Melisma Spring 2019 by Melisma Magazine

MELISMA

FROM THE EDITORS

Editors-In-Chief

Heyyyy Melismaniacs, As you can see, we’re throwing it back to middle school this issue, #tbt. We worked super duper hard (teehee) to bring you some good reads this time around.

Lola Nedic Siddharth Jejurikar Laura Wolfe

Managing Editors

Annmarie Hoch Michael Norton Miranda Feinberg Matthew Harrison

Contributing Writers Kayla Avitable Matthew Harrison Dorothea Wotton Evan Zigmond “Hannah Moirec”

Social Media Directors Dorothea Wotton Evan Zigmond

Foreign Correspondents Katie Sanna Charlie Billings Katie Fielding Diana Hernandez lined_paper.png

Layout Director

Maygen Kerner

Staff

If you’re a washed-up upperclassperson, you might recognize alum Maxo Pardo from Smoking Babies, who we were lucky to interview regarding his latest solo EP. Ever wondered what happens behind the curtains of Tufts band Gam Solub? Evan Zigmond is here to give you the inside scoop (teehee). Then, we have an ~anonymous~ contributer giving a soft roast to one of Wren Hall’s more controversial residents... What if we kissed in the Boston T Station :0? This question and more are answered in our next feature by Evan Zigmond. Here, he takes us on a wild ride busking through the Boston streets. Next up, we’ve got a super artsy article about Art Rap and its lyrical influences. Explore the aesthetic and culture behind the music with Matthew Harrison. Ever felt like your parents just don’t get you? Sick of telling your mom “it’s not a phase?” Grunge might be the answer! Kayla Avitable is here to show you that there’s more to Grunge than meets the eye. Are you angry at music awards shows? Feel like you’re not represented? Then we’ve got just the article for you — Dorothea Wotton tells us all about why the Grammys are a Shammy. Then, we have something that will traumatize you all as we consider our coming transition into 9th Grade... MIDDLE SCHOOL. We asked YOU, the Tufts student body, to dig up those repressed memories so we can share them with everyone—and now we have! You’re welcome XD. Ever get mad at Anthony Fantano for absolutely obliterating all your favorite albums? Us too! Check out Lola Nedic’s article on why rating music is not all it’s cracked up to be. We’re just three random kids :P who were thrust into making a music magazine (teehee). This is our first issue as Editors-In-Chief and we’ve learned and grown so much from the process. We’re definitely ready for High School now! gtg, on our way to an Imagine Dragons concert (all the kool kidz will be there, mom). ttyl. ily <3, Lola Nedic, Siddharth Jejurikar, Laura Wolfe

Ethan Lam Bayley Koopman Michael Cambron Colin Kronholm Thomas Felt Alex Friedman

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

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 3

BREAKING BOUNDARIES WITH MAXO PARDO

MELISMA TABLE OF CONTENTS

Siddharth Jejurikar

SITTING DOWN WITH GAM SOLUB Evan Zigmond

AN OPEN LETTER

Anonymous

FROM BUSK TILL DAWN

ART RAP

THE SEMESTER IN PHOTOS

Evan Zigmond

Matthew Harrison

VOTE GRUNGE 2020 13 Kayla Avitable

ARE THE GRAMMYS 16 A SHAMMY? Dorothea Wotton

#TBT: REVISITING 18 MIDDLE SCHOOL MUSIC Laura Wolfe WHY YOU SHOULDNâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;T RATE 20 MUSIC Lola Nedic

QUIZ: WHICH BAND THAT PEAKED IN 22 2014 ARE YOU? SPRING PREVIEW 23 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.

SITTING DOWN WITH GAM SOLUB G

am Solub is one of Tufts’ up-and-coming bands, and with a new EP on the horizon, they only seem to be gathering steam. Recently, I had the pleasure of sitting down with three of Gam Solub’s members to discuss their band’s inception, their experiences thus far, and their plans for the future. When I asked guitar player Sam Golub where we should conduct the interview, he led me right to the heart of their music: the Wren 240s. By 5 p.m. I had a camera set up in one of their dorm rooms, and I was preparing to sit on a carpet with three band members and my cozy socks. The setting felt strange for an interview, but very connected to Gam Solub’s essence. The band is, at its core, just guys bein’ dudes. They constantly hang out together in non-musical contexts, they have fun, they roll deep at parties. They are clearly good friends. Seeing such organic musical camaraderie from the outside is really refreshing, and it makes me excited about their prospects for the future. Over the course of the next 10 minutes, bandmates Ethan Isenman, Sam Golub, and Tim Holt casually explained Gam Solub’s origins to me. They met each other individually, with Tim and Sam knowing each other from high school in New Jersey. Their story reminded me of Sam and Ethan jamming together during the Hillel freshman retreat last year. I also learned the significance of the Wren 240s, which acts as a rehearsal space in addition to living quarters. I was curious: did this informal approach to rehearsing affect their sound? I went to one of their frequent on-campus shows to find out for myself. This show took place at Theta Chi, off Packard Avenue The venue was, in a word, cozy. Theta Chi’s basement features a low ceiling, and can accommodate maybe 35 comfortably. One corner of the room was dedicated to food and drinks, provided by Tufts Dance Marathon, and the other was dedicated to the performers. This setup eliminated the boundaries between performer and audience. One could easily stand inches from the musicians if they wanted to. Although the small size of the room had me worried about the acoustics, it was a photographer’s dream.

