Off the backs of platforms like TikTok, the current music landscape is dominated by meme culture, completely changing the careers of numerous musicians and the music industry forever

BL ac k and A f r iCAn M fighting for recognition

Genre is a complicated concept in music, going beyond just technical elements and lyrical content. It’s often linked with stylistic choices outside of the music itself, and certain cultures or even ethnic groups. This is obvious in say, traditional music for a region, but modern genres that are supposedly post-tradition are linked to communities. For example, rap is generally thought of as a “Black” genre, originated in American cities by communities of color, though there are now numerous artists from other backgrounds. The opposite is true for the overwhelmingly “white” genre of metal, especially harder subgenres such as death and black metal. While the contemporary metal community itself isn’t specifically racist, Black metal fans and artists remain distinctly in the minority. When trying to search for “black metal bands,” you’re going to have a difficult time avoiding recommendations for blond Norwegian twenty-somethings in corpse face paint, rather than artists of color.

To a certain extent, that erasure was deliberate. Metal has long struggled with racists and anti-Semites being drawn to the genre, though in relatively smaller numbers. “National Socialist black metal” is a real thing, often tied to Northern and Eastern European bands. Even more mainstream artists like Motörhead have flirted with Nazi imagery, leading to a genre that often isn’t entirely welcoming to fans and artists of color. Another aspect that warrants mention is a simple matter of taste: rap and metal emerged around the same time in the early 1970s, and it’s logical that some Black people from New York or LA would gravitate towards rap artists from their communities. A key element to keep in mind when discussing the relationship between metal and Black people, specifically African-Americans, is that metal basically wouldn’t exist without the work of blues and gospel musicians. Rock and roll was the progenitor of hard rock, which then led to early heavy metal like Black Sabbath, which then produced later subgenres such as thrash, black, and death metal. But the first step in that historical progression was Black blues artists, mostly in the American south, who innovated new chord progressions, song structures, and darker themes. There’s a reason that blues was often referred to as “devil’s music” in its early days, though much of that was white people fearing it would corrupt their good sons and daughters. Several blues legends laid the groundwork for what would later become metal, at least thematically. A famous example is Robert Johnson, a supposedly mediocre guitarist who developed great skills after making a mythical deal with the devil at the crossroads. Setting his myth-making (or actual satanic deal-making) aside, in several of his songs he references evil and demonic themes, such as a hellhound chasing him down.

Eventually, rock and roll would develop out of the blues with the aid of artists such as Little Richard and Chuck Berry, losing a lot of that dark and somber edge, but in many ways, the later evolution of metal served as a return to some of those old elements. At least, it did at first. Black Sabbath, the (arguable) godfathers of metal, originally started

Fall 2020

eM tAL fighting for recognition

Designer: Jenny Chen (Business Administration and Design)

as a blues-rock band, returning to slower tempos and more somber themes. As the 70s went on, there were plenty of metal acts that popped up, but unlike rock music, there weren’t as many significant Black artists in the genre. That’s not to say they didn’t exist, but most flew under the radar, and still largely continue to do so. One of the more widely cited examples as the first “all African-American heavy metal band” was Black Death from Cleveland, Ohio, founded in 1977. Their sound was distinctly Sabbath-esque, still mostly sticking to the satanic blues-rock mold, with some traces of early hair metal and falsetto vocal belting similar to Rush’s Geddy Lee.

There weren’t many notable Black metal bands in the 80s either, with one of the few standouts being Living Colour, a band from New York that certainly pushed at the label of “metal”. Their freshman album, Vivid has a very unique sound, definitely embracing elements of Phil Collins-style soft rock, but with a clear hard rock influence--on some tracks--closer to AC/DC and arena metal. However, their lyrical content was less stereotypical metal satanism and more grounded statements about modern life. “Cult of Personality” describes the twosided effects of propaganda for both good and evil, “Open Letter (To a Landlord)” attacks destruction of communities for profitable new apartments, and “Which Way to America” questions the difference in the quality of life between white and Black America. This laid the groundwork for much more abrasive attacks on broken institutions that would come starting in the 90s.

