February 20, 2014

recess

r VOLUME 15, ISSUE 21

FEBRUARY 20, 2014

DAAT hosts Duke’s first 24-hour play festival this Sunday in Sheafer Lab Theater

Recess Interviews Laura Valk (T’13) on SNL and Small Town, page 3

Whitman, poetry and the Internet Staff Note by Katie Fernelius, page 3

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2 | thursDAY, february 20, 2014

editor’s note ss recess r

R recess editors my 24-hour play....

It would be an act of self-betrayal to not identify the fact that this is my penultimate editor’s note, and yeah, maybe I’m a little wistful. Whenever I begin to write one, I feel compelled to launch into a justification of my subject. These things are fairly open-ended. We’ve written on a bunch of different topics. And now it’s fleeting February, and I’m running low on opportunities to ramble to you, so there’s some new pressure to become heavy and sweeping, to transcend, to ascend, to bare all.

But as the writer in this relationship, I need to actively resist that compulsion to justify. My occupation of the space on the page is swollen with obligation. The fact that I am writing about something I’ve thought and talked about a lot is enough to warrant that occupation.

Maybe refusal to justify is still a justification. Well, then. Whatever.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the task of occupying various spaces of my life— roles and relationships, but also what it means to craft representations of myself for other people to consume.

Thanks to distance, one of my most significant friendships has been rendered almost entirely Internet-based.

We exchange a great deal of instant messages about what this means. There is a

Lauren Feilich [editor].................................................................much ado about laurie Eliza Strong [managing].....................................................the importance of being eliza MC Bousquette.[music]......................................................................... a day in the life Megan Rise [film]................................................................................cellist on the roof Kathy Zhou [arts].............................................................................kat on a hot tin roof Eliza Bray.[photo].....................................................................who’s afraid of eliza bray Prashanth Kamalakanthan [online].....................................................................equus

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Maybe refusal to justify is still a justification. lot to pick apart in light of the fact that we’ve been understanding each other within boundaries set by websites. These chat boxes act as our medium, a sort of third-party that has some role in structuring how we talk.

What are the boundaries of composing an identity online? I’m trying to determine them while also attempting to expand them. Facebook itself is anything but marginal, and the sections of the profile and auto-selective news feed, however customizable, are restrictive. In terms of visual aesthetics, though, Facebook gives some space for your face or otherwise primary photo up on top, and there’s a place for your “cover photo.”

It’s a banner that acts as the first thing someone sees when they try to creep your profile, the millennial handshake.

As of this moment, I’ve have 74 cover photos. Some are related to bands I like to listen to, while others are bits of nice memories. A pretty landscape, a funny screencap, a painting. I see the cover photo album as a (compulsorily) public compilation of what looks good enough to see regularly and present next to my name, and my definition of “good” is appropriately flexible.

Occupying space as a woman, as a young person, as a human being in gen-

The Chronicle eral, can be terrifying. We are often told, directly and indirectly, that it is a bad idea to do so. Here’s my quasi-obligatory editor’s note call to arms: screw that. Say stuff, and say it exactly how you want to.

Take ownership of what you can control: your Twitter bio, your Tumblr theme, your cover photo. Fetishization of authenticity is kind of silly, but still, there’s something to be said for the unflinchingly genuine. Put yourself into every little part. Then write a didactic rant that’s actually aimed at yourself. It’s a different sphere of expression than the paper you just turned in for a grade, but it’s gravely important.

Fill the spaces given to you until they overflow. Find new ones and fill those, too. Stretch out and spill over.

Denounce the fear of being too much.

Maybe someone will tease you for changing your cover photo so often, but you don’t have to answer to them. You don’t have to justify a thing.

--Lauren Feilich

Online exclusives this week include but are not nearly limited to: The King’s Singers’ performance at Baldwin, music reviews galore, and at the blog, a look at downtown Durham’s Letters Bookshop and more of Prashanth’s Picks.

The Chronicle

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Asian American theater group hosts 24-hour play festival

by Kathy Zhou

SPECIAL TO THE CHRONICLE

The Chronicle

Starting on Saturday night, several students will write, direct and perform in a series of plays within the span of just 24 hours.

This Sunday at 8 p.m. in Sheafer Lab Theater, Duke Asian American Theater (DAAT) will perform the final products of their inaugural 24-Hour Play Festival. The student-run theater company is one that aims to promote awareness of the theater genre and increase opportunities and collaborations between Asian American students.

