Melisma Spring 2020 by Melisma Magazine

Melisma Staff EDITORS-IN-CHIEF: Ethan Lam Lola Nedic Laura Wolfe SENIOR EDITORS: Charlie Billings Katie Fielding Diana Hernandez Siddharth Jejurikar Katie Sanna MANAGING EDITORS: Michael Cambron Miranda Feinberg PRESS EDITOR: Yas Salon EDITORS: Kayla Avitabile Noah Caesar-Kim Kaycee Conover SOCIAL MEDIA: Matthew Harrison PRESS: Mike Norton STAFF: Florence Almeda Julia Bernicker Amanda Butcher Max Chow-Gillette Katelyn Desjardins Seth Gordon Jun Han Huang Taylor Jacobs Colin Keegan Adam Krasnoff Georgia Moore James Morse Geoff Tobia

From the Editors Dear Reader, I hope this letter finds you well during these trying/uncertain/unprecedented times. 2020 has been a crazy, terrible year so far, amirite fellas??? First, we get hit with a pandemic, then we get kicked off campus with six day’s notice, and now Weezer drops an album? Could things get any worse? Despite all the turmoil, Melisma Magazine remains committed to providing a safe environment and high quality shit-tier journalism for our visitors, staff, and supporters. Though we are unable to congregate in our beloved MAB (god we miss her) and print this issue, we are striving to maintain a tight-knit community of baby Pitchfork writers remotely. In this issue, we start off by sitting down (editor’s note: Facetiming) with Matty Sun, our very own Social Media Director, to talk with him about his budding rap career and his place in the Tufts music scene. We then sent junior political correspondent Adam Krasnoff to the DNC (Deez Nuts Convention) to get the inside scoop on how music has shaped political campaigns, and more importantly, why all indie rockers love(d) Bernie Sanders. Next, Senior Reporter/ Melisma Interviewee/Cover Model/Up-and-Coming Art Rapper Matthew Harrison wrote a think piece about how there’s more to rap skits than meets the eye (ear?). Ever wanted to see a bastardization of your favorite deceased artist? Well, thanks to holograms, you can! Amanda Butcher takes a deep dive into hologram concerts and the ethical dilemmas surrounding them. Also, stan Hatsune Miku. Then, Florence Almeda tells the story of the closure of Rockin Bob’s Guitars, a fixture of Davis Square and its surrounding communities. Finally, Charlie Billings reflects on the closing of Great Scott, another stalwart of the Boston area music community. We hope that you and your family are in good health during these difficult times. Remember to stay safe, wash your hands, and keep posting music on your Instagram story! We’ll be judging you. Always. With Love, Ethan Lam, Lola Nedic, and Laura Wolfe

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

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 3

Table of Contents 4 5 9 11 12 15 17 18 19

Matty Sun by Lola Nedic

The New Abnormal by Adam Krasnoff

Skitched Out by Matthew Harrison

Photo Spread Seeing Ghosts? by Amanda Butcher

Rockin Bobâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Takes a Bow by Florence Almeda

Ode to Great Scott by Charlie Billings

Quiz: Which Instagram Music Challenge Are You? Summer Preview ON THE COVER Matty Sun Design by Laura Wolfe

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.

Matty Sun: Brightening Up the Tufts Music Scene BY LOLA NEDIC

f you’re a Tufts student, you may be familiar with the ubiquitous music scene here, and more importantly, you might be aware of how oversaturated it is with indie bands. Luckily, Matthew Harrison, class of 2020, is bringing a new energy into the scene with his own project under the moniker Matty Sun. We sat down with Matthew to talk about how he’s bringing art rap into Boston. Matthew’s always been surrounded by music—he grew up with a jazz musician father and played the piano and trumpet as a child. However, it wasn’t until much later in his life that he developed a newfound appreciation for rap music. He started out listening to artists like Chance the Rapper, Childish Gambino, and Mac Miller, but eventually discovered that he preferred more poetic, experimental rap. Matthew credits artists like Aesop Rock, Milo, and Open Mike Eagle for showing him the more abstract side of a genre he already loved. While his songs sport buoyant, eccentric beats, it’s Matty Sun’s gritty, tongue in cheek lyrics that set his music apart. Matthew integrates his personal experiences into his music any chance he gets. His song “Crater Face” details an occurrence we’re all familiar with–someone pointing out something on your face. Matthew manages to take the inherent awkwardness of someone commenting on his chicken pox scars and turn it into a sharp, catchy tune about learning to accept your flaws. “The Worst Geocache Ever,” a single he released in 2019, boasts a similar phenomenon. Matthew raps about his experience recovering

the body of a suicide victim in the woods, ingeniously dubbing it “The Worst Geocache Ever.” Despite the song’s quippy tagline, the message behind it is far more sincere. The song is a nod to Matthew’s own battle with mental health–he is grateful that he was fortunate enough to be able to overcome his own struggles. Oddly enough, Matthew doesn’t find writing and producing music to be the most difficult part of his musical career– witty lyrics and catchy beats seem to come rather easily to him. Instead, he found entering the music scene at Tufts to be one of the more intimidating parts of his newfound pastime. On one hand, musicians at Tufts are welcoming to newcomers and always willing to help. On the other, it can be discouraging to be surrounded by others who are veteran musicians: “It seems like everyone has it more figured out than you,” Matthew says. Everyone already knows each other, and it’s scary to enter an already tightknit community as a newcomer. But, despite all the big bad scary college musicians out there, some moments make it all worth it. In February, Matty Sun played his favorite show to date as the opener for WFOC and Housecat. Together, the three artists sold out the Burren, a local pub and music venue. It’s nights like these that Matthew feels like he’s finally made his mark as a musician. So far, Matty Sun has only released a handful of singles. Be on the lookout for his new EP, “Sisyphus’s Chrysalis,” set to release on June 30th.

