Issue 46 by tastemakers

The Music of Oppression | 18

Process

is the

Product

The Value of Big vs Small Shows | 48

northeastern students on music

A look into Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth

Safer Spaces | 30

The

No 46

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The Team

President David McDevitt

Staff Writers Emily Arntsen Kendall Avenia Allison Bako Spencer Bateman Joseph Bondi Justine Cowan Reid Flynn Nikolas Greenwald Helen Hennessey Quinton Hubbell Zac Kerwin Sarah Kotowski Jason Levy Raquel Massoud John McGill Christopher Miller Joanna Moore Emmett Neidhart Liam Numrich Taylor Piepenbrink Jonas Polin Seth Queeney Matt Schüler Tanvi Sehgal Craig Short Kelly Subin Christian Triunfo Alex Trzaskowski Jonathan Vayness Alex Wetzel

Editor in Chief Joey Dussault Art Directors Colleen Curtis Madisen Hackley Promotions Director Rami McCarthy

Staff Features Editor Terence Cawley Reviews Editors Tim DiFazio Peter Giunta Interviews Editor Mayeesha Galiba Web Curator Anu Gulati Photo Director Nola Chen Social Media Directors Hannah Crotty Sarah Keneipp

Promotions Stacy Andryshak Ingrid Angulo Jacob Aubertine Sofia Benitez Julia Boll Scott Breece Dash Dell’Imperio Nikita Goyal Emily Grinberg Emily Harris Helen Hennessey Erin Hensley Jae Lee Evelyn Liu Navin Mani Isabella Miele Patrick Milne Taylor Poehlman Kylie Ponce Jake Poulios Jane Slaughter

Photography Tajwar Ahad Emily Arntsen Amanda Barr Jason Crouse Hannah Drabin Madisen Hackley Jordon Halteman Sebastian Herforth Art & Design Abigail Manos Allison Bako Elice Ongko Brooke Dunahugh Rio Asch Phoenix Vanessa Gregorchik Shannon Pires Jenny Kang Derek Schuster Cammy Kuo Lauren Scornavacca Dan Mondschein Nicole Service Bianca Rabbie McKenna Shuster McKenna Shuster Lydia Tavera Anna Smith Sara Trosky

Meet the Staff

About Mayeesha Galiba Position Interviews Editor Major Political Science/ Journalism Graduating Spring 2019 Favorite Venue The Fillmore, San Francisco Tastemaker Since 2015

Joey Dussault Position Editor in Chief Major Journalism/Music Industry Graduating Spring 2017 Favorite venue The Sinclair Tastemaker Since 2012

Liam Numrich Position Staff Writer Major Environmental Science Graduating 2018 Favorite venue House of Blues Tastemaker Since Fall 2016

Listening to

Moose Blood I’ll Keep You In Mind, From Time to Time The Maine And a Happy New Year

Quote

“It’s going to be a sexy Joey party”

Childish Gambino “Awaken, My Love!”

Pinegrove “Aphasia”

“Veto.”

Jeff Rosenstock Worry. 12 Rods Gay?

The Waterboys Fisherman’s Blues

“Slow ride... take it easy”

Neil Young Harvest Echo & the Bunnymen Echo & the Bunnymen

Colleen Curtis & Madisen Hackley

Mo Lowda & the Humble Act Accordingly

Position Art Directors Major Design Graduating 20?? Favorite Venue The Sinclair; Fox Theater, Oakland, CA Tastemaker Since Spring 2016; Fall 2015

Dum Dum Girls Only In Dreams Vince Staples Prima Donna Blood Orange Freetown Sound

“We exist”

Phantogram, House of Blues

Photo by Rio Phoenix (Media Arts)

Table of Contents Cover Story

The Process is the Product Sarah Kotowski walks us through Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth

Editorial

Features

Album Reviews

Show Reviews

Leonard Cohen, A Tribe Called Quest, Terror Jr, The Weeknd

Pet Shop Boys, Yellowcard, Jeff Rosenstock, Fitz and the Tantrums

12 24 38

Etcetera

17 26

Discography Tastemakers’ Anu Gulati makes a case for Lil’ Wayne, “the greatest rapper alive”

Calendar

Local Photos

A Public Menace to Public Service

Cover Art The bad, the ugly and the surprisingly decent

How a time-honored tradition lost its impact

The Devil & God Are Raging Inside Me: 10 Years Later

Dead Pets Society On music’s most beloved animal companions

Stage Craziness A brief history of stadium-sized spectacle

The Music of Oppression Christian Triunfo explores the function of music under authoritarian regimes

Safer Spaces

User’s Guide to Dark World

Concepts in K-Pop

The Value of Big vs Small Shows

The Boy Who Cried Encore

Mayeesha Galiba offers a retrospective on Brand New’s magnum opus

In Defense Of Audioslave’s Audioslave

The impossible music that wants to break your computer

Aging punk rockers channel their rage into philanthropy

Reviews

Black Midi

An exploration of inclusivity in the DIY community

Deep within the suburban jungle of Western Mass., there looms a strange collective waiting to take over the Boston hip-hop scene

Inside the theme-driven world of Korean pop music

We asked our writers which live experiences they prefer

Calendar January Su

Sun Drifter O’Brien’s Pub

Title Fight The Sinclair

Beastle Blue Hill Bank Pavilion

Leon Trout Thunder Road

Big Thief Brighton Music Hall

Sarah Blacker Club Passim

Squirrel Nut Zippers The Sinclair

Jonathan Biss & Miriam Fried Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

Reel Big Fish, Anti-Flag , Anti-Flag, and Ballyhoo! House of Blues

Meg Baird The Center for Arts at the Armory

Atlast Lab The Middle East Downstairs

Circa Survive and mewithoutYou House of Blues Forth Wanderers and Half Waif Great Scott

Kings of Leon & Deerhunter TD Garden

Guster Paradise Rock Club

Plaid The Sinclair

Cherry Glazerr The Middle East Downstairs

Bash & Pop and The So So Glos Great Scott

Josh Lekas The Middle East Downstairs

Public Access T.V Great Scott

Perturbator ONCE Ballroom

Caspian Royale

Rye Pines, Pines,Font FontHan Han and Bilge Rat O’Briens’s Pub

TV Girl The Middle East Downstairs

Adam Ant Wilbur Theatre

Tokyo Police Club and Charly Bliss The Sinclair

Basecamp and Lauv Great Scott

Phox and Cuddle Magic Brighton Music Hall

Warren Haynes Haynes and and Michael McDonald Orpheum Theatre

Isaiah Rashad The Sinclair

Cloud Nothings Paradise Rock Club

Rockommends

Meg Baird January 10 @ The Center for Arts at the Armory

Phox January 27 @ Brighton Music Hall

San Francisco-based Yellowcard is finally calling Meg Baird it quits visits after the more Armory San Francisco-based on sabbatical fromMeg the Baird erraticvisits psych-rock the Armory of on sabbatical Heron Oblivion. fromHer the2015 erratic solo psych-rock record Don’t of Weigh Heron Oblivion. Down the Her Light2015 is assolo true record to her seminal /Don’t Weigh freak folk Down the Light/ project Espers is asastrue ever, toand herpromises seminal freak a near-astral folk project Espers channeling of her asmore ever, British and promises folk influences. a near-astral Come channeling out for the folk of her literacy moreofBritish Shirleyfolk Collins influences. crystalized Come in the cosmic out for wonderment the folk literacy of Baird’s of Shirley vocals. Collins crystalized in the cosmic wonderment of Baird’s vocals. Peter Giunta (Biology)

In their relatively short time as a band, Phox, also known as “The Little Wisconsin Band That Could,” has earned praise from music authorities such as All Songs Considered’s Bob Boilen and producer/musician Justin Vernon (Bon Iver). Their shows are intimate yet powerful, and are a great way to break up those mid-winter blues.

By Peter Giunta (Biology)

Helen Hennessey(Music) Helen Hennessey (Music Industry)

February

you can view the calendar online at: http://tastemakersmag.com/calendar

Great Good Fine Ok Brighton Music Hall

P. O. S The Sinclair

White Lies The Middle East Downstairs

Priests and Halfsour Great Scott

Red Hot Chili Peppers TD Garden

Drive-By Truckers Royale

Lady Lamb The Sinclair

Noam Pikelny and Anais Mitchell Sanders Theatre

GWELL-O

Radiator Hospital Great Scott

The Middle East Upstairs

Lemuria, Mikey Erg and Cayetana The Sinclair

Laura Mvula The Sinclair

Less Than Jake and Pepper House of Blues

Cecile McLorin Salvant and Aaron Diehl

Frank Turner &

Berklee Performance Center

The Sleeping Souls Agganis Arena

Rick Astley House of Blues

Tove Lo and Phoebe Ryan House of Blues

Japandroids Royale

John Mark McMillan

David Duchovny Wilbur Theatre

Ms. LaurynHill Ms.Lauryn Hill Wang Theatre

Run The Jewels

George Clinto & ParliamentFunkadelic House of Blues

Wilbur Theatre

House of Blues Black Joe Lewish & The Honeybears The Middle East Downstairs

The Griswolds The Sinclair

Colony House The Sinclair

You Blew It!, All Get Out, and Free Throw The Sinclair

Rose Cousins Club Passim

Lady Lamb February 10 @ The Sinclair

Japandroids February 20 @ Royale

Lady Lamb, the lovelorn storytelling powerhouse project of Maine-native Aly Spaltro, is going on a living room tour in support of her new EP: Tender /Tender Warriors Club. Club/.Fortunately Fortunatelyfor foryou, you,her herBoston Bostondate date isn’t in a living room – it’s at The Sinclair! So twist your hips, crane your neck, and be thankful you don’t have to sit on someone’s weird couch.

Japandroids, that dynamic duo of combustible Canadians, have have finally finally awoken awoken from from their three-year their three-year slumber, slumber, and they and return they to the return tolife touring the bearing touringthe lifegift bearing of a new thealbum, gift of aNear new to album, the Wild Heart of /Near Life. If the to the title Wild track Heart is any of Life/. indication, If thethat title new trackalbum’s is any going to be indication, as chock-full that of new explosive album’s rock going glorytoas bethe as first chock-full two were, of and you’re explosive not gonnarock wantglory to miss as the thefirst opportunity two were,toand hear you’re thosenot songs in their gonna want intended setting: to miss a dark the opportunity club full of sweaty to hearbelievers. those songs Opening in is the their who man intended almost setting: single-handedly a dark clubput full the of sweaty rock back believers. in indie rock, Opening Craig Finn, is the withman his new whoband almost The single-handedly Uptown Controllers. put the rock back in indie rock, Craig Finn, with his new band The Uptown Controllers. Terence Cawley (Biology)

By Reid Flynn (Accounting) By Reid Flynn (Accounting)

Terence Cawley (Biology)

Editorial

The Impossible Music that Wants to Break Your Computer

Spring 2016

In 1981, several audio companies – Roland, Yamaha, Korg, Kawai, Oberheim and Sequential Circuits – joined forces to develop a new way to sync different electronic musical instruments together. Just one year later, they had their new standard: the Musical Instrument Digital Interface, or MIDI. Today, MIDI is mostly used as a compositional tool, feeding digital synthesizers the information necessary to play the right notes at the right time. MIDI technology has also been instrumental in reducing album production costs in the 21st century. What the creators of MIDI did not anticipate, however, was that the technology would someday pave the way for a subversive new style of electronic music: black MIDI. Black MIDI composers, also known as “blackers,” compete and collaborate to create extreme compositions of music using MIDI software. Named after the total blackness of a page covered in musical notes, black MIDI tests the limits of what computers can do and what music can be. By overloading the MIDI protocol, blackers generate digital and musical “artifacts” out of traditional music compositions. In other words, these files are huge: “Necrofantasia” by Gingaes has

upward of 950 million notes in it. That piece, and many others like it, has been deemed impossible to play by most computers. That’s why black MIDI has also earned the nickname “impossible music” – in some cases, it simply cannot be played. The limits of music performance have shifted dramatically over the last century. Some claim that black MIDI gets its roots from Conlon Nancarrow’s use of the player piano in the late 1940s. The player piano, a device which automatically plays preprogrammed music from perforated paper rolls, had been used for 50 years as a novelty item for the wealthy. But Nancarrow saw it as something more – he used the player piano to write music that was not performable by flesh-and-blood musicians. Often employing multiple rhythms and timing systems on top of each other, Nancarrow pushed music outside the realm of what composers thought was possible. It was a bout of digital thinking in a distinctly non-digital age. Black MIDI, which began in the late 1980s, is composed with digital audio workstations (DAWs). Some blackers experiment with the visual aspect of production, using millions of notes to draw

pictures in the score. Others overload their DAWs to generate unexpected noise and distortion – in some cases, this “digital artifacting” is the actual focus of the music. Overloading systems to create distortion is not a new idea; black MIDI simply takes it to a new level. Here, overloading becomes the cornerstone of the genre. It’s synthesis by distortion. Perhaps the most interesting ideology behind black MIDI is the repurposing of old systems for new uses. By subverting one application, blackers can create an entirely new form of art that defies our accepted criteria for music. Some blackers, such as TheTrustedComputer, say black MIDI has more in common with remixing than actual music composition. Others challenge that notion, arguing that black MIDI is a genre of its own, grown from an organic subcommunity of musicians and digital artists. What’s certain is that black MIDI is a boldly new idea that has already made waves in the digital music community.

• Spencer Bateman (Computer Science/ Music)

Editorial

What if we were to embrace anger? What if instead of using deep breathing exercises to get it out of us, we held onto anger and saw where it took us? In a sense, that’s what punk rock is.