“I wanted Duke Asian American students to have the experience of expressing themselves through theater and making sure their voices are heard and their talents recognized,” Claire Conceison, professor of theater studies and Asian and Middle Eastern studies and faculty advisor for DAAT, said in an email.

The organization is new and was only officially recognized about a year ago. Conceison herself founded an Asian American theater group while she was an undergraduate at Wesleyan University. Two years ago, Conceison expressed in class that she hoped to see students at Duke do the same, and one of her students, Rachel Whitney, a senior studying mechanical engineering and minoring in theater studies, stepped forward to spearhead the initiative.

“I think that a lot of Asian Americans are interested in theater, but there just wasn’t really an outlet for them,” Whitney said. “I wanted to start this theater group to strengthen Asian Americans on campus through performance.”

Since then, DAAT has secured its place in the arts at Duke. It has thus far hosted discussions (actor James Saito visited last fall), co-sponsored an evening of scenes and held two publicly staged readings to get as many involved in the productions as possible.

Institutionally, Duke lacks an Asian American studies program or department, even though a fifth of the undergraduate popula-

tion identifies as Asian American. The lack of an academic resource (as well as a social resource, such as a space specified for Asian American students to gather) requires that students create their own organizations and opportunities. Groups like DAAT, along with the Asian Student Association or a major event like Lunar New Year, have helped to fill that gap.

Still, Duke reflects the wider pattern of lacking representation for Asian Americans in the arts. In terms of public expression at the university, Asian Americans are particularly underrepresented. Works by Asian and Asian American playwrights are rarely produced, and so their stories and narratives are often left untold or unexplored.

“Student and faculty directors at Duke do have open minds and want diverse casts,” Conceison said. “I think it’s important we make that as clear as possible to students by how we cast plays and what scripts and projects we choose to produce, and also by what we teach in our classes—making sure those courses include the narratives of Asians and Asian Americans.”

Asian American theater, as a genre, is broad and continually evolving. It is com-

prised of works by Asian American playwrights as well as the performance of nonAsian American plays by Asian American actors, who, as Conceison noted, are often not cast in “canonical” Western plays. Additionally, the genre increasingly incorporates pan-Asian and diasporic collaborations between American and Asian artists, extending to experimental art, dance and multimedia.

“A lot of plays don’t necessarily have parts available for Asian Americans, or Asian Americans aren’t normally cast as leads in musicals and plays in general,” said Whitney.

Whitney’s mother, who is Japanese American, was often typecast as an actress; in many of her roles, the character description simply read “Asian American.”

DAAT addresses and brings awareness of these larger conversations to the Duke campus by celebrating Asian American playwrights and encouraging Asian American student involvement. The group aims for inclusiveness and integration, forming a gateway for students of any background who have never participated in theater. Notably, it lays a foundation by which Asian American voices can be heard.

“Many Asian American playwrights write

about Asian American history. For example, most people know about the Japanese internment camps during WWII, but through a play, you really get a better sense of what life was like then,” Whitney explained. Her own grandparents met in one of these internment camps. “You’re learning Asian American history and at the same time can identify with the voices that are represented in the plays. You find yourself identifying with characters and learning about the history of Asian Americans living in the U.S. that you didn’t know as much about as you thought you did.”

DAAT’s next event, the 24-hour play festival, will be the first of its kind at Duke.

The festival involves a production of several short plays that are written, directed and performed within the span of 24-hours, after which a performance is staged. Those participating and those watching will have no idea of the content. “[The 24-hour play festival] thrives on creativity and collaboration,” Conceison said. “The participants will have a theater experience that is totally new and different, and the audience will see new talent and a new theater format.”

The 24-hour play festival is ideal in that it requires little advanced preparation but still engages several students, experienced or not, as playwrights, directors and actors.

It fosters a space for diverse student voices to be heard and expressed in a live setting, and DAAT hopes to make the 24-hour play festival an annual tradition.

“I hope that more people are aware of DAAT,” Whitney said. “It’s a learning experience…and it’ll definitely be very entertaining. They ultimate goal is that everyone enjoys themselves and are excited to get more involved in theater.”