Fall 2020 The band that typifies this later era of “Black metal as protest metal” is likely one of the most controversial groups of the entire 90s, at least in America: Body Count, a band founded by rapper Ice-T and several high school friends in 1991. Ice-T already had an existing career in rap, with well-known tracks such as “6 ‘N the Mornin’” and “O.G. Original Gangster”. But the 1992 self-titled album Body Count was a startling revelation upon its release, combining elements of thrash metal, punk music, and the anti-authoritarian streak of rap. There were plenty of violent and wildly inappropriate songs on the album, such as “Momma’s Gotta Die Tonight,” which combined brutal Megadethesque riffs with an anti-racist horrorcore murder ballad. The album is interspersed with TV news style interludes, which provide satirical context about the following songs. A track about sleeping with a KKK Grand Wizard’s daughter is prefaced by a thesis that “the problem” with rap music is that white kids enjoy Black music and that it may tempt a white woman into falling in love with a Black man. It would be impossible to mention Body Count without noting the uproar the band stirred up, though not for 12 of the 13 songs on the album. Rather, one of them, “Cop Killer” sparked off a political firestorm, leading to death threats being regularly levied against the band and their label, and the eventual removal of the song from all current printings and streamable versions of the album. The only way to listen to this “tribute” to the LAPD is through the original printing of the CD from 1992, or an unofficial YouTube upload from 2011. Since the early 1990s, there have been a wide variety of Black artists performing in metal bands, though few quite as notably (in terms of conservative culture wars) as the Body Count era. Much of that can be pointed to as a side effect of the general decline in metal’s popularity, at least in the United States. Rage Against the Machine was fronted by vocalist Zack de la Rocha, a Mexican-American with African heritage, and legendary guitarist Tom Morello, who was also of mixed descent. Rage began in 1992 as contemporaries of Body Count, sharing the sharp politics, though with more of a transparent leftist edge than general anti-authoritarianism. “Killing in The Name” warns that some of the police “who work forces / are the same that burn crosses,” while “Bulls on Parade” decries the military-industrial complex and the falsity of American “family values.”

Jumping ahead over a decade, a contemporary band that strongly connects back to the Black roots of rock and metal is Zeal and Ardor, originally started as a solo project by Swiss-American Manuel Gagneux. Their early work was very conceptual, combining AfricanAmerican spiritual music with satanic black metal in the Scandinavian mold. Norwegian black metal, to some, represents a rejection of the Christianity that was imposed on the region centuries ago, which led to some radicals burning down churches in the 1990s. Gagneux essentially imagined what black metal would sound like if it originated from Black Americans instead, spurning the Christianity that was

forced upon them by slavers and turning to Satan instead. Their debut album, “Devil is Fine” definitely fits within that blackened spiritual mold, combining ritualistic chants with bluesy crooning, blastbeat drumming, and down-tuned guitar. More recently, their 2020 EP “Wake of a Nation” is a stark statement on our present moment. The cover art is an inverted cross, a traditional satanic symbol, but made out of a pair of white police-batons on a black background. Lyrically, the EP references a series of historical cruelties, such as “Tuskegee,” referring to the 1932-1972 syphilis study which deliberately let Black Americans suffer with placebos for decades without care. “Wake of a Nation” serves as a startling declaration of revolution, claiming the “American carcass beckons,” with regular chants of “Dies Irae” (roughly translated, “Judgment Day”).

