Melisma Spring 2018 by Melisma Magazine

MELISMA

FROM THE EDITORS

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF

n this issue, we explore the inner workings of various genres. We delved into new jack swing and its influence on the last 30 years of pop music, emo and the genre’s struggle with sexism, trap music’s oft-ignored intricacies (hey Tufts Daily), and the radio rennaisance in London.

MANAGING EDITORS

You’ll find a personal reflection on the importance of album construction and the nostalgic restrictions of CDs. We also emulated the 600 Psych-whatever surveys that you find on the class Facebook pages as with our own research on alarm songs.

Charlie Billings Katie Fielding Diana Hernandez

Ross Bretherton Kaitlyn Meslin Katie Sanna Chelsea Wang Laura Wolfe

FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT Kriska Desir

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Siddharth Jejurikar Sofia Wolfson Evan Zigmond

ILLUSTRATOR

Check out our interview with Children of the Horn, who are making a name for themselves on our campus and in our hearts. They’ve been a mainstay of the Tufts music scene, playing Applejam and WMFO shows as well as Cambridge’s The Middle East. If you’re passionate about music and want to explore the music scene at Tufts, attend shows in Boston, or contribute in any way to the magazine, we hope you’ll join our team. Send an email to the address below for details on how to become a part of Melisma.

Laura Wolfe

xoxo,

STAFF

Charlie Billings, Katie Fielding, and Diana Hernandez Editors-in-Chief

Bianca Capretta Ella Harvey Amelia Hern Nate Hirsch Vedant Kothari Chris Markus Jason Mejia Ella McDonald Teddy Obrecht

LAYOUT

Maygen Kerner

Interested in writing, art or design? Questions, comments, adulation or hatemail? email melismamagazine@gmail.com

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MELISMA TABLE OF CONTENTS 4

CHILDREN OF THE HORN: LET’S GET IT

The Tufts band that has taken us by surprise Diana Hernandez

GOOD MORNING, TUFTS

Tufts students’ wake-up songs are causing alarm Kaitlyn Meslin

MISOGYNY IN EMO

We examine abuses of power in a genre with a huge teen fanbase Katie Fielding and Siddharth Jejurikar

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THE ELECTRIFYING AIRWAVES OF LONDON RADIO Can underground radio find commercial success? Ross Bretherton

NEW JACK SWING

The genre that changed the music we listen to today Katie Sanna

THE RISE AND FALL OF THE ALBUM

Remember CDs? We revisit why driving music still matters Sofia Wolfson

IN DEFENSE OF TRAP MUSIC

Can we please stop calling trap music ‘simple’? Evan Zigmond

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SPRING SEMESTER IN PHOTOS

Take a look at the concerts we covered this semester

ON THE COVER

Children of the Horn Design by Laura Wolfe Photo by Katie Fielding

SUMMER PREVIEW

Our artist and concert picks for the summer

Melisma Magazine is a non-profit student publication of Tufts University. The opinions expressed in articles, features or photos are solely those of the individual author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of the editors or the staff. Tufts University is not responsible for the content of Melisma Magazine. If you would like to submit a letter to Melisma Magazine, please send it to melismamagazine@gmail. com. Please limit your letter to four hundred words or less.

CHILDREN OF THE HORN: LET’S GET IT BY DIANA HERNANDEZ

hildren of the Horn wins their audience over not only with their talent but also their collective personality. Like all Tufts students, they are very passionate about what they love, and in this case, it’s playing music. Even though they displayed signs of nervousness during their first interview, the band is a force to be reckoned with in the Tufts music scene. We have Elise Lee to thank for the creation of Children of the Horn, which consists of Jordan Anthony Elijah Barnes (vocals), Kennedy Bailey (vocals), Jackson Fulk-Logon (drums), Jon Kuwada (guitar), Andrew Tegeler (bass), and Matt Estabrook (saxophone). She wanted to play in a band before graduation to complete her Tufts experience in the music scene. She first recruited Jordan, and the band quickly formed around them. Jordan and Andrew met in Nan Levinson’s Creative Writing Fiction class, while Jordan and Kennedy are in S-Factor together. After Elise graduated, they decided to continue playing music together. As a newly formed band, they needed a name that would stick. Their search resulted in the moniker Children of the Horn (before they even had a horn). Their band name took a sharp turn from their original name, Coastal Children. Jordan’s mom used to call him and his sister “children of the corn” whenever they were misbehaving, a nickname based on the 1980s horror film of the same name. At first, Jordan didn’t know the implication of him and his sister’s nickname. When he finally realized, he confronted his mom, wondering why “you’ve been calling us children who murder people?” nonetheless embracing this moniker for the band. Thankfully, Children of the Horn aren’t a bunch of murdering kids, but rather a group of dudes who enjoy each other’s company and playing music. One of the band’s greatest strengths is that they know how to work a crowd. According to Andrew, they tend to lean towards “crowd pleasers”, like their cover of “I Heard Love is Blind”

