John Coulthart's Blog, page 14

In the Hands of Madmen

My latest cover for the Arkham Horror series from Aconyte continues the Art Deco trend of the other books in this series while also recycling some of the art from the previous covers. In the Hands of Madmen is an omnibus collection of three previously-published novels for which I was given the tricky task of combining portions of three covers into a single design. This wouldn’t be so difficult in other cases but my Arkham Horror covers have been heavily structured, with borders within borders, background patterns and isolated details. I was fortunate that two of the books in the new volume had cover designs that were reflections of each other which could be welded together and laid over the third cover without too much trouble. The original covers are presented below for comparison.

My last Arkham Horror cover, Herald of Ruin, featured a drawing of a fantastic city which was mostly covered over in the final assembly. The new one does the same with a Deco grille design that I worked up from a photo of a grille in the Squibb Building in New York City.

The design is more visible on the back cover so the effort wasn’t entirely wasted. When I’m working on covers like these I prefer to copy (or adapt) authentic period designs when I can. You can find no end of Deco motifs in the form of clip-art but they tend to be Deco-ese, lacking the invention you find in the original designs. I like this grille, it reminds me of a printed circuit. I may use it again one day.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The Lovecraft archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Herald of Ruin
• The Ravening Deep
• Diamonds
• The Devourer Below
• Litany of Dreams
• The Last Ritual

Art on film: The Medusa Touch

Continuing an occasional series about artworks in feature films. The Medusa Touch (1978) is the kind of film I usually dislike: a supernatural horror story with a preposterous premise—a man who causes disasters to occur with the power of his mind—which is also an ITC production directed by Jack Gold with a TV-friendly gloss, all overlit interiors and zoom-happy camera work. Richard Burton plays the man with a name you only find in horror novels, “John Morlar”, whose telekinetic gift is also a curse, the Medusa touch of the title, although his affliction is never quite described as such. It’s Burton who makes this one worth watching, he burns with a misanthropic intensity in every scene he appears in, delivering his lines with a conviction that suggests he identified rather too much with Morlar and his hatred for the world. The film unfolds as a police procedural, opening with the attempted murder of Morlar by an unknown assailant, then following the investigation that reveals the victim’s history. The police business is the weakest part of the film; being a British/French co-production means that the man leading the investigation, Inspector Brunel, is a Frenchman working in London as part of an exchange programme. Brunel’s dull character is further diminished by having him played by Lino Ventura with a dubbed voice, but it’s the inspector’s quest for clues to Morlar’s past that bring us eventually to the art.

The first artwork, however, appears before all of this. The film opens in the street outside Morlar’s London home then cuts to the inside of his flat with this close view of a print of Edvard Munch’s The Scream. Munch’s most famous painting wasn’t quite the visual cliché in 1978 that it is today. Morlar’s history is recounted in a series of flashbacks which reveal him to have been a barrister whose distaste for the legal profession leads to his becoming a novelist with characters used as mouthpieces for his misanthropy. The art in his mansion flat is scrutinised by Brunel without being subjected to any discussion, leaving us to decide whether these works are the kinds of things that Morlar actually liked or exterior emblems related to his condition.

A relief based on Caravaggio’s Medusa (c.1597).

The head of Medusa pinned on Morlar’s wall suggests the latter, although the only introspective comments from Morlar come in the scenes with him and his psychiatrist, Dr Zonfeld (Lee Remick), which are mostly discussions of his calamity-filled life. Morlar and Zonfeld’s combative relationship may explain the next artwork which catches Brunel’s eye, a print of Bond of Union (1956) by MC Escher.

The choice is an unusual one when the print was made to celebrate Escher’s marriage which was relatively happy, unlike Morlar’s disintegrated union which ends with him willing his wife to death in a car crash. Escher was very trendy in the 1970s, collections of his work were being published for the first time and his prints were everywhere. A better match for a story of this type might have been Eye (1946), an image with greater symbolic resonance that would also complement all the moments when Jack Gold’s camera zooms into Morlar’s basilisk glare.

Encounter in Space (1899) by Edvard Munch.

After looking at the Escher, Brunel leafs through Morlar’s print collection, pulling out another Munch, and a very strange choice it is. This is an odd scene: the prints are all badly lit and none of them have much overt reference to either Morlar’s character or the story as a whole.

Tous les jours (Every Day) (1966) by René Magritte.

Magritte was another very trendy artist in the 1970s but why choose this one of all his pictures? Goya (below) makes more sense although there’s a lot more horror to be found in other Goya prints.

