Where does the moon come from?

Whether we’re trying to find out where it came from, or how to siphon off some of its energy, grappling with the moon is harder than it looks.

When the Apollo astronauts brought back pieces of lunar rock, the samples promised to answer the question of the moon’s origin. It’s a question we are still asking.

The “big splash” theory of a gargantuan collision between two planets is the favourite. The idea is that a Mars-sized object hit the young earth, throwing off a load of matter which coalesced to form the moon.

Scientists became convinced that the big splash theory must be correct because it calls for the stuff in the moon to be lighter than the atoms making up earth. Initial analysis of the relative abundance of various forms of atoms (known as isotopes) in the Apollo samples provided supporting evidence.

However, researchers then thought to take account of the effects of a few billion years of bombardment by high-energy subatomic particles called cosmic rays. Because earth is protected from cosmic rays by its magnetic field, these would change the moon’s isotope abundances only and in particular ways. Unfortunately, all this has been a dampener on the big splash theory.

Other theories are available. The moon could simply have formed independently at the same time as the earth, for instance. Or it could have been a passing body that fell into our planet’s gravitational field and got trapped.

Most planetary scientists remain convinced that the big splash is right but to convince themselves and others they have to work out a consistent story. That’s why they gathered to sift through all the evidence at the Royal Society in London on 23 and 24 September.

Despite the lack of consensus, scientific achievements in this area are astonishing. We are narrowing down the timings of events that occurred 4.5 billion years ago. Some of the research that was presented showed that the moon is roughly 100 million years younger than we had thought. This kind of forensic analysis of vaporised rock is an extraordinary feat.

If only our progress in harvesting lunar energy was as extraordinary. Most experts are convinced that there is a way to profit from the moon’s gravitational pull on the oceans, but the devil is in the detail.

The Scottish government recently gave the go-ahead for the Pentland Firth to host Europe’s largest tidal energy project. It is estimated that the Pentland Firth could eventually meet half of Scotland’s electricity needs, but for now engineers are aiming to have 40 per cent of homes in the Scottish Highlands running off lunar power by 2020.

In many ways, it’s a great leap forward. Yet meeting 40 per cent of the needs of one of the UK’s less inhabited regions also seems a little underwhelming. One of the benefits of being a small island is that Britain has copious tidal and wave power at its disposal: enough to meet a fifth of our electricity needs.

Whether we’re trying to find out where it came from, or how to siphon off some of its energy, grappling with the moon is harder than it looks.

A 'Super Moon' rises over Sydney. Image: Getty

Michael Brooks holds a PhD in quantum physics. He writes a weekly science column for the New Statesman, and his most recent book is At the Edge of Uncertainty: 11 Discoveries Taking Science by Surprise.

This article first appeared in the 07 October 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The last days of Nelson Mandela

Azeem Ward
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Living the Meme: What happened to Azeem Ward and his flute?

In the first of a new series investigating what happens to people after they become memes, we speak to Azeem Ward, whose flute recital went viral in 2015.

The Sixties had Woodstock. The Nineties had Lollapalooza. The Tens – and, if we’re being honest, just a single year of them – had Azeem's Senior Flute Recital.

If you were inactive on the internet between 12 and 16 May 2015, you’ll be forgiven for not knowing who Azeem Ward is. After setting up a Facebook page for his end of year flute performance, the University of California student was inundated with over 100,000 RSVPs from the United Kindom, along with multiple requests to fly to England and play (for no apparent reason) Darude’s “Sandstorm” in Nando’s. After international news coverage, Ward – as all memes inevitably do – appeared on Jimmy Kimmel Live! to discuss his newfound fame. On 16 May, he had to turn hordes of people away from the 500 seat recital hall, and over 55,000 individuals tuned into a livestream of the event. Then, Ward disappeared. Not from social media, and not from the world, but from the internet’s collective consciousness.