by Amy Winehouse. As for originals, Kennedy explains that “those kinds of songs come together as we play them,” like “A Blue Note,” written by Jordan and “Brightside,” written by Kennedy himself. Before our interview, the band played “A Blue Note” for an audience of one (just me), yet I still felt the energy flowing out of them. Kennedy was sick with a cold, but still chose to partake in the performance, and his voice did not disappoint. I saw the same charisma and excitement as I did when I saw them perform at Battle of the Bands in Brown & Brew to a crowd of 50 people. They just care about performing their music. While Children of the Horn clearly take their music seriously, they are definitely a group of friends who love to joke around. Throughout the interview, they were laughing, each trying to one up each other about which movie they would like to soundtrack: Project X, Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, or High School Musical 3. Jackson at one point confessed he had cried in high school when Drake released Nothing Was the Same while Jordan admitted to crying to Oasis. When John said that he loves to perform “I Heard Love is Blind” because he thinks “it makes you feel something,” his bandmates all laughed at him. Kennedy bashfully said he wouldn’t hook up to his song “Brightside”—not to be confused with “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers, which I cannot confirm whether he would hook up to or not. However, the rest of the band members would hook up to “Brightside.” This silly, relaxed vibe translates to their performances, during which, you can tell they are always enjoying themselves. The band has played shows on campus from Battle of the Bands to Applejam. They have even brought their talent to the Middle East, playing alongside the Smoking Babies, as well as to Harvard Square at the Hong Kong restaurant. Although they have only been a band for roughly a year, they have left a lasting mark on the Tufts community. Sadly, some of the band members will be graduating this year, but the remainder are still very much intent on being involved in the music scene. Ending the interview on the perfect note, in unison, Children of the Horn shouted, “Let’s get it!”

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GOOD MORNING, TUFTS BY KAITLYN MESLIN

Overall, participants who chose to write in their own answer expressed opinions siding with a general dislike.However, when choosing from the given options, more positive opinions surfaced. These participants also expressed their alarm’s ability to wake them up in a jarring and overall effective manner.

larms are fairly universal, but an individual’s choice of alarm tones is often personal. Waking up to whatever sound you desire has never been easier, with the rise of the personalized smartphone alarm app. Modern technology has made the wake-up dilemma incredibly simple. You’re free to choose your ideal wake-up time and the tone you think will best jerk you away from your temperature-regulated, six-foot-three, form-fitting silk body pillow. You’re even granted full ability to sync wake-up schedule with a range of compatible devices from sleep cycle-tracking mood rings to a Facebook-connected (Cambridge Analytica-connected) smart coffee machine. Faced with the abundance of options, many people just stick to the basics. A survey of over 100 undergraduate students (from Tufts and other American universities) has shone light on participants’ alarm song/tone; reasons behind their choice to make this specific tone the sound of their alarm; and how (after experiencing this tone as their alarm sound) it makes them feel when they hear the tone in public.

Even though many survey participants indicated that they chose their alarm sound based on their appreciation for the tune, people are generally unsettled when hearing their alarm song outside of its assigned setting. Participants detail feeling scared, stressed, anxious, and angry. Responses highlight the visceral nature of this reaction. “I practically jump when I hear it” “I feel like it’s time to go” “Terrified” “Dear God, run” “like death” “Rage/panic” Other respondents indicated a neutral reaction to their alarm going off unexpectedly. “Not much because I usually only hear the first two seconds of the song before I turn it off” “I don’t hear it unless it’s my alarm” In order to replicate the unique and relatable experience of taking your friend’s PSY32 study that they swore would only take two minutes, we probed participants for their miscellaneous thoughts on the subject of alarms.

Nearly a third of participants indicated that they simply use the default setting on their phone’s alarm application. Around 35% said they chose the sound because they like it, and almost 10% of participants chose their alarm tone because they disliked it. Responses varied from empowered to ironically bitter.

“There’s this one girl two rooms over whose alarm goes off for HALF AN HOUR every morning and wakes up everyone but her and she sucks”

“It’s really embarrassing so I have to scramble to turn it off before my suitemates hear it”

Participant #68 offers a relatable take.

“It is the loudest”; “It’s loud”

“They all suck. Sleeping is good.*”

“I find it highly motivating” “It screams I’m ready at 7:30 am” “It’s my ex’s fave song which makes it the perfect wake-up song: obnoxious and annoying”

“I once used the super mario bros theme song as my alarm throughout middle school now I hate alarms”

*Young adults between the ages of 18-25 are recommended to get 7-9 hours of sleep, according to the National Sleep Foundation.

MISOGYNY IN EMO BY KATIE FIELDING AND SIDDHARTH JEJURIKAR

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i am about to talk about something serious and i want to begin by saying that my actions have caused someone i care about deep emotional pain and i am so sorry. i have been accused of sexual coercion,” wrote Pinegrove’s frontman Evan Hall on the band’s official Facebook page on the 21st of November 2017, canceling all of the band’s tour dates and putting the project on hiatus. In all its uncapitalized shame, the announcement put the band in a light that starkly contrasts their position a mere year earlier. Pinegrove’s 2016 LP, Cardinal, had made notable waves for a small band from Montclair, New Jersey, landing on the “Top 50 Albums of 2016” lists of several publications, including Pitchfork, NPR, Consequence of Sound, and The A.V. Club. For fans, Hall’s post months later was shocking. Comments on the Facebook post ranged from anger to apologism but all carry with them a feeling of confusion. This confusion is understandable. Though their music may resemble Americana more than emo, Pinegrove is undeniably a product of the emo scene and the culture surrounding emo bands, and if emo fans are anything, its devoted—forming deep personal and emotional connections to the music they listen to. It isn’t easy to reconcile the fact that something you love was made by someone who has done terrible things. Harder still is coming to terms with the fact that parts of the songs you love reflect the fact that they come from dark sources, creators whose ethical character is questionable at best. Pinegrove is not an exceptional case, either; emo is a genre plagued by predators. In order for there to be progress it’s essential to focus on two questions: what are the causes of these problems in the emo community, and how can the situation change? Where emo music differs from other genres, especially in its current revival wave, is in just how

insular and tightly-knit its community is, complete with regionalism, fan loyalty, collaboration, and cults-of-personality. A space like this produces a culture where reputations stick. In 2015, when Front Porch Step’s Jake Mcelfresh was accused by several underage girls of sexual harassment, the response from emo and punk bands was vehement. When it was revealed that Front Porch Step would still be playing at one stop of the Warped Tour that summer, other musicians, on the tour, including Senses Fail, Beartooth, The Swellers, Handgun, and The Wonder Years (via Alternative Press), immediately responded on Twitter, showing a degree of self-regulation and accountability. Mcelfresh still performed his set on July 1st, however, showing the shortcomings of this form of accountability. Additionally, a devoted and involved fanbase might refuse to believe women’s allegations, as has shown to be the case with Evan Hall. Clearly, the mechanisms the emo community already has in place are falling short.