I’d be remiss to not touch on the vast world of metal from various African countries, where local artists take death or black metal and combine it with their local culture, language, and music. There’s an entire world of metal out there that simply doesn’t show up in American metal circles, either because of language barriers, licensing issues, or simple disinterest. Which is a shame, because some of these bands are incredibly talented, and bring a very unique perspective on what can come to feel like staid genres. Dor Fantasia is a thrash metal band from Angola, a country that underwent a 26-year civil war (which was a US-backed proxy war) and still has an incredibly low lifeexpectancy. In this kind of context, the sort of catharsis that a metal band can bring could even potentially help traumatized and divided people find some kind of relief. Before Crush is another notable band from the country, whose music mixes English and Portuguese while death—growling and playing searing progressive guitar solos. Botswana also has a thriving metal scene, with a standout death metal trio being Overthrust, whose tracks easily rival the intensity of 90s Swe-death metal (though without the signature dropkicked beehive distortion). Skinflint is a mixed band (the guitarist is white), who combine conventional heavy metal riffing with elements of traditional Botswanan dance and culture. An interesting aspect of the Botswana scene is a notable presence of women, with intricate leather and canvas battle jackets being a common accessory for fans there. While metal by Black artists in America often focuses on antiauthoritarianism and racist oppression, African metal overwhelmingly deals with the conservative culture and religion of their countries. This adoption of the genre is exciting to see, and there’s reason for the hope that African artists will soon gain similar recognition to their American, British, and Scandinavian counterparts.

• Bryan Grady (Political Science)

When quarantine hit and left us locked inside our houses for months, we turned to comfort. Some indulged in their teenage love of Harry Potter and Twilight binge reading and watching the series, while others put on their aprons and filled their kitchen counters with sweet treats and family recipes. Many of us, deprived of new releases and longing to go back to simpler times, turned to our old favorite music. We scrolled back to playlists from middle school and dusted off albums we hadn’t thought about in years. With its help, we were able to escape the monotony of family walks and the challenges of adjusting to working from home. We were brought back to car rides with friends and days where our biggest stressor was who our date to the 8th grade formal would be. Here is what Tastemakers chose to return to during quarantine.

Alex Sumas (Journalism)

For the first two and a half months of quarantine my dad didn’t live with the rest of my family. He was considered an essential worker and often had to come in contact with others. Because of this and some health concerns he refused to see us. Even on Father’s Day he stood outside the gate a good 20 feet away from me, my mom, and siblings. During those months my anxiety skyrocketed as I feared I may never see or hug him again. My dad is the reason I have my love of music and many of my fondest memories I have with him are tied to it. Over quarantine I returned to the music he showed me in middle school that kicked off my obsession. I returned to albums like They Want My Soul by Spoon, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot by Wilco and Circuital by My Morning Jacket all of which brought me back to some of our first conversations about our favorite songs and lyrics. I listened to the Avett Brothers a lot as well as they’re our favorite band to see in concert. I’d play “Laundry Room” recalling how he’d look at me and shake his head when they sang “Disregard your father’s words” only for him to throw his arm around me as they sang “I and Love and You.” After every one of their shows in Port Chester we’d walk down the block and get chili dogs before driving home, recounting the show as I fought to stay awake in the passenger seat. While I couldn’t see my dad and those happier times in packed rooms seemed far away I found comfort in the memories I had tucked away in those albums and songs.

Screen Studies)

The Sun’s Tirade was one of my all-time favorite albums long before the pandemic. Though I listened to it semi-regularly over the four years since its release in 2016, I returned to it in earnest in April 2020, a month after the pandemic transformed our lives. At first, I went back to The Sun’s Tirade for the carefree pre-COVID memories I associated with it. However, as I listened more, I found the messages of the album to be incredibly relevant to my quarantine experience. As the The Sun’s Tirade progresses, Rashad wanders from themes of accomplishment and optimism on “4r Da Squaw” to self-dissatisfaction, loneliness, and depression on tracks like “Stuck in the Mud.” All in all, the album is about the constant inner struggle between Rashad’s mistakes and the things he loves. While forced to put my life on pause for months with little to do other than reflect, I was enraptured by his poignant rumination. By the time Rashad reaches “by george (outro),” he begins to accept his own flaws and look towards improving himself. For listeners (such as myself) who are trying to do the same during this ambiguous era, The Sun’s Tirade is an excellent companion.