Spring 2016

Traditional rhetoric categorizes anger as bad. We are taught not to get angry, or at least not to display our anger, from a young age. Anti-anger sentiment is so strong that it’s even a featured theme in “Star Wars.” In the series, Yoda explains that the path to the dark side more or less begins with anger with his line, “Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” But what if we were to embrace anger? What if instead of using deep breathing exercises to get it out of us, we held onto anger and saw where it took us? In a sense, that’s what punk rock is. Punk rock is rooted in anger. Punk rock is anger at the system, at parents and at inequality, unleashed by music. The members of punk rock bands in the 1980s were angry young kids, and some of those angry kids have become angry middle-aged adults. Just as punk has always been fueled by anger, it has also always been political. Many punk rock scenes have been politically and charitably active since their creation. For those less familiar with the punk ethos,

pairing slam dancing with food drives or political action may seem like a stretch, but with just a little ideological background it makes sense. The bedrock of most local punk and hardcore scenes is a ‘do it yourself’ (DIY) precedent. Bands are encouraged to form organically, organize their own shows, do their own recordings and make their own merch, all for the sake of existing outside of corporate control. With the DIY attitude as their North Star, it makes sense that punks take it upon themselves to fix the problems they may see out in the world. Most original punk rockers no longer slam dance, but many of them are still dedicated philanthropists. One of these dedicated philanthropists and anger advocates is ex-Black Flag frontman Henry Rollins. Rollins started his artistic career in the Washington D.C. punk scene of the early ‘80s, where he found a community of other angry young people. In an interview with Phi Centre, Rollins explained that with punk rock his “anger had a focus and a backbeat.” A considerable portion of Rollins’ anger was rooted in his relationship with his racist, sexist and homophobic father. What did Rollins do with that rage? First, he vowed never to share his father’s views, then he did one better and started campaigning for equal rights. In opposition to his father’s bigoted views, Rollins is an active supporter of gay rights. In addition to hosting the WedRock benefit for marriage equality in 2004, Rollins gave his own explanation as to why Americans may be opposed to marriage equality in a “Big Think” video with over one million views. The fear of gay marriage, Rollins explains, is that, “you’re giving these people equality. And that’s the biggest fear that people in power have: that you’ll get some

too.” The DIY ethos of punk is all about using your agency to create power, so Rollins’s determination to grant power to downtrodden groups is consistent with his ‘80s punk origin. Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea credits the band class at his public high school with giving him a reason to show up every day. After his success with the Chili Peppers, Flea was asked to talk at his old public high school in L.A. It was at this visit that he found that his beloved music program had fallen victim to budget cuts. In an extremely DIY punk move, Flea decided to create his own music program. The Silverlake Conservatory was founded in 2001 and has taught countless children, many of whom are on need-based academic scholarships. The school provides oneon-one lessons, instruments to kids that need them, ensemble classes and areas for performances: in short, everything that Flea himself benefitted from as a child. Flea’s instinct to go around the system rather than wrestle with it is very reminiscent of the scene he helped found in his adolescence. He knew what he wanted, he found the means to make it happen and he did it.

While it is easy to focus on the male legacy of punk rock, the Riot Grrl movement created a powerful female music scene that continues today. Riot Grrl was started in the Pacific Northwest as a reaction to the male-dominated music scene. The women of the movement channeled their anger and frustration to create a safe environment for female expression. In the ‘80s and ‘90s, the Riot Grrl movement hosted festivals and concerts featuring female bands like Bikini Kill, Sleater-Kinney and Heavens to Betsy who used their platform to bring awareness to female-centric social justice. While only a few bands from the movement are currently active, the legacy of Riot Grrl lives on. Like Flea, the women of the Riot Grrl movement wanted young girls to get involved with music. The Girls Rock Camp Alliance was started in 2007 in Portland, Oregon and provides a space for young girls to express themselves and gain confidence through music. The male dominance of the music business may be due to a certain boy’s club tradition, but the lack of female power in underground scenes is due to a societal disenfranchisement of women, namely girls growing up without the

Flea’s instinct to go around the system rather than wrestle with it is very reminiscent of the scene he helped found in his adolescence. He knew what he wanted, he found the means to make it happen and he did it.

same support as boys. Girls Rock and their associated groups are dedicated to reversing that trend by giving girls a break from societal standards and allowing them to focus on their own power. The precedent of action set by the DIY punk movements fostered an attitude against apathy that bled into the post-punk lives of its members. One of the original punk philanthropy projects is Washington D.C.’s Positive Force. This collective bloomed alongside D.C. punk bands like Fugazi and Bad Brains, organizing protests, food drives and social justice education in the nation’s capital and beyond. Positive Force is still active today, and has recently started to organize protests against the impending Trump presidency. Among the usual activist meetings and marches, Positive Force has also brought press to the youth movements against Trump. The group has shared information and reports on the walkouts staged by both Montgomery County and D.C. public schools, and by doing so has united the rising activists with the old ones. We are in a unique spot in history in which activism is not just a young man’s game. Generation X is responsible for the DIY and socially conscious movements of the ‘80s and ‘90s that have clearly led to a life-long passion for action against oppression. The middle-aged activist population, combined with the millennial generation, stands to be a force to be reckoned with if we can learn to play to each other’s strengths. • Helen Hennessey (Music Industry)

Cover Art Editorial

The Bad, the Ugly & the Surprisingly Decent

In a time where most entertainment is just a few clicks away, instant gratification is more crucial than ever. Perhaps that’s why cover art, which is generally the first point of exposure for a listener, is still so important. It may seem contradictory to the idea of music as an auditory experience, but that immediate visual impact can influence the listener’s perception of the album as a whole. With that in mind, here are three great records that missed the mark with their artwork, and three more whose covers overshot the quality of the music.

WEEZER WEEZER (THE BLUE ALBUM)

THE CURE THREE IMAGINARY BOYS Three Imaginary Boys is an exceptional introduction to the mind and talent of frontman Robert Smith. The Cure’s debut features a mix of simple, glitzy synth-rock power ballads, each highlighted by Smith’s emotive touch – here, the singer sounds perpetually on the brink of collapsing under the world’s weight and expectations. Three Imaginary Boys is an accessible record, lacking the darkness of later offerings, but still succeeds in showcasing what made the band unique. But what do these three unrelated appliances add? Are they a sign of the drab activities of everyday life? Is Smith pained at the lack of storage space in that mini-fridge? Is there a relation between the three boys and three machines? The world may never care to find out.

Spring 2016

I hate hate hate when bands use posed pictures of themselves for covers. It was boring when the Beatles did it on Help!, and it certainly didn’t get better with any of Weezer’s later offenses – the Green Album, Make Believe, Red Album and White Album, respectively. But Weezer’s debut greatly exceeds the rest in musical quality. The Blue Album is a cornerstone of ’90s power-pop. Packed with jams like “Buddy Holly” and “Say It Ain’t So,” the album rocketed Weezer to instant stardom and brought geek-chic to the mainstream. Unfortunately, all the cover tells you is that Rivers Cuomo and Co. were awkward in front of the camera when they were young, just like the rest of us.

THE MAGNETIC FIELDS 69 LOVE SONGS Standing tall at 2 hours and 52 minutes, this mammoth of a love letter is nothing if not eccentric. The love song formula has been worn over so many times since the dawn of popular music that it has become hard to pick one apart from another. But 69 Love Songs breaks that barrier, weaving unabashedly sexual tales seamlessly with heartwarming ballads that could make the most cold-hearted listener melt into their chair. It’s a wonder the cover is so bland. The record’s content evokes longing so easily that nearly any cover piece related to passion and human contact at all would mesh fine (see Bloc Party’s Intimacy). But hey, sexy numbers are cool too.

...and the reverse NAS STILLMATIC

TEEN SUICIDE BAD VIBES FOREVER Teen Suicide lives and dies in lo-fi. In recent ventures, such as 2016’s It’s the Big Joyous Celebration, Let’s Stir the Honeypot, the band found a balance with lush instrumentation. But on Bad Vibes Forever, the Baltimorebased quartet seemed set on condensing their sound as deep into the tin can recording aesthetic as possible. Despite its reverbdrenched charm, Bad Vibes Forever falls short against later releases. The cover, however, perfectly mirrors the album’s nostalgic quality. Though the still of a skater riding off into the sunset is a tad cliché, it matches the S A D B O Y mentality perfectly.

MILEY CYRUS MILEY CYRUS AND HER DEAD PETZ Please hear me out: This is not a good album. The sight of Miley’s face, completely drenched in glittery goo, probably hasn’t changed too many minds about that. But this cover, however off-putting, perfectly encompasses the music within. It isn’t an appealing image – in fact, it’s disgustingly bright. But it evokes the sugar-coated, bubblegum pop industry that milked everything possible out of young artists like Miley. The cover, perhaps along with its title, is a statement that Miley may be too old to continue to live off that parasitic relationship, but hasn’t yet found where else to turn. It’s gross, but it grabs the attention of the viewer immediately. If only the music were as effective.

Oh baby, this has everything: horrible use of photoshop, a garish bright orange velvet tracksuit, an awkward crouching Nas and the most unnecessary use of a pigeon the photography world has ever seen. Stillmatic was the New York rapper’s attempt at returning to the limelight following a string of subpar releases in the mid-to-late ’90s. Backed by a prolific beef with Jay-Z, Nas seemed to have everything he needed for a glorious rebirth on this record – and it worked, to an extent. The album itself featured decent production and a few hot bars scattered throughout its far-too-long 56-minute runtime, but is dominated by dull filler tracks and a constant reminder that Nas is not as ’matic as he once was. But this art? Legendary.

• Matt Schüler (Environmental Science)

Album Reviews

Leonard Cohen You Want It Darker Release Date October 21 Label Columbia Genre Singer/Songwriter Tasty Tracks “You Want It Darker,” “Treaty,” Reviews Spring 2016

“Seemed the Better Way” You can hear the whole world in Leonard Cohen’s voice. His gravelly, profound bass has reached depths that feel nothing short of superhuman. It trembles with a rugged power, creating a force which drives the otherwise minimalistic You Want It Darker to become the perfect capstone to Cohen’s career. The loss of a figure like Cohen will always be mitigated in some way by his legacy. Cohen’s music will be appreciated for decades to come, and in some ways it feels more appropriate to analyze him in memoriam than in life. After all, he has always sounded eternal. His lyrics, with deep roots in Western mythology and fundamental human experience, hold together in a way that makes them feel like they’ve always existed, with Cohen simply serving as the vessel. On You Want It Darker, we can hear that vessel start to crack. The sharpening of his edges, however, only strengthens the foundation. The intense timbre of Cohen’s voice is backed by sparse instrumentation, but he fills the space with ease. On the title track, his weathered talk-singing overtakes a solitary driving bass line, building through religious bargaining to a final exclamation: “I’m ready, my Lord.” His backup singers, who are, in an unusual change of pace, male, take on the role of worshippers with Cohen as their priest. In a way befitting their Gregorian devotion, his prayer is one of submission, delivered to a frightening God who gives permission “to murder and to maim”. When Cohen and his disciples “kill the flame”, it’s because that is exactly what they’ve come to believe their deity wants.

We publish album reviews online too! tastemakersmag.com

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This pained relationship with the divine permeates the album. “Treaty” finds Cohen alone with a staccatoed orchestra, professing his desire for surrender and alienation with earthly pleasures. It also includes his signature conflation of religion and sex — the song feels at times addressed to God and at times addressed to a lover. Love is clearly on his mind, though, for at this point the album becomes explicitly romantic. “On the Level” is one of only two tracks to include the female backup singers that have been present throughout Cohen’s career — a striking change from 2014’s Popular Problems, where they were prominent on every song. But instead of convening with them, he is bidding them farewell, admitting that he has finally “turned his back on” the temptations of the flesh. These backup singers also provide the chorus to “Travelling Light”, an ode to a love that could have been — perhaps inspired by the death of Cohen’s lasting muse Marianne Ihsen.

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Cohen’s separation from his backup singers speaks to a larger sense of disconnect. In “Seemed the Better Way”, he bitterly doubts the teachings of his youth. “Sounded like the truth / But it’s not the truth today”, the chorus growls. The subject of this dubiousness is unclear. Is Cohen referring to his disgraced Buddhist master Sasaki Roshi? His complex relationship with his Jewish faith? Or has he abandoned the careful sagaciousness of his recent work? Ultimately, the point is not whom or what he is doubting but the fact that he’s still unsure. Despite decades of philosophizing, at the end of his life, Cohen feels as lost as anyone else. His message may be eternal, but the preacher is painfully human.

Tim DiFazio (English)

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A Tribe Called Quest We Got It From Here... Thank You 4 Your Service Release Date November 11 Label Epic Records Genre Hip Hop Tasty Tracks “The Space Program,” “Black Spasmodic,” “Conrad Tokyo” A Tribe Called Quest came of age at a time when hip-hop suddenly became albumoriented. Driven largely by the ambition and musical reach of the Native Tongues posse itself, ‘90s hip-hop expanded beyond the art of leaving your mark on a track and into new quests for individuality, honest expression, and an eclectic musical palate. Within this movement, Tribe emerged in the early ‘90s as a group that embodied the genre’s new goals without abandoning any of its underlying philosophy. Their beats were famously catchy, bass-heavy, and rough around the edges, all while still serving as rap’s gateway to jazz. They rapped about social injustice that entered their daily lives without allowing their awareness overpower the music. They were focused on character development and growth, yet never wrote self-absorbed lyrics. Hip-hop under Tribe’s influence, then, became an art that was totally in step with

the lives of its artists, and demanded an open mind of its listeners as it evolved — classic hip-hip projects were highly mood-based and ingrained in a particular moment in the life of the artist. With this in mind, Tribe’s longawaited comeback, We Got It From Here… Thank You 4 Your Service can be thought of as a piece of music divorced from expectation despite how highly anticipated an album it was. With the help of long-time collaborators Busta Rhymes and Consequence, along with a musically diverse group of musicians working with them for the first time, Tribe was able to create a musically rich and lyrically engaging document of this moment in their lives which stands on its own and holds up to their highly regarded early work. The mood of this album? Reality has settled in, and 2016 was not the future that Tribe imagined for themselves 25 years ago. At times cold and heartless (“The Killing Season”), at times frustrating beyond articulation (“Mobius”), at times both sad and hilarious (“Ego”), the picture that Q-Tip, Phife and Jarobi paint of their world is as comprehensive and as contradictory as they have ever portrayed it. This makes the music on the album as multidimensional and intimately human as ever. In the wake of Phife Dawg’s recent passing (before the album was completed) and the uncertain political climate of the past election season, it is a work that deals with not just pain itself but our response to pain. The injustice that we see in this world may put Kendrick in a rage and eulogize tomorrow (“Conrad Tokyo”), but it emboldens Phife Dawg to tell you that this is the time to act (“The Space Program”). Tribe is an act that has long been committed to personal growth and musical excellence, and on this release, they deliver on all fronts. Thank You 4 Your Service amounts to a heartbreaking yet heartwarming tale of 2016 on the paths of funk and rhythm.