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THE IMBALANCE OF POWER AND REPRESENTATION CREATES A SPACE IN WHICH MEN CAN ABUSE THEIR POWER WITH EASE TO MANIPULATE AND TAKE ADVANTAGE OF WOMEN.

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Content warning: Sexual violence

Because the large majority of the genre’s artists are men, young women can fall victim to the unbalanced power dynamics. When these women listen to these bands and form emotional

MELISMA | SPRING 2018 | 7 connections with them, they often begin to idolize the musicians in the bands. This imbalance puts the musicians, almost entirely men who are often older than their fans, in a position to abuse their power. The interactions with musicians that these young women may interpret as validation or appreciation are often actually men taking advantage of or sexually harassing them. For example, Brand New’s Jesse Lacey was able to solicit nude photos from underage fans while these women were unable to realize that they were being taken advantage of. Because someone they idolized was paying them attention, their judgement was clouded. Also contributing to the issue is the lack of gravity given to victims’ testimony by the industry. Years after her string of interactions with Lacey, one woman who was harassed by him said, “Judging by some of the apologies I’ve received from industry friends for not putting enough weight into what I had previously tried to communicate about him, it’s obvious that a lot of people in the touring community knew what he was like, or at least knew someone who had a story about him.” However, because of the lack of women in the emo music scene, the stories of victims were brushed off by other men, as women are not valued as much as men. The imbalance of power and representation creates a space in which men manipulate and take advantage of women by abusing their power, a space where women fear crowd surfing at shows because when a friend did so, a man put his hand up her shirt, a space that decidedly does not value the safety of women. The prevalence of the problem unveils structural is-

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THEse songs produce a narrow and absurd worldview in which women are almost always to blame for emotional turmoil.

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sues at play. Emo has always been a male-dominated genre with a largely young and female fanbase—a discrepancy that inevitably will have a significant effect. It’s frighteningly easy for predators like Mcelfresh to exploit the power dynamic that is inherent in this system, but emo isn’t alone in this either; hip-hop has always been marked with mostly male artists and hypermasculine lyrical themes, causing similar problems. Rick Ross, rapper and founder of the label Maybach Music Group, commented on why he wasn’t signing women to Maybach in a July 2017 Breakfast Club interview, “I just, I gotta be honest with you. You know, she looking good. I’m spending so much money on her photo shoots. I gotta fuck a couple times.” While Rick Ross certainly doesn’t speak for all of hip-hop, his comments do point out the kind of culture produced by overwhelming masculinity. On a lyrical level, rap isn’t too different from emo. Both present limited and androcentric worldviews; if women are talked about at all, it is at best only from the outside and at worst in a demeaning way. Both Rick Ross and Jesse Lacey have lyrics that flippantly refer to rape in the first person, for example. “I got desperate desires and unadmirable plans / My tongue will taste of gin and malicious intent / Bring you back to the bar get you out of the cold / My sober straight face gets you out of your clothes / … Barely conscious in the door where you stand / … If you let me have my way I swear I’ll tear you apart,” sings Lacey in the controversial song “Me vs Maradona vs Elvis.” Similarly, Ross raps, “Put molly all in her champagne, she ain’t even know it / I took her home and I enjoyed that, she ain’t even know it,” in his song “U.O.E.N.O.” It’s easy to dismiss these lines by claiming to dissociate the art from the artist, but simply knowing who these artists are and where their values lie makes separation impossible. Artists like these enforce rapeculture through their work, not only through their lyrical themes, but also from their clearly vile personal motivations and public personas. There is an inherent correlation between the artist and their work, as their personal beliefs and priorities infiltrate their lyrics. These contextual aspects reinforce the fact that their lyrics

are not meant to be criticisms of the themes and ideas presented, or even accurate depictions of the problems of these ideas. They are, to a degree, representative of the actual feelings and values of the artist. “Me vs Maradona vs Elvis” could be called an outlier in Emo, but that doesn’t exonerate the genre. While hip-hop has faced criticism time-and-again for its representation of women, the same conversations aren’t often heard for emo music. This is likely due to the form misogyny takes in emo’s lyrical tropes. Emo songs are often narrative or confessional, with artists speaking directly about specific, often romantic, experiences in their lives. Because the vast majority of these writers are straight men, these kinds of songs are often about women. The problem is that these songs produce a narrow and absurd worldview in which women are almost always to blame for emotional turmoil. In these songs, relationship dilemmas are often presented as one-sided in a way that resembles gaslighting—distorting reality through blatant denial and contradiction. In Front Porch Step’s song Drown, Mcelfresh sings, “I know I couldn’t give you much / But I know I gave my best / You were always my princess / And now he’s sliding off your dress,” demonstrating this form of lyrical gaslighting. The male protagonist of this song is clearly victimizing himself with his words, attempting to turn the audience to his side against the woman while simultaneously slut-shaming her. Despite whatever an individual artist’s motivations are, that doesn’t change the fact that, from the perspective of an emo fan, the frequency of these depictions alone produces an incredibly one-sided view of women. This translates to the community as a whole, as well. Toxic attitudes towards women in emo culture are reinforced by the lyrical themes presented in the music itself. Fans who find the scene problematic can’t expect it to change without expecting the actual music to change as well, in terms of both lyrical themes and acceptance of female artists. The music makes the culture and the culture makes the music, and the problem will not and cannot be fixed by one side alone. Some fans may defend this kind of lyrical content by bringing up the notion of emo itself. The popular con-

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The music makes the culture and the culture makes the music, and the problem will not and cannot be resolved by one side alone.