A Giant Seated in a Landscape, sometimes called ‘The Colossus’ (by 1818) by Francisco Goya.

Study for the Three Witches in Macbeth (c.1783) by Henry Fuseli.

The same could be said for Fuseli, even if you set aside his all-too-familiar Nightmare painting. I’ve been wondering if the novel the film is based on might delve more into the artistic symbolism. The screenplay was co-written by the novel’s author, Peter van Greenaway, and the cover of the first edition shows a small statue of Napoleon hovering incongruously in the air next to a 747 which is crashing into an office building. Morlar is battered over the head with a statue like this at the beginning of the film yet we never discover whether Napoleon has any special significance beyond being an overused symbol for insanity or megalomania. Like the pictures in Morlar’s flat, the detail is merely another mystery to add to the lack of explanation that attends Morlar’s disaster-ridden life and his subsequent decision to deliberately cause more disasters. The novel may well hold the answers but if it does it’s not a book I’m in any hurry to read.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Art on film: Crack-Up
• Art on film: The Dark Corner
• Art on film: Je t’aime, Je t’aime
• Art on film: Space is the Place
• Art on film: Providence
• Art on film: The Beast

Weekend links 756

A Diver (no date) by Walter Crane.

• At Worldbuilding Agency: The first part of a long interview with Bruce Sterling concerning “the pursuit of deliberate oxymorons as a creative strategy, worldbuilding in the context of history and futurity, Berlusconi on the moon and more”. With questions from Paul Graham Raven, and my cover art for Bruce’s Robot Artists and Black Swans.

• “With its focus on the 1970s career of Leonard Rossiter and its mordant metaphysics of the moist, Sophie-Sleigh Johnson’s Code: Damp might just be the most original book yet to emerge from Repeater publishing,” says Tim Burrows.

• “A definitive guide to the work of William S Burroughs’ on screen.” It’s a guide but it’s hardly definitive when there’s no mention of the four films Burroughs made with Anthony Balch.

• A catalogue of lots at the forthcoming After Dark: Gay Art and Culture online auction. Homoerotic art, photos, etc, also historic porn and a few garments worn by Divine.

• New music: Jay recommends the high-grade motorik en espanol dance-rock of Sgt Papers; Topology Of A Quantum City by Paul Schütze; Overtones by Everyday Dust.

• This week’s obligatory Bumper Book of Magic entry: Ben Wickey at Alan Moore World talks about his work on the book’s Great Enchanters comic strips.

• At Dennis Cooper’s it’s Malcolm Le Grice’s Day. Le Grice’s death was announced earlier this month.

• At The Wire: The magazine’s contributors’ charts showing their favourite music of the past year.

• A new website for the Sanborn Fire Maps and their decorated title pages.

• Mix of the week: DreamScenes – December 2024 at Ambientblog.

• At Public Domain Review: Albert Kahn’s autochromes.

• Burroughs Called The Law (1960s) by William S. Burroughs | Language Is A Virus From Outer Space (Live) (1984) by Laurie Anderson | Burroughs Don’t Play Guitar (1996) by Islamic Diggers

The art of Jean Ransy, 1910–1991

La ville de bas en haut (1961).

Back in January I had a vague intention to write about new areas of Surrealist interest in the months leading up to Surrealism’s 100th anniversary, an impulse that didn’t really sustain itself. That’s okay, almost everything I add to these pages is the result of a whim of some sort, and whims are often short-lived and erratic. All the same, Jean Ransy may fit the Surrealist bill even if he doesn’t seem to have had any lasting connections with those groups who regarded themselves as the official guardians of the Surrealist flame. Ransy was Belgian artist which makes him Surrealist by default if you subscribe to Jonathan Meades’ proposition that Belgium is a Surrealist nation at heart. (Magritte wasn’t a Surrealist, says Meades, he was a social realist.)

Composition surréaliste au coquillage (1962).

Ransy’s paintings appear at first glance like a Belgian equivalent of Rex Whistler in their pictorial realism and refusal to jump on the Modernist bandwagon. Whistler and Ransy were contemporaries (Whistler was born in 1905) but Whistler’s paintings were much more restrained even when outright fantasy entered his baroque pastiches. The “metaphysical” vistas of Giorgio de Chirico are mentioned as an influence on Ransy’s work so he was at least looking at living artists, something you never sense with Whistler. There’s a de Chirico quality in the tilted perspectives and accumulations of disparate objects, also a hint of Max Ernst in one or two paintings. Most of the pictures here have been hoovered from various auction websites but the artist’s official website has the best copies plus biographical information. (Ransy tip via Anne Billson. Thanks!)