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 5

THE MUSICAL DREAM OF THE SANDERS CAMPAIGN BY ADAM KRASNOFF

ernie Sanders’s February 10th rally in New Hampshire marked a strange point in his campaign for the Democratic nomination in the 2020 presidential race. Accompanying the Vermont Senator’s usual speechifying about taking on corporate interests and fighting for the working class, a living wage, and universal health care was a performance from New York City indie-rock veterans The Strokes. For Bernie to put on a rally with a musical accompaniment has not been unusual during this campaign cycle—he has organized events alongside neo-folk and electronic tinkerer Bon Iver, banjoist Béla Fleck, and alt-rock guitar hero Jack White, among others—but this collaboration felt more pointed. Take, for example, the poster designed for the event, which redesigned the sparkling, chromatic Strokes logo to feature the Brooklyn-born politician’s name, the silhouette of his head contrasted against the poster’s black background. This was no mere partnership, but rather an adoption by one of the other’s image; this is politician as rockstar, as indie hero. More than that, too, it is an embrace by one of the indie scene’s most slacker-esque figures of a mainstream political figure—no matter how far left of any “establishment” Bernie may be, it’s hard to imagine the shaggy-haired, cigarette-smoking Julian Casablancas in the 2001 music video for the Strokes’ “Someday” wanting to have anything to do with a campaign for presi-

THIS WAS NO MERE PARTNERSHIP, BUT RATHER AN ADOPTION BY ONE OF THE OTHER’S IMAGE; THIS IS POLITICIAN AS ROCKSTAR, AS INDIE HERO.

dent, or vice versa. But these conceptions of what exists in or outside of the realms of politics and music have for the past several years begun to shift and blur, and Bernie’s recent embrace of this phenomenon perfectly exemplifies its spread. But why is it that the borders between these two seemingly disparate worlds have begun to come crashing down? In a moment when social media and Internet culture as a whole have totally invaded the public consciousness, it’s no surprise that politicians have tried to become savvier about the ways in which they interact with their base online—part of that transition being to enter into the world of online music communities. Of course, the intersection between music and politics is not a new phenomenon. For almost as long as pop music has existed, politicians have appropriated it for use on the campaign trail. In 1960, Frank Sinatra even rewrote the lyrics to his hit “High Hopes” from the previous year to make the song explicitly about and in support of John F. Kennedy’s bid for the presidency. But for the most part, relations have not always been so amicable—in 1984, Ronald Reagan became the first in a string of conservative politicians to be taken to court over the use of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” at campaign rallies, a particularly ironic case given the song’s critical examination of American patriotism. (After Reagan would follow Bob Dole in 1996 and Pat Buchanan in

THE TYPE OF MUSICIANS THAT CHOSE TO INVOLVE THEMSELVES IN ELECTORAL POLITICS WERE...USUALLY CUT FROM A MORE STRAIGHT-AND-NARROW, MAINSTREAM, AND EASILY DIGESTIBLE CLOTH. 2000; Dole would go on to face more legal action from soul singer Isaac Hayes after the Kansas senator used an updated version of Hayes’ “Soul Man” called “Dole Man.”) In general, the relationship between popular musicians and conservative politicians has been tenuous, to say the least. Over the years, a litany of classic rock groups and musicians have taken conservatives to task over the use of their music at rallies, including John Mellencamp, Boston, Van Halen, Bon Jovi, Jackson Browne, ABBA, the Eagles, Rush, Brian May, Sting, Journey, and Tom Petty, among others. Donald Trump alone has in recent years stirred up controversy for using the music of Neil Young, R.E.M., Prince, Twisted Sister, and Pharrell at his rallies and campaign events. This differential treatment of liberals and conservatives by the music world indicates something which has always been true—the songwriting world has always tended to skew left. However, even when liberals and musicians interacted in the past, the type of musicians that chose to involve themselves in electoral politics were very different than what we’ve seen in the past year and a half, usually cut from a more straight-and-narrow, mainstream, and easily digestible cloth than the likes of Casablancas and his New York-based band. But the Strokes are only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this new crop of musical a c t s teaming up with t h e

Sanders campaign. Perhaps even more surprising collaborators than the petulant indie rockers are hardcore hip-hop groups Run the Jewels and Public Enemy, artists whose work has traditionally embraced revolutionary political messaging which encourages radical adversarialism and righteous violence—activism which falls pretty squarely outside the political mainstream. It was, of course, Public Enemy’s Chuck D who famously proclaimed “Farrakhan’s a prophet” on the aptly-titled, throttling anthem “Bring the Noise” from their 1988 record It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, an album rightly remembered not only for the experimental, gritty beat-making of the Bomb Squad, but also as a document of the black power movement as radical and sobering as Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing, which came out the following year. During their heyday, Public Enemy were not seen as musicians with casual interest in leftist ideologies, but rather as leftist revolutionaries who happened to express their views in the form of mean, trunk-knocking, hard-grooving rap anthems. They stood absolutely apart from hegemony, often sparring with media outlets, critics, and the music industry at large—Fear of a Black Planet’s “Leave This Off Your Fuckin Charts” is a good indicator of where they were coming from—and regularly facing denigration from mainstream news networks and publications. All this makes the fact the group decided this year to partner with Sanders for a series of campaign events all the more surprising. Has our political discourse progressed far enough that radicalism such as that espoused on Public Enemy’s most influential records could be seen as mainstream, or close enough to mainstream to fly with a young, hip, politically-savvy audience (note the events all took place in California)? Or, conversely, have Public Enemy in the years since It Takes a Nation of Millions… and Fear of a Black Planet softened their edges enough to