BY EVAN ZIGMOND

After a short set from the opening act Oakland, Gam Solub took the “stage”. The audience numbered relatively few, but it seemed like they all knew the band. Everyone warmed up to their tunes in no time, and band members exchanged little quips with various audience members in between songs. All of the band members certainly know how to have fun. During one tune, I crouched down in front of Ethan and Sam, who were playing their respective guitars. Ethan noticed what I was doing and smiled a big, cheesy smile right into the camera. My ensuing laughter impeded my photography and I had to take a break. Musically, it was clear that the band rehearses very often. As they played a combination of both covers and originals, they worked with such unity that they were able to switch up sections of tunes with no prior planning, to great effect. In the middle of one song, pianist Nate Hirsch turned to his bandmates and said “I’m going to take a piano solo”. The others then ceased playing 4 beats before the start of the form so Nate could have a dramatic piano entrance. It went off without a hitch and the crowd went nuts. Being able to execute something like that off the cuff demonstrates a deep bond, deeper than one between musicians. It was clear to me that their friendship and their cohabitation prepared them for all kinds of impromptu antics. If this seems like the kind of band for you—hit up their next show!

Breaking Boundaries

WITH MAXO PARDO AND WEIGHTEDKEYS

his spring, I had the pleasure of sitting down with RnB vocalist, producer, and Tufts Alum Maxo Pardo (Max Hornung) as well as producer and Tufts senior WeightedKeys (Bryan Cleveland) to talk about Maxo’s new EP, Boundaries. Our interview also touched on their journeys as Tufts artists and the ways in which the music scene at Tufts has connected them to the resources and people necessary for such projects. Boundaries, released in early February, is true to its name. The EP tests the limits of genre-classification, challenges the definitions we apply to each other, stands as a testament to Tufts students’ creative spirit, and showcases the nurturing power of the Tufts music community. In one sense, the boundaries pushed in this EP are sonic ones. Both artists come from a distinct jazz background, and something that shines through in the EP is their vast range of genre influences, from Blues to Hip-Hop. The album’s opening track is emblematic of this—taking Ella Fitzgerald’s masterful rendition of the Gershwin classic “But Not for Me” and giving it a distinctively Trap turn with added instrumentation and production. The sonic goal of Boundaries is partially to inject musical forms with elements not typically associated with those styles; challenging the boxes we use to sort music. This injection is most obvious when the two producers create lush and complex harmonies out of overlapping recordings of Maxo singing and place them over catchy Trap beats.

In another sense, Maxo pushed boundaries in his performing and writing. Citing his work as a college adviser and music teacher at an alternative high-school, Maxo said, “There’s a level at which you need to ignore boundaries in order to connect with students in a meaningful way… but there are also times in which you need stricter boundaries.” He brings this versatilityto his writing. He is engaged in an ongoing and active project to balance lyrical sensitivity with artistic expression. Just like with his students, he makes sense of context during live performances and adjusts his lyrics accordingly. Lyrically, Maxo does not allow his EP, nor his individual songs, to be forced into particular thematic molds. When I asked him about the major themes embedded in Boundaries, Maxo said “This project gives an insight into how I think about shit and process shit,” a quote that explains the EP’s parallactic style. Heartbreak

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 5 BY SIDDHARTH JEJURIKAR

anthems, party bops, comical tracks, and songs addressing white supremacy’s oppressive and prevailing structures are all present here, yet no single type characterizes Boundaries. Disparate themes are unified by Maxo’s style of thought, observation, and interpretations. He emphasized how these subjects often blend into each other, with serious themes being embedded into the more light-hearted tracks and vice-versa.

None of this would have been possible if Tufts’ artistic community did not punch above its weight-class. Both artists are veterans of the Tufts Neo-Soul, Jazz, and Hip-Hop fusion outfit Smoking Babies, a name any upperclassperson should recognize. Though collaborators on the new project are drawn from the band, their place in the Tufts music scene goes beyond Smoking Babies. For example, Maxo cited his time with S-Factor as an influence on his originality. Both artists pointed to Professor Joel LaRue Smith in the music department as a major influence in shaping their music as well. Even the resources available for recording, producing, and rehearsing at Tufts filled the gaps to allow them to create Boundaries in the DIY style that they wanted. When they eventually took the EP to a professional studio, they had finished everything but the mixing. Once there, they learned a lot and now they hope to do their own mixing in the future. I was particularly struck by the story of how the two artists met, as it is an inspiration for aspiring musicians at Tufts. Maxo first encountered Bryan (before he was WeightedKeys) as a member of the Jazz Ensemble. Unlike the other musicians, Bryan had a clear Blues background when performing. “He wails,” Maxo recalled through laughter, “slams his feet… really feel yourself, I love that shit.” Following this the two started working together and, more importantly, supporting and encouraging each other through their developments as songwriters. “It all starts with finding friends through playing, whether that’s just finding a friend in the practice rooms or freestyle rapping in Dewick,” Maxo advises. After you have that, get involved with the classes and ensembles available at Tufts to hone your skills and get involved in the community. For listeners interested in seeing how Maxo and WeightedKeys challenge our musical and thematic definitions, Boundaries can be found on most platforms—SoundCloud, Spotify, Tidal, Apple Music, and YouTube. Maxo also has a social media presence on Instagram (@Maxooph) and Facebook.

