Melisma Fall 2018 by Melisma Magazine

MELISMA

FROM THE EDITORS

EDITORS-IN-CHIEF

Hello / Bonjour / Hola,

Charlie Billings Katie Fielding Diana Hernandez

This semester, a huge influx of awesome new members joined the Melisma family. Each newcomer brought their own musical taste and journalistic talents to our team, and we can’t wait to show you what they produced.

MANAGING EDITORS

Annmarie Hoch Miranda Feinberg Siddharth Jejurikar Lola Nedic

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Elyssa Anneser Jonas Gerken Michael Norton

SOCIAL MEDIA DIRECTORS Dorothea Wotton Evan Zigmond

FOREIGN CORRESPONDANT Katie Sanna

LAYOUT DIRECTOR

We also have an article that looks at the relationship between movies and the music they feature, using Baby Driver and its amazing selection of songs as a prime example. On a more serious note, we included an insightful piece on Kevin Abstract’s suburban malaise and its role in the success of BROCKHAMPTON. We have all complained about Greta Van Fleet this year, but have you ever considered what makes music bad? We decided to explore this question in (often hilarious) detail. Following that, we question why there are so many bands that call themselves alternative. Our article about music genre classification covers this and much more. Then, we talk about why you should never be late to concerts. Finally, we created a quiz based on 2000s teen magazines that makes extremely accurate value judgements about you! This is also Melisma’s inagural full-color issue. We really enjoyed experimenting with layout, art, and photos. We hope you enjoy it as much as we do! Next issue, we will have three new EIC’s while the three of us are abroad. While we won’t miss being confined to the MAB, we’ll miss putting together a new issue for you all. Thanks for all your love and support!

Laura Wolfe

LAYOUT

Maygen Kerner

STAFF

First up, we have an interview with Tufts’ own Dig Safe, the cat-loving quartet that has been blowing up at shows around campus. Next, we leap into #20gayteen with an article on queer female artists and their slow, but steady rise to prominence in the music industry.

Until next time / Au revoir / Hasta luego,

Trisha Cox Sam Drezner Ethan Lam Kaitlyn Meslin Richard Nakatsuka Alexi Reich Kelsey Trollinger Sofia Wolfson

Charlie Billings, Katie Fielding, and Diana Hernandez

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

MELISMA

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 3

TABLE OF CONTENTS 04

DIG SAFE Katie Fielding

QUEER EAR Elyssa Anneser and Diana Hernandez

BETTER THAN THE ALTERNATIVE

CAN MUSIC BE BAD?

Lola Nedic

FACING THE MUSIC Miranda Feinberg Evan Zigmond

MISERABLE AMERICA Michael Norton

DONâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;T BE FASHIONABLY LATE

Jonas Gerken

SEMESTER IN PHOTOS

ON THE COVER

Dig Safe Photo by Katie Fielding Design by Laura Wolfe and Jonas Gerken

QUIZ: WHICH BOSTON VENUE ARE YOU

SPRING PREVIEW

FALL

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.

BY KATIE FIELDING

ig Safe’s alternative rock prowess is shaking up the Tufts music scene. The band was formed last year when Emma Pannullo (rhythm guitar, vocals) approached Alix Kaplan (drums) and proposed they form a band to play the Applejam cover show last spring. They then brought in Katie Odjakjian (bass, vocals). The band’s formation happened effortlessly, “like in a movie montage.” For the initial performance, they had a friend join them on guitar, but quickly realized they wanted to add a permanent guitarist—his addition happened just as organically. While the three official members were playing one of their songs at a friend’s house, Gus Meyer picked up a guitar and joined in, and from then on became the fourth member of Dig Safe. The band initially tossed around the name Dig Safe, but wasn’t completely sold. They continued looking for other names, resorting to using random word generators. The most notable suggestion, Jury Bitch, was rejected because they wanted to be able to tell their parents their band name. Eventually, they had to make a decision because Applejam needed a name for the setlist, so they came back around to Dig Safe. “It’s the best free advertising you could get,” quipped Kaplan as they recounted the dozens of Snapchats friends sent them of the words “Dig Safe” spray painted on the ground by construction crews around campus. The band clearly has chemistry—throughout our interview, they called each other by silly nicknames, poked fun at each other, and recounted memories they shared. Outside of Dig Safe, they are all members of BEATS, Tufts’ street percussion group. Between the time they spend together in BEATS and as a band, the four are clearly close. This bond translates to their live shows, where the bandmates really enjoy their time on stage together. While sharing vocal duties on the same mic, Pannullo and Odjakjian stifled laughter. They attribute much of their success to the support they’ve gotten from friends. Odjakjian reflected on that, saying, “At every single show, we’ve all had a ton of people show up, and that’s been really reassuring.” From standing at the front of the crowd and singing along to making Dig Safe merch, it is clear Dig Safe has a really

devoted and supportive fanbase. Their popularity comes as no surprise. Dig Safe’s music is an eclectic blend of songs ranging from shoegaze to surf punk, showing that they’re not afraid of experimenting with different sounds. They recently released their first single, “Bubbles & Lulu,” which Pannullo, Odjakjian, and Kaplan wrote just a few hours after their first show last spring. “I think it’s fitting that the first thing we wrote was the first thing we released almost a year later,” Odjakjian said. The song showcases dueling distorted guitars underneath the ironic lyrics “This song is about people.” In reality, the song is named after Odjakjian’s two (very cute) cats, who are also featured as the cover art. They don’t shy away from humor in their lyrics. They unanimously agreed that their best lyric is “Can you do the hokey pokey, can you turn your life around,” screamed over punk-inspired music. Dig Safe plans on releasing an EP before taking a brief hiatus while Odjakjian studies abroad next semester, but they all agree that they will keep writing music in the meantime and reconvene over the summer or in the fall. Dig Safe has been a major force in the Tufts music scene, and having them back on campus next year will surely enrich the Tufts music community with their eclectic and genre-bending style.

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 5

BY ELYSSA ANNESER AND DIANA HERNANDEZ

y full name is Elyssa Gay Anneser. It was only a matter of time before I realized that my middle name wasn’t the only gay thing about me. Music was my first queer safe space. I was 16 and in my room avoiding homework by watching YouTube videos when I found “She” by Dodie. At first, I resisted clicking the video, knowing deep down that it was about queer love and not wanting to admit to myself that was the song I wanted and needed to hear. Eventually, curiosity took over and I listened. I listened over and over again, taking in each lyric and note as if Dodie wrote this song just for me, giving me a solo performance that night. It was the first time that I’d heard a female artist use she pronouns while describing her unrequited love. Listening to Dodie say “she means everything to me” validated my queer identity for the first time. It reassured me that it’s okay to be queer. The validation that I got from listening to Dodie allowed me to become comfortable with my identity. Soon after I found Hayley Kiyoko’s song, “Girls Like Girls,” which continued to validate me and give me much needed confidence in my identity. Artists like Dodie and Hayley Kiyoko gave me a space for me to be my queer self, while I still remained closeted in my rural town. After watching and listening to enough queer media I gained the courage to come out to my friends and family. Media representation supported my identity and it assured me that I was not alone in my feelings even though I was the only queer person in my small town. Queer representation in music is empowering and validating, and has the power to change lives like mine. My name is Diana Hernandez. My middle name isn’t Gay, but my parents sure are. My home has always been open and accepting to the queer community, as my parents divorced when I was younger to be in same-sex relationships. Even though I knew they would want me to be happy, coming out to gay parents that have