Le chant du printemps (1968).

Diane (1969).

La nuit silencieuse (1970).

Concert pour les ombres (1971).

Le chemin de ronde au visage soleil (1985).

Le voyage intérieur.

Nature morte aux polyèdres.

La ville où le soleil se couche.

Equinoxe.

Le filet.

Le labyrinthe.

La Licorne de bronze.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The Surrealism archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Echoes of de Chirico

Three alphabets

E is for Elefante.

Last week I was trying without success to find the origin of a calligraphic alphabet I have in a book about ornamental typography. A failed quest but the search did turn up a couple of those illustrated alphabets that were popular in the 17th and 18th centuries, including this first one which I have as poor reproductions in another book. Alfabeto in Sogno (“Dream Alphabet”), a book of etchings by Giuseppe Maria Mitelli, dates from 1683, and shows the letters of the alphabet constructed by posing human figures, some of which require props to create their letters. A common feature of the abecedary is an attempt to match one or more details in the picture to the letter in question, something which Mitelli does with a small illustration of an animal. Each of his plates also includes a few lines of verse and the less common addition of details intended to help students of drawing.

E is for Endymion.

A’ dilettanti delle bell’ arti (“To the Amateurs of the Fine Arts”, 1785) by Giovanni Battista Betti opts for an easier method of depicting human-sized letterforms with a series of tableau-style caprices in which the shapes of the letters are formed by baroque curlicues or lengths of fabric arcing around the figures. Not all of these figures are human. Where Mitelli matches animals with each letter, Betti chooses characters from mythology—Bacchus, Endymion, Faunus, Ganymede and so on—or fills the space with the putti that are ubiquitous fixtures of the art of this period. You can take this as a quiz without an immediate solution: I couldn’t decipher the identities of all the non-putti characters but then my knowledge of Classical mythology isn’t very thorough.

B is for Babylon.

The third alphabet is one that’s appeared here before, the Alfabeto Pittorico (1839) of Antonio Basoli, but the copies I linked to ten years ago were hosted on a dubious Russian site which is now defunct. No matter, all the plates may now be seen at Gallica where they should have a more permanent home. Basoli’s abecedary is my favourite of the three, being a collection of very plausible architectural designs that pastiche the building styles of different countries or eras. Once again the viewer is challenged to try and match the letter with the view in which the letter-building is situated. Some of these are very easy (the identity of H with “harem” is revealed by a sign above the door) while others are complicated by Basoli’s loose interpretation of ancient architecture. As for assignation of the ampersand below, that’s anybody’s guess.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The etching and engraving archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Liber Artificiosus Alphabeti Maioris
• Abeceda
• The Royal Picture Alphabet
• Giovanni Battista Pian’s Pictorial Alphabet
• Antonio Basoli’s Pictorial Alphabet
• Grand capitals
• Paulini’s mythological alphabet

Weekend links 755

A painting by Ed Emshwiller for the cover of Fantastic Stories of Imagination, July 1962, illustrating The Singing Statues by JG Ballard .

• This week in the Bumper Book of Magic: my comments about the creation of the book’s cover and magical alphabet have been posted at Alan Moore World. At (Quasi), Smoky Man (in Italian) looks at other parts of the book, and includes my answers to his questions about the creation of The Soul, a character originally planned for a comic strip that Alan Moore and I were working on. I’ve been trying recently to find the first sketches I made of The Soul back in 2000 or 2001, without success. If I do find any of them I’ll post them here.

• New music: Juk-Shabb by Cryo Chamber Collaboration is this year’s installment in the Lovecraft-themed album series (previously) from Cryo Chamber. Also this week: Xerrox Vol. 5 by Alva Noto; Nocturne (Soundtrack for an Invisible Film) by Avi C. Engel; and Cat Location Conundrum by Moon Wiring Club.

• Code: Damp: An Esoteric Guide to British Sitcoms by Sophie Sleigh-Johnson, being “an alternative occult and esoteric history of England told through one of its most popular cultural forms: the comedy sitcom”.

…the joy of art isn’t only the pleasure of an end result but also the experience of going through the process of having made it. When you go out for a walk it isn’t just (or even primarily) for the pleasure of reaching a destination, but for the process of doing the walking. For me, using AI all too often feels like I’m engaging in a socially useless process, in which I learn almost nothing and then pass on my non-learning to others. It’s like getting the postcard instead of the holiday.