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 7 consider the traditional channels of political discourse worthy of their time and attention? Both or neither could be true. Following Public Enemy’s performance in Los Angeles at a Sanders rally, the group’s hype-man and co-founder, Flavor Flav, responded with a cease-anddesist letter to Sanders, attached to which was a note from Flav which read simply, “Hey Bernie, Don’t Do This!!” In a statement released by Chuck D the following day, it was announced Public Enemy would be “moving forward without Flavor Flav,” marking the culmination of a tense process of disagreement and feuding between the group’s founding members. In the weeks prior to the rally, after Flav complained about Sanders using his likeness to promote his event, Chuck D responded, “Flavor chooses to dance for his money and not do benevolent work like this.” Although Flavor Flav claims Bernie has nothing to do with his remarks, it remains clear that he is still more uncomfortable and unwilling to align himself with a political campaign than Chuck D, who views Sanders’ work as “benevolent,” and particularly salient for the communities and issues he addresses in his art. Even more interestingly, however, on April 1 Chuck D released a statement claiming that the entire charade—Flav’s firing, the controversy surrounding Sanders—was an elaborate April Fool’s prank and a publicity stunt to promote a new Public Enemy record. Flavor Flav, however, denies this, tweeting in response, “I am not a part of your hoax… there are more serious things in the world right now than…jokes and dropping records.” Interesting too is the Sanders campaign’s collaboration with Run the Jewels, a more contemporary hardcore hip-hop outfit. The group, comprised of El-P, producerextraordinaire, loquacious MC, and product of New York’s early-aughts “backpacker” scene, and the gravelvoiced, no-nonsense Killer Mike, who gained a following with a series of excellent features in the 2000s, perhaps represents a more mainstream, if still radical, approach to musical activism than Public Enemy does. Killer Mike has famously been a staunch backer of

Sanders since his 2016 campaign, often appearing at rallies and campaign events to voice his support, and Run the Jewels’ music has often addressed his and ElP’s political views in a way which is, shall we say, a bit more straightforward than their predecessors, although no less righteously foul-mouthed. “Choose the lesser of the evil people and the devil still gon’ win / It could all be over tomorrow, kill our masters and start again,” Killer Mike raps on “A Report to the Shareholders / Kill Your Masters,” the closing track from 2016’s RTJ3, making clear reference to the election cycle which has just come to a tumultuous close. And although both El and Mike commit themselves to remaining “hostile” at the end of each of their verses, both men have been markedly less hostile towards the world of politics than Public Enemy, or any number of rap icons of yesteryear. This is not to say that this means Run the Jewels represent a diluted form of those previous acts’ ideals, but rather perhaps that Mike might see in Sanders—and some of his progressive contemporaries—a figure that is, after all this time, committed to working towards enacting policy which would address the inequities that have long been major concerns in rap music. “Your policy is the only

IT’S PRETTY EASY TO ASSUME THAT THE ENVIRONMENT OF LEFTISM YOU’VE SURROUNDED YOURSELF WITH IS REPRESENTATIVE OF A NORM. policy that I have seen in my lifetime that matches up with…what is fair and just,” Mike told Sanders in a 2019 interview. It is also important to note that Killer Mike has faced considerable backlash from those in the Black community for embracing the Sanders campaign. But what, really, is the purpose of all these collaborations for Sanders in his bid for the nomination? In effect it seems he is trying to appeal to a younger, further left-leaning audience, and perhaps a Blacker one at that. It is certainly clear that his campaign—in a casual sense, setting aside its policies—has done a good job appealing to young people, or at least a better job than the other candidates in the field (Pete Buttigieg’s choreographed routine featuring Panic! At the Disco seems to have struck the wrong chord for most young

people), but to what end? It may be that the audience he was trying to impress by collaborating with such acts as Run the Jewels, Public Enemy and the Strokes was an audience which, for the most part, he already had. And as instantaneously cool and righteous as a poster featuring Bernie’s silhouette framed by the iconic Public Enemy “target” logo may seem to that audience, it is equally limiting in its potential to appeal to the kind of voters that Sanders really needed to win over. After a series of underwhelming, disappointing primary performances on