same-sex partners still made me nervous. I didn’t expect that my dad would be so worried about me being in a same sex relationship. He texted me saying, “LGBTQ+ life is not easy! LGBTQ+ are still put down in every aspect of life.” He wants me to be in a heterosexual relationship so that I could live an easier life. That’s not what I need to hear. I need to hear queer artists singing about queer love, giving me hope that my truth can also be easy. As a kid growing up with not one but two queer parents, I have had positive role models in my life. However, I didn’t feel comfortable with my sexuality until coming to Tufts and being exposed to queer people in my age group. Having representation of female queer relationships has had a meaningful impact on both Elyssa’s life and mine. It’s 2018, or better yet #20gayteen, but because the LGBTQ+ community is largely underrepresented in the media, being queer is still dangerous in certain parts of the world. Despite this, queer female artists such as Hayley Kiyoko, Kehlani, Dodie, and King Princess have gained a wider presence in the music industry this past year. Queer representation has been dominated by men in the music industry, with artists like Elton John, Prince, David Bowie. More recently, Troye Sivan and Sam Smith have given the industry some LGBTQ+ representation. Having these artists sing about same-sex love gives the queer community lyrics that are relatable on a deeper, more meaningful level. More importantly, the presence of queer women in the industry amplifies the voices of young female identifying queer women who are still living in our patriarchal world. Queer female artists give our community the representation that we are lacking. Artists have an impact with their lyrics. Lyrics can serve as a record of what is acceptable in today’s society. Progress has been made, with more popular songs singing about queer and femme relationships, but still there has been a long history of songs fetishizating same-sex

relations between two women, devaluing female same-sex relationships as not legitimate or lesser than heterosexual relationship or even queer male relationships. The root of this fetization is society’s continual devaluation of all things feminine, so of course, a samesex female relationship is not legitimate because it doesn’t involve a man. Katy Perry stirred the pot with her 2008 single, “I Kissed A Girl,” which features the famous line, “I kissed a girl and I liked it.” This song wasn’t about queer love. At least not at the time for Katy Perry. The song advocated for experimentation with lyrics like, “I kissed a girl just to try it,” and “Ain’t no big deal, it’s innocent.” It didn’t resonate with the queer community because the song prompted the fetishization of queer women and their relationships. This hasn’t been the only instance in which music fetishizes queer women. Rita Ora drew her inspiration from “I Kissed A Girl” in her song, “Girls.” Her song received backlash from Hayley Kiyoko, stating “A song like this just fuels the male gaze while marginalizing the idea of women loving women.” Kehlani, another queer artist, commented on the song’s lack of consideration to the LGBTQ+ community, saying “there. were. harmful. lyrics. period.” An example of her harmful lyrics is the line, “Red wine, I just wanna kiss girls, girls, girls.” Kiyoko commented on this particular lyric, stating “I don’t need to drink wine to kiss girls; I’ve loved women my entire life.” A song like this sets back the progress made by queer artists in the music industry, even if it had good intentions. Both “I Kissed A Girl” and “Girl” focus on experimentation with the same gender, but not love in a same-sex relationship. Same-sex relationships should be viewed like any other romantic relationship, not as a one-time fling. Songs like “I Kissed A Girl” promote the idea that these relationships are less meaningful compared to their counterpart. In a conversation between Kehlani and Hayley Kiyoko, two queer female icons, with The FADER, Kehlani talked about the importance of using female pronouns in her songs and female characters in her music videos when referring to a relationship with a woman. Doing so normalizes queer love and relationships. In her song, “Honey,” she clearly talks about the type of woman she prefers, stating “I like my girls just like I like my honey” and “I like my women like I like my money.”

Kiyoko explicitly states her interest in women, not men. Lyrics like these provide an example for young queer folk who may be struggling with their sexual orientation. In an interview with Billboard, Kiyoko explained, “I think it’s important for people to lead by example.” She has become an archetype for female queer representation in the music industry; with her album Expectations, she has continued to normalize female same-sex relationships. She is so prolific at this that her fans have anointed her with the title “Lesbian Jesus.” Unlike other openly queer artists in the music industry, she explicitly sings about her sexuality and produces music videos that depict queer love. She believes queer artists like herself help queer fans become more comfortable with themselves and their sexuality, because seeing and hearing about queer love normalizes it. Societal norms and values have made queer love seem out of the ordinary or abnormal. If it were normalized, same-sex relationships could gain the same respect as heterosexual ones. Kiyoko’s song, “Girls Like Girls,” repeats the line, “Girls like girls like boys do.” This song emphasizes the fact that it’s normal that girls also like girls. During pride month this year, Kiyoko and Kehlani released a music video to the song, “What I Need.” The music video stars the two queer icons as friends in love with one another. At the very end, the artists share a passionate kiss. Not only do the lyrics explicitly describe Kiyoko’s love interest being a girl, but also her music video shows her female love interest, played by Kehlani. Her lyrics, “I only want a girl who ain’t afraid to love me / Not a metaphor of what we really could be,” clearly demonstrate openly queer love and refusal to be afraid to express one’s sexuality. In February 2018, King Princess released “1950,” a song about queer love. In this song, King Princess is just a lady singing about another lady. However, it’s not about experimentation, but about unrequited love. King Princess, who is publicly gay, pays homage to the queer community of the 1950s in the time period where they couldn’t openly express their love. With lyrics like “I hate it when dudes try to chase me / But I love it when you try to save me /‘Cause I’m just a lady /I love it when we play 1950,” the power of her words can be felt in the opening four lines of the song. King Princess talked about the meaning behind her lyrics in a video with Genius. She explained that she doesn’t need a man to chase her and rather adores when the mysterious “you” saves her. The audience then can infer from the next line that the “you” refers to is a woman. In this