AN OPEN LETTER TO BASS BOY D

ear Bass Boy,

I didn’t notice them at first, the strains of bass filtering through the ceiling, not realizing that my suite came with its own background music. It wasn’t long until I realized you were there. It always happened as I was going to bed. I would be curled up in bed at around one o’clock, about to fall asleep, and I would hear intermittent rumbling descending from the ceiling. After a while, I began to recognize the songs. One night, it wasn’t just you, Bass Boy; there were more instruments, and singing! Bass Boy had a band. I didn’t always notice when you played, but I know it happened often. That’s not to say that the music was a nuisance. It certainly wasn’t bad. Your music wasn’t always welcome, but it often lulled me to sleep. But after two semesters, it has brought unexpected revelations about how I experience music. The way we listen to music has fundamentally changed in the era of music streaming. I can listen to any song I want, whenever I want, from my computer, and I can also stop listening to it whenever I want. We are losing the experience of being exposed to music that we know nothing about– without name, artist, nor context. When live music was the only option, every song was unknown, a mystery to be uncovered with opening notes. “Rite of Spring”

ANONYMOUS

could not have started a riot if the crowd expected what was to come. The shock of hearing it without expectations created the mass frenzy that followed. In the same way, Tchaikovsky’s cannons shocked his audience when they fired in the “1812 Overture.” When radio dominated, the mystery lingered, with listeners usually having no idea what song would come next. Now, we have so much control. We can pick all our music, curate any playlist to our liking, and easily find the name of almost any song. Then we can listen to it at any time, for very little money, without needing the leisure time or money to see it live. Listening to music without knowing anything about it eliminates that control. We can no longer detach music from the context of its creation. It is impossible to enjoy music without thinking about it, but now, with all the information that is available, it is impossible to escape the context. Hearing music without preconceived notions about it, the reason for its existence, or the context in which it was created allows us to assign personal meaning to it, uninfluenced by outside information, thus letting the music speak by itself. An artist attaches their identity to their music and has personal intentions when they create it, but familiarity with them changes how they reach the listener. I’ve often found that knowing the con-

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 7

text makes the music better in some ways. I love learning why someone chose to create a piece I love. But there is value in listening without context and I don’t know if I would have found it if I had never heard your music. I’ve never heard your music outside of my room, never made an effort to figure out who you are or what kind of music your band makes. That would ruin the mystery. Most of the music we listen to is invited in some way. When someone goes to a concert, they are consenting to being exposed to something that might be unfamiliar. And with websites that list setlists and apps like Shazam, that can identify any song from a few notes, no song is a mystery even if it wants to be. The only times when we are exposed to music we don’t choose are in public spaces—a coffee shop with the radio playing, or walking by a busker on the street. In public, we expect to hear music that isn’t invited, so we are prepared, but in a private space like a bedroom, it is not invited, nor is it always welcome. A dorm is a private space, for both of us. As I don’t know who you are and don’t expect to hear your music, Bass Boy, you don’t know who is hearing your music. I’m sure the music I’m hearing is not the finished version, but the hundreds of practice sessions that build up to the final product.

The same song could be experienced in different ways: carefully selected by the listener, surrounding the listener in a public space, or an invasion into a private space. Each invites a different perception of the song. A well-liked song heard unexpectedly is like seeing a friend out of nowhere. In a private space, unexpected music can take on an almost ethereal quality, like the background music to my own movie. Yet, characters in movies don’t traditionally hear the background music. I don’t know who you are and you know even less about me. I know you play the bass and are in a band, what building you live in, and that you go to sleep late. And I know you make good music. I like knowing the context in which music that I enjoy was created, the intentions and history surrounding it. But I’m grateful to have the the chance to experience music without that information, without any context at all. Though what I’ve heard is certainly not the finished product, it is unlikely I’ll ever experience music the way I experience yours again. To me, the music is both your creation and your identity. I know so little about you that the music must speak for you.

