”) shows how easily an old illustration can be made to slip from the comic to the sinister.

And from the comic to the plain bizarre… The past is often revealed to be a weirder place than you’d imagine once you start rummaging in its ephemera. The illustrations in most print catalogues are seldom this peculiar but until you go looking you don’t know what else might be out there.

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The History of Signboards

I confess I was initially attracted to this book by the promise of copious illustrations of unusual signboards for inns and public houses but the text is so fascinating I’ll be reading the book in full. The History of Signboards: From the Earliest Times to the Present Day (1866) is a study of the form by Jacob Larwood and John Camden Hotten which has proved popular enough to be reprinted many times to our own present day. Larwood and Hotten divide their research into chapters exploring the main classes of signboard iconography—heraldic, historical, mythological, religious, etc—together with the many varieties of flora and fauna that the signs depict. Further chapters attempt to untangle the later stages of the designs in which basic symbols were brought together to create rebuses and visual puns based on the names of proprietors.

The opening chapter describes the origin of inn signboards in the pre-literate tradition of using signs to indicate the trades being undertaken in a given building, a practice begun by the Romans:

Along with these very simple signs, at a later period, coats of arms, crests, and badges, would gradually make their appearance at the doors of shops and inns. The reasons which dictated the choice of such subjects were various. One of the principal was this. In the Middle Ages, the houses of the nobility, both in town and country, when the family was absent, were used as hostelries for travellers. The family arms always hung in front of the house, and the most conspicuous object in those arms gave a name to the establishment amongst travellers, who, unacquainted with the mysteries of heraldry, called a lion gules or azure by the vernacular name of the Red or Blue Lion. Such coats of arms gradually became a very popular intimation that there was—

“Good entertainment for all that passes,
Horses, mares, men, and asses;”

and innkeepers began to adopt them, hanging out red lions and green dragons as the best way to acquaint the public that they offered food and shelter.

Still, as long as civilisation was only at a low ebb, the so-called open-houses few, and competition trifling, signs were of but little use. A few objects, typical of the trade carried on, would suffice; a knife for the cutler, a stocking for the hosier, a hand for the glover, a pair of scissors for the tailor, a bunch of grapes for the vintner, fully answered public requirements. But as luxury increased, and the number of houses or shops dealing in the same article multiplied, something more was wanted. Particular trades continued to be confined to particular streets; the desideratum then was, to give to each shop a name or token by which it might be mentioned in conversation, so that it could be recommended and customers sent to it. Reading was still a scarce acquirement; consequently, to write up the owner’s name would have been of little use. Those that could, advertised their name by a rebus; thus, a hare and a bottle stood for Harebottle, and two cocks for Cox. Others, whose names no rebus could represent, adopted pictorial objects; and, as the quantity of these augmented, new subjects were continually required. The animal kingdom was ransacked, from the mighty elephant to the humble bee, from the eagle to the sparrow; the vegetable kingdom, from the palm-tree and cedar to the marigold and daisy; everything on the earth, and in the firmament above it, was put under contribution. Portraits of the great men of all ages, and views of towns, both painted with a great deal more of fancy than of truth; articles of dress, implements of trades, domestic utensils, things visible and invisible, ea que sunt tamquam ea que non sunt, everything was attempted in order to attract attention and to obtain publicity.

The chapter goes on to explain the evolution of some of the stranger signs—The Hog in Armour, The Goat in Boots—which can be so unpredictable they appear at first to be the products of a kind of folk surrealism. Larwood and Hotten theorise that some of the more peculiar signs were the result of misreadings by the hostelry users, errors which were then passed on once the incorrect name had stuck and a new sign was required. Others might be mistranslations of foreign (usually French) names or phrases. After this you have familiarity leading to deliberate misreading or misnaming:

Along with this practice, there is a tendency to translate a sign into a sort of jocular slang phrase; thus, in the seventeenth century, the Blackmoorshead and Woolpack, in Pimlico, was called the Devil and Bag of Nails by those that frequented that tavern, and by the last part of that name the house is still called at the present day. Thus the Elephant and Castle is vulgarly rendered as the Pig and Tinderbox; the Bear and Ragged Staff, the Angel and Flute; the Eagle and Child, the Bird and Bantling; the Hog in Armour, the Pig in Misery; the Pig in the Pound, the Gentleman in Trouble, &c.