Chelsea Henderson (Undeclared)

At the start of quarantine, when all seemed bleak and hopeless, a becon of light emerged–the new 5 Seconds of Summer album, CALM. Though it was a good album with a fresh sound coming from the pop rock band, it sparked a deep desire within me to return to their roots–the self-titled album released in 2014. This album came at a pivotal part of my childhood, when I was a fandom-obsessed, introverted teen. While CALM satisfied my urge for new music from the band, I couldn’t help but miss the comfort that the self-titled album provided. The album, which starts off with one of 5 Seconds of Summer’s most famous songs, “She Looks So Perfect,” captures the essence of being a teenager. I distinctly remember watching the wacky music video of “She Looks So Perfect” on a loop and blasting “Heartbreak Girl” with my friends in the back of my friend’s mom’s minivan. The album as a whole speaks of love and the feeling of wanting to grow up yet simultaneously wanting to remain in the ignorant bliss that is adolescence. Influenced by the sounds of rock bands like Blink-182, Green Day and All Time Low, the self-titled album has a grungy, rock sound mixed with a youthful, pop tone. When compared to CALM, the self-titled album is clearly from a younger perspective, both lyrically and sonically. Nevertheless, it was the perfect album to relive the nostalgia of my early teenage years during the pandemic.

Ethan Matthews (Architecture) Desmond LaFave (Journalism and Media and

The drudgery of quarantine has led me to a desperate search for new music—with days bleeding into each other and little to do except driving nowhere for a couple hours, dedicating hours to finding new artists and songs I might enjoy became a common pattern for me in March and April. But after a couple months of the same sedentary and stagnant lifestyle, I found myself resorting to my favorite artists of the past instead of spending time and energy exhaustively scouring Spotify for new ones. Jon Bellion and The Neighbourhood quickly became my most listened to artists, transporting me to freshman and sophomore years of high school. While certainly not the happiest times of my life, being trapped in the same bedroom listening to the same artists, except with four years of growth to distance myself from high school melancholy, brought a comforting gloom. Wallowing in my inability to escape from the entrapment of my childhood home became easier with Jon Bellion’s “Overwhelming” and “80’s Films” or The Neighbourhood’s “R.I.P. 2 My Youth” soundtracking my daily life. These artists are what brought me to the music I continue to enjoy now—the gateway into groups like Coast Modern or Hippo Campus, and listening to their music reminds me of the growth I have had, not only in my music taste, but my personality and mental health.

• Alex Sumas (Journalism) Designer: Hannah Jean Ahn (Business Administraion and Design )

Designer: Nicholas Alonzo (Architecture)

Fall 2019 Fall 2020 Minutes before tweeting a video that appeared to show him urinating on a golden Grammy Award trophy, rapper and business mogul Kanye West tweeted over 100 pages of his record contracts with major music labels. The release of these documents was the climax of his public rant against the music industry, in which he stressed the importance of musical artists owning their own song recordings or “masters.”

This surely confused at least some of Kanye’s followers, since the arcana of musical copyrights are generally a topic too baffling and byzantine for the average music fan. To develop an understanding of his argument and its significance, one must first start with music copyright law.

There are two types of music copyright registrations: sound recordings and musical compositions. Musical compositions are the ideas or intellectual property behind music – the lyrics, melodies, and rhythms signified by musical notation or sheet music. Sound recordings are captures of specific performances of said music and are embodied in the form of an audio file or physical storage devices like CDs or vinyl records.

When Kanye and other artists refer to their “masters” or “master recordings,” they are referring to the sound recordings that they have produced as a product for listeners. Most prominent musical artists do not own their own sound recordings, even if they were the ones who wrote, played, and recorded the music. In many cases, the sound recordings are instead owned by the artist’s record label, the company behind the marketing and distribution of the music. When an artist signs a record deal with a music label, they typically forfeit their ownership of any sound recordings released by the label. While it may seem counterintuitive that an artist would willingly part with ownership of their music, there are many reasons that they might decide the benefits of a record deal outweigh the cost of losing control of their sound recordings.