FROM BUSK ‘TIL DAWN THE BOSTON BUSKING EXPERIENCE

BY EVAN ZIGMOND

reater Boston is a thriving music city. Within its limits, there exists a strong DIY scene, venues of various sizes and atmospheres, and two colleges dedicated to the craft. When you add an excellent transit system and pedestrians flooding its streets on the daily, the conditions are ripe for buskers. Hunkered down on street corners and in subway stations, these musicians play unprompted for the public. After 18 months of living in the area and seeing buskers around, I have become accustomed to their presence. While I used to stop and listen to the music being performed, now I often shuffle through without glancing at the performer. This is probably due to my reluctance to donate to buskers, despite being a musician and former busker myself. After some thought, I decided to hit the streets with my saxophone, to see firsthand what busking conditions were like in the city. I completed three busking trips feeling musically satisfied, although not much richer. Davis Square was the first stop on my busking journey. For this outing, I was fortunate enough to be joined by some other Melisma contributors. Greater Boston was enduring its final months of winter, so it was frigid outside. We temporarily avoided the cold by taking the campus shuttle to Davis. Davis is a popular busking destination; one can observe musicians there most weekends, as well as the occasional weeknight performance. As if on cue, the square warmed up once we arrived, and I decided to remove my jacket. Once my friends and I started getting our instruments out, there was an intense mixture of curiosity and indifference in the square. Those sitting on benches nearest us seemed intrigued by our spontaneous jam session, while patrons of JP Lick’s didn’t bat an eye, either because they didn’t notice us or because they had seen buskers there frequently. The jacket move was a fatal mistake. Within 10 minutes, my whole torso went numb as Mother Nature smote us with

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 9 biting winds. Adding insult to injury, we sounded quite were much nicer in the station, as I had anticipated. The < WINTER 2010 < FEATURES out of tune. Despite all these issues, the public MELISMA seemed standing, and I could keep my case at arms reach9for to enjoy our playing. In addition to a whopping $4, we got good feedback from strangers in the square, who gave us thumbs up and recorded our playing to post on social media. There were also a decent amount of Tufts students in Davis, who gave us the unconditional support of Jumbos. While we didn’t make much money and we froze our hineys off, the experience was positive overall. Next on my list was Havard Square. Similar to Davis,

“

While we didn’t make much money and we froze our hineys off, the experience was positive overall.

”

Harvard is an extremely popular busking destination. Buskers there can take advantage of the waves of Harvard University tourists that filter through the area every day. Not only did I want to busk in the square, I also longed to play in the T station, which would surely be warmer and provide more places to sit when I needed a break from playing.

After a brief T ride, I emerged on Massachusetts Avenue and selected my busking spot, a wide sidewalk in front of a bank. Prior to my trip, I worried that busking would require some sort of permit, and that I would be barred from playing there since I didn’t have one. However, once I set up my instrument without incident, I relaxed a little and started to play. Nearly everyone that passed me did not stop to listen, or even turn in my direction. Even the pedestrians that donated were sure to hurry along afterwards. I didn’t mind it, though, because these conditions eliminated performance pressure. I was free to experiment heavily with my improvisation, because no one was hearing it for more than a few seconds. This afternoon, like the last one, was very cold, to the point that I couldn’t feel my thumbs despite having gloves on. I eventually retreated to the T station to escape the cold. My plan to busk on the platform was still in motion. Ever the lazy bum, I elected not to put my saxophone away in between busking locations. Trudging into the station, I worried that an MBTA employee would prevent me from playing. I made eye contact with one such employee, who very visibly didn’t care about my instrument, so my fears were quickly assuaged. After fumbling through the gate with all my things, I set up on a bench next to the ultimately came away penniless. However, the conditions

easy access. The station was a comfortable temperature, too. I could see myself busking in a T station for an extended period of time in the future.

My third and final busking trip was to the heart of Boston, specifically the area near the Park Street T stop. This spot normally features buskers in multiple places. Musicians will often park themselves on the platform between the inbound and outbound trains on the Red Line or Green line, or they will make their way above ground to try their hand at performing in the garden. This was a few weeks after the first two outings, and it was finally warm out, so I chose the Public Garden as my busking spot. This spot was unique in how cozy it felt. The garden is very spacious, so I didn’t feel like I was obstructing anyone as I set up my saxophone. Once I started playing, I received little reaction from passers by. Occasionally, someone tossed me a dollar or a word of encouragement. After 40 minutes of playing, I had accumulated $6: not a terrible sum, but certainly not enough to consistently feed oneself. I was more or less satisfied with my pittance, but my real sense of satisfaction came from the people who interacted with me. Anytime I received a word of encouragement or a smile, I felt like I was brightening someone’s day. Unfortunately, buskers cannot pay their rent with smiles. I acknowledge that I have none of the pressure of being a full-time busker. Relying on busking as a major source of income would be nerve-wracking. Every person that walks past without donating is a lost opportunity; it’s one less item on the dinner table. Being ignored as a full-time busker seems like depression-icing atop the sad-cake that is an unsuccessful outing. In Harvard Square and Boston Common, many people passed me without glancing in my direction. I was taken for granted most of the time. Again, I personally don’t mind, because busking is not a major part of my life, but I empathize with those for whom it is. I often ignore buskers when I am out, because I don’t want to donate, but even stopping to listen or encouraging the musician in some way now seems like a much better option. I was touched by the thumbs pointed upwards, and the one woman that went “Woo!” Each of those interactions felt very personal. In the future, when I see buskers, I will do my best to appreciate the effort they are putting into public performance. Busking is native to cities, and so as a city-dweller, I realize I should no longer take it for granted.