PART OF THE PARADOX OF CONSUMING POLITICAL ART, AND PARTICULARLY POLITICAL MUSIC, IS THAT IT IS SORROWFULLY EASY TO CONSUME WITHOUT MUCH THOUGHT, OR WITHOUT ANY ACTIVE PARTICIPATION. Super Tuesday and in the ensuing weeks, it seemed less and less likely that he would receive the nomination, and on April 8th, the Vermont senator dropped out, ending a campaign which in effect began over five years previous. I shouldn’t purport to put too much emphasis on the importance of these concert-rallies in forming any real outcomes; perhaps they just serve as ironic postmarks for what Sanders did and did not achieve with his campaign. Biden, as he usually does, plays it safe at most of his events by walking out to the tried-and-true Springsteen: “We Take Care of Our Own,” a corny, dilute track from the Boss’s 2012 album Wrecking Ball. It’s equally important to ask the question of the impetus of the artists that have partnered with Bernie throughout his campaign. Run the Jewels, Public Enemy and the Strokes were all in the process of promotional rollout for a new record, and the events for them were perhaps doubly effective—not only could they show support for a candidate they claimed to believe in, but they were also able to promote their art in front of an audience which likely had a lot of crossover with that at one of their own shows. How much, I wonder, does the Sanders campaign matter for the artists he’s worked with? In the case of Run the Jewels—and particularly of Killer Mike—and Public Enemy, the activist messaging which has always informed their work suggests that perhaps the campaign is in some way meaningful to them specifically. But for the other collaborators, Casablancas’ Strokes, Bon Iver,

and Jack White chief among them, it’s a lot more difficult to gauge. Perhaps they do care—and if they do, what a fantastic opportunity to be able to self-promote and show support simultaneously. But otherwise the choice looks blithe and cynical, a recognition by each artist that their fans will probably eat up the decision to work with their Democratic socialist, “outside-the-mainstream” political hero. Sanders’ eventual failure in this campaign cycle is indicative of something else, too—when you’re ingrained in indie and alternative music circles, or indeed on a liberal arts campus in New England, it’s pretty easy to assume that the environment of leftism you’ve surrounded yourself with is representative of a norm. And that’s frustrating; during the most hopeful moments of Sanders’ campaign, it really did seem like a candidate who was willing to stand alongside figures like Chuck D and Killer Mike could win over an American majority. Perhaps that’s part of the Sanders mythos: that a 78-year-old Jew from Vermont could become a people’s hero and a symbol of indefatigable cool for a generation of indie kids. Suddenly the silhouette of Sanders on the chromatic poster for the Strokes rally starts to make a lot more sense, although that doesn’t make it any more sensible. One crucial component remains—the listener, the participant, the audience member. Part of the paradox of consuming political art, and particularly political music, is that it is sorrowfully easy to consume without much thought, or without any active participation. Listening to Dead Kennedys on a bike ride the other day, I had a strange realization: though I knew most of Jello Biafra’s lyrics by heart, I hadn’t ever thought of them as being of any consequence. This is not just to say that I hadn’t understood them, but rather that I had understood them and had decided to remove from them any kind of weight. Silly though they often were, Biafra’s songs were often written with a pointed finger, and that finger was at times pointed at people like me—white, middle-class, studying for a liberal arts degree. Had I chosen to ignore this fact, or had it simply not occurred to me? Similarly, the base appeal of Run the Jewels’ music is often in its coldblooded, harsh lucidity, in its rattling bass and intricate rhymes, things which I’d often appreciated but not given enough thought. It occurred to me then there exists a great privilege in the casual listener of politicized music, and I had to think that it was many such casual consumers who attended Bernie’s musical rallies. It was easy enough to be a casual “participator” in the Sanders movement without any tangible form of participation, just as it was easy to listen to angry, revolutionary music without being angry, or being part of the revolution. I called myself a Bernie supporter; I listened to the music of his collaborators; I was both a political and a musical hobbyist. So, I get the sense, were many like me. “Maya says I’m lacking in depth / Shit, I will try my best,” Casablancas famously half-crooned, half-snarled. “…No, I ain’t wasting no more time.” Well, we’ll see.

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 9

Skitched Out

THE UNIQUE CREATIVITY BORN FROM ONE OF HIP-HOP’S OLDEST TRADITIONS BY MATTHEW HARRISON

“K

where my motherfuckin’ dominoes at?” This now-iconic line from Kendrick Lamar’s father ends the first track from his 2012 smash hit album Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City, an album peppered with rap skits ranging from the humorous bantering between Kendrick’s parents on “Sherane a.k.a Master Splinter’s Daughter” to the heart-wrenching shootout and subsequent killing of Dave, one of Kendrick’s friends, on “Swimming Pools (Drank).” Skits are a theatrical form of expression unique to hip-hop, a method for rappers to create comedic or dramatic moments that elevate the album from a loose collection of singles into a work of art. To many modern listeners, this practice may seem bizarre. However, the creative expression permitted by rap skits throughout the last few decades has been a crucial component of hiphop’s legacy. Skits are different from sampled dialogue. Sampling, a widely-used technique in hip-hop, is when parts of recorded audio, such as a phone call or a line from a movie, are lifted and inserted into a song. A skit, on the other hand, is a spoken interlude recorded specifically for the album. This practice dates back to the 1989 De La Soul album 3 Feet High And Rising. It was subsequently adopted in the hip-hop mainstream, where it flourished for a decade or two before fading out of popularity. Not all skits are meant to be funny, but a significant portion of them are - or at least, they try to be. This makes sense - hip-hop is a genre that has always been tied to comedy, with rappers setting up and delivering punchlines in much the same way stand-up comedians do. Putting the beat on hold and letting the punchlines speak for themselves in the form of a skit is a logical step for rappers to take. And, in a genre that prizes authenticity, a rap-

per’s humor is a way to define themselves further. Who else but Kanye would write the line “Have you ever had sex with a pharoah? Ahh I put the pussy in a sarcophagus.” The skits Kanye features on his albums, like “Lil Jimmy Skit” from College Dropout or the Chris Rock interlude on “Blame Game” also bear the fingerprints of his iconic offbeat-humor . Writing and performing skits is another way for a rapper like Kanye to make a project distinct from the creations of his peers.