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 7 song, she’s shy of showing her queer love in public like the queer community of the 1950s. Songs like “1950” show members of the queer community that they’re not alone. Same-sex relationships still do not earn the validity that they deserve even today. Normalizing these relationships through powerful lyrics can make a difference in the lives of queer folk. The power of King Princess for queer female-identifying ears is that she skips over all of the traditional trivialization of queer relationships; rather, she speaks about them as valid and real relationships with highs and lows. Her song “Talia” speaks about the heartbreak of losing her lover with lyrics like, “You’ve walked out a hundred times, how was I/ Supposed to know this time that you wouldn’t come/ That you wouldn’t come home.” Queer unrequited love is never discussed in media unless it involves a queer person pining after a straight person. Female queer relationships are so often depicted as oversimplified and two-dimensional, but artists like King Princess show that queer femme relationships are just as real, complicated, and valid as any heterosexual or queer male relationship. King Princess also just released another impactful song for the queer community called “Pussy is God, where she clearly refers to women with lyrics like “Your pussy is God and I love it” and “She’s God and I’ve found her.” This song represents one of the first times that a queer woman has spoken so explicitly about having sex with another woman. Our community feels reassured when hearing songs that are clearly and unapologetically gay using female pronouns and anatomy in their lyrics. Female artists singing lyrics with female pronouns gives queer fans representation in the media. King Princess has tapped into a new fanbase of queer women who are eager for more artists like her. With devoted fans like these, the rise of queer female-identifying artists is in reach. It’s a new era, especially for queer artists in the industry. Although queer artists have been gaining traction recently, allies still hold a large space in the media surrounding LGBTQ+ issues, rather than artists who can share their own experiences. Is that the same as the LGBTQ+ community being represented, specifically queer women? Often the media highlights straight artists who donate to LGBTQ+

causes, but the same media still suppresses LGBTQ+ work and representation, especially when women are the face of it. Charity and foundation work cannot compare to a chart-topping song in the eyes of queer fans. Dan Reynolds, the lead singer of Imagine Dragons, is the frontman of LoveLoud Fest, an annual festival that supports LGBTQ+ youth in Utah. He is a heterosexual white man that uses his privilege to help the community feel understood and acceptance. His foundation preaches a positive mission in starting a conversation that promotes unconditional love, but young queer folk need role models like themselves represented in media. Straight artists don’t have the same shared experience as queer artists and, instead of giving space to queer representation, they treat the queer community as a charity project. Popular songs about queer love have a far greater impact on the queer community when they are by queer artists. Not only is there lack of queer representation, but the media also tends to shine a light on allies who are men, not women. Queer women aren’t being heard in the same way due to preexisting gender inequality. Their voices need to be uplifted in the media. Queer female-identifying artists can be the voice to change societal views on same-sex relationships between women. Growing up, there weren’t many media outlets showing female-identifying queer youth. Queer relationships between two women clearly still do not get the same attention as those between two men. Having major hit songs from queer female-identifying artists can change that through the power of lyrics. It’s been 68 years since 1950 when queer folk had to hide their love, but queer folks are still hiding their love today. The increased visibility of queer artists and their music can normalize queer relationships, which is a first step in increasing societal acceptance and understanding of queer people. Listening to songs about queer love by queer female artists like King Princess’ new single, “Pussy is God,” gives us the power to hold each other’s hands proudly in public.

FACING THE MUSIC HOW BABY DRIVER IS CHANGING MOVIE SOUNDTRACKS

BY MIRANDA FEINBERG

here are a million moving parts that come together to make a movie, meshing together to create the film in its entirety. One aspect that is often glossed over when regarding a movie as a whole is the music that is curated for and used throughout the film. Music touches both the conscious and the subconscious, shaping how the audience not only sees and understands the story, but how they feel it. The music gives weight to each scene, adding to the atmosphere and aesthetics of a film. A good soundtrack can elevate a movie to new heights and contribute to iconic scenes and truly memorable moments. Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver drives this point home, telling the story of a young getaway driver through the music he listens to. Wright curated an eclectic, multi-faceted soundtrack for Baby Driver, and his movie is ultimately shaped by the music that accompanies each scene. The movie is unique in that the music provides a quasi-choreographed feel to each character’s movements and each scene’s actions, and Baby Driver’s new take brings the art of soundtrack curation to new heights. Baby Driver, through the titular character Baby, tells a story through music; Baby’s ever present iPod serves as a guiding force for the twists and turns and action of each scene. When looking at a wide array of soundtracks, the track list will oftentimes stay in the same genre; Black Panther’s album is all hip-hop and pop, Wes Anderson’s The Royal Tenenbaums is a hipster’s tour through the music of the second half of the 20th century, and Saturday Night Fever is all disco, of course. Coming-of-age movies, too, will often feature songs from genres that are popular among kids of the time. Stand By Me, set in the late ‘50s, consists of pop hits from the decade like “Lollipop” and Buddy Holly’s

“Everyday,” while The Goonies draws from popular ‘80s pop, and 2018’s Love Simon has all the popular alt-indie hits of today. This reinforces the movie’s sense of time and place, in that the music strengthens the cultural backbone of each film. Stand By Me, for example, changes its vibe with the addition of upbeat pop-rock. Conceptually, the story sounds rather morbid—a tale of four outcasts who run away from home to try and find a dead body. Complete with overtones of loss and violence and bullying, Stand By Me could very easily come off as a downcast and grim movie. With the use of upbeat period music, though, the innocence of the characters and the themes of childhood friendship and comradery purposefully rival the darker elements of the film. Because of this tendency to keep the soundtrack consistent with the time period of the film, it is all the more powerful when a movie soundtrack jumps between genres. Baz Luhrmann’s 2013 adaptation of The Great Gatsby has a soundtrack that mixes modern day pop, hip hop, alt-rock and jazz music to produce an atmosphere of cutthroat luxury that pairs perfectly with the themes of the F. Scott Fitzgerald classic. The music acts as another facet of Jay Gatsby’s show of wealth and power, and each track mirrors the opulent feel of 1920’s capitalism with surprising ease. Just like The Great Gatsby, Wright’s curated music choices for Baby Driver are eclectic and eccentric, avoiding expectations of consistency. The main character, Baby, has “different iPods for different days and moods.” This mix of mixes brings the music to the forefront of the film, out into the spotlight. The music acts almost as its own character within the movie, as it is referenced

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 9 and brought to the forefront of the plot many times. The disjunction between the genres gives an added aura of power and importance to the music, and because of this layered approach to the soundtrack, the music almost has a personality of its own, as it holds together theme and plot alike. The music matches to the action on screen, yet it also represents different plot points. For example, Baby and his love interest, Debora, talk about how many songs mention their respective names. With their fun-fueled conversation in mind, when T.Rex’s “Debora” is played in the next scene, Baby and the audience alike feel giddy with the joy that comes from having a crush. Similarly, Baby and another character, Buddy, find common ground through Queen’s “Brighton Rock.” When their relationship turns disastrous later in the film, though, the song becomes something of threat, acting as the personification of the animosity and hatred between the two characters. When the song is finally played once more, towards the end of the film and the height of the action, the audience knows something bad’s coming. Wright has long talked about choreographing a car chase to music, and his dream is realized in Baby Driver. Right off the bat, an entire heist (with the subsequent, action-packed car chase) is played out to The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s “Bellbottoms.” This is a new way of looking at how music can accompany plot, as the song isn’t simply playing in the background of the scene. Instead, each character’s actions are perfectly timed out to the song, almost like a dance. The music is diegetic, since the characters in the movie are listening to the song in the film, yet it is also atmospheric, as the music overlays the scene to emphasize the feeling of the scene. Movies in the past have found success in inserting sequences choreographed to music into their films (The Breakfast Club’s iconic library dance scene comes to mind), yet this sequence in Baby Driver remains unique in its multi-layered approach to utilizing the music. The upbeat tempo of the song perfectly captures the adrenaline of a high-speed chase, while the choreography emphasizes the characters’ actions. Wright again choreographs real life in the following scene, where Baby is walking the streets of Atlanta post-heist. The music—Bob & Earl’s “Harlem Shuffle”—plays along in the background as Baby navigates around other people. As such, the scene is transformed, removed from the mundane action of walk-

