For some unknown reason people keep trying to insist the Hammond organ is a sexy beast. Is it really?
Let's find out...
First made in 1935 the Hammond organ was a curio. It could mimic the sound of a pipe organ through some ingenious technical wizardry.
Its creator Laurens Hammond was a mechanical engineer who had started his own clock company. But he became fascinated by the noises of the moving gears in his electric clocks...
...and after much experimentation Hammond found that he could generate tones by placing a mechanically rotating wheel next to an electromagnetic pick-up.
Hammond used nine mechanical wheels to each key on a keyboard, and then added a series of drawbar controllers that could fade in or out any of the frequencies. Thus the Hammond organ was born!
The mix of drawbars and tonewheels allowed millions of potential combinations of sound. It was a versatile instrument.
Initially the Hammond organ was sold at discount to churches who could not afford a traditional pipe organ. Two types were manufactured: Spinet organs with two 44-note manuals and one octave of pedals, and Console organs with two 61-note manuals and two octaves of pedals.
These early Hammond organs needed to be linked to an amplifier, but by the 1950s versions were released with an internal power amplifier and speakers.
Hammond organs became a mainstay of the prog rock movement, but it was jazz musicians who first latched on to the instrument's versatility and potential.
In the 1970s Hammond began replacing the tonewheels with transistors. That probably did for the company as the classic Hammond sound relied on analogue electronics.
In 1985 Hammond went out of business and in 1989 the name was purchased by Suzuki. In 2002, Hammond-Suzuki launched the New B-3, a recreation of the original electromechanical instrument using contemporary electronics and a digital tonewheel simulator.
Over two million Hammond organs were manufactured by the company and it's fair to say it was one of the most influential instruments of the electronic era. Was it sexy? Perhaps a bit. But it was certainly everywhere in the 1970s!
Mr Hammond - Twitter salutes your organ!
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
Given the current heatwave, I feel obliged to ask my favourite question: is it time to bring back the leisure suit?
Let's find out...
Now we all know what a man's lounge suit is, but if we're honest it can be a bit... stuffy. Formal. Businesslike. Not what you'd wear 'in da club' as the young folks say.
So for many years tailors have been experimenting with less formal, but still upmarket gents attire. The sort of garb you could wear for both a high level business meeting AND for listening to the Moody Blues in an espresso bar. Something versatile.
Today in pulp I look back at the publishing phenomenon of gamebooks: novels in which YOU are the hero!
A pencil and dice may be required for this thread...
Gamebooks are a simple but addictive concept: you control the narrative. At the end of each section of the story you are offered a choice of outcomes, and based on that you turn to the page indicated to see what happens next.
Gamebook plots are in fact complicated decision tree maps: one or more branches end in success, but many more end in failure! It's down to you to decide which path to tread.
He was the terror of London; a demonic figure with glowing eyes and fiery breath who could leap ten feet high. The penny dreadfuls of the time wrote up his exploits in lurid terms. But who was he really?
Today I look at one of the earliest pulp legends: Spring-Heeled Jack!
London has always attracted ghosts, and in the 19th Century they increasingly left their haunted houses and graveyards and began to wader the capital's streets.
But one apparition caught the Victorian public attention more than most...
In October 1837 a 'leaping character' with a look of the Devil began to prey on Londoners. Often he would leap high into the air and land in front of a carriage, causing it to crash. It would then flee with a high-pitched laugh.