in a genre that prizes authenticity, a rapper’s humor is a way to define themselves further Some rappers use skits to heighten the message of their music, taking advantage of the skit’s freeform style to speak directly to a listener without regard for rhyme or flow. Take, for example, Gang Starr’s “Robbin Hood Theory,” where, as part of a staged conversation with rapper Guru, Elijah Shabazz says: “And no matter what we say our religion is, Whether it’s Islam, Christianity, Juddaism, Buddha-ism, Old School-ism or New School-ism, If we’re not schooling the youth WITH wisdom, Then the sins of the father will visit the children. And that’s not keepin it real… That’s keeping it -*WRONG*

This pre-song skit functions as a thesis statement for the dense lyricism to follow, where Guru delivers a veritable sermon on the importance of taking care of one’s community. Sure, the message of the song would remain the same without the skit, but having this attention-grabbing poetic appetizer prompts the listener to consider Guru’s ideas before he even starts rapping. By introducing a song in such a unique and ear-catching way, every line of the song makes an impact as it ties back to the central theme of giving back. While Gang Starr uses a skit to set up the central theme for his song, André 3000 takes that a step further with “God (Interlude),” from his 2003 project The Love Below. This skit, approximately two and a half minutes in length, features an earnest radio call from André to God, where he asks Her for help finding a romantic partner. He speaks about his own flaws and desires, and while we never hear the voice of God on the other side, André reveals through his words that She has been receptive to his pleas. From here, the album goes on to paint the picture of a relationship and all its highs and lows, while maintaining the earnest romanticism and humor established with “God (Interlude).” This skit establishes the tone of the album and kickstarts the storyline of André’s desperate search for true love. This style of using skits to enhance the story of an album is perhaps perfected by Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City. The skits on this album serve as segues between lyrical ideas, beautifully bridging the topics of two consecutive songs. Take, for example, “The Art of Peer Pressure,” a song about being a teenager cruising the streets of Compton and being influenced by friends, smoking weed, drinking, and even breaking into and stealing from someone’s house. The last line in the outro skit about “trying to be the man in these streets” is: “Matter of fact, ni**a, get in the mothafuckin’ car! We finna get active!” The album then transitions into “Money Trees,” a song about hustling and trying to make money. With this pairing, Kendrick shows how he and his friends’ illicit actions have been motivated by their being broke and trying to

find a come-up. Or take the outro skit from “m.A.A.d. City,” a song about the hardships of growing up and living in a city like Compton: “Hey, Dot, you good, my ni**a? Don’t even trip. Just lay back and drink that.” This skit is immediately followed by “Swimming Pools (Drank),” a song about alcoholism. By gluing these two songs together with this skit, Kendrick shows the connection between the two—how growing up in an environment like he did can easily lead to alcoholism. Kendrick uses skits throughout this album to connect the narrative from song to song, in effect fortifying its message, deepening as well as polishing the truths they deliver. Unfortunately, skits have seen a sharp downturn in popularity over the last two decades. This is largely due to the way music is distributed. At hip-hop’s inception, having long track lists on an album was a bonus, since this appeared to give a record more value for the money one would spend on it. Now, with music being made for streaming, having individual songs that pop from an album’s tracklist is more important, as listeners often prefer to listen to singles on a playlist rather than whole albums. Furthermore, hip-hop is much more mainstream now than it was in 1989. When De La Soul introduced the skit they didn’t worry about how their chatter between songs would be received by an audience of radio listeners. Despite its declining popularity, the rap skit is a unique and important part of hip-hop’s legacy. Throughout the life of this massive genre of music, skits have been used by all sorts of different artists to different ends. From the light-hearted humor of Kanye or André 3000 to the thought-provoking sermons of Gang Starr’s Guru, the skit has functioned as a unique fingerprint on a project, a thesis statement for a song, and a storytelling device to thread an album together. In short, this practice is emblematic of the boundless creativity and penchant for powerful self-expression embodied by the genre’s greatest stars. Now, at what may be the end of the rap skit’s multi-dimensional and vibrant life, we can be sure that its impact on the culture of hip-hop will never be forgotten.

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 11

Semester in Photos

A LOOK BACK AT OUR FAVORITE PHOTOS FROM SHOWS WE COVERED THIS SHORTENED SEMESTER.