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ception is that things that are emo are dark, and they’re supposed to be that way by definition of being emo. The world of emo is characterized by deep emotional sentiment, often leading it to be characterized by feelings of sadness, anger, regret, and malice. Emo music, fashion, and culture is frequently associated with ideas of angst, self-deprecation, and misanthropy which makes topics like depression or suicide prevalent. For those who want to defend these artists, it’s easy to fall back on the idea that emo is defined by its objectionable material, but is that an accurate description of the genre? The term ‘emo’, short-hand for ‘emotional hardcore’, is a product of the genre’s roots in post-hardcore and hardcore punk. The first few undeniably emo bands, such as Rites of Spring, distinguished themselves from their inspirations primarily through atypical song structure, more complex guitar parts, and sudden changes in volume, but its lyrical departures are just as significant. Rites of Spring didn’t just take post-hardcore and give it more personal lyrics; it turned everything about their act into a form of emotional release, including the relationship between the band and its fans. This is the defining feature of emo music—emotional release. Talking about things that aren’t normally talked about, whether due to social norms or harmful expectations of masculinity, often is an incredibly healthy tool for overcoming trauma or depression. What people like Jesse Lacey have done is use this very same tool to turn emo into a platform to say things that shouldn’t be said and justify their worst inclinations by packaging and selling it as brutal honesty. Though it may be easy to confuse emotional honesty, a tool for coming to terms with trauma, distress, and anxiety, with rationalizations of terrible beliefs and thoughts due to their shared confes-

MELISMA | SPRING 2018 | 9 sional nature, these are not the same thing. By recognizing the sexism their lyrics perpetuate, artists don’t necessarily have to sacrifice emotional honesty. In finding this balance, the people writing these lyrics can bring out the best in emo music, bringing it back to its roots as a medium for talking about issues like mental health, depression, and suicide. Before the 1990s, punk music lacked representation of women, from which issues of sexism—similar to those in the emo scene—stemmed. Once the riot grrrl movement gained steam, however, women gained a platform from which to tell their stories, and in turn, people started listening, and while still not perfect, the punk genre made progress. From writing lyrics and publishing zines full of art and writing critiquing the patriarchy, to creating a community in which women supported and empowered each other, the movement amplified the voices and concerns of women in the punk scene and created a space in which women could feel comfortable getting involved. The riot grrrl movement went so far as to recognize that live shows were and still are an unsafe space for women and actively tried to push men to the back of venues. While in an ideal world, this would be unnecessary because men would not constantly grope women in the crowds, it is important that the riot grrrl movement recognized that something needed to be done to make women feel welcome in the punk scene. It may seem easy to ignore the sexism in the emo scene, however, because it is not spoken about as much it was in the punk community. There isn’t enough representation of and participation by women, so they have a hard time making their voices heard.

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they must decide if their voice in the emo community is worth more than the voices of cointless women that they and others like Hall have hurt.

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On March 15, Pinegrove released a statement explaining that they had finished their album, but that they were waiting to release it until the sexual assault allegations against Hall have “been further resolved.” What Pinegrove has failed to understand, however, is that for the women involved, the issue will likely never be resolved. They must decide is not when it is resolved enough, but rather if their voice in the emo community is worth more than the voices of

countless women that they and others like Hall have hurt. It has become clear recently that women are no longer going to allow men to act without consequence. Women are holding men accountable by speaking out, starting movements like #metoo. Emo artists, fans, and the industry must follow suit by making an active effort to raise up women, allowing them to tell their stories, and placing value on their safety. Through actions like boycotting or picketing shows of abusers, fans can tell bands that they will not support sexism. By bringing women on tour as openers, the primarily male bands can show fans, particularly female fans, that they value them and want them to be a part of the community. The emo scene needs to take a cue from similar social movements soon, or they will face consequence for prioritizing protecting men and perpetuating sexism and continued trauma for women.

If you or someone you know has been a victim of sexual assault, here are some resources: Tufts OEO: 617-627-3298 TUPD: 617-627-6911 Counseling & Mental Health Services: 617-627-3360 Boston Area Rape Crisis Center: 800-841-8371

THE ELECTRIFYING AIRWAVES OF LONDON RADIO BY ROSS BRETHERTON

isiting Radar Radio in London is nothing like a stroll through the homely WMFO studio in the attic of Curtis Hall. Inside an unmarked building in Barbican, Radar’s sleek interior is lit by a neon sign with their slogan, “TUNE IN OR FUCK OFF,” attached to a wall of plants. Encased in a glass studio within the office, London’s young tastemakers spin grime and electronic music around the clock. Smoking and drinking during one’s show is encouraged. Eager fans tweet for shout-outs on air, and rising producers jockey for coveted guest slots on a show. During my visit to Radar, one producer who had travelled from Bristol for a set said he had been trying to get a mix on Radar for the past six months. Whereas independent radio in the U.S. is withering away to dusty college nooks like WMFO, London radio is thriving more than ever before. Shows on Radar, Rinse FM, and NTS all attract cult followings from online listeners around the globe. The stations are as youth-driven as their listenership—during my time at Radar, every employee I saw was my age or younger. But if the studio is any indication, Radar is wallowing in cash. Meanwhile, barring a few indie radio holdouts, US radio is primarily owned by the giant conglomerate iHeartRadio, which despite its monopoly, recently declared bankruptcy. What are London radio stations doing differently from their US counterparts? Radar’s successful business model revolves around a tactic musicians have harnessed for ages: manufactured scarcity. In an age where music is consumed in increasing quantities but also with decreasing engagement — Spotify and