Alex Trzaskowski (Civil Engineering)

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Terror Jr Bop City Release Date October 21 Label EFFESS Genre Pop Tasty Tracks “Three Strikes,” “Little White Bars,” “Say So” Terror Jr seemed to materialize overnight, dropping their first song, “Three Strikes”, on a commercial for Kylie Jenner’s cosmetic line, with no digital footprint of their existence before the release. The trio consists of the two producers behind Kiiara’s “Gold” as well as a singer, who has kept her identity hidden, using the alias Lisa (although many speculate that the singer is in fact Jenner). Calling themselves a “social experiment,” Bop City marks the group’s first trial, and the results are surprisingly haunting. From the get-go it is clear that although Bop City is categorically a pop album, it is the furthest thing from the pop you grew up with. “Little White Bars”, a reference to Xanax, kicks off the album with the juxtaposition of an addictive, sweet melody and harsh lyrics. Lisa describes the type of emotional turmoil that is rarely discussed in pop music with her characteristic ghostlike voice, singing, “Someone got shot on the TV/But it don’t feel like a movie/I think this world’s ‘bout to leave me.” This contrast is one of the key attributes of Terror Jr. Bop City dares to explore lyrically dark territory that other artists might shy away from, all while incorporating fresh and jubilant instrumentals that pay homage to artists like SOPHIE.

Reviews

Terror Jr certainly isn’t a one-trickpony and melancholy isn’t the only thing they explore through Bop City. Songs like “Come First” and “Sugar” are lighthearted both lyrically and musically, describing love or relationship dynamics with a tonguein-cheek, blunt delivery that that adds to their fresh and clean style. Lines like, “I got my own don’t need to buy me a drink/Stop asking questions like you care what I think,” are simple yet invigorating in their frankness. In this way Terror Jr is able to create another contrast, between images of mystique and humanistic, speech-like lyrics. Beyond their lyrical prowess, Terror Jr’s true genius may lie within the production of their songs. Musically, Bop City is pretty similar throughout, following a versechorus-bridge-chorus format. Productionwise however, the album is complex and almost alchemistic. The instrumentals are minimalistic, featuring few synth tracks and instead opting to use copies of Lisa’s vocal that have been chopped up and formant edited to act as a backing or lead. Furthermore, the mixing choices of the album are also quite distinct. Terror Jr often opts out of using reverb or delay on Lisa’s vocals, leading to an in-your-face sensation for the listener, and any reverb is far from traditional. It is instead used as a creative effect to differentiate portions of the song or call attention to an outlying musical element in the mix. These unorthodox choices create a unique sound for the band and set the groundwork for the band becoming a major pop superpower in the near future. Bop City is an exceptional album. Terror Jr seems to be able to bend all the rules of pop to the exact point where the album can still describe itself as such, but only under a thin veil. Emotionally complex lyrical subjects and crystalline production define the band’s sound, and it would be far from astonishing should this ensemble not only hit the charts, but also go on to Terror-ize the very way other pop musicians form their craft.

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Nikolas Greenwald (Chemical Engineering)

The Weeknd Starboy Release Date October 7 Label Reprise Records Genre Punk Rock Tasty tracks “Starboy,” “Sidewalks,” “Stargirl Interlude” Five years since his arrival, Abel Tesfaye (a.k.a the Weeknd) remains — defiantly, though more to his detriment than ever on Starboy — a mystery man. The singer’s rise to stardom was steeped in shadow play, with his name and face remaining obscured even as his breakout trilogy of mixtapes — all iron-fisted, silver-tongued dives through sex-dungeon R&B — stunned the music industry. No one knew who — or what — the Weeknd was, yet Tesfaye’s dark, drug-fueled fantasies of kink and cruelty felt like faceless self-portraits. To today’s social media-obsessed culture, it was an indelible introduction. After the inescapable “Can’t Feel My Face” and Fifty Shades earworm “Earned It” though, Tesfaye seemed to willingly pivot out from his shroud and into the spotlight. With his whomping-willow hairdo and trend-setting wardrobe, the artist went from digital ghost to paparazzi staple, and Beauty Behind the Madness soon cemented his fame with a dizzying array of radio hits, albeit ones permeated by his niche sense of sinful sensuality. Despite this, the Weeknd’s music still evaded the one question his listeners had been asking all along: who is Abel Tesfaye? Those still hoping for answers shouldn’t prioritize Starboy. Bizarrely, for a third official album supported by a video in which Tesfaye vows violent evolution, literally asphyxiating a past version of himself before laying waste to his home and taking off into the night, the disc barely goes anywhere. Instead, it unfolds as a drawn-out dilution of the singer’s indistinct persona. Previously, Tesfaye utilized his seraphic vocal chords to sustain an almost religious polarity with his brusquely wicked lyrics; the more angelic the sound, the more unholy the seduction. But Starboy, channeling mainstream pop, drowns that voice out in impersonal, Top-40 gloss. Its principal suggestion is that of a shimmering disco ball, viewed in bursts through a narcotic haze. As a foundation, that conceit holds promise. What’s most striking, though, is how

Moldy

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little Tesfaye builds upon it across Starboy’s 68 minutes. At 18 tracks, the album is a sprawling slog with little differentiating its tracks, and the only momentum it displays dies before the halfway point. During that zenith, on “Stargirl Interlude,” Lana del Rey embodies Tesfaye’s foil, picturing the pair “scratching counter tops” in the midst of a kitchenside tryst, her finally submitting to his advances. “I just want to see you shine,” he replies, with all the benevolence of a lion savoring his meal. “Cause I know you are a Stargirl.” When del Rey departs, the album loses the thread — and its luster. The best section on its remainder is a predictably impeccable Kendrick Lamar verse on the otherwise underwhelming “Sidewalks.” Elsewhere, the compositions lack color. “Six Feet Under” recycles the better Future collab “Low Life.” “Love to Lay” and “Die for You,” meanwhile, pass without breaking from hollow choruses. At times, Tesfaye’s neon-soaked vision yields stronger results. In the Daft Punk-assisted title track, he has a sleek, impressive opener. “True Colors,” a slowburning sashay, channels Michael Jackson, and “A Lonely Night” has real romance in its crooning chorus. Still, there’s no fluidity or grace to any of it, and by the time he brings Daft Punk back out for weirdly sanguine closer “I Feel It Coming,” Tesfaye doesn’t just sound unprecedentedly anonymous — he sounds lost. If you buy into the titular metaphor, Tesfaye’s ascent has been thrown off by the gravitational pull of an industry he now pledges conformity to. Consequently, this starboy’s stuck in orbit, circling the pop sphere, resigned to an annular trajectory like never before.

Isaac Feldberg (Journalism)

In Defense Of

AUDIOSLAVE No band in recent memory has set itself up so thoroughly for derision as Audioslave. A supergroup formed when Rage Against the Machine’s instrumentalists, at Rick Rubin’s behest, replaced the recently departed Zach de la Rocha with ex-Soundgarden screamer Chris Cornell, Audioslave were pegged from the jump as a cynical corporate-style merger of former ‘90s alt-rock titans now willing to sell their integrity in a desperate attempt to postpone their cultural sell-by date. The band did itself no favors by abandoning the radical political engagement of Rage, inexplicably rebranding themselves as Fast and Furiousstyle meatheads with music videos full of car chases and explosions. In one charming incident, the “Cochise” video’s pyrotechnics led L.A. citizens to believe that the city was under attack, not an unreasonable response given that the shoot took place only a year after 9/11. If that wasn’t enough, Cornell & Co. saddled their band with a name so fucking dumb that thousands of edgy high school numetal bands probably thought of it first before deciding they could do better. When Audioslave finally came out in late 2002, it received every bit of critical savaging one might have predicted. To read the Pitchfork review of Audioslave is to be taken back to a time when the indie community was so infatuated with snark that two writers had to share the privilege of ripping into sitting ducks like Audioslave (and when short

bus jokes were apparently still considered acceptable). However, the sympathetic modern listener willing to take Audioslave on its own terms will hear an excellent hard-rock album which deserves to rise above its easily mockable origins. The fantasy-sports approach to band building used by supergroups, with its tendency to prioritize individual star power and technical skill over interpersonal chemistry, has been responsible for more than its share of duds (anyone remember Chickenfoot? How about SuperHeavy?). With Audioslave, though, the math adds up exactly as it should. Turns out that when you put one of the most original electric guitarists of the past 25 years (Tom Morello) in a band with one of rock’s most powerful vocalists (Cornell) and give them an unfailingly solid rhythm section to work with, it’s hard not to end up with something worth headbanging to. Morello can churn out memorable riffs and bizarro sound-effect solos in his sleep, but his work on Audioslave isn’t a total retread of the Rage days; the brontosaurus funk heaviosity of his playing on songs like “Shadow on the Sun” and “What You Are” is closer to Sabbath or Zeppelin (or, for that matter, Soundgarden) than the punk or thrash edge of RATM. Cornell gets to show off his range too, owning both the ceaseless scorched-throat howling of “Cochise” and the tender mewling of “Like A Stone” with authority.

The most legitimate bone one could pick with Audioslave is that it lacks personality or substance. Sure, Rubin’s Default Rock Radio production is sterile as a surgeon’s scalpel, and Cornell’s lyrics are a bunch of portentous hoo-ha so impersonal that I had no idea he was going through rehab and separating from his wife during the album’s creation before researching this piece. But, to paraphrase Chuck Klosterman, those are the sort of objections someone who just doesn’t like Audioslave but feels the need to explain why would make up. Why should Swedish pop gurus be praised for their mastery of inhumanly perfect song engineering while rock bands are criticized when they attempt the same? Hard rock groups are almost never appreciated in their time- Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and Van Halen were all initially blasted by critics, and although Audioslave may not have broken nearly as much new ground as those legendary acts, they are still worthy of reevaluation. Audioslave developed a more nuanced stylistic blend on their next two albums, to mostly positive results, before breaking up for good; however, Audioslave remains their definitive statement, one of the purest, most effective hard rock albums of the new millennium. • Terence Cawley (Biology)

Feature

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In the last few decades, the political evolution of the United States has spawned countless protest bands. These artists, armed with polemic lyricism, defy political establishment and evoke the ideologies of revolution. In Rage Against the Machine’s “Killing in the Name,” lead vocalist Zach de la Rocha screams, “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me” over fifteen times. But American protest music isn’t always a product of oppression. More often, it simply affirms our freedom of speech. The music of authoritarian oppression, however, tends to manifest as a clandestine operation, functioning as a method of hidden protest. Without the screaming or proclamations, the music of oppression usually presents itself as mere entertainment. But as many have argued before, it can be ten times as powerful.

Famed 20th century composer Dmitri Shostakovich spent most of his career in the Soviet Union. Despite a strained relationship with his nation and a lifetime of pain at the hands of a totalitarian regime, Shostakovich managed to revolutionize music — not by using it as a vehicle of protest or as a means to endorse any political ideology, but simply by making it. His compositions express the pain he

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The music of authoritarian oppression, however, tends to manifest as a clandestine operation, functioning as a method of hidden protest.

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N O I S S experienced and the things he witnessed. His use of music as an emotive outlet of criticism made waves in the USSR, much to the chagrin of Russian officials. To this day, Shostakovich’s work is historic in its illustration of life under Stalin. At a time when live performances and recorded music were rare, his music was lore to many citizens. A signal of hope. Contemporary electronic musician Khan El Rouh, a Syrian refugee, uses his art to respond to Bashar al-Assad and the civil war that plagues his homeland. As one of the few Syrian electronic artists known, Khan El Rouh uses his platform to convey the anguish and despair he sees in his country. His tracks use samples from political speeches and radio shows of the past, alluding to a better time. The music of Khan El Rouh is a collective embrace for those who are suffering at the hands of an oppressive government. He is aided by modernity — sending his compositions to Syria from Turkey, where he resides under asylum, is made simple in the internet age. In creating for his nation rather than for himself, Khan El Rouh

lends a voice to the voiceless. Music is more than entertainment during times of political unrest. It is a method of spreading hope. But hope was much harder to come by in 1970s South America. In the small country of Uruguay, an entire generation was raised under a military-backed dictatorship. Artists were censored and the past was erased. The nation’s folk music and tango were banned, radios were shut down and innocent civilians jailed. Association to anything creative put a citizen in danger. Musical duo Washington Carrasco and Cristina Fernández were two pioneering artists in surpassing that censorship. Recently, Fernández came out and spoke of how she used her music to spread messages. Her songs were typically infused with the poetry of Spain’s golden age, and she’d even use pseudonyms to allude to banned poets. This music was written in the language of Galicia, bringing an entirely new culture to a nation that was deprived of its own. Distribution was limited, and their records were mainly spread at large public events such as Uruguay’s famous carnivals. Carrasco

Feature

has explained that dictatorships are the best elicitors of poetry, in that they force creators to find symbolism in mundane things. In one song titled “Los Caballos Perdidos,” or “The Lost Horses,” Carrasco sings in a struggled cry about lost horses. But the subtext tells a tale of revolution, of past political leaders like Che Guevara and Fidel Castro. On the other side of the globe, in South Korea, there is a mass music enterprise that serves not only as music of protest, but as a tool to fight oppression. Today, K-Pop is a dominating force in the Asian music market, and constantly growing. But that popularity has limits. Currently, the South Korean government screens all live performances for questionable content before airing them on TV. While it’s mainly the nation’s Ministry of Gender Equality and Family that exercises censorship power, any other government institution, no matter its purpose, can deem a song unacceptable for the public. In 2012, the music video to Psy’s global hit “Gangnam Style” was banned from South Korean television due to the fact that it depicted the destruction of property. But censorship rules have since relaxed, largely due to global attention. As artists expanded their listenership beyond the Asian continent, fans all over the world became aware of the country’s practice of censorship. Now, the South Korean government uses K-Pop as a diplomatic tool. Using massive speakers that sit right on the border of the demilitarized zone between the North and South, the government plays K-Pop songs daily in hopes that North Korean citizens will be exposed to a new culture. This trend of government relationships with the music industry is not a new occurrence. During the climax of the Cold War in the 1970s, Yugoslavia stood as the only eastern nation that was not aligned with the Soviet Eastern Bloc. As a result, the country was exposed to tremendous Western influence — at one point, new wave music was even supported by communist authorities. That gave way to quarterly music publications and new bands, such as Idoli, Akrobata and Azra.