ing through a city. Walking becomes gliding, the actions timed to the chill tempo of the song in a way that elevates his trek to a dance. These two scenes show the power of music, working the songs to their full potential. Baby Driver’s approach to mixing music and film is decidedly different from the approach that most other movies take. While most movies incorporate music into each scene, Wright created scenes around the music, picking existing songs before even shooting the scenes. Wright has said many times in interviews that when he first heard Jon Spencer Blues Explosion’s “Bellbottoms,” way back in 1995, he was immediately transported to thoughts of a car chase, and that Baby Driver itself was born of this initial idea. Rather than choose a song based on the atmosphere of his movie, Wright created an entire movie based on one song, completely subverting the creative process. Moreover, Wright said in an interview with Pitchfork: “When I actually sat down to write the movie, [I] had already earmarked about 10 songs.” He fashioned many of the other scenes of the movie around specific songs as well. During a particularly decisive gun fight in the movie, everything is timed perfectly to the song “Tequila.” Wright revealed in the same interview that even before envisioning the scene or writing a word of the story, Wright worked with Mark “Osymyso” Nicholson to create a cover of “Tequila” that had gunshots woven into the beat. Then, once the plot had been written and filming had begun, Wright told each actor to fire their guns to their specific parts within the song. This altogether backwards approach to creating a movie is exciting, showing the potential for innovative ways to create both music and film. Curating a soundtrack takes artistry and finesse and transforms the way audiences appreciate music. Watching a movie based on music, rather than the other way around, provides a new way of experiencing a film and the music itself. The success of a movie is in part due to the impact and quality of its soundtrack. The songs included shape the film’s aesthetic, build up the cultural setting of the story, add meaning to important scenes and, in Baby Driver’s case, even choreograph everyday life. Music adds so much to movies, mixing reality with art in a way that helps the audience to truly feel the movie. Edgar Wright brings the art of soundtrack curation to new heights, paving the way for innovation and ingenuity in both the music and film world. By completely sidestepping the established process, Wright has shown that music is a truly limitless medium.

KEVIN ABSTRACT’S MUSIC IS SHAKING SUBURBAN AMERICA TO ITS CORE BY MICHAEL NORTON

he rows of near identical houses, manicured lawns patrolled by smug middle-aged folks atop riding mowers, obnoxiously large SUVs (complete with stick figure families), seem to send a very pointed message: fit in. Accept our mold. If you study hard and shake the right hands, you just might earn your own slice of suburbia. Isn’t that everything you could ever want? Clifford Simpson, known as Kevin Abstract, has created a movement based on the defiance of these forces, which seek to dictate the life of a suburban youth. He’s struck a nerve, speaking to young fans who feel pigeonholed, obligated to take up the social and professional roles imposed upon them by suburban America. He stated his goal of self-determination explicitly in a 2016 interview with Dazed Digital: “I don’t know why I had to be the one who chose to run away from home and figure shit out on my own. I’m building my world and universe everyday. I pick the characters, I write the script, I control the narrative. This was all meant to happen.” Abstract is not willing to be told what he is supposed to be, nor is he willing to accept roles imposed upon him. Comparing his life choices to directing a dramatic work is telling; Abstract is relentlessly creative.

“

Abstract is not willing to be told to what is supposed to be, nor is he willing to accept roles imposed upon HIM.

In both, his solo music and his work with BROCKHAMPTON, Abstract and his bandmates talk about the racism and homophobia they experienced in their suburban hometowns, as well as the loneliness brought about by being different in a place where everyone is supposed to be the same. In an article titled “Teens: Suburban Blues,” Hara Estroff Marano writes that suburban teens—who suffer from high rates of anxiety and depression because of “achievement pressures”—may be forced to suffer with their issues because “privacy concerns and embarrassment may keep parents from attending to invisible problems.” Parents, Marano suggests, “may need to maintain a veneer of well-being.” This makes it clear that appearances are vitally important in the suburbs. One must make it seem as though all is well even when it isn’t. On a trip to his hometown of Woodlands, Texas, documented by Noisey, Vice’s music division, Abstract finds himself back in the environment which sought to mold him according to its own values and social dictates. Abstract has complicated feelings about his hometown—he tells Noisey that “everybody kinda acted the same, and it was kinda boring,” but says that he found something beautiful in this monotony. This beauty comes from the tension of observing the monolithic behavior while refusing to join in it. Much of Abstract’s autobiographical solo work captures the struggle of fighting pressures which aim to dictate one’s appearance. This unwillingness to sacrifice his spirit for social acceptance is a driving force in Abstract’s work, particularly his solo album American Boyfriend, which focuses on the pain of being different in the suburbs. On the record, Abstract sings over somber instrumentals about love that could not be expressed, racist friends and their family mem-

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 11 bers, low self-esteem, and boredom. At times, crushing lines like “I’m so aware of the fact / That I will never in this lifetime get the chance to be with you,” from the song “Suburbian Born,” seem to roll off his tongue nonchalantly, suggesting that the emotional oppression is accepted as factual. The Abstract of American Boyfriend knows that he cannot be free or be himself in the confines of his suburban home. On a few songs, he explicitly mentions wanting to escape, to go somewhere he can truly be free from the racism, homophobia, and other social constraints. He isn’t the “perfect son” that the suburbs aim to produce and show off to the neighbors; he even refers to himself ironically as a “bad son” in “Echo.” Abstract tells Noisey that music is the only way he felt like he could be himself. True to his relentless self-definition, he sought out just what he needed to do to break out of the spiritual and emotional prison from which he sings on American Boyfriend. Founding BROCKHAMPTON was a step in the direction of personal freedom of expression for Abstract. In 2012, he posted “Anybody wanna make a band?” to the Kanye West fan forum KanyeToThe, showing that he was willing to reach out into the open, unfiltered internet to find people to make music with him. That BROCKHAMPTON began online is yet another testament to its relevance to pigeonholed suburban youth. In real life, they might feel like they can’t reach anybody, that those around them might reject them. The Internet, however, can be a tool to escape this isolation and connect with people. For BROCKHAMPTON, the Internet was a way to overcome the geographical and creative confines of the suburbs, share their music, and begin forming chemistry.

Eventually, the full group formed, making music with fast, wonky beats and pitched up vocals that are stylistically adventurous. However, BROCKHAMPTON has still managed to gain a rather large following. This is due in large part to their ethos of self-expression. In their verses, BROCKHAMPTON members often bare it all, talking openly about their sexuality, their mental health issues, the racism they faced growing up, and their ambitions. This marks a significant change in tone for Abstract, who sang that “The harshest of all times, can’t tell my family I’m bi / Can’t tell my mother I’m gay / The hardest part of my day is wishing I was fucking straight” in “Papercut” from American Boyfriend. On the Saturation albums from BROCKHAMPTON, he openly discusses his sexuality, rapping on “Junky” that he feels the need to rap about it because he feels “being gay” is an underrepresented subject in the genre. Abstract’s vocals are featured more prominently on Iridescence than on the Saturation albums. On “SOMETHING ABOUT HIM.” Abstract, the only vocalist on this track, expresses his love for his boyfriend, Jaden Walker. He doesn’t mention his fear of being rejected by his family because of his sexuality. It’s a true expression of himself and his love, an indication that he is boldly challenging the suburban social norms.