RAP

OPEN MIKE EAGLE’S PET GENRE AND WHY YOU SHOULD BE LISTENING

“S

ome songs [are] just more for the headphones,” raps a claymation Open Mike Eagle from a cotton ball cloud in his 2018 video for “Microfiche.” The track is Mike’s airy and meditative response to everything stressing him out, from his growing potbelly to Kaepernick’s mistreatment in the NFL. Open Mike Eagle coined the term Art Rap in the 2000s to describe his unique style of rapping, telling L.A. Weekly, “You can’t call everything ‘Hip-Hop.’ I was listening to rock music, and it struck me that a lot of the rock I liked was called ‘art rock.’ I started wondering why they had a genre where they can do whatever the fuck they want to do, and rappers are scorned if they don’t have enough machismo.” So Art Rap is to Hip-Hop what Art Rock is to Rock n’ Roll - that much is clear. But what does Art Rock entail? Like any music genre, it’s hard to pin down, and the definition changes based on who you ask. Critics might call the genre pretentious and boringly esoteric, while fans might describe it as boundary-pushing and avant-garde. Either way you spin it, Art Rock means elevating Rock n’ Roll to high art, and treating it as something that can be analyzed and investigated as deeply as any work in the MOMA. Noel Murray from The AV Club states that, in the seventies, the “Art” descriptor typically meant something “either aggressively avant-garde or pretentiously progressive.” This genre was pioneered by boundary-pushing albums like The Beatles’ Revolver and The Velvet Underground’s Clash Music. Its popularity peaked in the 1970’s with artists like Queen and King Crimson, which led to artists like David Bowie blending the genre’s unique songwriting approach with a pop-heavy musical style. In the year 1990, one of the genre’s most iconic groups, They Might Be Giants, released Flood, their biggest album ever. It’s no coincidence that in his “Over, Under” video with Pitchfork, Open Mike Eagle called They Might Be Giants “the best band of all time,” saying they’re “better than The Stones, [and] better than The Beatles.” Open Mike Eagle’s admiration for this group illustrates the relationship between the two “Art” genres - Art Rock is the aging rocker uncle to the star of this article, Art Rap.

BY MATTHEW HARRISON

“

YOU CAN’t call everything ‘Hip-hop’... rappers are scorned if they don’t have enough machismo

”

An anti-mainstream attitude is what defines the genre. At its core, art rap is poetic, esoteric, and experimental. The creators of this music have been freed from the restrictions of the mainstream by their indifference to appealing to a widespread audience. This allows for tracks like “Homemade Mummy,” veteran rapper Aesop Rock’s guide to mummifying a cat and what one can learn from that process, or “Folk-Metaphysics,” relative young-blood Milo dreamily muttering a grocery list of how he wants to improve himself. These songs also show the self-examination prevalent in this genre. The artists are vulnerable, open, even self-deprecating—traits which lead to genuine and earnest tracks. Art Rap songs are often deeply conceptual, funny, outlandish, or some combination of the three. The only cardinal sin for art rappers is unoriginality.

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 11

“

THE ONLY CARDINAL SIN FOR ART RAPPERS IS UNORIGINALITY

”

In a rap scene where lyricism can sometimes take a backseat to booming kick drums and snapping snares, where good songs are made more by an artist’s flow and the overall production of the track than by the words spoken, art rap offers a contrast. With the genre’s focus on originality, art rappers rely heavily on their own writing voice and shy away from more comfortable topics and styles. In his song “Check to Check,” Open Mike cheekily riffs on his smartphone addiction, exemplifying the “anti-flex” often exhibited by rappers in this genre: “Battery getting low, but it’s not quite out yet/ So check, I’m in ya house now checkin’ for outlets/ I need to use maps ‘cause I don’t know the route yet/ I need to see an email, I don’t know when the soundcheck.” Mike casually works the word

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[I am] a rapper that exists outside of most parts of the rap conversation and machine

”

“check” into his verses and hooks a whopping 54 times, while an ever-changing beat grooves behind each bar. Open Mike Eagle also has a tendency to get political with his music—not exactly the most radical thing in Hip-Hop. But compare Eminem’s anti-trump freestyle to one of Open Mike’s tracks: Eminem takes an explosive, direct approach, rapping “Racism’s the only thing he’s fantastic for / ‘Cause that’s how he gets his fucking rocks off and he’s orange / Yeah, sick tan.” Open Mike has a more subdued anger on “My Auntie’s Building,” a song about Chicago demolishing homes in the projects: “It was people there and kids there / And drug dealers and church folk / And they hit that shit with a wrecking ball so hard / Thought the whole earth broke.” The warping, eerie, and distorted production on this song underscores Mike’s mostly-calm delivery to accentuate his barely-held back

rage. His poetic lyrics rip through the music like pencil pressed too hard to a page. It’s abrasive, raw, and above all, real. It’s almost tough to listen to. The same traits that emphasize the emotion behind this song (and therefore elevate it to the next level) prevent it from ever being a widespread hit —and that is okay. As Open Mike said in a 2017 interview with Noisey, “[I am] a rapper that exists outside of most parts of the rap conversation and machine. My products aren’t put through that machine, so they don’t reach the same amount of people—and because of that I don’t have the pressure to do that either, and I have the ability to indulge all of my own whims sonically. Which kind of doubles down on my own being outside of that.” Art Rap will probably never get played on the radio. If you put Art Rap on at a party you will lose your aux privileges. Trying to get your friends to listen to Art Rap without sounding pretentious is nigh-impossible. But after countless top 40 hits exploring the same few concepts in similar ways, it’s nice to kick back with a few tunes from dudes who do it their own way. Grab your Airpods, Sennheisers, Beats, or another weapon of choice, and listen to some songs made just for the headphones.