On the subject of vulgar renderings, I’m reminded that a local pub known as The King’s Arms was commonly referred to by friends of mine as The Queen’s Legs, as in “I’ll see you tonight in The Queen’s Legs.” You can’t stop the street from finding its own use for things.

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Atmospheric Disturbances

My latest cover for Swan River Press was made public last week so here it is. Atmospheric Disturbances is a collection of short horror stories by Helen Grant, a British writer with a finely-tuned sense of the sinister:

A glimpse of a grotesque illustration combined with the onset of fever instigate a descent into a hellish nightmare. In the wine cellar of an abandoned mansion, something alluring yet ominous is sealed inside a vintage bottle. At the end of a claustrophobically narrow alley lies a gilded façade opulent enough to tempt a thief. And forty miles out to sea, a naturalist on a lonely island hears voices through the radio telling stories of unimaginable disaster—and hope. In her second collection, award-winning author Helen Grant visits Flanders, Paris, and the remotest parts of Scotland, examining themes of transgression, repercussion, and revenge.

The design for this one breaks with the usual form for story collections where you’re often trying to find a single image or pictorial arrangement that can summarise the book as a whole. The title suggested a meteorological chart but this alone wouldn’t communicate anything of the book’s contents so the full wrap features thirteen squares, each of which contains a pictorial detail related to one of the stories. None of the squares are spoilerish, a couple of them could even refer to more than one story. Taken together they’re like a dark advent calendar mapped across a chart that shows an Atlantic storm approaching the British Isles.

On a technical level the design was a tricky one to work out. It’s easy to think “Atlantic map”, “isobar chart” but when you go looking for suitable reference material you discover that a) all the meteorological charts are very small things, you can’t simply resize a pre-existing chart to fill the space. And b) navigation maps of the North Atlantic only show small areas in the detail that I required. Once I’d accumulated all the relevant material, which included four different navigation maps extending from Nova Scotia to the Baltic Sea, I had to piece everything together then trace new vector outlines. The same with the meteorological chart which was redrawn from scratch over a very crude map of the same region. The colours in the background suggest the tones of the Aurora Borealis which is one of the atmospheric disturbances referred to by the title.

The printed paper case continues the theme with a different isobar map showing stormier conditions. The book itself will be out in mid-October, the time when the atmosphere in this part of the world grows increasingly restless.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Now It’s Dark

Space is one trip: the Hawkwind takes off

1: The album
Back in the 1990s, when it became apparent that record companies were committed to never-ending CD reissues of their most popular albums, I suggested to a friend that this development would eventually give us releases of the unmixed recordings which the listener would then have to mix themselves: “Now you can be George Martin!” My suggestion wasn’t entirely serious, and there are many reasons why this will never happen, but the wholesale remixing of “classic” albums has been a trend now for ten years or more, and will no doubt continue. It’s easy to see endless reissues as a pernicious development—how many more copies of The Dark Side Of The Moon does the world need?—but I can think of one or two albums which would benefit from a reappraisal of their original mixes. The first two sides of Amon Düül II’s Dance Of The Lemmings, for example, have always sounded sonically inferior to the group’s other albums. The first side in particular is swamped by bass, and the drums, which are so prominent on the previous album, Yeti, are buried in the mix. Given the overtly psychedelic nature of the cover art I sometimes wonder whether anyone in the studio was drug-free during the recording.

Hawkwind shared a record label with Amon Düül II for their first six albums, and the groups are further connected by bass player Dave Anderson who played on Düül’s Yeti in 1970 and Hawkwind’s In Search Of Space in 1971. The latter has just been reissued by Cherry Red in a variety of formats which include the three-disc package (2 x CD and a blu-ray disc) that arrived here at the weekend. The set features two new mixes of the entire album (one of them being the de rigueur 5-channel surround mix), a couple of outtakes, both sides of the Silver Machine single, plus the promo film for the single. The set also contains a substantial booklet which incorporates a reprint of the 24-page logbook that came with early pressings of the album. More about that below.