Brian Eno at Boston Review

• “The typographic choices that Godard made were thematic and not only chosen for their stylistic properties.” Arijana Zeric looks inside the design world of Jean-Luc Godard.

• Coming soon from Strange Attractor: The Stammering Librarian: Essays by Timothy D’Arch Smith, edited by Edwin Pouncey & Sandy Robertson.

• At Public Domain Review: Fantastic Planet: The Microscopy Album of Marinus Pieter Filbri (1887–88).

• At the BFI: Michael Brooke offers suggestions for where to begin with Guy Maddin.

• At The Quietus: The Strange World of…Dennis Bovell.

• Mix of the week: A mix for The Wire by KMRU.

• Steven Heller’s font of the month is Gigafly.

• Fantastic Cat (1996) by Takako Minekawa | Fantastic Analysis (2001) by Mouse On Mars | Fantastic Mass (2016) by Time Attendant

Lettres et Enseignes Art Nouveau

These lettering designs were posted at Wikimedia Commons in the summer but I’ve only just noticed them this week. I’d been searching for Étienne Mulier’s designs while working on the six-part story about Miss Adeline Carr, aka “The Soul”, in the Bumper Book of Magic, the idea being to have each chapter open with the character’s name in a different Art Nouveau lettering style. If you look at enough bookselling sites you can eventually find one or two large photos of Mulier’s pages which is what I used when creating the heading for the second chapter of the story; but I still would have preferred to have had access to the whole collection. As it happens, most of the Wikimedia plates have also come from bookselling sites but they’re a slightly better collection than the ones I found.

Mulier’s plates were published in 1901, presented not in book form but as a collection of loose lithographs in a card portfolio; the “Enseignes” in the title are suggestions for shop signs. Mulier also throws in a couple of less practical designs showing alphabets created by posing flamingos. The loose-leaf format is a useful one for something intended to be consulted by artists and craftspeople. Books could be awkward things in the days before digital scanning and photography if you wanted to trace something from a page which wouldn’t lie flat. The Mulier design I used for The Soul isn’t a perfect alphabet—the letters K and M could do with improving—but it’s a good example of the French approach to Art Nouveau lettering (and Art Nouveau design in general) which tends to be more loose and plant-like than equivalents from Germany or the Netherlands. The organic appearance of the letterforms suited the chapter I was illustrating which opens with a hunt for magic mushrooms.

Mulier’s plates don’t appear to have been turned into printable fonts until the 1960s when the revival of interest in Art Nouveau prompted the creation of filmtype adaptations. Fontsinuse shows a rare print example on the cover of an album by Scottish prog band Beggar’s Opera, a version of the typeface which filled in the bi-chromatic letters and slightly altered their forms. “One of the ugliest typefaces ever created,” says Mr Hardwig. I can think of worse. More recently we have the inevitable digitisations, with Art Nouveau Caps being the closest to Mulier’s original. I was tempted to use a digitised version for the story but I find that many amateur (or semi-professional) digitisations of old typefaces are often crude things compared to the originals. I also liked the bi-chromatic effect so I ended up drawing my own copies of the letters I needed.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Bergling’s Art Alphabets
• Typefaces of the occult revival

Another view over Yuggoth

The original Yuggoth collage, 1994.

Three years ago I resurrected my panorama of R’lyeh from The Call of Cthulhu, a process that took five months from start to finish as I redrew a large and very detailed picture. Last month I spent a much shorter time doing the same for one of the other pieces of art that went missing after being printed in 1994, the Haeckel collage that I titled Yuggoth. I don’t think I’ve mentioned before that this was originally created as a potential cover for the first edition of the Starry Wisdom collection published by Creation Books. My Cthulhu strip had already been accepted for the book when I was asked to create something for the cover. The painting I eventually submitted was rather mediocre, not terrible but I’d only been painting with acrylics for a year or so and was still getting used to the medium. By the time Creation rejected the cover the print deadline was approaching so I had little time to create anything new. Having recently bought a copy of the Dover edition of Ernst Haeckel’s Art Forms in Nature I decided to try and make a suitably Lovecraftian collage using Haeckel’s prints.

The original collage as it appeared on the cover of HP Lovecraft: Tales of Horror in 2022. Cover design by Jo Obaroswki.