Anderson .Paak | Lola Nedic Donna Missal | Colin Kronholm

Badflower | Kayla Avitable

Semester in Photos

Japanese Breakfast | Ethan Lam

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

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 13

Vote Grunge 2020

BY KAYLA AVITABILE

s human beings, it is natural for us to try and attribute meaning to things, particularly art. We think of our high school English classes and the hundreds of analyses of a particular river in a particular moment of a particularly outdated novel. The same goes for music. Essentially, music is our voice. Dare I go further, music is our political voice. The argument that all songs are political will always be debated, just as literary critics argue over the symbolism of a river. However, I would argue that our concept of the political song is flawed. A song does not have to have specifically political lyrical content to convey a singular thought or representation of society. For example, one could reappropriate a love song by singing it in the context of an oppressed state. (Somehow, when sung at a rally, “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” isn’t about Oz, but possibly the asylum of immigrants.) What, then, is political? I define political as anything that advances a message of or relating to the government or the state of society and individuals’ roles in these constructs. When it comes to politically-charged genres of music, academics praise Punk for its working class defiance, but Punk is not the only political genre. So is Folk, so is Pop, and so is Country, even if they are not “praised” as being political. In this article, I will provide a case study of Grunge, the rare moment in American music history where Alternative Rock was mainstream, as an example to prove that, despite general consensus, music inherently contains political dogma. From the baggy jeans and battered flannels to the screeching guitars and moaning vocals, Grunge created not only a distinctive sound, but revitalized and modernized its own version of the punk identity. Although shortlived, it is arguably one of the most iconic rock music movements in recent history. Kurt Cobain is practically a household name. Grunge is traditionally associated with Generation X, the slacker youth, or more importantly, the forgotten youth (hence its X label). In accordance with this slacker status, Gen X is often labelled as politically apathetic. Likewise, their music, Grunge, is also reprimanded for its lack of politicism in comparison to its punk predecessor. In terms of authenticity, the genre also comes under attack due to its wide commercial success. However, as the Grunge subculture transitioned to the mainstream, it recognized a cultural consensus that exhibited the dominant political rhetoric of the generation: they were nihilistic, fed up with government stagnation, and longed for a more centrist rather than polarized political ideology. Grunge music embodies the “forgotten” connotation of Generation X. This

“

From the baggy jeans and battered flannels to the screeching guitars and moaning vocals, Grunge created not only a distinctive sound, but revitalized and modernized its own version of the punk identity.

”

music does not necessarily align itself with militant political activism, but rather represents the shift in attitude among youth in modern politics. Just as Grunge’s ascendance to mainstream music—despite its alternative sound—represented a shift in the music industry, its advent supplanted the transition from direct political involvement of youth to unconventional forms of political participation.

In her book, Grunge: Music and Memory, Catherine Strong defines Grunge as “a musical genre and a cultural centre that existed in the late 1980s and early 1990s, with associated fashions and ideologies, as well as political and musical alliances.” She acknowledges that Grunge has a political component as well as a representation of a cultural movement. In general, Grunge may be described as a style of hard rock with “high levels of distortion, feedback, fuzz effects, [and] a fusion of punk and metal influences.” However, this resulted from the majority of Grunge bands being produced by the Sub Pop label and originating primarily in the Seattle area, hence its nickname, the Seattle Sound. Grunge has the aggression of Punk and the melodies of Pop, but its main distinction is its complete antithesis to the 1980s hair metal that came before it, which, to Grunge artists, represented the hyper-masculinity, selling out, and conservatism of the 1980s that it wished to oppose (remember Reaganomics?). In other words, to Grunge artists, Hair Metal bands like Mötley Crüe and Def Leppard were inauthentic. Grunge, at least in its founding, prided itself on its rejection of the mainstream. However, as it grew commercially successful, its authenticity was questioned.

Grunge’s attempt to disrupt the dominant culture through negation as well as purity and authenticity seems hypocritical when considering their ascent to mainstream music, but the fact that the music became mainstream speaks to its resonance with Generation X. It might be really cool to be part of an exclusive subculture with a few underground records, but the ability for albums like Nevermind to resonate with a large audience and be easily available confirms the notion that this was the music of the youth (particularly white working and middle class). As Strong describes it, “the sound became less important than the feeling - it didn’t matter if there were distorted guitars and anguished vocals as long as it seemed real,” and to many it did. The lyrical content of the music still remained true to its intentions despite its fame. In comparison to Punk, Grunge lyrics and content were more introspective than militant. Themes included social commentary like homelessness (Nirvana’s “Something in the Way,” Pearl Jam’s “Even Flow”), youth suicide (Pearl Jam’s “Jeremy”), drug dependency (Pearl Jam’s “Deep”), and issues of conformity (Nirvana’s “In Bloom”), but they were delivered in a more poetic format. Strong also comments that “songs were more likely to be about more generalized negative experiences or feelings, sung in a collective rather than individual voice”. Gen X’s agenda was represented through these songs, and this “collective voice” itself was their political

“

In comparison to punk, Grunge lyrics and content were more introspective than militant.