Hawkwind didn’t arrive as fully-fledged cosmic voyagers on their self-titled debut in 1970, it’s here on their second album that the group myth takes flight, presenting the band as travellers through time and space, or “Sonic Assassins” as they were depicted shortly before the album’s release in Codename: “Hawkwind”, a two-page promotional comic strip created by Michael Moorcock and Jim Cawthorn. Many British bands were playing with space themes in 1971 but Hawkwind were the only group to adopt the trappings of science fiction as essential elements of their persona, elements that persisted from one album to the next. In Search Of Space is loosely spacey on the musical side—You Shouldn’t Do That is the earliest example of a future Hawkwind staple, the extended mantra-like groove over which synthesizers swoop and burble—but it’s the album package created by Barney Bubbles and (in the logbook) Robert Calvert that dispels the ambiguity of songs like Master Of The Universe and Adjust Me in a science-fiction scenario where the “space” referred to by the title is dimensional as well as cosmological, with the group’s flattened spacecraft embodied by the physical album. None of this is suggested by the music, you need to read the logbook as well, but the book and the die-cut record sleeve help to frame what would otherwise be a collection of disparate rock songs into a complex artistic statement.

When it comes to the remixing of albums I’ve been sceptical of the benefits of the trend. For the past few years Steven Wilson has been the prime remixer of music from the 1970s and 80s; among other things he remixed Hawkwind’s Warrior On The Edge Of Time and the albums on last year’s Days Of The Underground set, all of which are worth hearing. Less essential have been his new mixes for King Crimson and Tangerine Dream, the latter especially where there’s little discernible difference between the old and new versions. I think the main attraction for many listeners will be the 5-channel surround mixes, especially in the case of Tangerine Dream, but I don’t have a 5-channel sound system so can’t say how effective they are. The new In Search Of Space mixes are the work of another Steve, Stephen W. Tayler, whose reworking of the album has taken me by surprise, giving it a radically different sound rather than the discreet adjusting of levels and instrumentation that I was expecting. Dave Brock has said in interviews that he always dropped acid before making the final mix of the Hawkwind albums up to Warrior On The Edge Of Time, which may explain why In Search Of Space has always sounded rather thin and dry, while the album that followed it, Doremi Fasol Latido, is a bludgeon by comparison, with everything compressed into the wall of sound which Hawkwind had developed in their live performances. Tayler’s new mix of Master Of The Universe is revelatory, bolstering the bottom end and emphasising the inverted echoes on Nik Turner’s voice, while You Shouldn’t Do That explodes into jet-propelled life. Everything sounds more substantial, and possibly more cosmic; I’ve not done a side-by-side comparison yet but I think Tayler has given greater emphasis to the effects throughout the album, especially all the swooshing and burbling electronic instruments. If you’ve ever shared my scepticism about the remixing trend then Tayler’s work here should be considered an argument in its favour.

Continue reading “Space is one trip: the Hawkwind takes off”

Weekend links 739

New Moon and Evening Star (c.1932) by George Elbert Burr.

• If you’re eager to see a physical copy of the forthcoming Moon and Serpent Bumper Book of Magic then Alan Moore World has screengrabs from a teaser video posted by US distributors Penguin/Random House to the social-media pit formerly known as Twitter. I’ve yet to receive a copy myself so I’m pleased to see the foil overlay on the cover looking as eye-catching as I’d hoped. Library Journal gave the book a starred review earlier this month.

• At Bandcamp: George Grella profiles Material, Bill Laswell’s long-running polycultural ensemble. Two of the albums on this list are all-time favourites of mine.

• Mix of the week: DreamScenes – August 2024 at AmbientBlog.

• The Book of Sand by Jorge Luis Borges: A Hypertext.

• At Unquiet Things: Owls, Bats, and Moths in Art.

• At Dennis Cooper’s: Varvara Stepanova Day.

• Jon Hopkins’ favourite music.

• RIP Gena Rowlands.

• Desert Sands (1958) by Eugene LaMarr and His Magic Accordion | Grains Of Sand (1989) by Opal | Infinite Sands (1997) by Robert Henke