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Idoli’s most famous song, “Maljčiki,” parodies the proletarian Russian worker and pokes fun at the notion of Socialist realism. One lyric reads, “Dawns on fire, wake me from my dream; Factory mornings, smoke from the chimney.” In a rare instance of self-censorship, the band actually altered these lyrics from the original, “Shitty dawns, wake me from my dream; Shitty mornings, I am also shitty.” The Soviet embassy responded dramatically to the song, and it was formally banned across the Eastern Bloc. Following an economic crisis and the end of the Cold War, the music scene in this area evolved drastically. When Yugoslavia began to break up in the 1990s, the music scene there devolved. Many of the resulting nations, including Serbia and Croatia, introduced policies of censorship. Music of other nations was banned, while folk music made a return. The Cold War boom of creation was never matched. In his book “Testimony,” Shostakovich wrote, “When a man is in despair, it means that he still believes in something.” The music of oppression stands as a testament to the pain and hope of a people, no matter where it is made. Khan El Rouh, like Shostakovich, gave his nation an artist to be proud of; an artist who understood the adversities of living through oppression. Carrasco and Fernández kept a message alive in a suffering country. In South Korea, music helped end censorship and promote democracy just as it helped keep Yugoslavia afloat during a time of great pressure from the international community. It is the presence of music under oppression, rather than its content, that makes it so important. In times of hardship, music is the silent game-changer.

The music of oppression stands as a testament to the pain and hope of a people, no matter where it is made.

Spring 2016

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Christian Triunfo (English/Journalism)

The The Process Process is is the the Product Product A Look Into Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth

It It is is almost almost inevitable inevitable

that during times of political and economic uncertainty and instability, rebellion against the mainstream values of society will result in flourishing countercultural movements. Such was the case in 1980s England, when Thatcherism was a virulent force sweeping over the nation. Opposition to Thatcherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s regime and various other aspects of British society gave rise to Thee Temple Ov Psychick Youth, a non-hierarchical, loosely organized enclave of artists and magic practitioners.

Cover Story

It It all all started started in in 1981 1981

with Genesis P-Orridge (born Neil Megson), an avant-garde artist and musician. After taking leave of his first band Throbbing Gristle, with whom he helped found the genre of industrial music, P-Orridge went on to form Psychic TV, which involved itself with a fusion of psychedelic, punk, electronic and experimental music. P-Orridge, a follower and practitioner of occult magic since childhood, intended for Psychic TV to be an informative link between the public and the Temple’s doctrine. The band, as well as the Temple at large, held a firm anti-establishment stance and sought to illuminate the various ways Western society both consciously and subliminally attempts to control its inhabitants. The Temple believed that through examination of these methods of control, one could subsequently undermine the power systems that enslaved them. Psychic TV thus confronted its audience with unfamiliar ways of thinking, dishing out a hodgepodge of pornography, death, deprivation and Paganism. The very name Psychic TV served as an allusion to the way Temple members could deconstruct the controls placed upon them by mainstream society, many of which were inundated via mindless television programming. In Thee Temple Ov Psychick Youth’s manifesto, it is stated: At Psychic TV we accept and exploit the way TV is used by our generation, as raw material to be used and manipulated by the viewer. Dense enough to be interesting over and over yet without punch lines or obvious focal points to become familiar or bored with...ultimately, what is presented are redundant assumptions about entertainment and value.

Psychic TV thus offered an alternative to this conventional programming, referred to as deprogramming. This deprogramming formed the basis through which Psychic TV and the Temple enlightened its audience to alien and taboo subjects. On randomly chosen nights, between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m., Psychic TV would deliver broadcasts on differing topics, often highly sexual and pornographic in nature. The Temple’s manifesto goes on to highlight the true purpose behind these transmissions: If they seem to be emphasizing those aspects of life normally suppressed or censored as subversive, contentious, disturbing, or too sexual, it is because that suppression is a deliberate attempt to limit the knowledge of the individual. It is our belief that truth and information about anything and everything must be made available in every way possible, if human history is to survive, progress, or have any meaning whatsoever. This redefining of the limits of individual knowledge served as the platform upon which the Temple was built. The Temple, as writ by its manifesto, believed in the total significance of the individual discovered through familiarity of the deepest instincts

We are mortal. We all die. Spring 2016

and explorations of destiny outside the traps of time. Genesis P-Orridge, in an early interview, posed the defining question of the collective: can we consciously reinvent a Self in order to maximize its potential? The answer, according to the Temple, is yes, and such an act can be achieved through magical rituals. The Temple mainly concerned itself with chaos magic, which utilizes the practical use of belief systems. Within the realm of chaos magic, belief is an active magical force, and the ability to consciously choose one’s beliefs is the key to personal freedom. It is the emphasis on belief that explains the Temple’s attraction to this practice — there is no mysticism, no gods or heroes. The only thing of importance in chaos magic is the human brain and its intuitive ability to reveal potent magical concepts significant to the individual practitioner. Active members of the Temple practiced chaos magic through the creation of sigils. Sigil magic, per the Temple’s interpretation of the practice, entailed writing down one’s desires, crossing out any repeating letters and combining the remaining letters into an abstract design. This design became the practitioner’s personal sigil, and it was their duty to focus on and mentally engage the design they created. By doing so, psychic forces swirling around in the practitioner’s subconscious would guarantee that particular desire would become manifest in reality.

Every second counts and must count. On the twenty-third hour of the twenty-third day of each month, members of the Temple were encouraged to make their sigils. It was believed that if all active members made their sigils at the same time, the psychic energies surrounding them would be at their most powerful, and thus the likelihood of individual desires becoming reality would increase. The Temple placed great significance on the number twenty-three because, according to occultist Aleister Crowley, it is the number of “parting, removal, separation, joy, a thread, and life.” Within Thee Temple Ov Psychick Youth, magic is the engine of societal change, of breaking control in order to reach extreme levels of personal deliverance and transformation. Magic breaks down dogmatic thought and empowers the individual to embrace and realize their dreams and maximize their natural potential. Chaos magic, for Temple members, was the vehicle with which to achieve ecstatic states of being, to check and recheck everything deeper and deeper, more and more precisely to get closer to and ultimately integrate with the Real Self. Once practitioners dismantled their ties to mainstream society and turned their energies inward, the external aspects of their lives fell into place, as a kind of psychic karma. Such ideas certainly received their fair share of skepticism, but the Temple remained true to this notion, asserting that this psychic process works...the process is the product, it is the Key to the Temple.

The Temple was not only the target of skepticism, but also outright prosecution. The community was operating at its peak during the “Satanic Panic” era in Britain, a time during which government officials worried that occult groups were corrupting British youth, promoting guiltless sexuality and encouraging the worship of Satan. A member of British Parliament at the time referred to the Temple, as well as similar communities, outright as the “wreckers of civilization.” This moral panic made a direct target out of Genesis P-Orridge, who was accused of child molestation by a Channel 4 documentary covering occult groups. These accusations resulted in somewhat of a witch-hunt by Scotland Yard, who raided P-Orridge’s home in England in 1992, ultimately confiscating a large swath of videos and artwork he had created during his ten years with the Temple. Though no damning evidence was found and Channel 4 retracted their accusations, P-Orridge felt pressured to leave the UK for New York. With his departure, the original incarnation of Thee Temple Ov Psychick Youth dissolved, though several thousand members remain active around the world today.

The Temple’s influence can be traced through the lineage of numerous underground and countercultural movements, having had a hand in both early punk and industrial scenes in Britain. Moreover, Psychic TV succeeded in redirecting their fans’ admiration and energy toward a cohesive, lifestyle-defining community. In a pre-internet era, the band managed to widely disseminate the Temple’s doctrine, reaching thousands of individuals and encouraging them to enable themselves to move beyond the standard constructs of society. Despite its controversial dissolution, Psychic TV and the Temple developed an unparalleled model for forming a radical, magical community. Even if one does not wish to delve into chaos magic or detects no personal trappings imposed by conventional society, an advisement on personal fulfillment from the Temple can still be learned by all: The first lesson from which all others grow is the simplest. We are mortal. We all die. This is not a morbid wallowing in hopelessness. It is the ability to genuinely come to terms with our physical transience that liberates us all. We all die. This realization truly assimilated can be turned to positive use, in that it spurs one into action, aware that all time is limited and no life span is certain. Every second counts and must count. • • Sarah Kotowski (Economics)

Editorial

encor en encor enco en enc e T H E B OY W H O C R I E D

tage lights fade. Final notes evaporate. Band members recede into the dark alcoves of the wings, relishing in the sound of an audience begging for more. Everyone knows where this is going — the band will return minutes later to play an encore of the hit songs everyone’s been waiting all night to hear. And yet, a certain mock-surprise and theatricality is maintained during this encore charade. But why? With encores reduced to tradition, what’s the point of wasting time on pretense? The surprise-factor of this nowtradition is long-gone. What once was a rare demonstration of gratitude is now an expectation at live performances. Encores began in the world of 18th century classical music. “Encore” — the French word for “again” — originally implied that the audience wanted the musician to

Spring 2016

repeat the previous song. Ironically, it was only the British who used the word “encore” in concert halls — the French typically said “une autre,” which means “another.” The custom was disliked — and in some cases banned — by some classical musicians, including Richard Wagner, who believed the interruption distracted from the overall experience. The tradition took a few hundred years to catch on in other genres. In the 20th century, the catchphrase “Elvis has left the building” was coined to indicate that Presley had finished his set, and would not be performing an encore. It wasn’t until the ’70s that encores became the norm for live rock shows. The Who and Bruce Springsteen were pioneers of the tradition, often extending shows for hours after their initial sets were finished.

Once huge names started adopting the tradition, any show lacking the crescendo of an encore seemed, frankly, lame. Today, an encore no longer suggests that the audience wants to hear a song repeated. Now an encore implies that artists are expected to return on stage after finishing their sets to conclude the show with a few extra songs. Encores typically come in a few flavors: some musicians save their most popular hits for the encore, some use the added time and attention to experiment with new music or play covers. But if every audience chants “encore” out of habit, is the gesture even flattering? And if every musician entertains the audience’s wish for an encore, is the custom still special? The obvious answer is “no.” Encores today lack the spontaneity and enthusiasm they once possessed. Instead,

re ncore re ore ncore core encore “

But if every audience chants “encore” out of habit, is the gesture even flattering? And if every musician entertains the audience’s wish for an encore, is the custom still special? they’re merely an obligation. Musicians will sometimes return to the stage, barely acknowledging their audience, to play what feels like a mandatory extra song. For audience members, it can be disheartening when artists approach encores with a chore-like attitude. It’s even more disappointing when musicians don’t play an encore, especially if

audience members encourage it. Not obliging that request is usually considered rude, and leaves listeners with the impression that the musician is cocky and unappreciative. But while an audience’s disappointment after leaving a show sans-encore is understandable, is it justified? In instances when musicians don’t return for encores,

perhaps it’s the audience that is being inconsiderate rather than the artist. Imagine being a musician strung out on tour – sleep deprived and emotionally drained – and after playing an hour long set, the audience still isn’t satisfied and demands more. How rude, right? Ultimately, the quality of a performance shouldn’t be reduced to, or determined by, an encore. Like the boy who cried wolf, years of audience members crying “encore” has rendered the oncehonorary tradition trite and lackluster. • Emily Arntsen (English)

Hold onto Your Teenage Daughter, Because This is

THE CARTER By Anu Gulati (Computer Science/Music) Etcetera On September 13, 2016, Lil Wayne tweeted, “I AM NOW DEFENSELESS AND mentally DEFEATED & I leave gracefully and thankful I luh my fanz but I’m dun.” It was quickly interpreted as a white flag response to the Birdman/Young Money drama and a retirement from music, which sparked a wave of response from journalists, fans and fellow rappers. Chance the Rapper tweeted back, “absolutely nothing and no one in this world can defeat you,” Young Thug wrote, “ur the reason I rap,”and Kendrick Lamar simply responded “fuck that.” Born Dwayne Michael Carter Jr. and raised in the infamous Hollygrove, New Orleans, Lil Wayne was a straight-A student throughout grade school, but never felt his intelligence was accurately reflected by report cards. At 8 years old, Wayne began writing verses and begging the Cash Money record label to sign him by leaving Spring 2016

freestyles on their answering machines. Once onboarded to Cash Money at 14, he began releasing mixtapes with an unmatched tenacity, eventually breaking into the mainstream with a body of work so inventive and cunning that it makes his claim of being “the best rapper alive” worth considering. With his recent (since revoked) retirement announcement and a terrifying slew of near-death comas, Lil Wayne deserves retrospective analysis, especially when taking his experimentation and impact on hip-hop into account. Wayne went from a young, ambitious Cash Money soldier to a Martian, evolving far past human limitations. He has a song with Paris Hilton, perfected the use of emotional AutoTune before 808s & Heartbreak and even crafted a rock album where he belts and plays guitar. Lil Wayne is far from ordinary, but his confidence, inventive lyricism and endless capability have solidified him as simply the best rapper alive.

THA BLOCK IS HOT (1999) Loyal to his mother’s wishes, Tha Block is Hot is free of any sexual, violent or explicit language. While initially scoffed at for being so apolitical compared to other ’90s hip-hop releases, Lil Wayne’s infectious hooks over bounce beats caught the attention of some hip-hop heads. The Hot Boys, Wayne’s pre-Young Money collective, are present on most songs, but their rapping was never the focal point of their releases. The beats on songs like”Fuck Tha World,” “Up to Me” and “Drop it Like It’s Hot” are free of the synths associated with their era, but the wordplay over these ambitious drum loops is commendable. One of my favorites, “Enemy Turf,”features a superchoppy beat and a smooth guitar, a sign of Wayne’s rock star influence breaking through at a young age.