Destroyer | Adam Krasnoff The Greeting Committee | Ethan Lam

Zack Villere | Lola Nedic

Neon Indian | Ethan Lam

SEEING GHOSTS? YOUR FAVORITE DEAD ARTISTS ARE RETURNING TO THE STAGE, BUT AT WHAT COST? BY AMANDA BUTCHER

n 2012, thousands gathered to watch headliners Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre close out Coachella, but they did not expect a third headliner: 2Pac. Hologram 2Pac walked onto the stage, greeted his friends Dr. Dre and Snoop, and yelled “What the fuck is up Coachella!” to a shocked crowd. He performed his 1998 single “Hail Mary” and his Snoop Dogg collab “2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted” with an energy emulating his live performances, interacting with Dre, Snoop, and the audience. The hologram’s resemblance was uncanny, with details ranging from the emotion on his face to the sweat on his chest. This performance gave 2Pac the opportunity to perform in front of what had become one of the biggest stages showcasing the most popular artists in the world, and gave a new audience the opportunity to experience what it would have been like to see him live. People talked about it for months after. Tupac Shakur was briefly brought back to life with this performance, and with it brought life to a whole new generation of hologram performers. Since 2Pac’s iconic Coachella performance there have been a slew of posthumous celebrity performances and tours throughout the 2010s, with even more being planned for the future. Although this technology already existed, Pac’s performance at Coachella showed the

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 13 world the potential that hologram performances have to stimulate nostalgia and, of course, make bank. Two years later, a new hologram production company Hologram USA was able to develop a Michael Jackson hologram to perform at the 2014 Billboard awards. He performed “Slave to the Rhythm,” a song released after his death, and was able to dance, sing, and moonwalk in front of a live audience again. This gave a modern audience the ability to experience what it would have been like to see him live at his peak, and to remember him and his influence on music. This performance brought about a fierce rivalry between the two major hologram companies at the time, Hologram USA and Pulse Evolution. The future CEO of Pulse Evolution, John Textor, designed the 2Pac hologram performed at Coachella per the request of Dr. Dre. Pulse claimed to have the rights to the technology used to produce the hologram. After Michael Jackson’s Billboard performance, Pulse sued Hologram USA for patent infringement. The performances by 2Pac and Michael Jackson were meant to honor their legacies and, but these lawsuits demonstrate the complexity in dealing with the legacies, estates, and fans of these artists. The technology itself is somewhat deceiving, as it is not technically a “hologram” in the way we’d usually imagine. It’s based off of a 19th century invention called “Pepper’s Ghost,” where an object in one room is reflected off a glass panel placed at a perfect 45 degree angle. In these more modern performances, an actor is behind the stage, and their reflection is digitally altered to resemble whoever this hologram is supposed to portray. It’s the same technology used by Disneyland’s haunted mansion to animate all of the ghosts and skeletons, which also highlights the eerie feel of some of these holograms. This technology ended up in the hands of Textor, which went on to patent it. This fight was resolved, but the rights to these holograms still carry a series of legal issues and ethical concerns.

“Hologram productions give the team at a given hologram company the responisbility to execute a dead artist’s vision”

The artist’s estate needs to give permission for the hologram to be made; however, this can create additional challenges as artist’s estates are sometimes reluctant to grant these permissions. These hologram performances also raise a host of ethical issues due to the lack of consent and artistic input from the artists these performances are meant to emulate. These hologram productions give the team at a given hologram company the responsibility to execute a dead artists’ vision for their performance, without knowing if the artist would want to be represented in this way. Artists are almost always involved in the production of their own shows to ensure that they are representing themselves and their music the way they want, but these hologram productions can merely rely on past concerts for inspiration. They are also hindered by technological inadequacies, given the relative newness of this hologram technology and its limits, which could not even attempt to pull off some of the stunts or match the energy and personality of artists in their shows. I have trouble believing that hologram Travis Scott could bring the same energy to the next generation of hypebeasts even 100 years from now. These hologram concerts are supposed to show a new generation what it would have been like to see legendary artists live, but poor choices in attire, the age of the artist, and other mistakes in the production process could even potentially diminish an artists legacy. To add on to this complexity, artists often release music posthumously, which usually gains a lot of popularity among their fanbase. This new technology is allowing fans to see these songs performed live by their favorite artists, albeit in hologram form, but these performances must rely exclusively on what a production design team would imagine them to look like. No one can truly know how Michael Jackson would have wanted to perform “Slave to the Rhythm” at the Billboard Music awards in 2014.

Who knows how hologram Mac Miller would want to perform from Circles? These issues were made clear in 2019 , when Amy Winehouse’s widely anticipated hologram tour was canceled. It was going to be produced by Base Hologram with the approval of her father and her estate. Still, they could not possibly have the approval of Winehouse herself, so this announcement rubbed many fans the wrong way. She clearly had a very complicated relationship with fame, and to make her go on tour again seems almost exploitative. Base Hologram cited “unique challenges and sensitivities” for their tour cancellation, stating they wanted to “properly honor Amy’s legacy at the highest caliber.” I’m honestly not sure how any hologram tour of Amy Winehouse could be done tastefully given the circumstances of her final performance and tragic death, but it also shows that hologram companies are willing to draw a line. This raises many questions that can be applied to similar hologram performances, especially because one of the main causes of concern was the proximity of this tour to her death, 7 years before the proposed start date. How long should they wait after an artist’s death to send their hologram on tour? And how can a hologram “properly honor” the legacy of any artist?

“How long should they wait after an artist’s death to send their hologram on tour?” Although an Amy Winehouse tour was not able to come into fruition, a series of other hologram tours and residencies have been announced in recent years and will soon become a regular occurance. One of the first high profile hologram tours to enter the scene was a hologram of Ronnie James Dio, lead singer of Black Sabbath and later Dio, who passed away in 2010. This tour was called “Dio Returns,” and featured live music by longtime members of Dio along with recorded tracks. A tour featuring the holograms of Roy Orbison and Buddy Holly is also in the works to tour both the United States and Europe, titled “The Rock and Roll Dream Tour.” Lastly, Whitney Houston’s hologram was touring Europe and is planning a Las Vegas residency in a show called “An Evening With Whitney.” All of these holograms are performed with live bands and live dancers to enhance the performance, but still feature the hologram and remastered vocals at the center of the show. This technology is even in the works for living artists to tour. ABBA has reportedly been planning an “ABBAtar” tour, which will feature hologram versions of themselves.