”

platform. Particularly the theme of alienation—fitting for this forgotten generation—is very prevalent in Grunge music. If we look at Grunge’s poster single, Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” it is clear that its popularity does not undermine the commentary it makes about homogenized culture and the youth experience in the early 1990s. Looking at its music video particularly, which aired on MTV, the symbols of resistance are so overt as to slap the viewer in the face. The video is set in a dingy, dilapidated high school gym equipped with worn down bleachers and a basketball hoop. Shots fade in and out of the band to cheerleaders adorning Anarchy A’s on their tops to an old, creepy janitor and even a dunce-hat-wearing kid in the final shot. Undoubtedly, high school is symbolic of American culture and is supposed to represent the highlight of youth existence (or in most cases—four years of your life you would rather forget). This dirty representation of high school in the music video acts as a rebellion against mass culture. Bassist Krist Novoselic recounted, “Kurt really despised the mainstream. That’s what “Smell’s Like Teen Spirit” was all about: the mentality of conformity.” It exposes high school not as the carefree experience we often dream of based on teenage films and television, but as a period of identity struggle among youth. Nirvana and their music not only falls outside of this commercial 1980s atmosphere, but rejects it. The chorus blairs, “With the lights out, it's less dangerous/Here we are now, entertain us/I feel stupid and contagious/ Here we are now, entertain us.” The first line is a contradiction which expresses their lack of faith in society. The second and last lines reference the tendency for youth to crave attention. The third mocks the idea of a “trend” associated with mass culture. The music video also increasingly cuts to close up shots of Kurt Cobain screaming, “A denial.” This visually depicts a man caged

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 15 in his own thoughts, and alienated from his surroundings. While this song criticizes mass culture, it also recognizes the sense of Generation X’s desire to be taken seriously. Their voices are shunned and are in “denial” of their identity and ability to affect change in the world. Therefore, this song is inherently political and its origin validates that. The title came from the comment, “Kurt Smells Like Teen Spirit” referring to his relationship with Bikini Kill’s drummer Tobi Vail who frequently wore the deoderant. Kathleen Hanna (also of Bikini Kill) wrote it on the wall after spending a night with Cobain defacing a fake abortion clinic (a center that instead of providing abortions, persuaded their clients to keep their children). Overall, Nirvana’s body of work has this nihilistic and pessimistic criticism of the accepted values of the dominant culture of the late 1980s and early 1990s (an attitude that most youth identified with). Nirvana’s producer, Butch Vig, recalled in an interview with NPR, “Even though we’re not really sure what Kurt is singing about, there’s something in there that you understand; the sense of frustration and alienation. To me, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” reminds me a little bit of how Bob Dylan’s songs affected people in the ‘60s. In a way, I feel the song affected a generation of kids in the ‘90s. They could relate to it.” Equipped with “guitar rants” and vocals sung by a “tortured heart” as described by Rolling Stone, the song’s

“

Grunge remains a shining example that, despite the tendancy of academics to ridicule genres for apathy, there is no such thing as pure apathy regarding politics. In a society in which the commoditybearing capitalist economy lurks in every corner—or a society in which there is imperialized hegemony—it is nearly impossible not to be political.

”

sound was raw, aggressive and ultimately appealed to this generation for its authenticity, like the 1960s folk revival mentioned above. In other words, people related to the song because lyrically it opposed all of the things they hated about society and sonically it expressed the frustration they felt. The song even recognized the generation’s apathetic label. Cobain said when writing the album that he felt, “disgusted with my generation's apathy, and with my own apathy and spinelessness.” This sense of detachment from society surely conceived lyrics like "Oh well, whatever, nevermind" and offered a title that encompassed a general consensus of youth in only three syllables: Nevermind. Therefore the music uses its own generation’s criticisms to make a statement about the hypocrisy of society. While paradoxical and ironic, recognizing the apathy—their own faults —and using it in this context inherently opposes the dominant culture, and provides a political statement. Most people saw this self-critical subtext to the song and realized how accurately it captured their sense of being fed up and their feeling of being crippled by their need for belonging. Grunge remains a shining example that, despite the tendency of academics to ridicule genres for apathy, there is no such thing as pure apathy regarding politics. In a society in which the commodity-bearing capitalist economy lurks in every corner—or a society in which there is imperialized hegemony—it is nearly impossible not to be political. While music itself can be political, the political involvement of the artists themselves also adds to its inherently political nature. Nirvana’s bassist, Krist Novoselic, went on to form a non-profit, FairVote, that aims to increase voter participation by increasing eligibility for traditionally obstructed communities. So whether it is the musician or the music itself that endorses political preference, music is just another mode of expression, and our way to cope with the perils of the world. It is our style, our sense of individuality and therefore our meaning. For Punk, it was leather, and for Grunge, it was flannel, but the concept is the same. If you looked different, you were different; your music taste represents your nonconformity. What is more political than that?