MELISMA | SPRING 2018 | 11 other streaming services tend to devalue any one individual artist or piece of music by offering a billion similarsounding songs — London radio offers personality and music you can literally find nowhere else. For example, grime producer Gundam premiered his “Darkside Dub” on Rinse FM two full years before a Bandcamp release, complete with a DJ yelling every three seconds after his track to prevent fans from ripping the track and posting it on YouTube. Going one step further, atmospheric electronic

be fair, American radio stations sponsor events as well, but the scale is much different. You’ll see iHeartRadio stations sponsoring arena shows, and WMFO in the Brown & Brew, but nobody is sponsoring the middle. Radar’s club nights hit a sweet spot: niche enough to distinguish from a run-of-the-mill corporatized festival or arena-so-large-youcan’t-see-jack-shit concert, but not so niche as to only attract hardcore fans.

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Live shows are not the only tactic London radio stations use to build a physical presence in their communities. The original NTS studio sits in a shipping container no larger than a food truck plopped down in the middle of Gillett Square, and thanks to an exterior mic anyone can walk up to the station and go on air. The design attracts a lot of drunk freestyling, but also brings local talent to the young internet radio station.

legend Mssingno rarely releases his music at all; fans instead avidly hunt down unreleased tracks in his radio mixes. Already a fan of these producers, the inability to obtain their music has further fueled my obsession. London radio stations provide the perfect platform for producers to exercise this form of exclusivity.

Can the London model of a successful radio station be exported to other countries? Francois Vaxelaire, founder of The Lot Radio in Brooklyn, seems to think so. The station has adopted an NTS-inspired presence in an empty Williamsburg lot, down to the similarly dimensioned studio and community atmosphere. Transit FM, broadcasting from New York to the web, has begun promoting its own electronic club nights. But even more successful at exporting the format than these newcomers are the London radio stations themselves. NTS has set up shop in Los Angeles, Shanghai, and Manchester, and are currently taking full advantage of the flexibility of online radio. Rinse FM’s French spinoff, Rinse FR, has only existed for four years in Paris, yet already occupies its own niche in the city’s club culture. These stations have taken off for their ability to reconcile the speed and reach of the internet with the personality and exclusivity of a local music scene. Done right, new radio makes the world feel just a bit smaller.

DONE RIGHT, NEW RADIO MAKES THE WORLD FEEL JUST A BIT SMALLER.

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It’s not just the music that’s rare. The Radar t-shirt from my visit has easily become my most valued piece of merch because it simply cannot be bought. T-shirts distributed to DJs and guests serve as status symbols for insiders in the communities cultivated by these stations. Multiple times at Boston area shows I’ve been asked if I have a show on Radar — and if not, how did I get the shirt? The manufactured scarcity of the music is further reinforced by the merch, and fans love what they can’t have. American radio has been unable, or perhaps uninterested, in reaching that level of exclusivity. Nobody struts down the street proudly rocking their 103.3 AMP radio merch—it’s thrown out for free at concerts. The station doesn’t even have a particularly recognizable logo to put on a shirt. Commercial radio in the US caters to the masses, yet constrains itself to one medium: audio. Radar completes their vertical integration of the market of music fandom with live club nights hosting DJs and featuring corporate sponsors. Not only are they able to promote rising artists on-air, London stations are also able to reap the benefits of their success through ticket sales at lucrative live shows. I would hazard a guess that this is where a substantial fraction of Radar’s budget comes from. To

Note from the author: Between the time of writing for this article and the magazine’s publications, a number of disheartening allegations have been made regarding sexual harassment, racism, and exploitation at Radar Radio. Additionally, it has come to light that a large fraction of Radar’s budget was funded by loans from Sports Direct CEO Mike Ashley, who is also the father of Radar’s founder. As a result, a large number of DJs have departed and the station has suspended broadcasting indefinitely. It is saddening to realize that a station touted as a stalwart of the underground only managed to recreate the exploitative power structures of the mainstream. What was once a question of whether Radar’s model of radio could be exported to the U.S. is now a question of whether ‘commercial success’ and ‘underground’ are even compatible concepts.

NEW JACK SWING

THE GENRE THAT CHANGED THE MUSIC WE LISTEN TO TODAY BY KATIE SANNA

ongs intertwine seamlessly into our memories, defining generations, cities and emotions. To classify the songs that go together, we typically use genres which can convey the feelings of a group of songs. However, in the case of “new jack swing,” the genre title conveys nothing to the general public; it doesn’t have the nostalgic power of “classic rock”. This can be misleading; because new jack swing, a niche genre coming out of Harlem in the late 1980’s to early 1990’s, redefined pop and its influence is still present ubiquitously. iTunes defines new jack swing as “classic uptempo pop and R&B dance-floor romance.” This is worth breaking down: first, the choice of classic pop in a genre that the average person can’t even identify is essential. Because new jack swing formed through top popular artists of its time, its sound, although distinct, is familiar to everyone. Within a couple years of the formation of the genre, artists like Michael Jackson, Boyz II Men and TLC had already added to the popular trend with their own songs. Furthermore, the use of R&B dance-floor romance unpacks the sound quality of the genre very easily.