All of the members of ABBA plan to participate in the development of this technology and these performances, without necessarily performing in the performances themselves. They also describe the development of their own holograms as “a time machine.” This would allow for the production of a hologram tour with little concerns, as their involvement in the hologram production ensures their full artistic input, and they are able to preserve their legacy the way they envision. Although this was created with the intention of a tour during their lifetime, “ABBAtar” is a show that could truly go on forever. Although these performances raise a lot of concerns and can be problematic if executed poorly, they have the ability to honor the legacy of an artist and give fans an experience similar to that of a live performance. 2Pac’s Coachella performance was brought into fruition by his dear friend who simply wanted to remember him and perform with him again on a stage that he deserved to perform on. Concerts aren’t just about the live vocals and performance, but are also about creating a community of fans and celebrating the music itself. These performances can bring back memories and nostalgia that tribute bands and impersonators just can’t, as the hologram’s likeness to the artist it represents is unparalleled. Honestly, if Grimes’s hologram went on tour 60 years from now I’d go see her just for the experience. I’d even go if her hologram went on tour now. Whether we like it or not, hologram concerts will soon be commonplace and will continue the posthumous music careers of our favorite artists.

Rockin Bob’s Takes A Bow BY FLORENCE ALMEDA

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 15

PHOTOS BY FLORENCE ALMEDA

fter 38 years of business, on February 29th Rockin’ Bob’s Guitars permanently closed. Sitting amongst piles of tools and used guitar parts, owner Bob Mahoney expressed that he felt ready: “It was time, it was time,” He said. “My wife’s been retired for a while now and it’s time for us to have some golden years together.” A Somerville staple, Rockin Bob’s Guitars was known primarily for buying and selling used guitars and music equipment. However, the storefront had undergone a few changes over the years. Originally known as Used Sound, the space on Holland Street was once a stereo shop selling TVs and audio gear. Mahoney began working at Used Sound soon after graduating with a degree in electronics from Sylvania Technical school. He credited chance, more than anything, for his eventual ownership of the shop: “[My supervisor at the time said], ‘Bob, why don’t you take over this store?’ And I said, ‘Uhh okay, I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never taken a store, or run a store or a business or anything. But okay, I’ll give it a shot. I’ll try it, see how it goes for a year.’” For eighteen years, he ran Used Sound, until deciding to change the direction of the space to reflect his true passion: music. Mahoney recalled, “I’ve been playing music since the Beatles came out, since 1965 when I got a guitar. So I’ve been playing music both at home and in bands, and out in the clubs and stuff. I did that for a long time. It’s just more of my passion. TVs are not a passion. They’re

“ IT’S A COMMUNITY I’VE ALWAYS APPRECIATED

nice to watch every once in a while, but they were a way to make money. This was more my passion.” In addition to buying and selling music equipment, the store helped promote the local music scene. Colorfully adorned with posters and business cards, a corkboard and book by the door gave musicians a place to advertise their work: “The musicians help each other out, they’re not all fighting, they’re not all fighting to get to number one,” he expressed. “It’s a community I’ve always appreciated being a part of.” Before the landlord renovated the building to create more space for tenants, Mahoney held rehearsals and recording sessions for his band in the basement. Although closing this store was a choice, he noted that in recent years, many other spaces in Davis Square had been forced to close as a result of increased pricing:

“

BEING A PART OF.

“About three years ago [Johnny D’s] closed up, and now there’s condos there (laughs). Since Johnny D’s left, business has gone down some. Unfortunate for me, and unfortunate for Somerville because it was such a rich resource to have music from all over the world right here,” he said. “Everyone’s going to be priced out of here, whether it’s a business or a living situation. It’s just getting worse and worse. Boston’s changing, Somerville’s changing. Everything’s going up. Up and up.” The changing Somerville landscape, in addition to his own personal desire to retire, led Mahoney to feel that it was the right time to go: “I will miss some of the customers, and I will miss some of the gear. It’s a ride I’ve been on, and I will miss it. But I don’t have to look back. It’s been good, I’ve done a lot. But now it’s time to enjoy.”

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 17

Ode to Great Scott Bidding Farewell to Boston’s Launching Pad By Charlie Billings

ooking back after its recent closure, it feels strange that Great Scott meant so much to me. It was small, dark, and felt a lot more like a worn-in corner bar than a bustling concert venue with shows every night of the week. But Great Scott represented a great deal more to the city of Boston, musicians, and concertgoers than could be understood from its appearance. Stepping past its imposing dark green awning and through its weathered wooden doors on a cold, dark night felt like starting an experience in itself. Once you crossed the checkerboard linoleum tile floors that would have looked more at home in a 1950s kitchen, you were in a weird little world. In this manner, most of Great Scott’s greatest attributes were actually its idiosyncrasies. If you arrived early, there were often hardly any people there, other than the big bearded bartender and musicians loitering around the bar, since there was no backstage area at all. In fact, the curtain behind the stage fell immediately before a brick wall. Bands put their gear on a large shelf in full view of the audience. In the dim light, I often was able to slip my camera case and coat amongst the unused amps, mic stands, and cases. The stage was only a foot or two off the ground, putting the musicians barely above eye level. The sheer intimacy of the space was accentuated by this charmingly casual setting, where the audience members at the front of the crowd were literally face to face with the performers. This closeness between the musicians and the audience led to a truly comfortable environment. This allowed artists to make jokes about the excruciatingly loud hand dryers, which frequently interrupted quiet songs because the bathrooms were preposterously located down a hallway right next to the stage.