Yuggoth was the result, created in a day or so after I’d rushed to the local copy shop and returned with a large quantity of paper which I chopped up then tried to assemble into a coherent form. I duly posted the result to Creation unaware that they’d already decided to use some of Peter Smith’s Lovecraft art on the cover. I was okay with this, I liked Smith’s drawings and Yuggoth ended up appearing inside the book. Despite the hasty production process I’d taken the precaution of photocopying the collage before it went into the post, something I did with the rest of the artwork, so even though the original Yuggoth was lost (or stolen or whatever actually happened to all that artwork) I’ve still had something which was usable years later. It was this photocopied version that appeared a few years later in my Haunter of the Dark book, as well as on the cover of the Fall River Lovecraft collection, Tales of Horror, in 2022.

The reworked Yuggoth collage, 2024.

The photocopied version was usable, then, but not ideal. The original collage had been made with photocopies produced by a machine which didn’t deal very well with the halftones in Haeckel’s plates. This gave the final piece a rough, posterised quality, the roughness being intensified once the whole thing was copied again. The resurrected version has been pieced together from scans of the original Haeckel book with everything in the same size and (almost) the same placement as before, only now all of the hafltones and other fine detail are intact. And while I was going to all this trouble I decided to change the architectural details in the original to something more in keeping with the rest of the picture. The planet Yuggoth (or Pluto as human beings know it) is more alluded to than actually described in Lovecraft’s fiction, but we do know that the place is inhabited by a race of fungoid aliens. I’ve always thought of Yuggoth as being architecturally rich as well as inhabited, rather like the alien worlds that Frank R. Paul used to paint for the back covers of Fantastic Adventures magazine, but in my haste to create the collage I’d resorted to copying Cambodian and Thai temples from a book of architectural engravings. These have now been replaced by structures that are more in keeping with the other elements. Using Haeckel for architectural inspiration has a minor history, as I’ve noted before. The French architect and designer René Binet had been looking at Haeckel’s plates in 1900 when he designed the arched gateway for the Exposition Universelle in Paris. Binet later expanded on this design with Esquisses Décoratives, a book of proposals for more Haeckel-derived architecture produced in collaboration with Gustave Geffroy.

The tinted version you see here is now available as prints and other products at Redbubble. My shop there is still a little understocked but I intend to keep adding to it in the coming months. As before, I’ll mainly be doing prints at Redbubble, all my T-shirt sales are now being handled by Skull Print. The latter emailed their final dates for pre-Xmas orders today: 6th December for overseas and 18th December for the UK. Skull Print will also be taking a break at the beginning of January so they won’t be dealing with any new orders until the 15th of that month. Thanks.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The Lovecraft archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Ghost Box and The Infinity Box

Weekend links 754

The Remains of Minotaur in a Harlequin Costume (1936) by Pablo Picasso. Via.

• At Rarefilmm: Long Live the New Flesh: The Films of David Cronenberg, a TV documentary from 1987 which includes contributions from Martin Scorsese and Stephen King. I wrote about this one years ago but at the time the only available copy was chopped into 10-minute segments.

• Coming soon from Strange Attractor: Delinquent Elementals: A Pagan News Anthology, edited by Phil Hine & Rodney Orpheus.

• At Wormwoodiana: Mark Valentine explores the possible influence of the Sherlock Holmes stories on Arthur Machen’s early fiction.

Perhaps there was a Super-Sargasso Sea in the upper atmosphere into which were carried objects from earth—frogs, fish, leaves—and from which they later rained. Perhaps the universe was a living thing, rains of blood its bleeding. Perhaps in 1903 the earth, in its orbit about the sun, passed through the remains of a world destroyed in an interplanetary dispute, the particles falling as rains of dust and redness. Perhaps humanity was controlled. “I think we’re property”, Fort wrote. Or, perhaps not; so skeptical he could not accept even his own authority, he had given up theorizing. “We have expressions: we don’t call them explanations: we’ve discarded explanations with beliefs.”

Joshua Blu Buhs on how Charles Fort came to write The Book of the Damned

• More Alan Moore: “Magic is not this big, spooky, dark thing that’s full of nightmares,” he tells Séamas O’Reilly at the Irish Times.

• High-resolution images of 14,000 woodblock illustrations and letterforms free to use at the Plantin-Moretus Museum, Antwerp.

• New music: Music For Bus Stations by Rod Modell; and Between Soil And Sky by Tarotplane.

• At Dennis Cooper’s: Spotlight on…Denton Welch In Youth is Pleasure (1945).