The typical r&b song can be seen as a slower and solemn affair, but the r&b used in new jack swing still has the beautiful hooks except to an upbeat tempo. Lyrically, new jack swing songs tend to talk about spending Friday night out in the club or with your friends. Johnny Kemp’s “Just Got Paid” clearly shows the vibe of the genre itself: “I’m feelin’ so good / Don’t you know I’m just groovin’ to the beat [...] Just got paid / Friday night / Party huntin’, / Place is right.” It’s self-love in its purest. It was created in Harlem for everyone who spends the weekend out dancing. Arguably, it contradicts today’s pop which can air on the side of exclusivity. Rap lyrics nowadays can center on the idea of being the best, having money, and showing your success; but new jack swing artists wrote from the perspective of the “everyday person” who is between paychecks. When the writers at iTunes decided to say “dance-floor romance”, they were right on two different levels: like all other music, new jack swing does talk about love, especially falling in love on a night out. But the genre itself is also a love letter to dancing, going out, and the music played at those clubs. It’s understandable

MELISMA | SPRING 2018 | 13 to see how new jack swing became an immediate success from its creation, it was made that way. New jack swing was born when urban soul artists started sampling hip hop techniques, becoming the first mix of r&b and hip-hop. Imagining pop music today without hip-hop features or rap songs without sung choruses is hard. This is in part thanks to the success of new jack swing in blending hip hop and vocal music seamlessly. To quickly identify a new jack swing song look for: lots of snare, a simple looped hip-hop percussion sound, beautifully sung choruses, verses with old-school rap and quite typically Teddy Riley’s name somewhere in the credit. (For an example of old style hip-hop sound, think of the style in “Rapper’s Delight” or “Bust a Move”) Teddy Riley capitalized on the sound forming out of Harlem and helped Bobby Brown create “My Prerogative” in the late 1980’s and it became an instant global success, starting the new jack swing movement. Rolling Stone cites the peak popularity of the genre itself with Michael Jackson’s release of Dangerous in 1991, a short four years after the movement started in Harlem. It is essential to contextualize this genre with its formation, although it later became ubiquitous and affects the music we all listen to today across many different genres. When it was created, it was made for what LL Cool J dubbed the all “Around the Way Girl” who embodied Harlem hair, slang, music and style of the time. Teddy Riley, in an interview with Rolling Stone, claims that every song that combines singing and rap is new jack swing: he continues, “you have Bruno Mars; you have Drake; you hear Pitbull? That’s all considered new jack swing.” This claim is incredible for a genre that was created by Harlem for Harlem and really only had its heyday for less than a decade. But it shows how the genre realized a necessary outlet for the growth of music. Although current new jack swing music is not being created in its original cultural context, its legacy lives on. Teddy Riley himself has mentored artists like Timbaland and Pharrell, and artists like Bruno Mars utilize techniques of new jack swing such as its distinctive percussion and sampling in his popular songs like “Uptown Funk” and “Finesse.” Even in South Korea, Kpop groups sample new jack swing

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You have Bruno Mars; you have Drake; you hear Pitbull? That’s all considered new jack swing.

”

sounds with group EXID’s new song Lady. The group even goes so far as to mimic the traditional 90’s style to accompany the song. Although its prime is over, the genre continues to thrive as a sound that the mainstream wants to hear. One aspect of the genre that is lost is the distinct lyrical style of new jack swing, which focuses on living paycheck to paycheck, having a night out with a friend and the cute girl down the block. Popular songs today seem to center on the idea of exclusivity with their lyrics, even in Bruno Mars’ new jack swing-esque hit “Finesse” the lyrics creates a situation, where “don’t we look good together? / There’s a reason why they watch all night long.” Unlike the characters in a typical NJS song, the couple Bruno Mars presents is the envy of the entire crowd. Although the distinction is small, new jack swing attempts to place the narrator and crowd together so that there is no separation, while popular lyrics nowadays focus on success. Hiphop especially centers on the idea of success, of a rapper having “made it” out of a specific environment. This is an integral aspect of the genre itself, which comes across generations. However, the rap verses in new jack swing are a celebration of the neighborhood. The rappers are not trying to become success stories, rather, they are celebrating the nights out with their friends, specifically celebrating the dance clubs of Harlem. Although new jack swing’s legacy continues on sonically, the carefree aspect of just loving what you have has been lost.

THE RISE AND FALL OF THE ALBUM BY SOFIA WOLFSON

y dad’s 2004 325i BMW was designed in that strange period between tape decks and AUX jacks. The only forms of musical entertainment on your morning commute were CD players or the radio. Once everyone started storing all of their music on their phones, due to the rise of streaming services, listening to music on the road began to move away from physical CDs. Now, you are able to plug in your phone, hit shuffle on a playlist, and hear a variety of tunes. But the advent of the AUX cord and Bluetooth brought on technological change as well as an inevitable death: the fall of the album in its entirety. When I was six, I received an iPod Shuffle for my birthday. Its sole function is written into the name: shuffle. The whole plane ride to New Orleans that summer, I let my music library randomize and have a mind of its own. I heard Liz Phair fade into Tom Petty fade into Britney Spears. It was a great way for me to acquire an eclectic music taste. Modern music technology centers on the ability around to

hear all of your music in a shuffled order, but the problem with this trend is that songs are valued over whole albums. Growing up with my iPod in hand, I learned songs plucked from their intended order. I heard “She Came in Through the Bathroom Window” from the Beatles’s Abbey Road before I experienced the whole B-side medley. As a teenager, I didn’t comprehend the whole underlying heartbreak narrative of Joni Mitchell’s Blue when all I knew was “California” and “A Case of You.” It wasn’t until I got my driver’s license at 16 and started driving my dad’s car around that I was forced to appreciate albums. Without an AUX, or even a tape deck to buy an adapter for, I was left on my own with the Los Angeles traffic and my CD player. The first place I drove when I got my license was Amoeba Music in Hollywood. With birthday money in my pocket, I stocked up on all the records that shaped me, from Elvis Costello’s Imperial

MELISMA | SPRING 2018 | 15 Bedroom to Hiatus Kaiyote’s Choose Your Weapon. While shopping, I discovered that there were so many songs and even whole records, I hadn’t heard from some of my favorite artists. With iTunes and Spotify, it has become so easy to fixate on a few tunes, add them to a playlist, and leave the rest undiscovered.