DA DROUGHT (2003, 2004, 2007) Lil Wayne has released many mixtape/album series with little to no coherency amongst the releases in each series. Wayne used recurring titles like brands, and this method of self-branding was introduced on Da Drought, where he first called himself “Weezy F Baby” (“the F stands for you to find out”). Da Drought begins to establish what has become customary from Wayne: icy electronic beats that match his grit, witty lines like “ballin up the strip, me and some legal prostitution” and an insatiable hunger to reach the top. In Da Drought 2, Wayne employs a Nelly-like flow and raps over a Southern hip-hop sound, a move done to onboard new fans and increase his commercial success. Wayne uncharacteristically found success, leading to Da Drought 3 being the best of the bunch. On “That’s Why I’m Hot,” Wayne’s flow suddenly becomes Caribbean and he samples West Coast synths and “Jesus Walks” back to back like he’s on top of the world. He hijacks every famous early-2000s beat and spits fresher bars over them, and his punchline-rap tendencies are gaining traction here, with lines like “explode in a bitch mouf like a gusher” and “I’m about to bubble and she catch that fizz.” His incredible wordplay, combined with his vicious rapping, had listeners hanging on every word, a formula he carried throughout his career.

THA CARTER (2004, 2005, 2008, 2011)

Etcetera

Probably his most notable series, Tha Carter established Lil Wayne to mainstream audiences. Following Da Drought, Wayne was starting to get a grasp on his niche as a highly quotable rapper by rapping some of the inanest things with a ferocious confidence (like the “We Don’t” hook: “we don’t give a fizzuck my nigga, we young and bizzuck”). He rallied hip-hop fans of all ages by acknowledging hip-hop’s greatest tastemakers (“Go D.J.”) and emanating Hova levels of charisma on songs like “This is the Carter” and Tha Carter III’s “Mr. Carter.” Tha Carter II, regarded by purists as the apex of Wayne’s abilities, remains focused and consistent despite its 77-minute runtime. Wayne began using AutoTune between Tha Carter II and III, and the glossy, slurring digitalism was a perfect musical expression of his then-addiction to promethazine-codeine. His venture into vocal tweaking produced his first and only Hot 100 No. 1, “Lollipop,” and raises noteworthy stylistic decisions. Rather than using the effect to sound sweet or robotic, his delivery became croaky, distorted and psychedelic. He continued riding the AutoTune wave into Tha Carter IV, which plays out less well; who can forget the insufferable, whiny “How to Love?” Wayne also pioneered the lyrical trend of having clever, eyebrowraising nuggets rather than simply tossing listeners a vocabulary test. The unstoppable “6 Foot 7 Foot” has become a classic, with the line “real Gs move in silence like lasagna” generating smiles to this day. This style promoted replayability as it rewarded the listener every time they found some new one-liner, of which Tha Carter series had a seemingly endless supply.

NO CEILINGS (2009, 2015)

Spring 2016

The completely hookless No Ceilings opens with what should be the USA national anthem: “Swag Surfin,” which boasts triumphant horns and “OHHHH”-conjuring lyrics. He somehow ditched all artistic progress from Tha Carter series, reverting to his younger, rowdier style of rapping but with stronger control. On “D.O.A,” he combats criticisms made by Jay-Z and others about AutoTune vs. non-AutoTune Weezy (aka “Mixtape Weezy”) by rapping effortlessly over a hypnotizing guitar in his AutoTune voice, proving that denying his greatness in both realms is offensive. He quickly switches from actual words to just sounds, laughs at his own jokes and continues to overtake other rappers’ beats and slam better songs in their face (sorry, Kid Cudi). He even gets steamy in songs like “Wayne on Me,” featuring vocals by R&B artist Shanell crooning “daddy” and lyrics so provocative that it’s nearly impossible not to blush. No Ceilings 2 doesn’t deserve to carry the esteemed No Ceilings name, but it’s not all bad. The AutoTune is pushed to 11 as he raps alongside other AutoTune gods like Future, and he brings back Hot Boys member Turk for a memorable reunion in “Millyrokk,” but this 2015 release is a weird reminder of how much better Weezy has made hip-hop. His rendition of The Weeknd’s “The Hills” as “The Pills” is pretty awesome, though.

DEDICATION

(2005, 2006, 2008, 2012, 2013)

If there’s any constant in Lil Wayne’s career, it’s his dedication: to the rap game, to his label, to Birdman and most of all to himself. Dedication is a classic mixtape, with an unbearable “Gangsta Grillz” tag tossed in every 30 seconds and short runtimes that give songs the punch that hip-hop harnesses so well. The best of the bunch comes second, with Dedication 2 arguably being the mixtape to cement him as a relevant player in hip-hop. It, along with the other Dedication tapes, blew other rappers out of the water. Wayne’s charisma oozes on every track, often conquering other rappers’ beats at just 23.

I AM NOT A HUMAN BEING (2010, 2013) Lil Wayne’s Young Money label was a revolutionary youth force, fostering the careers of Curren$y, DJ Khaled, Tyga, Nicki Minaj and the now-legendary Drake. I Am Not a Human Being features many of these Young Money acts and should honestly be half-attributed to Drake for how much he appears. Drake and Wayne have been frequent collaborators since Drake’s So Far Gone, even co-headlining a tour where they battled for “best rapper alive” status. Their combined charisma is infectious on I Am Not a Human Being, and Drake’s presence kept them both on the radio. Wayne spits over rock on “I Am Not a Human Being,” and it’s surprisingly good, with my favorite part being the hilarious chorus, “I am the rhyming Oasis.” Much of I Am Not a Human Being 2 follows the same commercially successful formula, with radio hits like the Drake and Future-accompanied “Love Me” and “No Worries” tossed into the otherwise messy album. It could be a strategy to put these radio singles on an official release to meet RIAA certification criteria, but Weezy’s ways are inexplicable.

OTHER NOTABLES

(Rebirth, Sorry 4 the Wait, Guest Verses)

Lil Wayne always promoted his rock star dreams, swagger and braggadocio in interviews, so his 2010 release Rebirth, which followed the incredible Tha Carter III and No Ceilings, was unavoidable, but still unbelievable. His guitar playing is horrible, he jumped on stage with Kid Rock during the album’s promotion and he took a lot of drugs, so at least he attained the rock star lifestyle. The rap-punk combination is one that should never happen again, but I’m glad it was Wayne that did it because it feels like his biggest dream come true. Wayne’s final release, Tha Carter V, is permanently delayed by Birdman/Cash Money legal issues, so he’s released some Sorry 4 The Wait interim tapes that somewhat fill the void. Him and Lil B annihilate a “Grove St. Party” remix on Sorry 4 The Wait, and it builds anticipation for whatever Tha Carter V might be. Wayne’s momentum hasn’t stopped since his last official release, as he murdered guest verses this year on Chance the Rapper’s “No Problems” and Solange’s “Mad.” Before beginning each verse, his characteristic lighter click is loudly pronounced compared to the surrounding sounds, and it’s a humbling reminder of where and how Wayne’s career all started. Lil Wayne’s talent and impact on hiphop is a flame that will never, ever go out. 29

Photo by Lydia Tavera (Music Industry)

Feature

safer spaces an exploration of inclusivity in the diy community By Justine Cowan (Business) & David McDevitt (International Affairs & Economics)

With the advent of social media

Spring 2016

in the last several years and increasing awareness in the music community, it seems that we hear about incidents of harassment, discrimination or sexual assault on a regular basis. The problems of sexual assault and unequal representation at large music festivals are well-documented (though many survivors do not feel comfortable coming forward); however, the issue of unsafe spaces in music is by no means limited to a single setting. Small DIY spaces are just as likely, if not more so, to experience these incidents. DIY spaces, whether they be an Elks Lodge, someone’s basement or another alternative space, are (for lack of a better word) illegitimate, existing outside of the typical parameters of music and arts venues. They are generally more open and unconventional, as they are free to operate outside of the cultural norms surrounding more official settings. Consequently, the normal security measures that maintain a public performance space, such as the presence of security guards, may not be feasible, and an unspoken social contract serves as the primary means of maintaining a sense of inclusivity. Unfortunately, this contract is sometimes broken, and it can be difficult for a community to rebuild its reputation afterward.

This past summer, a respected venue within the Boston DIY community found its own social contract breached when a manager sexually assaulted a performer. Though the owner apologized, and confirmed that the perpetrator had been fired, the damage was done. Many notable promoters in the community have since stopped booking shows in the space, due to concerns about the safety of those that attend. While it is promising to see members of the Boston scene taking measures to avoid a potentially dangerous space, the question remains as to why this problem persists in the first place. In a society where rape culture is rampant and marginalized groups are still pushing for more representation, the “underground” scene is, in theory, supposed to be a safe haven for those on the fringes. In reality, though, the lack of constraints at DIY shows puts all responsibility on those in attendance, which can allow ill intentions to play out with little consequence. How does a DIY space deal with the pressure of keeping its social contract intact? One prominent voice on the issue in the Boston community is Sadie Dupuis, vocalist

and guitarist of Speedy Ortiz, a band that has consistently worked to ensure its fans feel comfortable at their shows. According to her, the place to start is with the word “safe” itself: “Language is so important and I think using the term ‘safer space’ rather than ‘safe space’ is key — there’s no way to guarantee the good faith of the community, or to be certain that participants in an artistic community will always have altruistic intentions and actions... you can’t guarantee that a space will be safe for everyone.” Efforts to create “safer” spaces rather than “safe” ones acknowledge that every community member will have a different perspective, and learning to respect those perspectives is an ongoing process. James Ikeda, of Boston DIY event collective Bummer City Historical Society, has a similar view on cultivating a space: “To me, what it means to be a safer space is to be actively soliciting feedback from the audience and from your attendees, and having some kind of a mechanism for being able to address issues that come up.” This means designing, implementing and maintaining the upkeep of a formalized system to report incidents, whether that be a phone line, an anonymous forum or some other method that protects those wanting to speak out.

“ Additionally, the role of the show host, alongside the community that fills their rooms, can make a substantial difference in fostering a safer community in underground venues. The space owner can cultivate volunteers working under a commitment to maintain an inclusive environment, which can involve trainings on bystander intervention techniques and supportive language. It also falls on the space owner to lead by example, or, as Dupuis puts it, “promoting inclusivity for an audience...prioritizing putting more persons of color in positions of power, more queer people in power, more women in power, both on the organizing or business side of the space and on the performance side.” Normalizing the idea of inclusivity within a space can make it easier to recognize and stamp out inappropriate behaviors. There are also mechanisms that space owners can put in place to further protect those performers and attendees. Over the past few years, a few experimental ideas have found their way into many shows, including the anonymous reporting hotlines set up by bands like Speedy Ortiz and Modern Baseball, a discrete reporting system which allows people to bring attention to harassment and bias incidents without removing the survivor from the space or damaging the environment. Mechanisms and precautions are not perfect, and there are incidents where “safer” spaces are violated. Regardless of the situation in which the social contract is

all meaningful progress happens slowly; no problem within a community is solved overnight

broken, the next step that faces both the community and the survivors is healing. From Dupuis, “. . . accountability and community rehabilitation is the best way to go, but it’s hard to offer a prescriptive solution and what’s most important is to listen to the needs and wants of survivors and doing our best as a community to respect their healing processes.” When addressing the healing of the community and the survivors, there is no concrete pathway that can guarantee rehabilitation. In fact, in many cases it may be ideal to move on. Ikeda adds to this as well, from the perspective of a promoter, “. . .unless I can guarantee that [it won’t happen], I’m not gonna work there. The problem is, sometimes it takes much more than is possible to even do. . . at the end of the day I’m never going to promote or work in a space or with a band or anybody that I cannot ensure my audience is going to be comfortable with. . . Nobody else is required to feel safe in a place. Nobody else is required to accept X, Y, and Z steps and now it’s fine. There’s really nothing concrete you can do to guarantee that you can reestablish that rapport and that safety. That’s not a very positive response, yet that’s sort of the reality at this point.” Despite moments of shock, it is important to recognize that progress, although gradual, has been made towards providing genuinely more inclusive spaces for people who identify as LGBTQA, along with building a community that fosters an environment to protect against incidents of sexual harassment and assault. Programs like Ladyfest Boston are putting together showcases with the goal of recognizing and celebrating the artistic efforts of underrepresented populations within the community. Ikeda, who has been putting on shows in the Boston area since 2009, believes “the scene is so much more accommodating and so much more

empathetic than it was a few years ago. Spaces where people are consciously trying to promote safety and build safety were really rare, at least from my experience, when I started running shows . . . It might not be everywhere, and there is still a lot of fighting left to be done, a lot of community building, but there are many, many more spaces dedicated to people and safety than there were just a few years ago.” All meaningful progress happens slowly; no problem within a community is solved overnight. Boston is by no means a perfect environment, but celebrating the progress that has been made and concentrating on efforts to move forward carries more weight than focusing on the missteps that have marred past years.

A special thanks to James Ikeda of Bummer City Historical Society and Sadie Dupuis of Speedy Ortiz and Sad13 for sharing their thoughts with us.

Show Reviews

Reviews

Pet Shop Boys Terence Cawley (Biology)

Pet Shop Boys November 9 @ Orpheum Theater

Spring 2016

Honestly, it felt weird going to a concert the night after this presidential election. For many, though, seeing Pet Shop Boys at the Orpheum Theatre must have felt like a small but vital rejection of the anger and gloom of the current political moment. Between their legacy of speaking out against the Thatchers and Bushes of the world and frontman Neil Tennant’s status as one of pop’s preeminent gay icons, the legendary synthpop duo’s three-decade-long pursuit of dancefloor bliss stood on this night as a rebuke to the hateful ideology of Trump and his ilk. You don’t become stars of Pet Shop Boys’ wattage without learning how to make an entrance. As two large white discs changed colors, eye-grabbing visuals filled the screen behind them and laser lights turned the Orpheum ceiling into an ornate planetarium. The discs then rotated to reveal Tennant and keyboardist Chris Lowe, sporting silver futuristic headgear which in Lowe’s case covered his entire head, who then calmly descended and began playing “Inner Sanctum” from their new album Super. Almost as attention-getting as that spectacle was the decision to immediately follow “Inner Sanctum” with “West End Girls”— it takes guts for an older act to play their biggest hit so early, but that confidence was not misplaced.

