Tricky Dicky is best known for the Watergate scandal. Arguably (though don't argue it, them's the rules...) the least successful of the American presidents, certainly the only one not to serve his full term while still being alive, made one of the most scientifically important decisions of the 20th century.
The story goes that at a time of post Apollo (how badly the Moon landings set back space exploration is another discussion) and Vietnam war induced budgetary tightness, NASA came to the notoriously fiscally conservative Nixon administration with the proposal for a extremely long range probe. One that could only be sent to a once every 175 years when there was an alignment of the outer planets.
Nixon said (I paraphrase): “175 years? In that case let's send 2!”
Thus, apart from instructions on where to find us to any alien species that might stumble upon these, they also have some parts for, and instructions on how to build a record player. And, so 2 golden records are amongst the only human artifacts to have left the solar system.
This is the start of the story of what's on those disks, technically a galactic mixtape, complete with nudes (and more) and our address (which does go some way to explain the spate of probings after voyager 2 lost contact in summer '23).
Apart from images engraved on and included within the analogue grooves, there are 31 tracks across 2 golden disks intended to be a multimedia message in a bottle into the void. There are 3 greetings across 55 languages, 1 combined with whalesongs, and 1 track of sounds from Earth. There are 8 Western Classical tracks (3 Bachs, 2 Beethovens, Mozart, Stravinsky, Holborne) and 16 that may be considered what would have been 'world music' from the days of music stores. These are discussions for other articles.
There are just 3 mainstream songs from Jazz, Blues and Rock:
Blind Willie Johnson — "Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground" Johnson’s 1927 recording is a wordless moan that bypasses language to represent the universal ache of loneliness. Now, it serves as our primary ambassador for human vulnerability in deep space. Tragically, Johnson received no wealth and died penniless in the ruins of his burned home—ignored while alive (an oversight of cosmic proportions). It is the "night" of the soul in pure sound.
Louis Armstrong and His Hot Seven — "Melancholy Blues" Melancholy Blues showcases the expressive potential of a solo trumpet reaching peak human creativity. Of course, this isn't just about technical mastery; it’s a report on the "state of the genre". Armstrong’s lines float with luminous warmth (effortless, really), transforming sorrow into something life-affirming. Selected to represent soul across cultures, it remains a generous gift.
Chuck Berry — "Johnny B. Goode" Two seconds in and the architecture of rock ‘n’ roll is already built. Berry’s 1958 anthem represents the electrification of sound and the adolescent spirit of a changing world. Unsurprisingly, this riff-driven muscial paragon remains our most recognizable interstellar musical export from the 20th century. It’s the definitive DNA of rock 'n' roll, heading for the stars.
Debate as you like the merits of each of the songs and choices, and moreover what wasn't there, given that the space craft took off in 1977. You should know that even Chuck Berry almost didn't make it, with some on the committee saying it was too adolescent. Carl Sagan replied: "There are a lot of adolescents on the planet."
The detail and care was rounded out with the producer of the record, previously the editor of Rolling Stone magazine, Timothy (not Tim, a different Timothy) Ferris taking the time to etch a miniscule, poignant message in the blank spaces after the end of the tracks: “To the makers of music—all worlds, all times.”
So in the age of music videos what are we putting on a video disk to send to the cosmos, and which one comes second after the rickrolling?