• At the Quietus: The Strange World of…Irena and Vojtech Havlovi.

• Apollo Explorer

• Pagan Love Song (1959) by Martin Denny | Pagan Lovesong (Vibeakimbo) (1982) by Virgin Prunes | Pagan Sun Temple (2022) by Hawksmoor

Richard M. Powers album covers

Berlioz: Symphonie Fantastique (1958); Charles Munch, Boston Symphony Orchestra.

Continuing an occasional series about artists or designers whose work has appeared on record sleeves. Richard M. Powers is one of those illustrators whose work is remembered today for his many covers for SF books and magazines even though his commissions often took him away from the genre. Powers’ early paintings for record companies use the wiry illustration style that was popular during the 1950s, few of them resemble the X-ray views or amorphous, Tanguy-like forms that populate his cosmic vistas and alien worlds. The cover for Symphonie Fantastique is an exception, justified by the suite’s narrative thread which involves visions seen in an opium dream.

Powers is also unique, I think, in having an entire album of music dedicated to his SF covers, Powers (12 Sound Pieces Inspired By The Art Of Richard M. Powers) by Andy Partridge. This album doesn’t feature any of Powers’ own artwork but the illustrations are done in his style so the cover has been included in this list.

Mendelssohn: Symphony No. 3 in A Minor “The Scotch” (1955); Music Appreciation Symphony Orchestra.

Tchaikovsky: Symphony No.6 In B Minor, Op.74 – Pathétique (1956); Leonard Bernstein, Music Appreciation Symphony Orchestra, The Stadium Concerts Symphony Orchestra.

Verdi: Rigoletto (1956); The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra And Chorus conducted by Fausto Cleva, Robert McFerrin, Sr.

Johann Strauss: Die Fledermaus (1956); Tibor Kozma, The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra And Chorus.

Mozart: The Marriage Of Figaro (Highlights) (1956); Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Erich Leinsdorf, Giorgio Tozzi, Roberta Peters, Lisa Della Casa, George London, Rosalind Elias.

Puccini: Tosca (1957); Dorothy Kirsten, Daniele Barioni, Frank Guarrera, Dimitri Mitropoulos, The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra And Chorus.

Verdi: Il Trovatore (1957): Mary Curtis-Verna, Kurt Baum, Rosalind Elias, Frank Guarrera, Norman Scott, Helen Vanni, James McCracken, The Metropolitan Opera Orchestra And Chorus Conducted by Max Rudolf.

Bach: The Brandenburg Concertos No. 4 in G Major, No. 5 in D Major, Number 6 in B Flat (1957); The Little Orchestra Society, Thomas Scherman.

Beethoven / Leclair / Khachaturian: Kreutzer Sonata / Sonata In D Major / Chanson Poème / Dance In B Flat Major (1957); David Oistrakh.

Umberto Giordano: Andrea Chénier (1958); Mary Curtis-Verna, Richard Tucker, Mario Sereni, Rosalind Elias, Fausto Cleva.

Pagan Festival (An Exotic Love Ritual For Orchestra) (1959) by Dominic Frontiere And His Orchestra.

Mozart: Don Giovanni (1960); Erich Leinsdorf, Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra.

An Album Of Swing Classics (1967) by Benny Goodman.

Is It… Man Or Astro-Man? (1993) by Man Or Astro-Man?

Postphonic Star Exploration (1995) by Man Or Astro-Man?

Togetherness (Control Songs, Vol. 2) (1999) by David Garland.

I Just Want It To Be Easy (2002) by Mexican Power Authority.

Afar (2013) by Frank Kimbrough / Scott Robinson.

Zeta Reticuli Blues (2014) by Lecherous Gaze.

Mozart: The Magic Flute (Abridged (1960); Tibor Kozma Conducting Metropolitan Opera Orchestra And Chorus.

Bizet: Carmen (no date); Rosalind Elias, Kurt Baum, Lucine Amara, Walter Cassel, Heidi Krall, Margaret Roggero, Clifford Harvout, George Cehanovsky, Paul Franke, Max Rudolf.

The Strauss Dynasty: Vienna Dances (no date): Anton Paulik Conducts Orchester Der Wiener Staatsoper.

Powers (12 Sound Pieces Inspired By The Art Of Richard M. Powers) (2017) by A.J. Partridge. Cover art by Andy Partridge.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The album covers archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Covers for Beyond Fantasy Fiction
• August Heat
• Picturing Vermilion Sands
• Things