After another Super cut (lead single “The Pop Kids”), Tennant and Lowe briefly exited for the first of several outfit changes, returning sans shiny headgear but joined by two drummers and another keyboardist. While Tennant notoriously used to stand stock-still while singing, he seemed to relish performing now, prowling the stage like a supreme dance commander. Lowe, meanwhile, remained as stoic as ever: his attire, be it goofy oversized shades or some weird silver helmet thing, ensured that his eyes were always hidden from view. The visuals were top-notch, changing with every song to reflect and enhance the mood in unique ways. Combined with the outrageous fashion, they made the show almost as much fun visually as musically. The set progressed through three phases, with the first one featuring newer, more upbeat dance material. Aging gracefully in electronic music is difficult, but Pet Shop Boys have subtly adapted to the times, avoiding desperate trend-chasing. Even their nods to modern EDM, like the chipper drop in “Love is a Bourgeois Construct,” were smoothly integrated into the group’s spare, melodically rich sound. The second phase was more subdued, with the visuals’ neon-bright shades giving way to darker hues and vaguely unsettling imagery. Tennant’s voice, modest in range but full and sweet, ably expressed the

gorgeous, forlorn fatalism of “Love Comes Quickly” and the hushed Depeche Mode-style paranoia of “The Dictator Decides.” A sci-fi keyboard solo from Lowe segued into “Vocal,” whose build from melancholy reverie into rave banger brought the concert into its final, most joyous segment. The gleeful blasphemy of “The Sodom and Gomorrah Show” cheekily led into the more conflicted (but still blasphemous) “It’s a Sin,” and the main set concluded with Pet Shop Boys’ electro-disco reworking of Village People’s “Go West” as large multi-colored balloons lit up behind them. For the encore, the irresistible “Domino Dancing” was paired with “Always on My Mind,” a song that Elvis popularized but Pet Shop Boys perfected. As Tennant led the crowd in round after round of that timeless chorus, every synth horn blast like a shot of serotonin to the skull, I felt an unmitigated happiness that earlier that day had seemed unthinkable. Maybe we should have Pet Shop Boys tour America nonstop for the next four years, just to keep spirits high. Terence Cawley (Biology)

Pet Shop Boys Terence Cawley (Biology)

Jeff Rosenstock November 15 @ The Sinclair Even though I arrived as an early bird (for the opener Early Bird), I knew that this show would turn political in light of recent events. Last week, Donald Trump became the presidentelect, and even the touring groups Katie Ellen and Hard Girls devoted portions of their set to discuss their hatred of Trump and what measures the people can take to stand against him and his initial decisions. The groups definitely created an environment in which to profess these feelings: merchandise included pins and donations to a local charity they felt would be impacted by the new president. The band members conversed and shuffled around the room before their sets, creating a friendly atmosphere. Early Bird, a newer face to the Boston underground music scene, opened with a capable set of indie rock tunes and an XTC cover. Katie Ellen took their time to enter on stage, but they played a much higher energy group of songs. I thought her commentary on the election was pretty standard for the average underground musician, but she made it relevant to her music, so it wasn’t completely out of the blue. With a very rich and fuzzy bass sound dominating the power trio’s songs, Hard Girls musically were the highlight of the

openers. Unfortunately, their added comments on the election did not add much other than what was already said, which created the occasional lull between songs. I was surprised to see that Jeff Rosenstock knew to separate his thoughts from his music in the best way when he and his band set up, as he successfully kept his political thoughts and performance separate. He is born from the punk cloth, and as such has an outspoken anticorporate attitude that comes in bursts on his fantastic new album WORRY. It was nice to see he came prepared to throw his ideas out, bridge them aptly with the song “To Be a Ghost…”, and move right into the set. Rosenstock’s material and the overall energy of the crowd made it a very memorable set. He brought a dozen or so songs from his last two records. In addition, he played the last five songs that act as “movements” showcasing his career trajectory on the latter half of his new release. Highlights included the occasional air horn sample and a tongue-in-cheek mess up of the song “Pash Rash” where he performed

the ending 3 times, something I likened to Bo Burnham’s musical comedy. Rosenstock himself very much stole the show, and I expected nothing less; his animated skipping, hand movements and windmill strumming were quite a treat. It would have been nice to see a saxophone player on stage to perform some of the brass lines, but the crowd filled in to sing the lines anyways. He ended the set with a call back to old school punk with the song “Police on My Back” and a passionate call to change, keeping a stable link between his music and politics that had the right amount of intersection. WORRY. to me is Rosenstock finally finding his place in a world with its own issues that give him a sort of underlying anxiety, whether it be from internet activists in “To Be a Ghost…” or the music festival circuit in “Festival Song.” Despite the self-deprecation and bitterness found in many of the songs he performed, I could tell he is happy performing to a crowd of very devoted fans, but now more than ever he has things to worry about. Chris Miller (Accounting)

Yellowcard November 7 @ House of Blues

Reviews

There’s nothing quite so bittersweet as a farewell tour — shows where bands tend to bring their all, but you know it’s because your time with them has come to a close. Yellowcard played the House of Blues on Nov. 7, saying goodbye to nearly two decades of music and rock n’ roll. I’m definitely not the only person that has a particularly soft spot for this band; they had long been established by the time my true emo stage had started, but were essential to my middle and high school angst. At that time, Ocean Avenue, the album that made the band a household name, was already seven years old. But I appreciated it in its entirety like many had before me, and many have after me. I saw them live at Warped Tour the summer after my freshman year of high school — they were seasoned veterans at that point, but by the reaction of the crowd you would have thought they were a new band on the upswing. This same reaction met the band at what was likely their final Boston show. A preshow reminder played through the speakers, encouraging people to avoid using their

phones the whole time or trying to record the show. There was also a reminder that everything that people could have possibly wanted to record was on the internet and to just enjoy the fuckin’ rock n’ roll show. As they walked onstage, an instrumental piano version of Ocean Avenue played in the background, chilling me to the core and lighting the crowd on fire. After 10 studio albums, six of which came out in the last five years, Yellowcard has an extensive discography. They were aware that a portion of the people that came to the show probably hadn’t seen them in years, and probably weren’t familiar with their newer material. They played a perfect balance of songs from earlier albums as well as more recent works, keeping the audience constantly engaged. Lead singer Ryan Key emphasized that people should make up the words if they didn’t know them, saying, “sing to me whatever your heart desires.” I love Sean Mackin. I love everything about him. I love that he plays the goddamn violin and I love what he brings to the sound

of every Yellowcard song and I love his presence onstage. It seemed the audience felt similarly — never has there been such a long, loud and passionate ovation for a band member. Shouts of “Let’s hear it for Sean Mackin!” triggered screams and whistles and thunderous clapping that never seemed to end. At one point, there was a single stage light on him as his bow glided over the strings of his violin, and it was truly beautiful. There was a backdrop that read “1997” on one side and “2017” on the other. It was a little jarring to realize this band was literally as old as I was. I think when Yellowcard told us “that this was goodbye,” their fans were begging “not here, not now.” Yellowcard, I bid you farewell. Mayeesha Galiba (Political Science and Journalism)

Fitz and the Tantrums November 15 @ House of Blues

Spring 2016

Fitz and the Tantrums brought the “Come Get Your Love” tour to the House of Blues with support from English singersongwriter Barns Courtney on a rainy Tuesday night. Singer Michael Fitzpatrick, clad in a white T-shirt and white jeans, complemented the talented Noelle Scaggs, who donned a contrasting all-black outfit, through the hour and a half long show with their blended harmonies and various solos. The performance’s vivid lighting display combined with the two’s moves proved to be enough to get any attendee dancing along to the groove. The group, which consists of the two singers, a keyboardist, a saxophonist/ guitarist, bassist and a percussionist, continues to produce hits that uniquely don’t rely on guitar riffs or heavy sampling. The presence of the sax and the keyboard was enough to not only carry the songs but also bring them to life in a vivacious and soulful way that has become less common in modern pop hits. The audience hardly had time to

miss the typically-dominant guitar, as the band’s natural groove proved that they clearly didn’t need it to deliver a great performance. Fitz’s old soul feel makes their performance distinctive in the often-unvarying world of indie pop music. Performing hits such as “Out of My League,” the groovy “6AM,” and their recent single, “Handclap,” the show was full of great catchy tunes that everyone in the house could get on board with. Drawing in a surprisingly older audience, the group proved that their infectious indie pop appeals to all audience members. The catchy earworms that the band has perfected are only enhanced during their performances, as the rhythm and bassdriven melodies are complemented by live saxophone solos. In fact, on several occasions sax player James King took solos to show off his talent, and the entire band partook in a prolonged outro jam during their set closer “The Walker.”

The fourteen-song set, which contained a solid mix of old songs and new, concluded with a blast from confetti cannons but ultimately ended too soon. Fitz and the Tantrums made up for such a seeminglybrief show with their contagious stage presence and choreographed moves that encouraged dancing along with each song. While Fitzpatrick had a very serious stage face, it was apparent that he was having a good time and was clearly thankful to have progressed from the Brighton Music Hall to the Paradise to the House of Blues. He even showed his appreciation by coming into the barricade after the show to meet fans. Playing a packed house, the band’s energetic neo soul was a perfect combatant against the dreary outdoors and certainly gave the audience a little boost to get their week going. Taylor Piepenbrink (Music Industry)

USER’S GUIDE TO Deep within the suburban jungle of Western Massachusetts, there looms a strange collective waiting to take over the Boston hip-hop scene. By Tim DiFazio (English) and Jack McGill (Media and Screen Studies)

he home video stylings of DJ Lucas and his crew hit that elusive sweet spot where everything they do is at once fiercely unique and strangely familiar. The music is like little else, blending bedroom Soundcloud production, hooky mixtape rap and a hardcore punk ethos. But the appeal truly lies in how unapologetically unprofessional it all is; the collective is more likely to draw comparisons to a listener’s high school friend group than any established rappers — many of the members got their start with their high school garage rock band Who Shot Hollywood. For their target audience, it’s easy to watch a video like Weird Dane’s “Leer” and imagine oneself in their place, throwing together songs as an afternoon project and moving on with their life. Though a lot of things about Dark World contribute to this sense of intimacy, nothing reinforces it more than their music videos. Typically shot on an analog camera and edited in iMovie, they have an intentionally cultivated DIY vibe. Filmed entirely in small-town Western Mass., the setting seems to be wherever they were hanging out at the time — someone’s house, the inside of a car, maybe the woods. And regardless of who is actually on the track, the videos are often a group project; watch a clip from a lesser-known member of the

collective and you’ll start to see them pop up everywhere. Nothing feels more genuine, however, than the on-point sense of humor that these videos showcase, whether that’s through the artists’ facial expressions, bizarre costuming or ridiculously goofy editing. As is typical of many hometown musicians, they seem incapable of taking themselves fully seriously. Luckily, this works very much to their advantage. What differentiates Dark World from a high school passion project, however, is their sheer commitment. At the time of this writing, their Youtube channel is nearing 150 videos and their Bandcamp holds 44 albums and EPs — and that’s not even counting the constant stream of uploads to their Soundcloud and DJ Lucas’ personal pages. And although hip-hop is their focus, the collective has plenty of oddballs, like the indie rock of Sweat Enzo or the bedroom pop of Lucy. Needless to say, it’s easy to get lost in such a daunting catalogue. Luckily, we’re here to help you out. In the following pages, we’re going to walk you through the ins and outs of some of the more notable members of the Dark World syndicate. Strap on your ballerina hats and let’s go for a dive.

Feature

DJ LUCAS There’s only one place for a good tour of Dark World to start: with their founder.

Spring 2016

Lucas Kendall, colloquially known as “DJ Lucas” and “The Young Mr. Clean,” is the most independent member of the group. A college dropout and the former frontman of Who Shot Hollywood, Lucas has his own logo and merch line. His identity is further forged by a slew of taglines: “I continue to bump while I thump,” “This will not end well” and of course, “DJ!!” to name a few. On top of that, he can write a hell of a hook. Just one listen to the raucous “Creme de la Creme” or “Where the Sidewalk Bends” is plenty to cram his catchphrases into your head for weeks. It’s no wonder, then, that his videos are by far the most popular in the group, with “Creme de la Creme” checking in at just under sixty thousand views. He’s also prominent in other members’ projects, keeping busy as one of the biggest producers and most common features. In many of these cuts he shows off just how flexible he can be, from his smooth singing in Jumpy’s “Everything I Know” to his seat behind a drum kit as part of Sweat Enzo.

Over the past couple years, Lucas has released a lot of music — specifically, nine solo tapes and a collaborative album with God’s Wisdom. His most recent project, Till Death Do Us Part 1, is also one of his most consistent. It serves as a home for many of his pre-existing singles, such as the incredibly catchy “Ballerina Look Like Jumpman” and “Rockstar,” but it also contains a decent amount of new, explorative material. “Pretty Boy” is a contemplative, AutoTuned ballad set to a combination of trippy, laid-back production and constant screamed adlibs. Surprisingly, this formula works quite well. Lucas’ inability to be fully serious actually adds to his authenticity. It wouldn’t make much sense for someone like him to completely drop his character for a moment of heartfelt honesty. Even when he’s being slow and nostalgic, he must hold some level of irony to keep things believable.

We had the privilege of catching Lucas live when he came through Boston with Ratking’s Wiki. The concert strengthened the feeling of high school nostalgia that tends to follow this collective. Lucas brought a shirtless hype man who appeared to have no musical affiliation with Dark World but still knew the words to every song they pulled out. And although the crowd was small, they were ridiculously enthusiastic, screaming the lyrics to “Creme de la Creme” loudly enough that it could have been mistaken for a stadium show. Lucas maintained the energy with his signature “DJ!!!” call and response as well as some wonky freestyling that the crowd ate up. It felt more like a basement punk show than a rap concert, and that’s what made it so much fun. DJ Lucas reminds people of places they’ve been before, but he does it in a way that they’ve never quite seen.