I would be moving to the other side of the country, we sat in my car on the way to one of our summer adventures and listened to Something to Tell You: all the

Along with picking out some of my favorites, it was around this time that Solange’s A Seat at the Table was released. This was my chance to reverse how I had always listened to music, to un-learn the “shuffled”

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Without an aux, i was left on my own with the los angeles traffic and my cd player.

”

way. I remember hearing that record for the first time on my way to school, the sun rising as I made my way through the songs and interludes as they moved into each other, the record never taking a breath. A Seat at the Table is a perfect example of the importance of entire albums: it was meant to be listened to all the way through. Driving around in my dad’s car attached certain albums to important moments in my life. Margaret Glaspy’s Emotions & Math became the first record I learned every word to by listening, leaving that disc in the CD player for all of November as I pushed myself through college application season. I will forever associate Sam Phillips’s Martinis & Bikinis with my high school graduation, as I drove home the night before the big day, reflecting on my high school years and the uncertainty to follow. Music on shuffle doesn’t seem to have that specific effect of being able to soundtrack moments and cycles of your life. Now I feel like I’m able to pass on this important, yet fading lesson. My sister, age fourteen, is also a musician and music lover. We have always looked up to the band Haim, mainly because we feel such a connection to their rock n’ roll Jewish sister bond. When their latest record came out, just a few months before

way through. We didn’t jump around to various songs we heard were good. In order, we listened to the entire break-up and healing narrative Danielle Haim belts about. I continue to encourage my sister to both explore a variety of styles, while also thinking about the importance of a whole album, like how Haim’s record takes you through through a specific journey. Another factor that has encouraged full-album listening has been the resurgence of vinyl in the last decade. Though our phones grow smarter every day with increasing power to offer a variety of music in an instant, records and turntables encourage the listener to step back and hear music in sequence. You don’t open a novel and read random chapters. There is a narrative to good records; they fit together through melodies, lyrics, dynamics and more. Both the CD player in my car and my turntable at home have taught me to think about music sequencing even in my own work, from set-lists for a gig to tracklists on an EP or album. Though I can appreciate the iPod Shuffle that introduced me to a variety of artists, I’m thankful the CD player in my dad’s car forced me to sit down, go back to whole albums, and understand how music is supposed to be appreciated.

IN DEFENSE OF TRAP MUSIC BY EVAN ZIGMOND

rap music is very divisive. It’s cherished by many for its unique, trademark approach to production, utilizing rigid 808s and abrasive kick drums, but simultaneously panned for its perceived lyrical simplicity. Many times, I have brought up trap music when talking about my music taste, only to have the genre discounted as simple. I’ve heard people say disparaging things like, “Anybody could repeat Gucci gang 53 times in a two minute song!” However, though Lil Pump may not be a lyrical genius, the assertion that anyone can make good trap music is false for multiple reasons. Before we address this claim, we need to define “anyone” as well as “successful trap music.” We’ll define “anyone” as someone who has no prior experience rapping, but who understands the concepts of rhythm and meter on a basic level like all rappers. At the bare minimum, critics of trap music run into problems with their claim immediately from a musical standpoint. Although writing 16 bars a la Pump may not present too much difficulty, selecting a beat and performing the lyrics with charisma are deceptively difficult. Over the wrong beat, a verse can sound out of place. Additionally, rapping takes a certain level of rhythmic dexterity and practice that critics do not give rappers credit for. To me, performance in trap music is even more important than in other forms of rap. The lyrics can be just as substantive, but since they are not necessarily as plentiful, artists need to be able to elicit a response in their audiences. Trap artists are consistently great at emoting in their songs, whether the vibe they create is relaxed or energetic. Travis Scott’s gravelly moaning is not easily replicated, nor are the falsettos displayed by Trippie Redd. On the other hand, yelling into the microphone like XXX-

Tentacion without being disingenuous is no simple task. It’s difficult for me to stay still when I hear trap music. I think that infectious quality is what makes trap great, and is something often ignored by critics of the genre. Here is where the difference in experience is apparent. To get a better idea of why artists like Lil Pump cannot be easily replicated, I sat down with Tufts rapper Handy Dorceus to discuss his development as a rapper. The best person to ask about the supposed ease of making good rap music is someone who went from not making music to making music. Handy explained that he had been honing his skills for many years before he even recorded a song. “I used to freestyle in elementary school in the cafeteria, just kid stuff,” he recalled. After years of freestyling this way, he recorded a song for a program he was a part of in high school. He fell in love with the process and the ability it gave him to express himself, and he has been recording songs since he got to Tufts in 2016. As a rapper, Handy understands the time and experience necessary to produce trap music. “Rappers like Lil Pump blew up, but they had time to develop out of the public eye,” Dorceus pointed out. He encourages critics of trap music’s supposed accessibility to examine rappers who truly blew up overnight. “Fetty Wap blew up in 2014 without the time to cultivate his sound, and he ended up with very one-dimensional music. He’s not popular in 2018, because he couldn’t develop different sounds.” Dorceus also suggests listeners think beyond the scope of the music, and contemplate the motivation and culture surrounding trap as a genre. In our interview, he even dissected the etymology of the term “trap.” “The trap” refers to “an abandoned home or community, sometimes without running water or working electricity, where inhabitants may have to sell drugs just to get by.” Handy asserts