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Abstract is reaching young people who feel trapped and telling them that there is a way out.

Abstract and BROCKHAMPTON directly take on the forces of the suburbs that act on so many young people, overcoming the voice which tells suburban youth to be normal, to be good investments for their parents, to not disrupt the placid surface of identical houses on evenly spaced lawns. Abstract is reaching young people who feel trapped and telling them that there is a way out. They are defying a static order, embracing a liberating chaos that is the release of an oppressed spirit.

A LOOK BACK AT OUR FAVORITE PHOTOS FROM SHOWS WEâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;VE COVERED THIS SEMESTER

Overcoats | Ethan Lam

Snail Mail | Katie Fielding

Gus Dapperton | Katie Fielding

Nothing But Thieves | Katie Fielding

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 13

Hippo Campus | Katie Fielding

Jonathan Richman | Charlie Billings

CHVRCHES | Katie Fielding

Mitski | Ethan Lam

Pond | Jonas Gerken

BETTER THAN THE ALTERNATIVE IT’S TIME TO RETHINK MUSIC GENRES BY LOLA NEDIC

t’s natural for music genres to evolve in order to adapt to new trends, but the alternative genre has experienced a much more drastic change. The problem with this is that the alternative genre specifically has not only changed its sound, but has opened up to a much wider range of music and has lost its defining characteristics. It has instead become a dumping ground for any music that doesn’t fit into other conventional music genres, like pop, rock, or rap. This stems from society’s general laziness in defining music genres. It’s much easier for people to group music into fewer genres that have broad characteristics that are easy to remember, than it is to use twenty or thirty genres that each have specific characteristics. Though this ideology makes sense, it often leaves a lot of music poorly defined or not defined at all. As a society, we need to define music using more specific genres, or sub-genres. Using sub-genres does require a little more extra thought, but it also helps us better define music and narrow it down to categories that accurately describe the type of music we listen to. Though there’s a niche group of people who frequently use sub-genres to describe their music taste, the way that most of society labels music leaves much to be desired. I’ve found that most of the time when I ask people my age what genre of music they listen to, a large proportion of them respond by saying “alternative.” However, when asked to elab-

orate on which artists they listen to, I almost never hear the same artist twice. This is the problem with the current state of alternative music—there is no common ground. There’s no small group of artists that serve as the prototype for alternative music, nor are there any specific sounds or lyrical themes that characterize the whole genre. Alternative music started to appear in the 1980s, and its original purpose was to be music for the “outcasts” of society. It was also mostly reserved for artists who weren’t signed to a record label yet (most of these artists didn’t have the intention to get signed anyway). Early sub-genres that were grouped under alternative were post-punk, with groups like Joy Division and the Cure, and jangly “college rock,” like R.E.M. These artists prided themselves on being anti-mainstream and producing original content that hadn’t been seen before— the genre’s entire purpose was to represent a different side of popular music and to diverge from social and musical norms. At the time it began, the alternative genre was largely geared toward music that didn’t conform to any of the other core music genres, and society was very willing to develop a new genre for these new bands. The difference between society in the 1980s and society today is that today’s society is much less willing to accommodate new artists by grouping them into genres that fit them properly. Today, we have a much larger amount of music

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 15 that doesn’t necessarily fit into norms. This diversity in sound makes it all the more crucial that society adapts instead of dumping all new music into the alternative genre.

not giving them a proper label. Because most of us rely on streaming services to categorize music, it’s up to the developers of platforms like Spotify and Apple Music to do so accurately.

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Some of the more commonly used streaming platforms make playlists for their users specific to a single music genre. Many users depend on these playlists to help them discover new music or delve deeper into a genre they’re already familiar with. Apple Music’s playlists are generally better at grouping music than Spotify is, but both platforms are lacking when it comes to defining alternative music. Apple Music tends to be more curated when it makes genre-specific playlists, while Spotify’s playlists haphazardly combine different sub-genres. Spotify’s essential alternative playlist, for example, lacks any definition and includes bands like The Strokes, My Chemical Romance, Imagine Dragons, and The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Aside from the fact that they’re all in this playlist, these artists really don’t have anything else in common. Spotify has also expressed a complete disregard for the alternative genre by creating Alternative 60s and Alternative 70s playlists. The alternative genre emerged during the 1980s following the rise of the punk scene, and because 60s and 70s music wasn’t inspired by punk, music from these decades therefore cannot qualify as alternative by its historical definition. Labeling 60s and 70s music using a genre that did not exist in that time demonstrates Spotify’s fundamental misunderstanding of the alternative genre as a whole.

the genre’s entire purpose was TO REPRESENT A DIFFERENT TYPE OF MUSIC and to diverge from social and musical norms.

The general population depends on streaming platforms like Spotify, Apple Music, Google Play, or SoundCloud to help them define music genres. Traditionally, artists categorize themselves into genres which they feel best represent their music. However, many music platforms will disregard the artist’s wishes and only recognize the broader umbrella genre rather than a more specific subgenre. For example, if an “alternative” artist uses sub-genres to label themselves, such as surf rock, garage rock, or punk rock, most music-streaming platforms, radio stations, and listeners will instead label them as alternative rock for the sake of simplicity. This is pretty much the equivalent of people referring to tigers as cats instead of as tigers. Yes, it’s true that tigers are cats, but there are other kinds of cats that better represent this category. While you’re technically using the right label, you’re doing tigers an injustice by referring to them simply as “cats.” This is exactly what happens when we label very unique types of music as just “alternative.” By being less specific, we’re doing an injustice to artists by

As the alternative genre has evolved, it has begun to reach a much wider audience, and has therefore grown more popular. This is likely because society as a whole has become more accepting of people who are different. This makes it much easier for “alter-

native” artists to become popular, as society no longer views them as outcasts, but instead views them as a new and interesting perspective. Many bands that originally labeled themselves as alternative have now grown to be more popular and thus better fit the mainstream image, like Panic! At the Disco or Imagine Dragons. Once an artist gets assigned a genre, however, that label sticks for their entire career.

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They’re simply labeled as alternative because they didn’t fit into any other genre.