It is impossible to discuss Dark World without mentioning Ruvi Ender Arnold, known to those in the outside world as Gods Wisdom. For all that can be said about the uniqueness of the group’s other members, Gods Wisdom laps them by a mile. By any measure, he is second only to Lucas in popularity, but his appearance and sound are by far the most recognizable. No one sounds quite like Gods Wisdom, and no one looks like him. Currently, his videos for “Beep Beep” featuring Lucy and “2 Lives” featuring Mal Devisa have view counts surpassed only by DJ Lucas’ videos. Gods Wisdom’s fifth solo Dark World release, Self Restraint, came out in October. Like most of the group’s projects, it features excellent production from within the collective. It is hard to classify Gods Wisdom as simply a rapper, because the signature reverb and echo applied to his vocals produce a haunting, lingering effect that almost floats over the production; this effect is amplified when he opts to sing the hook. Making it through a Gods Wisdom project can be a challenging endeavor because of the outright abrasiveness of his music, but it is fascinating to listen to an artist so committed to pushing the boundaries of acceptable and accessible sound. Multi-instrumentalist Sen Morimoto is a lesser-known member of Dark World, but he also happens to be one of the best. You can find his polished saxophone riffs all over the rest of the collective’s production, but where he really shines is in his solo work. A true auteur, Morimoto almost always takes care of his own production, dynamically stringing together live instruments and electronic production to create layered beats that sound like they were recorded in a studio and not his bedroom. On top of that, he’s probably the closest thing Dark World has to a traditionally good emcee, dizzyingly transitioning between sung and rapped bars a la Chance the Rapper. At the time of this writing, Morimoto has only one released full-length project: 2015’s For Me & Ladie. Luckily, it’s a hell of a record that blends jazz pop and conscious hiphop while tackling themes of identity and relationships. The album is a personal project, containing just one feature from an unknown rapper named “Tree,” and the psychedelic, instrument-based production is a true delight. Morimoto serves as proof of the musical ability that is the backbone of Dark World, showing that no matter how silly they look, there is substance behind the clowning.

GODS WISDOM

MORIMOTO

Cooper B. Handy, better known as Lucy, has the distinction of being Dark World’s most well-known vocalist — although a lot of other members handle the hooks on their songs, Lucy sings exclusively. Perhaps most recognized for his feature on DJ Lucas’ “Creme de la Creme,” Lucy occupies a niche in the collective, which is an achievement unto itself in a group best recognized and self-identified as outsiders. He is one of the few members who self-produces most of his work. Despite this, he still bears the signature ominous Dark World production sound, likely stemming from his proximity to the other members during the creative process. Lucy’s most recent project is the third in a series of semi-eponymous albums, Cooper B. Handy’s Album Vol. 3. Like most of his releases, it is much shorter in length than a typical Dark World offering, and has few features, in this case from Gods Wisdom and vocalist Lily Konigsberg. The twinkling MIDI pop that dominates this album as well as the others in the series is strange but comfy, giving an emerging Dark World member a clear persona of his own. Lucas’ younger brother, Dana Kendall, is one of the main members of the Dark World family. Known by the stage name Weird Dane, he is responsible for shooting and editing a significant portion of the collective’s signature videos, and has also released multiple projects as an artist and producer. Like his brother, Dane was a member of Who Shot Hollywood, sharing a similar background and familiarity with the music scene; he has since followed a more traditional route, finishing high school and studying sound design at Emerson College in Boston. Most recently, Weird Dane directed the video for a DJ Lucas single, “Rockstar,” and released his own mixtape, Ancient Alien, in September. Although the production is mostly in-house, the beats tend towards a more atmospheric, airy sound than his brother. Stressing his individuality, Dane avoids the more eclectic beats that define a DJ Lucas song and the bizarre vocalizations of Gods Wisdom. Still, the influence of the group and overall sound are unmistakable: more than half the songs feature a member of the collective, and Dane is sure to shout out the team. Despite his ties to the larger group, Dane’s aggressive flow is individualistic enough to make Ancient Alien a standout project in the Dark World canon.

LUCY

WEIRD DANE

Editorial

10 Years Later

Spring 2016

In 2006, Brand New released their third studio album The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me. This was released after the band took a break from the constant writing, recording and touring that followed their first two albums. The album was dark, twisted, sad and confused, and it means a lot to me. Is Devil and God my favorite Brand New album? Probably not• I’m partial to the early 2000s pop-punk of Your Favorite Weapon. But this is the sort of album that I need to listen to front to back, the kind of album that I want playing as I walk down the street on a cold and gloomy day. It seems that Brand New’s first three albums got quieter and slower as they went on. Your Favorite Weapon was full of power chords and youthful “screw you” lyrics, and could be seen as one-note in terms of content (doesn’t mean I still don’t love it). I maintain that the bridge of “Seventy Times Seven” is one of the angstiest collection of lyrics put together, ever —

“I’ve seen more spine in jellyfish, I’ve seen more guts in 11-year-old kids.” Brutal. Deja Entendu, their sophomore release, was a step away from that, maturing lyrically and varying in sound from songs that were much harder and more powerful like “Sic Transit Gloria...Glory Fades” to softer, more painful ballads like “The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot.”

“But this is the sort of album that I need to listen to front to back, the kind of album that I want playing as I walk down the street on a cold and gloomy day.” Deja was an important bridge between Your Favorite Weapon and Devil and God because it introduced the darker side of Brand New. Devil and God just took that gloominess

and augmented it for a 12-song album that showcases lead singer Jesse Lacey’s vocals with a softer instrumental, but also juxtaposes that with drops in the songs that go really hard. The album showcases tortured feelings surrounding guilt, death and religion. The most popular song, “Jesus Christ,” acts as a sort of inquisition to a higher being about loneliness and the afterlife — “Jesus Christ I’m not scared to die, but I’m a little bit scared of what comes after.” The album didn’t totally ditch their pop-punk roots, though • I’ve always thought “Archers” sounded like something early Fall Out Boy would put out. Just before Brand New set out on their fall tour earlier this year, they released what appeared to be a typewritten statement announcing that they would not be releasing a new album this year, but would be playing Devil and God in its entirety. This was met with a mostly positive response • I feel their only divisive album is Daisy, their latest release in 2009. Daisy was a lot

harder than their previous albums, and surprisingly so at times. Songs like “Vices” started off unassumingly slow and went crazy halfway through. I was right up in the front (okay, second row, but that still counts) at their Portland, Maine show in October. This was my first time seeing Brand New, a true bucket list moment if there ever was one. The show was sonically and visually overwhelming in the best way. There were times when the flashing lights would practically blur my vision, and the smoke would surround me and I’d look up and just watch it rise into the air. Lacey’s microphone stand was covered in flowers, which he later threw into the crowd.

“The show was sonically and visually overwhelming in the best way.”

The show started off with a few non-Devil and God songs, none of which were from Your Favorite Weapon, which was slightly disappointing. They played their single from earlier this year, “I Am a Nightmare,” and I’m pretty sure I bruised my ribs slamming up into the barricade. The rest of the show consisted of Devil and God in its entirety, as promised. Surprisingly, “Not the Sun” was the song that made me want to double over and weep. “You are not the sun,” Lacey sang with the conviction of someone trying to claw themselves out of an allencompassing obsession. I was astounded when Lacey stood up there with just a guitar and started singing a song that seemed unfamiliar, yet that I knew by heart. A few lines in, I realized he was doing an impromptu cover of “Video Games” by Lana Del Rey. I didn’t come to a Brand New show expecting to hear the best version of a Lana Del Rey song • and that’s saying something because I love Lana.

“A few lines in, I realized he was doing an impromptu cover of “Video Games” by Lana Del Rey.” We all have an expiration date, but Brand New’s happens to be 2018, when they will have been a band for 18 years. The way they present this end is very ominous, and is prominently displayed on stage when they finish a show. This wasn’t their final tour, which I’m thankful for because maybe I still have a chance of hearing “Seventy Times Seven” or “The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot” live. Brand New puts on the kind of show that leaves you slightly dazed at the end, wondering how you could be so blessed. I’m hoping 2018 doesn’t come anytime soon. • Mayeesha Galiba (Political Science / Journalism)

Editorial

Dead Pets Pets Dead Society Society Musicians! They’re just like us! They have also deemed themselves responsible enough at one point to own a darling (and sometimes exotic) pet. Some shine as pet owners and their furry friends become glamorous companions to share the spotlight with. Others buckle under the pressure of raising a living, breathing animal. Here are some critters that have inspired music, helped elevate a star’s brand or bravely endured the carelessness of young rich people.

Lou Dog

Spring 2016

Sublime fans know Louie (aka Nowell’s King Louie, aka Lou Dog) as the beloved Dalmatian of lead singer/guitarist Bradley Nowell. The band’s lyrics featured frequent Louie references (ex. “Livin’ with Louie Dog’s the only way to stay sane” from “What I Got”) and the pup even graced the cover of one of their compilation albums. As the band’s mascot, he wandered the stage for many of their performances, eventually going deaf from the high volume and forcing Nowell to call Louie’s name into the microphone as the only way to get his attention. Lou Dog was well-known for biting, with casualties including Gwen Stefani and the stars of both the “Date Rape” and “Santeria” music videos, among others. Following Bradley Nowell’s sudden death in 1996, Miguel Happoldt, cofounder of Skunk Records and producer for Sublime, cared for Lou Dog.

Justin Bieber’s monkey OG Mally Justin Bieber’s relationship with his Capuchin monkey lasted just about as long as the hype around his dick pics: about a week. Biebs acquired the monkey as a birthday gift in 2013, christened him OG Mally and took this new exotic pet on tour with him. However, when Bieber’s tour stopped in Munich, OG Mally was seized at the airport by German custom officials when Bieber was unable to produce the proper papers. Despite a promise to return for his monkey with the correct documentation, OG Mally was ultimately abandoned by his pop star owner in Germany. The deserted Capuchin eventually found solace at the Serengeti Safari Park in Copenhagen.

Biggy Pop We should all be extremely thankful for Instagram. Without it, we would never get the intimate look into Iggy Pop’s unexpectedly loving relationship with his cockatoo, Biggy Pop. Several videos posted on The Stooges frontman’s account feature him lounging on his sofa with the female parrot while they caress each other and listen to music. In another clip, Biggy Pop pecks at Iggy Pop’s face in what he refers to as a “Flintstone shave.” Thank you, Instagram. #CockatoosOfInstagram #IggyandBiggy

Bubbles Michael Jackson’s pet chimpanzee, Bubbles, has a more extensive Wikipedia page than founding *NSYNC member Chris Kirkpatrick. During his time at the Neverland Ranch, Bubbles also had a bodyguard, a wardrobe customized to match Michael’s and a crib located directly next to the pop singer’s bed. In the mid-1980s, Michael Jackson adopted Bubbles from a research facility that bred primates for animal testing, and the two quickly became inseparable. Bubbles and Jackson’s time together was plagued by tabloid rumors, including multiple stories that Bubbles had died and a particularly bizarre rumor that Prince had used ESP to transform Bubbles from a gentle chimp into a psychotic one. Today, the 33-year-old chimp is alive and well at the Center for Great Apes sanctuary in Wauchula, Florida, where he hangs out with other celebrity primates, including Ripley, a chimp who once spit on Kramer in an episode of “Seinfeld,” and Bamboo, who played Nurse Precious on the NBC soap opera “Passions.”

Honorable Mentions 1. Elvis Presley was a noted animal lover. The King of Rock and Roll kept numerous horses, dogs, peacocks, donkeys, chickens and a talking Myna bird at Graceland. His most exotic pet, however, was a kangaroo sent by his agent as a gift. Elvis eventually donated the marsupial to a zoo in Memphis.

Miley Cyrus’ dead animals Miley Cyrus’ constantly updated social media accounts offer insight that she lives in a very colorful, very glittery menagerie. The pop singer has, at last count, 12 critters inhabiting her home, including a pig and at least one dog named after marijuana. But Miley’s pet history is also pretty grim. Her “favorite” dog, an Alaskan Klee Kai named Floyd, was mysteriously killed by a coyote in 2014. In another incident, Miley’s dog Ziggy, who she shared ownership of with Liam Hemsworth, fatally attacked her Yorkie mix Lila. Ziggy was later shipped to a new home. Miley also commemorated the death of her blowfish, Pablow, with a portrait tattoo and a surprisingly touching song written for him that appeared on Miley’s fifth studio album, Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz. The psychedelia-influenced album and accompanying tour paid homage to her beloved fallen creatures and featured production by the Flaming Lips’ Wayne Coyne.

Rapper D.R.A.M. is a relative newcomer. His fluffy Goldendoodle, Idnit, has appeared in his owner’s video for “Broccoli,” appeared onstage at the BET Hip Hop Awards and stole the cover of D.R.A.M.’s debut album, Big Baby D.R.A.M.

Riff Raff’s huskies Everything offbeat rapper RiFF RaFF does is colorful and nicknamed. That’s why his beloved Siberian Husky, Jody Husky aka “THE SiBERiAN MOBiLE iCE SCULPTURE” is sometimes dyed turquoise. Jody and her sister, Holly Husky, are extremely photogenic, as evidenced by the many pictures posted by RiFF RaFF of the pups hanging poolside at the Codeine Castle or frolicking on snowy mountains.

Katy Perry’s pet cat Kitty Purry makes a guest appearance in her “I Kissed a Girl” video and can frequently be found backstage at meet and greets.

• Kelly Subin (Marketing and Interactive Media)

Editorial

A Brief History of Stadium-Sized Spectacles

ometimes what makes a concert great isn’t what you hear, but what you see. That’s what I couldn’t help but think as I watched Kanye West sing his immortal electro-emo hit “Heartless” while laying on a slanted stage floating twenty feet over a rapt crowd. I was watching from the nosebleeds, but the fact that Mr. West was lying against the stage as if he was a prisoner chained against a castle wall in a dungeon really made an impression on me. The flying stage that made this moment possible is just one glorious installment in a history of crazy musical spectacles. Where did this lineage of stage craziness start? Like many great aspects of pop music, it started with somebody trying something crazy on boring, everyday technology. The earliest spectacle in pop music concerts was the “liquid light show.” Almost quaint by modern standards, this early spectacle arose out of San Francisco resident Bill Hamm’s experiments with overhead projectors. Hamm figured out that by moving chemicals and dyes around on a big overhead projector he could create psychedelic visuals that could be projected behind a performance. This idea caught on fast, and soon liquid light shows were commonplace with psychedelic rock bands like the Grateful Dead and Captain Beefheart. These soupy, strange visuals were the granddaddy of the modern concert special effects, and their heyday didn’t last long.