MELISMA | SPRING 2018 | 17 that trap music encapsulates that feeling of needing to survive by whatever means necessary. Many popular trap artists have committed crimes: XXXTentacion, Kodak Black, and Lil Pump have all been arrested. While their actions should be condemned, it is clear that their lyrics about violence, sex, drug use, etc. all come from a very real place. Someone who doesn’t have those experiences might have a harder time convincing audiences otherwise on a track. The fact that trap music has entered the mainstream despite its rough origins means that the meaning of the music can easily be lost. Unlike many other forms of popular music, which are relatable to middle and upper class white audiences, trap music was not designed for that demographic. It seems to me that many criticisms of trap music fail to recognize the motivation behind the music, precisely because it isn’t relatable to those audiences, who have had music catered to their preferences for decades. Regardless of how it sounds, trap music carries important messages drawn from the lives of its creators. Although those messages depart from the trotted-out ones critics are used to hearing, they are still important and worth consideration. When I originally pitched this article, I was set on making a trap song myself to demonstrate how difficult it is to make a listenable trap song. It was even harder than I thought. I had no idea how to create a beat, so I listened to some trap to consider my options. I was overwhelmed with the differences in sonic palette across artists. Did I want a dissonant, off-kilter beat in the style of Smokepurpp? Did I want something with low, EDM-style synths like Lil Uzi Vert? The sheer number of choices stressed me out to the point where I decided to write the lyrics first instead. Writing the lyrics seemed easy enough, but I didn’t want to write standard trap lyrics because I felt recording them would be disingenuous. I haven’t lived the experiences of many trap artists that drive them to make their music. Instead, I wrote lyrics about cats, my parents, and other wholesome things. This proved to be just as difficult as beat selection, as I felt downright silly every time I practiced what I had written. After struggling on both ends of the trap music process, I gave up, not wanting to make something that didn’t sound genuine. With my

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THERE IS MUCH MORE TO A SONG LIKE “GUCCI GANG” THAN MEETS THE EYE.

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resignation came the sobering realization that I, too, am not the intended audience for trap music. Even if I enjoy trap, that does not change my understanding of the music within its context. This experience shed light on yet another quality that I hadn’t thought of before. Rappers, more than many other musicians, have to be self-confident. They’re often performing solo, so confidence is very important. While a classical musician in an orchestra certainly might have astounding abilities, they can take solace in their surroundings, specifically scores of other musicians. As someone who played in classical ensembles through middle and high school, I can personally attest to this. Even small groups can count on each other to play parts and contribute. Rappers don’t usually have this luxury. Its just them and a beat. Not only do they need high selfconfidence, they also have to accept full responsibility when a song doesn’t come out very well. The level of maturity to accept an undesirable outcome and attribute one’s failures solely to themselves while still moving forward is very impressive. Making my shitty trap song taught me a valuable lesson about emotional maturity. To those who discount trap music as being simple or unmusical, I encourage you to think past what you’re initially hearing and consider all the time, effort, ability, and experience, both musical and otherwise, that go into a trap song. I’d like to thank Handy for encouraging me to look deeper into trap and realize that there is much more to a song like “Gucci Gang” than meets the eye.

SPRING SEMESTER IN PHOTOS

Hippo Campus by Katie Fielding

Pale Waves by Amelia Hern

Sure Sure by Katie Fielding

Hippo Campus by Katie Fielding

EDEN by Chris Markus

COIN by Katie Fielding

MELISMA | SPRING 2018 | 19

SUMMER PREVIEW WHO WILL BLOW UP JEAN DEAUX

Jean Deaux is a rising singer and rapper from Chicago’s West Side who has featured on releases by a score of the most exciting artists in hiphop and r&b in recent years, like Isaiah Rashad, Saba, and Mick Jenkins, as well as the band Glass Animals. Recently, she’s set out on her own with some killer singles: “Father Time” is a moody mix of uptempo club beats and contemplative lyrics, while “Wikipedia” is a slow-burning funk jam with propulsive drums and twinkling synths that meld perfectly with her smooth multi-tracked vocals. With a spate of other new singles released already this year and years of experience behind her, Jean Deaux seems poised for a breakout 2018.

1010 BENJA SL

1010 Benja SL is a mysterious pop singer who currently has only two songs online, but is making waves with his intimate production and soulful vocals that got him signed to the tastemaking record label Young Turks. His song “Boofiness,” posted last fall, is a gorgeous r&b track, composed only of his sweet voice, piano stabs and skeletal handclaps. “Wind Up Space” is a huge contrast: an atmospheric ballad lushly orchestrated with synth strings. Look out for 1010 Benja SL to come out of the shadows this year with some more great music.

ANNA BURCH Anna Burch is a Detroit singer-songwriter who just released her debut, Quit the Curse. Burch’s introspective stories pepper the record, from the vivacious, rocking “Tea-Soaked Letter” to the nostalgic “2 Cool 2 Care” and the country-tinged “Belle Isle.” On the closer, “With You Every Day,” Burch unleashes a longing love letter that leaves you wanting more just like she does. We hope that Burch continues to impress us with her thoughtful take on rock.

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