Imagine Dragons, for example, have been labeled as an alternative band since the release of their first record. Night Visions, their 2012 debut album, served as a kind of prototype for a new wave of rock music, and therefore caused Imagine Dragons to be labeled as an alternative band. However, Imagine Dragons never did any of the things that most alternative bands do—they don’t cater to outcasts, and they don’t market themselves as unique, and they’re not punk-inspired. They’re simply labeled as alternative because they didn’t fit into any other genre. Imagine Dragons are really just a filed down and more palatable version of traditional rock. Their sound has allowed them to neatly fit into the rock genre, while still being radio-friendly. Currently, Imagine Dragons rank as one of the most popular bands in the world. Their label as an alternative group makes the genre as a whole seem more appealing to the masses, and has made it more coveted both for listeners and other artists. Though Imagine Dragons are now producing more pop records, like Evolve and Origins, they haven’t been able to rid themselves of their alternative label just yet. Imagine Dragons serve as a prime example of how bands are hardly ever able to shake their original genre labels, despite adopting a new sound. The issue with music genres is that once an artist gets assigned a genre, that label sticks for their entire career. Despite changes in sound or style, artists tend to hold on to the genre they earned in their first few years. For example, Panic! At the Disco got their start as an alternative band, but many of their albums have experimented with different sounds. Pretty Odd, their second album, had more of a folk sound, while their

fourth album, Too Weird to Live, Too Rare to Die experimented with pop. Regardless of the inconsistency between Panic! At the Disco’s later albums, they’ve still maintained their status as an alternative band. Panic! At the Disco, along with many bands that have undergone similar musical changes, serve as an example to show that alternative music is not really about sound or being “alternative” at all. So, should these bands maintain their alternative status while still consistently producing radio hits? If a band changes its style when it becomes popular, then no. Changes in both their sound and popularity disqualify them as an alternative band. However, if a band maintains its original “alternative” sound while being popular, they should be able to maintain their alternative label. Unfortunately, things rarely ever play out this way, and the true definition of the genre remains unclear. This problem stems from the genre’s poor definition and society’s complacency with continuing to label a band as alternative even when they no longer make music that fits the genre. The way that alternative is used colloquially has caused it to lose its defining characteristics, and therefore lose its identity. By being so broadly defined, alternative is no longer able to fulfill its true purpose as a genre.

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 17

Can Music be Bad? ANSWERING ONE OF THE ARTS’ ETERNAL QUESTIONS. BY EVAN ZIGMOND

n 1913, in the city of Paris, Igor Stravinski debuted his ballet The Rite of Spring. It’s safe to say that, when the opera-goers filed into the Théâtre de Champs Élysées on the night of the premiere, they were not expecting a riot. A riot is what they got, however. During the first half of the premiere, audiences reportedly grew uncomfortable with the harsh dissonance of the score of the ballet, with its whining bassoons and the fluttering woodwinds. Several arguments broke out between the shocked concert-goers, and those who appreciated Stravinsky’s experimental approach. The arguments evolved into a physical brawl, which had to be broken up by police during the first half. Stravinsky ended up leaving the theatre in the middle of the production, likely disappointed with the reception. Moments like these remind us of the sometimes striking contrasts between the tastes of one person and the tastes of another. With opinions about the quality of the music differing so drastically from one person to the next, is there any way to determine whether or not music is “bad”? What does bad even mean in this context? These questions have been bouncing around in my head for the past couple of months, and while I don’t claim to have all the answers, I’ve learned a lot about how “badness” is perceived by different people, and I’d like to share my findings with you. To me, the question of whether or not music can be bad really gets to the bottom of why someone listens to the music they do, or rather, why they avoid the music they avoid. To begin with, I’d like to make a distinction between “bad” music and “un-enjoyable” music. I started making this distinction after a very informative Facebook argument I had read earlier this year. I posted in a music lovers’ group asking for examples of music that was enjoyable because of how bad it was. I got a few replies saying something along the lines of “if you enjoy it, it can’t be bad.” While I appreciate the optimistic outlook toward music I would otherwise deem bad, the two

terms are not interchangeable. Distinguishing between these two helps remove a bit of subjectivity from the elusive “bad” music. There are many different definitions of “bad” music, but I’m going to start with my own, just so y’all can keep my personal bias in mind as we continue. To me, bad music comes from the degree of difference between what the artist sets out to create and the end result. In order for the music to be truly bad, this separation must be based purely on musical ability. This definition allows each artist to be judged based only on their own work, rather than drawing potentially unfair comparisons between different artists. While these comparisons can be useful, I don’t deem them necessary in discovering what music may be called “bad”. It also puts the onus of judgement on the artists themselves. In the vast majority of cases, the musician is the single person most capable of identifying a gap in between what they set out to create and what they were able to create. This definition of bad excludes music that some may consider “too simple” or “too complicated,” as these arbitrary standards should be set by the artists themselves. Punk rock is a good example of a genre that might be deemed too simple. While it may not always have the cleanest tone or the most refined musicianship, neither of those attributes are essential to the genre. If someone wants to make a song with only two chords, and they succeed in doing so, the music can’t be called bad, at least from a harmonic standpoint. The same goes for what might be deemed “overly complicated music.” Someone who wants to fill their songs with odd polyrhythms, microtones, etc. is at full liberty to do so, as long as they have the level of musicianship to execute such things. Not only does this definition ex-

clude the aforementioned types of music, it presumably excludes most recorded music, as the artist releasing their work has at least enough confidence in the execution of their artistic vision to release what they have recorded. We are left with a small subset of tunes, from which I have included a couple of examples.

a lack of innovation in a piece of music is a harbinger for bad music. One notable example involves the fledgling abilities of concert bands, orchestras, and choirs at the middle and high school levels. Although both environments are important for the development of young musicians, neither are exactly a hotbed of musicianship. Conditions like these are perfect for what I call bad music. For the most part, classical composers write exactly what they want the band to play, so any straying from what’s on the page marks a departure from the artistic vision of the composer. In the case of a middle school band playing a conventional arrangement of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” it’s clear that the messy end result is far different from what the composer intended, presumably due to lack of ability from the musicians. If one of the saxophones blares out an errant Bb despite the tune presumably being on the tonic chord in the key of F major, there is no harmonic justification for this Bb. One could argue that this Bb comes from a conscious desire to play outside the chord progression, rather than a simple lack of ability on the part of a middle schooler, but this would be a bit disingenuous. All this fails to mention the poor timbre of the note, as well as the lack of blending between this rogue saxophonist and the rest of the section, let alone the rest of the band. Therefore, this example (derived from a YouTube video) has all the trappings of bad music. It departs arguably pretty far from the artistic vision of the composer, due primarily to insufficient musicianship. I don’t fault the band or the saxophone player for playing badly. They are, after all, new to their instruments. This is just a striking example. It is worth noting that, although these students failed in recreating the artistic vision of the composer, we as listeners have no way of knowing whether or not the composer failed in realizing their artistic vision when they were writing the tune. It may