Spring 2016

As rock music became bigger and more arena-focused, the humble liquid light show also had to upgrade. Soon, bands were experimenting with actual lasers. The first rock group to use the now-commonplace stage technology is debated, but the title probably belongs to either The Who or Led Zeppelin, depending on how you want to define it. Led Zeppelin used the first laser, but this single beam was hardly a “show.” According to pioneering laser technician Rick Lefrak, The Who’s first 1975 multilaser setup was a “heavy duty show” that deserves the title. Regardless of the innovator, lights and lasers soon became just one part of the spectacle, as set pieces started to become widespread. One of these early awesome props was a real-looking UFO “Mothership” that would touch down in the middle of Parliament-Funkadelic concerts, aided by floodlights and sketchy-looking orange sparks. Another notable stage setup was prog-pop behemoths Electric Light Orchestra, who performed inside a spaceship that used electric pumps to lift off the roof and reveal the band. This insane contraption caused the band to struggle to hear each other, but the concert broke sales records and has been repeatedly re-released since the VHS era, suggesting the troublesome acoustics were worth it.

These early stage designs pointed the way forward. Laser lights had begun to pop up elsewhere, in nightclubs and amusement parks. In 1980, The Food and Drug Administration published a guide to laser light safety for technicians, signifying that the once-otherworldly lasers had become an earthly, governmental concern. The guide is worth looking up — it features a title page with a faux-The Who and the title “Who’s Responsible,” a reference to The Who’s classic 1971 album Who’s Next. By the early ‘90s, the music industry at large had followed ELO’s lead — suddenly the whole stage was the set piece. Rock and pop concerts had totally transformed into multimedia spectacle, with walls of TVs and lasers becoming as omnipresent as huge speakers and amplifiers. This led to some of the modern crazy stages like U2’s 360-degree rotating stage and Daft Punk’s gorgeous neon dance-pyramid. These days, even small stages have features that would have made the Grateful Dead trip out. Psychpop maestros Animal Collective, for example, feature a modern art-themed light-up stage that acted as a perfect fit for small venues. Music will always be the most important thing at shows, of course, but besides being a lot of fun, these kind of spectacles — from the liquid light show of the acid rock era to the flying stage of today — tap into the emotional power and otherworldliness of live music. Here’s hoping that when it comes to being crazy, the stages of the future will copy Kanye West and soar overhead. • Seth Queeney (Communications/Political Science)

K POP POP concepts in

K-pop is an expansive and ever-growing genre of music, appealing not only to those native to South Korea but also to a global market. The idea of the concept album is not unfamiliar to the United States, but many K-pop groups take it even further and structure a whole era of their careers around a certain concept, whether it be cute, sexy, dark, etc. There’s not enough time in the world to analyze how every single K-pop band uses tropes and concepts, so I’ll focus on just two.. K-pop groups are structured a lot differently than Western groups — they usually have a lot more than the four or fivemember unit typical to Western bands, and they are often combined to fit their talents. Many of the groups have sub-units that focus on a certain aspect of their performance, whether it be vocals, rap or dance.

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Bangtan Sonyeondan, more commonly known as BTS, is a seven-member boy band that debuted in 2013 and has used the concept style to their advantage. Before they made their official debut, they were already producing videos in schoolboy uniforms, a common trope in K-pop. At the time, they were in their early teens and probably wanted to appeal to a younger fanbase, and the uniforms gave them a vibe of innocence and youthfulness that young fans could relate to. They likely did not want to go too experimental that early in their career, so the schoolboy idea was a safe way to start. Predebut, they posted a lot of content ranging from band practices to dance videos to garner excitement for their first album. Their first three albums were a part of the “school” trilogy. Their debut album was called 2 Cool 4 Skool, and that shifted their image away from the look of innocence to the concept of young rebellion, which fits in with the title of the album. This album was heavily rap-focused, which set the tone for the usage of rap throughout the rest of their albums. After, they released a mini-album called O!RUL8,2? and finished off the trilogy with Skool Luv Affair. Though Skool Luv Affair was a part of the trilogy, this album focused more on the beginnings of young love and coupled that with social commentary on consumerist culture. Since then, they’ve come out with numerous other concepts and albums. When BTS goes on hiatus in between albums, they don’t disappear like some bands do. They are constantly producing content, performing on shows, releasing individual projects — anything to keep fan interest up. They are big utilizers of social media and are never completely out of sight. The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Part 1 was a huge comeback for BTS. They released consistent trailers and photos of the band members to tease the release, and debuted their comeback with the single “I Need U.” They then released The Most Beautiful Moment in Life, Part 2, and rounded out the trilogy with The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Young Forever, which has a summaryremix of “I Need U.” The music videos in this trilogy are very mysterious and can be viewed as short, cryptic films. BTS played well with the mysterious, dark, what-is-the-meaningof-life concept.

EXO (taken from the word exoplanet) was formed in 2011 and debuted in 2012 as two separate subgroups — EXO-M and EXO-K. One group performed in Mandarin and focused their promotion in China, and the other group performed in Korean. EXO is one of the biggest boy bands in Korean pop music — they have dominated with single after single, album after album. Their original concept is connected to the intergalactic origins of their name. In it, each of the members had powers and the whole group came from another planet — they have referenced this concept throughout their career, even if in more subtle ways. They have had a plethora of other concepts, from the basics like school, dark or cutesy to the more out-there concepts like “Wolf,” where they had red eyes and clawed around. While they don’t play around with the actual concepts themselves much, the way they use them is more experimental. “Wolf” wasn’t too successful of a concept; what really pushed them out there was their single “Growl,” and then “Overdose” sent them over the edge. EXO put out a significant amount of new music and teasers before their official first studio album XOXO. Like BTS, they consistently produce content to keep the interests of their fans, but they do so through more official albums and singles. EXO uses concepts in a more surface level way than BTS does. For BTS, it’s not just their videos or outfits, it’s a group identity created for every comeback that keeps adding on and delving deeper into the identities of the past. You see it referenced constantly, not just in official songs and music videos but also in teasers and photoshoots. EXO debuted a double concept for their album that came out this past summer, Ex’Act. One was a much softer concept, which they showed through a photoset of the boys clad in outfits inspired by the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, with round glasses, soft pastels and lots of stripes. This is a step away from their darker, more futuristic concepts, but not completely, as their music videos like “Lucky One” still have those elements. The other concept was a more dark-grunge look for their other single, “Monster.”

Although EXO uses a multitude of concepts, one vital element that remains stagnant in their music videos — and the music videos of many other K-pop artists — is the usage of the box. The band literally dances in a box with flashing lights around them. There are often geometric patterns in the background, which offer simple backdrops that the members can show off their dance moves in front of. Many fans love this style of music video, and most older K-pop groups have used this style in some way or another. The usage of different concepts adds excitement to bands coming back from hiatus, or adds another dimension to members that plays to the hearts of their fans. Whether you find yourself enamored with a group that constantly changes concepts or one that knows what works for them and sticks to it, Korean pop is a confusing and wonderful world. • Mayeesha Galiba (Political Science and Journalism)

BIG BANG

G-DRAGON

BTS

RAP MONSTER

CRAYON BAR

ELLIN

2NE1

DARA

GIRLâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S DAY

SOJIN

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Local Photos

STRFKR, Royale

Photo by Nola Chen (Computer Science)

Parachute, Agganis Arena

Photo by Lauren Scornavacca (Engineering)

Cam, Paradise Rock Club

Photo by Lauren Scornavacca (Engineering)

Dilly Dally, House of Blues

Photo by Abigail Manos (Media Arts)

Feature

ask

The Value of Big vs Small Shows

Let’s set the stage. It’s 1977, and you’re in CBGB’s in New York, watching The Ramones. It’s dark and hazy, you’re getting pushed around, the band is 10 feet away, and the 350-person audience can feel the buzz of distortion and energy coming straight from the band. It’s 1990, and you’re watching Pink Floyd play The Wall in Berlin. With tens of thousands of people in the audience, you stare amazed at the production in front of you. The lights, pageantry and props leave you transfixed, witnessing something truly awesome. There’s a lot differentiating these shows, but what they illustrate is that, fundamentally, concerts fall into one of two bins. There are the smaller, more intimate shows, which have a lot more improvisation and audience interaction. Think of your favorite house show, and how close the relationship between audience and musician is. Then there’s the huge performances, the spectacles, the theatric concerts that leave you standing in awe of the performance’s power. Think Kanye West or Madonna, with their elaborate stages and impressive lights. Of course, there are advantages and disadvantages to both kinds of shows. To get a sense of what people like about each kind of concert, we asked our writers: “What is the value of a big/small show?” • Jonathan Vayness (Psychology)

Spring 2016

Larger music venues, like arenas, amphitheaters or any venue with capacities over 1,000, can greatly enhance the concertgoer’s experience. The greater the venue’s capacity, the greater its production capacity. Imagine seeing an EDM show in a venue the size of Brighton Music Hall. The electronic elements, like the immense sound and various lighting fixtures, wouldn’t be presented to their fullest due to the stage’s physical limitations, and thus might be underwhelming. Bigger venues’ higher production quality gives artists the ability to provide truly ethereal concert experiences, in turn generating more hype. It’s far less common to hear about a small venue show than to hear about a massive, sold-out arena show. While small venues might bring artists physically closer to the audience, larger venues are indicators of the artist’s popularity and have more room to make the show visually appealing. Sure, it can be great to see a lesser-known artist in a tiny packed room, but it’s also incredibly satisfying to watch that artist grow and eventually upgrade to larger-scale venues where more people can see them. Not only do bigger venues allow touring artists to exercise greater creativity with their presentation, but they also let thousands of people see a great show simultaneously. There’s something to be said for sharing your concert experience with so many people. If everyone’s equally excited about the music, the crowd members often experience an innate, immediate sense of community and connection that only music can produce. Performers often thrive off crowd energy, and this built-up excitement encourages even better performance. The sense of belonging to a group of countless others that appreciate the same music is truly unlike anything else.

pro

Big Shows Whether it’s a sold-out stadium or a packed festival, large concerts are possibly the greatest mass communal experiences our culture offers. There’s nothing like a concert so huge that it feels like a capital-E Event — the rush to buy floor seats before the bootleggers get their filthy mitts on them, the anticipation in the weeks leading up to the big night, the palpable buzzing of the crowd as they wait for the star backstage to get out there already! When I saw The Rolling Stones with my uncle, it struck me how, between the parking lot tailgating beforehand and the jubilant postconcert radio interviews with fans, the evening almost felt more like a football game than a concert. That musicians can inspire the same passion and loyalty as pro sports teams is a beautiful thing. When thousands of people gather in mutual appreciation of an artist, their cheering and singing along can reach volumes so loud it produces a visceral sensation of shared humanity in all those participating. We need big concerts, if only for that feeling of togetherness.

There is something breathtakingly human about a massive concert. When the gates first open, when your ticket’s first scanned and when you mark out your territory before the band takes the stage, you’re surrounded by thousands of strangers. The feeling is like standing on a crowded train platform or busy street; you may talk to one or two people, but you mostly ignore those around you, paying attention only to the people you came with. Once the band takes the stage, though, something connects you to every single person in that arena. By all societal norms, many of the venue’s occupants should have nothing to do with each other, but when that band’s playing and everyone’s singing and dancing along, you understand that the connection between these people is basically spiritual. This connection is the value of big shows. It reminds you that the music community is not just hip kids at house shows: it’s everyone. • Helen Hennessey (Music Industry)

• Terence Cawley (Biology)

• Taylor Piepenbrink (Music Industry)

Feature

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Small Shows

A big-budget film isn’t necessarily better than some indie darlings’ low-budget film. A full roster of producers doesn’t guarantee an album better than one produced in a basement studio with friends. Art, in any form, is not the same as most consumer products, where a more meticulous approach can make the difference between something nice and a product fine-tuned for maximum efficiency. The same applies to concerts, arguably more definitively than in any of the other mediums previously mentioned. All the flashing lights and theatrics in the world can’t replace the intimate nature of small shows. If a band’s work emotionally affects you, those feelings can be intensified by cramming into a small room fifteen feet from the minds that brought you that music. How can you find that same experience so far from the stage that you can’t see the artist’s face? • David McDevitt (International Affairs/ Economics)

Why do people go to museums to see an original Van Gogh, when surely a high-resolution image on a laptop could do the trick? Why do people pay so much for their favorite authors’ handwritten notes, when the words are no different than the printed book? These both represent direct, physical connections between us and the masterminds behind the work that moves us. While large shows can bind huge audiences in a way small shows maybe cannot, only a small show puts us in such proximity with the artists behind the music we love. When standing less than 30 feet from an artist, hearing them play the songs we love, knowing that they’re feeding off our energy, personally, we connect to the music and artist in ways that can be found in no other space and with no other art form. Even seeing the original Starry Night is a shadow of standing 10 yards from Van Gogh while he painted it. • Jonathan Vayness (Psychology)

Spring 2016

It’s not that I don’t understand the appeal of big shows. The spectacle is unmatched. The sound is (usually) superior. And sure, there’s the powerful shared experience But sometimes, when you’re not feeling overpriced beer or oppressive Ticketmaster fees, you need something a little more intimate. Maybe a local bar, an Elk’s Lodge, or a house show. Can you say, “$5 cover?” There’s a sense of community here too, but it has less to do with fandom and more with love of music. No ego, just working musicians at their most candid. To those noble showgoers willing to risk Saturday nights on struggling touring bands and nameless up-and-comers, we salute you. Let’s face it – if you’re going to see a band, it’s better to catch them on their upswing. Would you rather squint through a Dinosaur Jr. House of Blues set, or watch J Mascis shred inches from your face at some Northampton dive called Sheehan’s Café? Memories like these — the where-were-theythen moments — are made at VFWs and shitty apartment basements, not arenas. • Joey Dussault (Journalism)

CHEER YE, CHEER YE

FIND KANYE

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