Informal and peculiar, Great Scott was also a crucial tour stop and launching pad for legions of artists. It was a linchpin of the local music scene for 44 years, featuring not only nightly performances but also frequent album release shows, dance parties, and comedy showcases. Moreover, touring bands that later blew up often played their first Boston shows at the venue. Many of the best shows I saw in my time at Tufts were at Great Scott. I had my ears blown out by Swearin’. I saw a barely known Soccer Mommy open for Phoebe Bridgers, whose cover of Sheryl Crow’s “If It Makes You Happy” had the entire audience singing at the top of their lungs. I saw Whitney perform a piss-drunk late night set where they stumbled to perfection. I even saw shows where I actually enjoyed all three openers. Most importantly, Great Scott was not just one small insular community of music fans, but rather multiple interrelated communities that gathered in the same place at different times. The crowd at an electro-pop concert was different from the crowd at a punk or rap show, but the audience was always friendly and polite in the small space. That combination of musical diversity, community feeling, and intimacy was the essence of Great Scott, and it’s what made it the iconic venue it was. Here’s to hoping the Boston area’s other small venues hang on throughout this crisis because they are essential to supporting the arts in the region and creating these sorts of integral communities.

WHICH INSTAGRAM MUSIC CHALLENGE ARE YOU? How are you spending Friday night in quarantine? Zooming with friends

Journaling

What new hobby have you picked up?

What’s keeping you sane?

Online workout classes

Baking

Animal Crossing

Embroidery

What did you wear to Zoom class? Pants

What’s your quarantine breakfast?

What are you up to this summer? Remote internship

No pants

I don’t want to talk about it...

Avocado toast

No food, just coffee.

THIRT Y DAY MUSIC CHALLENGE

BILL CLINTON’S FAVE ALBUMS

FOUR ALBUMS ONE COLOR

PASS THE AUX CHALLENGE

You thrive off of consistency and you want people to know it. You’re using your time in quarantine to better yourself. You’ve started journaling, eating healthier, and you’ve even developed an elaborate morning routine that probably consists of pilates, or some shit like that.

You’re smug, but you’ll hop on the bandwagon just this once to show off your superior music taste. You put Fiona Apple’s new album on there just so you can get a chance with that blue-haired girl in your film class. You’ve committed a war crime or two.

You’re a self-identified art hoe. You exclusively wear oversized button downs over niche graphic tees. You bring a disposable camera everywhere but never quite remember to use it. You sprinkle the word “praxis” into as many sentences as possible, so people take you seriously.

You’re trendy, you’re fun. You take this responsibility seriously. Of all the people in the world, YOU’VE been handed the mythical aux chord. This is your one chance to finally show everyone how good your music taste is. The only problem is picking which Chainsmokers song to play.

MELISMA | SPRING 2020 | 19

Summer Preview

HAWA

THE BETHS

TANUKICHAN

ARTISTS TO WATCH Tanukichan—the solo project of Hannah van Loon—specializes in shoegaze that manages to hit the delicate sweet spot between melancholic heaviness and ghostly weightlessness. On her 2018 debut Sundays, she explores the odd mix of anxieties and hopes that the end of the week brings with it, perfectly capturing the dreamy and hazy ennui of a lost weekend. The Bay Area musician has already toured with the likes of The Drums, Kero Kero Bonito, and Toro y Moi (who produced Sundays and her 2016 EP “Radiolove.”) Given how excellent Sundays was, we can’t wait to hear a follow-up effort.

Hailing from New Zealand, the Beths play a refined, clever version of pop punk, which is usually anything but mature. Their 2018 debut LP Future Me Hates Me features punchy melodies, driving guitars, and radiant harmonies from all four members of the band on songs like “Whatever” and “Happy Unhappy.” The forthcoming Jump Rope Gazers, set to be released July 10, was preceded by the exuberant single “Dying to Believe,” which highlights singer Elizabeth Stokes’ witty lyrics over propulsive power pop. The new record will be sure to lift fans’ spirits during what promises to be a weird summer 2020 and will hopefully introduce this great group to many new ears.

Singer/rapper/composer HAWA’s debut EP “the ONE” was released in March. “The ONE” effortlessly blends a wide range of influences stemming from the 19-year-old’s European upbringing, West African roots, and experiences composing for the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. HAWA disrupts binaries while maintaining a cohesive sound—her lyrics about navigating her queer romantic relationships are both arrogant and tender, and the production easily melds genres like dreampop, trap, and dancehall. We can’t wait to see what HAWA does next as she continues to mature and expand her musical horizons.

Melisma Spring 2020

Articles inside

Summer Preview

Skitched Out

Quiz: Which Instagram Music Challenge Are You?

Rockin Bob’s Takes a Bow

Ode to Great Scott

The New Abnormal

Matty Sun