be the case that the composer wrote the tune exactly how they envisioned it, and so the written music itself isn’t bad. On the other end, we have music that is intended to be performed “badly.” Thomas C. Duffy’s concert piece A+ is written in such a way where students are allowed a small number of intentional “mistakes” during the piece. I actually played this piece in high school myself, and I can’t describe the amount of fulfillment I got from playing a note outside the key signature during a rest. In a video I found on YouTube, I found another surprise Bb, this time coming from a bass clarinet player during a rest. Unlike the previous Bb, this “mistake” was intended both by the performer and the composer, and is therefore justified. Through the rest of the tune, the outbursts from the trumpet section almost have a different feel to them than the mistakes in the middle school piece, because they are intentional. In cases like these, intent separates the bad from the … not bad. On the quest to find out others’ opinions about whether or not music can be bad, I turned to Professor Michael McLaughlin in the music department. McLaughlin teaches the ear training labs and musicianship courses in Granoff, and he directs the Klezmer ensemble. He had some illuminating thoughts about bad music, thoughts that made me realize the differences in the mindsets between someone who has made a career in music academia, and the rest of the music-consuming population. Professor McLaughlin thinks about the quality of music on multiple levels. During our interview, he spoke both about the creation of a piece of music, and about the intended effect of that music. While he recognizes that it is very easy to generalize when talking about judging the quality of music, he looks for genuine effort on the part of the artist. This applies to both the songwriting process and the performance of the music. In the songwriting camp, simplicity is not a bad thing. For example, he thinks the 4-chord progression in the right hands is a powerful tool, citing the artist Phosphorescent’s “Song For Zula” from his 2013 album Muchacho. Phosphorescent experimented with timbre to compensate for the relatively simple chord progression that many people have heard many times. The song is swimming in shimmering string-like synths uniquely intertwined before a real string section enters. However, “cookie-cutter” music, where the artist isn’t doing anything to distinguish themselves from the commercial standard, rubs McLaughlin the wrong way. For McLaughlin, a lack of innovation in a piece of music is a harbinger for bad music. As far as the intended effect of the music, Professor McLaughlin goes one step further than me. Rather than simply holding the music to the standard of

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 19 the artists’ desired effect, which is my own criteria, McLaughlin holds a very popular opinion. He looks at the finished product and whether it meets expectations of the listener, rather than the artists’ intentions. This not only applies to music meant to solicit an emotional response, it also applies to music designed to solicit other responses. For example, how does music in a commercial function? Is it meant to increase sales directly, or just to complement the visuals? In either case, does it achieve the desired effect? Finding a solid metric for this type of music is difficult, but the idea is certainly there. In the quest for more opinions on this issue, I spoke with my good friend and fellow music student Iverson Eliopoulos. Iverson had a great point when confronted with the examples I provided above. For him, those are merely bad recordings. In order to find bad music, he says, one must also examine a perfectly-performed version of a tune. Badly written music can’t be made good with stellar musicianship, and good music can’t be made bad just because it can potentially be played badly. Iverson asserts that good music elicits an emotional response in a listener, so by contrast, bad music elicits no such response: the listener feels exactly the same pre- and post-listen. If an emotional response is one of the major goals in a piece of music, there is the added weight of the composer’s failure to do what they had set out to do. With this definition, the examples I provided above are no longer bad. Even if the emotion they cause in me is secondhand embarrassment, it is still an emotion. At this point, the definition still leaves wiggle room for personal opinion, so Iverson adds that there must be a lack of emotional impact on everyone in order for the music to be bad. He and I racked our brains trying to think of real-world examples of music that we agreed brought nothing out of us. Neither of us could think of anything off the top of our heads, but we agreed that this hypothetical bad music would probably have to be unfathomably bland. Even listening to a single high-pitched frequency for a few minutes makes me annoyed, which counts as something, so I wouldn’t be able to label that bad. I really like this definition because it separates the music

from the performer, which was something I hadn’t considered. Finding practical examples to support this definition is very difficult, but it provides a good framework for thinking about the quality of music as it affects the listener, without getting bogged down with questions of musicianship. After hearing such different opinions about music quality, I’ve come to appreciate the question itself a lot more. Each take we discussed came from a different angle: my personal listening priorities line up with those of the artist, Professor McLaughlin’s priorities include the piece’s function and context within the larger musical landscape, and Iverson’s priorities include one’s emotional response to a piece of music. In this manner, the question “can music be bad?” can reveal their priorities as a music listener, and can be an instructive question for how different people evaluate their opinions on music as a whole.

Don’t be fashionably late BY JONAS GERKEN

hen I clicked on the Ticketmaster “Confirm Purchase” button and saw the subsequent email notification that my e-tickets had arrived, I was ecstatic. J. Cole had always been on my radar as an artist I wanted to see live, but the circumstances were never right—I was either too broke to cough up the money for the tickets or was denied by the iron grip of my parents. But this time I had money, and I was ready to splash on some premium shows; the conditions seemed favorable. But I wasn’t spending $110 just to see J. Cole. I was spending $110 to see EARTHGANG, Jaden Smith, and Young Thug open for J. Cole on the last show of his Dreamville Tour. Needless to say, I was stoked, and had made plans with my friends to meet at Harvard, have a few drinks, and then make it to TD Garden just a few minutes after the doors opened to catch EARTHGANG. We wanted to arrive at around 5:30. This was the plan, but as with all things in life, nothing goes according to plan.

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I enjoyed the rest of the show, but in the back of my mind I knew I missed something special.

I showed up to TD Garden cold, excited, and anxious; it was only 7:15, and I was wondering if we had missed Jaden Smith or Young Thug. To my extreme disappointment, I walked in to “Hercules,” Young Thug’s infamous 2016 banger. It wasn’t that I was disappointed in seeing him, I was stoked to see such a prolific figure in the rap game, but I knew that I had missed EARTHGANG, Jaden Smith, and the majority of Young Thug’s set. Sure enough, the next song, “Lifestyle,” rounded out his set, and as he walked off stage, the lights turned on and the curtain closed. I enjoyed the rest of the show, but in the back of my mind I knew I missed something special. I asked somebody standing near us how Jaden and EARTHGANG were, and wasn’t surprised to find out that their sets were explosive, teeming with energy and love for the crowd. I was livid.

When I bought those tickets, I made the conscious decision to spend $110. This decision was predicated on the fact that I would see not just J. Cole, but also Young Thug, Jaden Smith, and EARTHGANG. If it was just J. Cole and none of the other openers, I would likely have not bought the tickets, because I didn’t think that mediocre seats for J. Cole were worth that much. It is one thing to miss a performer at a festival, where there are multiple stages and too many artists to see them all. But when you dish out the same amount of money you would pay for a festival to see a few select exceptional artists, you expect to get your money’s worth. In the summer of 2017, I went to Soulection Festival at Shrine in Los Angeles—a large concert hall that looks like a palace right next to USC. I paid $40 for the tickets. The festival lasted from two in the afternoon to midnight, and I got to see some great DJs and some of my favorite artists, including Smino, Sango, Monte Booker, and Steve Lacy. For about a third of the price I paid for J. Cole, I got to see four times as much music. This brings up an interesting question: how much is an artist live and in person really worth? Are they valued purely on how many Grammys, MTV Awards, and AMAs they win, or is there some other way in which we “value” an artist and their music? I think that the value of an artist is arbitrary, because there are so many factors that go into what we consider “good” music. The popular value of an artist is based purely on the aforementioned awards and what is trending. Artists that are consistently scoring tracks at the top of Billboard’s charts, such as Post Malone, Travis Scott, Drake, and Nicki Minaj have ridiculous price tags on their tours, with tickets ranging from $50 at the cheapest to upwards of $400. They make music that is almost unanimously considered good, and so these ticket prices are often considered somewhat rational. However, this rationality falters because the shows for these artists had a $20 price tag before they were famous. This is relevant when considering the fact that their music may not have changed, but their popularity has. With this being said, it seems that there are a few factors that are necessary to consider when formulating the “worth” of an artist. Hype––the thing that compels teenagers to blow thousands of dollars on ugly shoes––is the most impactful element to this equation, as it influences all other aspects of a tour or a show. An artist with a larger fanbase and more impressive reputation will play at larger venues, meaning ticket prices are going to be higher. A show at TD Garden, regardless of who is playing, is likely