The Duke Asian American Theater 24-Hour Play Festival will be Sun., February 23, at 8 p.m. in Sheafer Lab Theater. General seating is $5 and student admission is free. Tickets are available in advance at the box office.

On Whitman and the Recess Interviews: verses of Internet poetry SNL writer Laura Valk

By Katie Fernelius The Chronicle

The first edition of “Leaves of Grass” was published in 1855 and did not include the author’s name on the cover page, but rather a frontispiece of Walt Whitman in working-class garb and a titled hat, hands tucked into his pockets. This claim of authorship answers the question, “Who wrote this?” not with a formal name, but with a semblance of tangibility. Later editions would include his name on the cover, but always his nickname, “Walt,” as opposed to his birth name, “Walter.” Whitman attempted to undermine the social constructions for labeling his own identity in relation to his work, and, in doing so, created a new iteration for the role of the poet.

In revisiting my own edition of “Leaves of Grass,” which features an image of an older Whitman, I can’t help but be reminded of social media profiles. Like the cover page of Whitman’s collection, profiles often contain an image of the user alongside their username, a declaration of identity in an informal manner: this is who I am. In Homer’s “The Iliad,” characters are introduced with epithets and elongated descriptions of their lineage, but with the prominence of social media, I am more likely to identify my friends online by their Twitter handle than by their legal name.

However, this new form of identification does not defy social conventions, but

Katie Fernelius/THE CHRONICLE

replaces one conventional format with another. The notion that 160 characters, a collection of ‘likes’ or a profile picture can encompass the entirety of someone’s identity is as incomplete as is expecting an epithet to. Yet, these new formats are ripe with the same opportunity to redefine that was present in the frontispiece image of Whitman.

Steve Roggenbuck (@steveroggenbuck) has a presence online that evokes the same spirit as Whitman. On his self-named website, he introduces himself with a YouTube video of his poetry manifesto and a selfie with the assertion, “im steve roggenbuck!!”

It is near impossible for any mention of his name not to spur a mental image of him posing in front of his mirror, hoodie peekSee Staff NOte, page 4

Laura Valk (T’13) returned to Duke over the weekend of February 14. Recess editor MC Bousquette spoke with Valk about her work with Saturday Night Live, life as a young singersongwriter in New York City and advice for Duke seniors.

The Chronicle: Can you describe your job search process and how you ended up at Saturday Night Live?

Laura Valk: It’s all about networking.

Honestly, I wasn’t all that concerned with the job search process my senior year. You hear it time and time again, but it really is true that securing a job in the entertainment and media industry before graduation is near impossible. With that in mind, I spent my senior spring making connections rather than searching for specific job opportunities. One of those connections was my mom’s friend’s friend, who happened to work at the production company behind SNL. I flew to New York in February to meet with her, and we talked about all the possible career paths in the industry. I actually left thinking I would become an NBC page to gain industry experience.

Well, the Page Program didn’t pan out, but four months later, I get a call from her that two spots at SNL had opened up. She passed along my resume, I had both some good and some bad interviews, but ultimately I pulled it together, leveraged my network and landed a spot here.

TC: So, what is it actually like to work

for SNL? What is your best memory so far from your job?

LV: Every day is different, every day is an adventure and I’m loving every minute of it.

The environment around the office is pretty reminiscent of college in a lot of ways. You’re surrounded by great people, working ridiculously late nights and joking around the entire time. In addition to my set schedule as a writer’s assistant, helping coordinate writing sessions between the cast, writers and producers, I tackle a lot of odd jobs as well, which makes every day quite unpredictable. Each week is like a six-day long marathon, but I still get chills every Saturday night when the band starts playing that legendary SNL jam and we’ve made it to the finish line—at least until Monday when we start the whole thing over again.

As for my best memory, that would have to be Seth Meyer’s surprise going away party.

I was tasked with putting the whole shindig together, so I had a crazy week of calling vendors, organizing decorations and tracking various people down. Surprisingly I managed to avoid any major catastrophes, and the party turned out to be such a blast. There was no better feeling than watching the cast, writers and staff all come together to celebrate the career of one of SNL’s legends. Everyone let loose and the night ended in a crazy dance party. That was a pretty surreal time.

For the full interview, see www.dukechronicle.com/recess.

STAFF NOTE

the Chronicle

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from page 3

ing over his ears as he holds his phone in his hands. roggenbuck’s poetry, which like Whitman transcends a singular characteristic format, includes YouTube videos, Tweets, Vines and even books.