Ownership of sound recordings determines who gets the payout or royalties from music sales and streams. Royalties are generated when someone buys or streams the song. Most artists are able to maintain ownership of the second half of musical copyright, their musical compositions. Those rights are only monetized if people buy their sheet music or other artists find success covering their song. Although popular musicians are able to supplement their incomes through multiple revenue streams, the direct payout from streaming and downloads can be a long-lasting consistent source of cash. Touring and selling merchandise can be lucrative for popular artists, but they require additional time and effort that go beyond the creation of music. As demonstrated by the COVID-19 pandemic, the money behind tours can be a logistical nightmare and the artist’s share is reliant on actual shows being played. An artist may not be able to tour for their whole life, but their fans can buy or stream their music as long as it’s available.

A deal with a record label is often the surest way for a musician to guarantee a sustained income from music. Labels provide resources and connections that can exponentially grow an artist’s popularity, opening up other opportunities and sources of income such as the aforementioned live events and merchandise sales. Even in an age of streaming when anyone can post anything they record, there are barriers to reaching an audience.

“If you want to be Katy Perry, there’s only one way to do it. You need a major label deal,” explained David Herlihy, transactional entertainment attorney, professor of Music Industry at Northeastern University, and former professional musician.

“Labels just have absolute control over all streaming playlists,” said David Turner, Emerging Artist Lead at Soundcloud and author of “Penny Fractions,” a weekly newsletter about music streaming. “It’s very similar to radio… the whole idea of someone giving a bag of money to a radio guy to play a song more is very simple. What happens day-to-day with streaming isn’t all that different.”

The allure of signing with a label goes beyond the potential career growth or possible fame. For young artists that are trying to make a living or support their families, the cash incentive of a record deal can be difficult to turn down.

“Even if you know it’s bad, you still are so tempted,” said musical artist Bob Kabeya about the prospect of receiving large cash advances as part of a restrictive record deal. Kabeya is a young indiepop artist who has recently found success on streaming platforms like Spotify. Though he was able to rack up hundreds of thousands of streams without the backing of a label, it’s often very difficult for musicians to significantly grow their profile without label support.

Historically, mainstream success has been the key bargaining power for artists trying to reclaim their sound recordings. Huge stars such as Michael Jackson, David Bowie, and Taylor Swift have leveraged their massive popularity in crafting record deals that granted them sole possession of their music, but they are the exception rather than the norm.

“Most artists don’t have that leverage,” said Herlihy. “It’s a function of leverage, and the labels usually have that leverage so they keep the recordings.”

This is the paradox of artists retaining control of their sound recordings. In order to see benefits from their ownership of their sound recordings, the music must be popular. However, in most cases, it is hard for artists to find large audiences for their music without a label.

“Most artists are struggling just to get to the point where their masters are worth anything,” said Turner. “What do those masters mean in seven or eight years if your band doesn’t get anywhere?”

While a star like Kanye West may have the leverage to negotiate the return of his sound recordings, Herlihy and Turner doubt that Kanye’s quixotic campaign will change how the industry negotiates with their artists, or even the public’s perception of music copyright. “I think that the notion that this is going to move the needle at all in the public mind or even in the practices in the music industry is virtually zero,” said Herlihy.

“Most big actions done by major stars don’t have the ripple effect that you would expect,” explained Turner. “There’s only so much value in things like symbolic gestures if there’s not something more concrete beneath it that it’s tapping into.”

But as up and coming artists become more aware of the pitfalls of record deals, there may be alternatives to the traditional system of sound recording ownership. Kabeya, who is focused on retaining ownership of his music, recently signed a distribution agreement with a small independent label that will allow him to split royalties evenly with the label for seven years before gaining complete control of his music. “It’s pretty cool because a lot of people never own their music,” said Kabeya. “In case my music blows up or continues to make a lot of money, that can go to my family when I die and not just to huge labels.”

• Desmond LaFave (Journalism, Media & Screen Studies)

Fall 2020