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 21 going to be more expensive than a show at The Royale. Hype determines not only the size of an artist’s fanbase, but also their ability to sell out the venues where they will perform. If an artist just dropped a ton of new music and then they go on tour, the excitement of hearing this new music and seeing this performance live brings in not just new fans, but also those who have already seen the artist live. For example, if the artists at Soulection festival had the same hype that J. Cole, Young Thug, EARTHGANG, and Jaden Smith had, then the tickets would have probably been significantly more expensive. There’s an allure of seeing a hot new artist, and being able to look back on that experience and say “I was there for that.” Take Sheck Wes, for example. Prior to the release of “Mo Bamba,” Sheck Wes was just like any other Soundcloud rapper. But when “Mo Bamba” started gaining traction and getting played at intro-DJ sets, house parties, and popping up on celebrities’ Instagrams, he gained incredible hype — enough to get him a record deal and put out his debut album MUDBOY the same year. Now he has massive shows of his own and is touring with Travis Scott on his ASTROWORLD Tour, which sold out some of the largest venues in the country within minutes of the tickets being released. This presents an interesting dynamic, where the value of the artist increases significantly, but the music they perform or the quality of their performance doesn’t. Hype is shaping a young and impressionable generation, and the success of big artists such as J. Cole, and incredibly expensive festivals like Coachella and Lollapalooza prove this. Their success proves that young people are willing to spend large amounts of money that they likely don’t have to see their favorite artists. I was incredibly invested in seeing all of the other artists performing at J. Cole’s concert, and I wanted to get my money’s worth. But my friends only cared about seeing J. Cole. They jammed to the music, singing along to the songs they knew, taking pictures on their phones; they were having a good time, and I couldn’t understand how they weren’t just a little disappointed. They were completely content with just seeing this one revered rapper because they weren’t aware of the music the other artists were putting out. It wasn’t like Young Thug and Jaden don’t have hype, because they are two of the most iconic figures in the rap game, but their music never found the ears of my friends, and so they weren’t interested. They did know J. Cole, and they knew he was a big deal with a lot of quality music, and they were willing to spend their money to see that. They had no point of reference to the quality of his performance (they had never seen him before), and yet they trusted in the ticket price that he would put on a good show, and he did. They didn’t know how much good music they were missing and they didn’t care, because that wasn’t what they were there for. But I was there for EARTHGANG,

Jaden Smith, Young Thug, and J. Cole, too. I wanted the whole performance, with all of my rap icons on one stage performing their music, and so I was disappointed — I didn’t get to see the show I invested in.

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It’s the intimacy of being able to see the artists perform their work with live emotion, and making that connection with them as a fan.

But it doesn’t necessarily matter how much I paid for the show and what I did and didn’t see, because I don’t go to shows to check artists off my bucket list. I like the music I do because I like the way it sounds and the artistic vibe of the artist, not because the artists are surrounded by hype. It doesn’t matter how much they’re worth because their music has impacted me in some significant way. That’s why a $15 show to see Banes World and be close enough to the stage to touch his shoes is just as valuable as a $300 show to see Travis Scott behind a mass of sweaty tall dudes who always have their phone out. It’s the intimacy of being able to see the artists perform their work with live emotion, and making that connection with them as a fan. You showing up to the concert shows that you appreciate them, and their performance in turn shows that they appreciate you. It is a beautiful mutual relationship between artist and consumer that transcends monetary boundaries. There is no one reason that people go to see live music. Some go for a good time with friends, some to appreciate the artist’s performance, and some for the hype of the tour. But regardless of why you are going to a concert, you should never be late, because you never know what you’ll miss.

Dewick or Carm? Dewick

Whatʼs your favorite place to study? Campus Ginn Center

Carm

What sports bro are you?

Which pre-o are you? TWO

FOCUS

Whatʼs your quirky hobby? Mimez BEATS

What Tufts death makes you sadder? Greek life

Quidditch

Lax

What major are you?

Free speech

Econ bro

What publication are you? Tufts Daily

TD Garden

House of Blues

Wears Canada Goose in 40F weather. Claims they get cold easily. Orders take-out every day because itʼs “too cold” outside. Lives in SoGo after tiered housing. Complains about not having an allowance, but has a trust fund from daddy. Takes the Joey from lower CC to Olin.

Just your average ʻ Bo. Carries a round a Nalgene with “ woke” stickers. Lives in the Green House just because they got a shitty lottery number. Complains about the paper straws at Hodg.

Art hoe

Observer

Paradise Rock Club From Western MA. Says theyʼre from Boston. Goes home every weekend to have mommy do their laundry. Only hangs out with BU friends. Lives in Halligan. B rags about their summer internship at Google (that they got from ~connections~).

So quirky that they have never o rdered a d rink from the Rez. Wears Birks with socks as a fashion statement (or lack of). Lives in Crafts house. Goes to protests to show everyone on social media how involved they are.

MELISMA | FALL 2018 | 23

SPRInG PREVIEW

ARTISTS TO WATCH

THE ACES

The Aces, an all-female band, consists of lead vocalist and guitarist Cristal Ramirez, her sister Alisa Ramirez on drums, guitarist Katie Henderson, and bassist McKenna Petty. The Utah natives released their first single, “Stuck,” in 2016 and followed with their debut album When My Heart Felt Volcanic this year. Their shimmering indie pop style, reminiscent of HAIM, perfectly positions The Aces for success.

ARTHUR

It’s safe to say there are few young pop artists as weird as ARTHUR. His debut album, Woof Woof, on the Frank Ocean-cosigned label PLZ Make It Ruins was recorded alone in the outer reaches of the Philadelphia suburbs. The result is an aural representation of going stir crazy. The bounciness of “Ivy League” stands out even on an album of zippy tempos, while ARTHUR’s chokedup helium balloon of a voice shines on the spasmodic stomp “I’m Too Good.” ARTHUR is ideal for getting through a snowstorm this winter.

GRAPETOOTH

This Chicago duo makes slacker synth-pop that sounds like the various stages of a drunk night out, featuring Clay Frankel from Twin Peaks on raucous lead vocals. Their self-titled debut is packed with tracks like the detuned singalong “Trouble” and fully embraces 80s synths on “Violent,” with heavy influences from the Cure and even an interpolation of the riff of Abba’s “Dancing Queen.” As evidenced by their boisterous shows, Grapetooth will have you dancing all night long.