What is most astounding about rogggenbuck’s online presence is that he is just one example of many efforts to define both the poet and poetry in the digital age. Sites like InTerneT POeTrY and The Jogging feature creative works in Internet formats, such as screenshots, Tweets, Google searches or memes. In doing so, these sites facilitate new possibilities for formats typically used to display and a trivialities; they introduce poetry into the realm of the Internet.

Moreover, they introduce the contemporary poet into the realm of the Internet. A cursory glance at the InTerneT POeTrY site reveals that authorship is no longer cited by legal name, but by Tumblr Url. Clicking on these various Urls reveals hundreds of different authors who define themselves in a multitude of ways—by usernames, by images, by preferences,

KATIE FERNELIuS/THE CHRONICLE

by locations and by generation.

I am excited by the possibilities of these poets and their poetry. In browsing through my social media feeds, or exploring different corners of the Internet, Internet poetry pops up to challenge me to reflect and engage in novel ways. roggenbuck also feels similarly inspired by both Whitman and the possibilities of the Internet. In his video manifesto, “An InTerneT BArD AT lAST!!! (ArS POeTICA),” he states, “Walt makes you step back and say the world is wonderful, this whole thing that is going on is wonderful.

Pay attention to what is going on with life. When Walt Whitman did that to me, there was a fire lit up inside of me, from

then on, that is my purpose in life, to bring that about in other people, to point my finger at the moon for other people. The Internet is the most effective finger pointing at the moon that we have ever had.”

In revisiting Whitman, I can’t help but feel like he might agree: “The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists, and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.”

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Angel Olsen is demanding. She’s bound only to herself and her art, and that is made clear in her emotionally wrought sophomore album, “Burn Your Fire For no Witness.” The album is intensely personal and lonesome, yet throughout, Olsen’s commanding vocals, set over wispy acoustic guitar and reverberating garage-rock verve, waltz in the face of sorrow.

In her first track, ‘Unf**ktheworld,’ Olsen murmurs, “I quit my dreaming the moment that I found you / I started dancing just to be around you.” She’s imploring in her confession. Her voice remains modest as her distinctive warble carries over a subdued guitar strumming. We’re hit, immediately, by her songwriting, which is as sincere and moving as ever.

“Are you lonely, too?” Olsen then asks. She pulls at us, beckoning us into the uptempo ‘Hi-Five,’ a careening declaration of loneliness. Olsen’s verses have the relaxed, gauzy feel of someone who’s been lonely for a long time—someone who’s familiar with being alone. When we get to the chorus, she gets punchy, emphatic over the gritty guitar verve and swaggering drums. It’s a surprisingly catchy song for one that’s about finding companionship in a long-lived aloneness. We get that same sort of juxtaposition in the rampant ‘High & Wild.’ The track is carousing, with a persistent upbeat feel. The lyrics are harsher and a bit accusatory, but she still maintains the wistful streak that courses throughout the album: “If only if only / I had nothing more to say.”

‘Dance Slow Decades’ is reminiscent of a twangier Sharon van etten, with the same heartfelt lyricism, swirling electric guitar and gradual buildups. Olsen’s timbre is the most affecting here as it veers through a hazy, wavering soundscape. We’re lost in a sweeping back-and-forth; she brings her muted dialogue through penetrating refrains into a pure, sustained note. Her voice eventually fades away, lost in the atmospheric whirling of resounding guitar and far-off drums.

Angel Olsen is at once fiery and delicate, gentle and unapologetic. “Burn Your Fire For no Witness” is honest in its heartbreak. We’re rallied into something broken, into Olsen’s unruly tenuousness. Her final track, ‘Windows,’ burns slowly. The vocals are in a higher register, and each line blends sweetly into the minimal instrumentals. The song is fragile, ending the album on the same tone with which it began. It aches, but it reaches out to comfort, to lift. The sound is ghostly, hinting at a conversation within. She’s persuading—almost begging—as she asks, “Won’t you open up a window sometime?” By the end, her graceful swoons grow insistent. The snare drum sounds ready to shatter, and Olsen builds us up until we fall back, together, back into the same exquisite yearning: “There’s nothing wrong with the light.” The song ends with a soft up-note, balanced precariously on a streak of hope.