Search interest in "Azeem Ward" over time

“I’d say no,” answers Ward, when I ask him whether, one and a half years later, he still receives any special attention or has any fan interactions. “I’m just regular Azeem now, and I’m okay with that. Regular me is a more focussed person that is not reacting to things that are happening around me.”

Ward is Skyping me from his home in Iowa, where he is getting his master’s degree in flute performance. He spends his time composing flute beatbox songs, learning how to produce music, and teaching a class on flute fundamentals at the university. “A lot of [the students] here in Iowa know what happened but they don’t go like: ‘Oh my God! It’s Azeem!’. It’s just like, ‘Hey, what’s up man? I saw that one thing about you on Jimmy Kimmel’.”  

The original Facebook event page

Ward regained his anonymity when he moved to Iowa, as many of his fellow undergraduate students in California recognised him because he was on the local news. “But the whole viral thing was a UK thing,” he explains, “It wasn’t really around the whole US.”

An Azeem meme

Four months after his famed flute recital, Ward did come to the UK and toured the country to perform as part of various university freshers’ weeks. “That was a crazy time,” he says, “I was over there for five weeks and played 22 shows in 12 different cities, all the way from London to Scotland.” His concerts were popular, though most people came to take a selfie or ask about how the recital happened, and only a few wanted to talk to him about music. Still, Ward profited from the events. “We did make some pretty good money," he says, admitting he earnt around $5,000. 

Despite clearly enjoying this time, Ward seems unfazed that his viral fame is now over. His only regrets, he says, are that he didn’t make any connections in the music business while in the UK, and that he didn’t have any social media accounts set up before he went viral, so there was nowhere for people to go to listen to his music. “When you go viral people hold onto that rather than taking you seriously as a musician,” he says. “Sometimes it annoyed me but sometimes I realised that I wouldn’t be there in the first place if it wasn’t for going viral.”

Azeem now, photo courtesy of Azeem Ward

So what advice would Ward give to the next person who finds themselves, unwittingly, the object of the internet’s affection?

“I'd say don't lose sight of what you've already been doing in your life, like keep your focus. I'd say that sometimes in your head you're like ‘Oh man, I have to do this now’, but you've just got to stay focussed on your goals. When you have your own path and you go viral you have a lot of people asking you to do all these different things. It was pretty intense – I’m not used to having a lot of people look at me and my actions, so I was pretty anxious at first. In the end I realised that I came to do what I came to do, and I had to go do it.”

Although Ward doesn’t miss being internet-famous, it is clear that going viral had an impact on him. He recalls the peak of the madness with telling clarity, sharing specific details such as "256 people” clicked attending in "four hours", and “then 512”, before 12,000 people RSVP’d overnight. Mostly, however, he seems very grounded, though he acknowledges it was “out of control” and “really crazy”.

Perhaps Ward feels this way because he received little in the way of negativity or hate. He fondly discusses memes that were created and art that was drawn about him, and the support of his family and friends. “Even though there were a lot of silly things going on, I managed to make it positive for the school,” he says. “I had no haters. Everyone was like ‘Damn, Azeem. Good job, man’.”

One day, Ward hopes to come back to London, although he is wary of returning. Not because of his viral fame, nor the number of selfies he might have to take with Nando's customers, but because of Brexit. Our conversation, like all post-June conversations, turns swiftly to the topic, and Ward asks me about the economy. “I was thinking about trying to do a doctorate over in London, but if things aren't going to be so good in a few years...” 

Ward admits he wouldn’t be bothered if he never went viral again. “When I think of something going viral, I think it has a point in time where there’s so much interest and then it goes away. I’d like to produce material and the attention to keep going up.” So do you want to be famous, I ask? “Do I really want to be famous?” he ponders. “Being famous is okay, I guess. But I want to be is respected and appreciated.”

To listen to Azeem’s music visit soundcloud.com/azeem-ward or Like his Facebook page.

To suggest an interviewee for Living the Meme, reach out to Amelia on Twitter.

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.