ARE THE GRAMMYS A SHAMMY? BY DOROTHEA WOTTON

n a time where a plethora of music is released every month, it is a wonder that the winners for the Grammys are still chosen each year. With so much music to digest, how can we pick just one album, artist, or song to win in categories like “Album of the Year” or “Song of the Year?” Furthermore, are the chosen winners an accurate representation of our listening habits and preferences as a society, or just an opinion determined by a select few? Despite the extent of people that watch the Grammys each year, many may not know the specifics on its system of selection. On the Grammy Awards website there are details about the process of submission, nomination, and selection of entries considered for the awards. First, record companies and Recording Academy members, who are musicians and music professionals, submit entries from the year. Experts then ensure whether those pieces have been entered into the correct categories, but do not evaluate or judge them. Then, music writers, producers, and engineers called “voting members” pick their preferences but are only permitted to vote in the general categories and the fifteen categories that they have knowledge in. Finally, the second and last round of ballots are sent to the voting members. Since 2017, artists have been able to vote online because of complaints from musicians on tour about the impracticality of mailing ballots while on tour. After the votes are in Deloitte (an accounting firm) tallies the results and delivers the envelope to the Recording Academy, which are opened and announced during the award ceremony. Though the public is not involved, we embrace the opinions of the voting members as objective fact. With all the decisions being made by professionals in the music industry, it is expected that the winners are

“

With all the Decisions Being made by professionals in the music industry, it is expected that the winners are carefully chosen...

”

carefully chosen, but not necessarily that they are reflective of what the public thinks.

It is no surprise that Childish Gambino triumphed in four different categories for his song and music video that became a viral social commentary on race and gun violence in the United States, “This is America.” Neither was it shocking that Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper won Best Pop Duo/Group Performance with their poignant song “Shallow” that stunned movie theater audiences in A Star is Born. The winner of the most esteemed award, however, was Golden Hour by Kacey Musgraves, a Country-pop singer-songwriter from Texas. Musgraves won two Country related awards in the 2014 Grammys, but this year she recieved “Album of the Year,” among three other honors. Compared to her competitors, Kacey Musgraves is not what I would consider “mainstream” in this period of music history and in the culture of the United States. Aside from the various questions along the lines of “Who is that?” that I heard in response to her overwhelming achievements at the award show, a glance at YouTube plays and record sales confirm that Musgraves is truly an underdog, but is this win deserved? The most listened to song on Golden Hour is “Butterflies,” and its music video has 5.5 million views on her YouTube channel. “God’s Plan” off of Drake’s album Scor-

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 17 pion has 954 million views. Similarly, “I Like It” from Invasion of Privacy by Cardi B has 869 million, and “Psycho” on Beerbongs & Bentleys by Post Malone has 525 million. Checking their Spotify profiles resulted in the same large disparity in plays. Still, since Country music may appeal more to people who don’t use streaming services, the sales themselves are an important factor when evaluating the popularity of an album. Golden Hour peaked at number four on the Billboard 200. Invasion of Privacy debuted at number one, both Black Panther: The Album, Music From and Inspired By and Beerbongs & Bentleys were number one for three weeks, and Scorpion was number one for five weeks! Billboard 200 measures the sales of albums through album-equivalent units, a calculation of music sales that balances albums with songs and streams. One physical album sale is equivalent to ten song downloads or 1,500 song streams through services like Spotify or Apple Music. Golden Hour had 49 thousand album-equivalent units its first week while Scorpion had 732 thousand. Clearly, Kacey’s opponents had a greater number of sales and popularity. So, why was her work granted the title “Album of the Year?” Perhaps the reasoning lies in the fact that other musicians choose the victors. When analyzing the different selections, these artists may be thinking about stylistic choices, music theory, or their individuality in their respective genres. Yet, this might not be how the general consumer thinks about music. Instead, they contemplate the lyrics, appreciate the beat, or sway to the harmony; it boils down to “this is (or is not) a bop.” They may consider the album’s sound as a whole, or just view each song as a separate creation packaged together. If we assume that in general the public doesn’t analyze music the way that professional musicians do, is it fair for professional musicians to establish what the song, album, artist, and more of the year are? I’m not saying that we should base the winners off of record sales or streams off of Spotify, but would it not be a better reflection of our music culture if the decision was made by audience that these musicians cater to through a public vote? Furthermore, what do the Grammys say about American society? Despite Kacey Musgraves’s success, Country music is not the prevailing genre in America. In fact, Nielsen Music stated in a report at the end of 2017 that Rap has become the most popular genre in the United States. So, the implication that her album is our “Album of

the Year” carries no weight in our actual American musical culture. Lastly, I think that defining one album, song, or artist—even if they are separated by genres—as the most notable one of the entire year is a courageous statement for anyone to make with our abundance of music. Whether or not Kacey Musgraves’s Golden Hour deserves the title “Album of the Year” is not up to me, but with the interpretation and listening habits of music being so diverse among not only cultures but

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It is constricting to have a small committee of ‘elite’ musicians speak for the general population when the stakes are so high.

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individuals, how could it be decided without the acknowledgement of the audience? It is constricting to have a small committee of “elite” musicians speak for the general population when the stakes are so high. Instead, there should be a dialogue between the two. Regardless of how it’s done, in the future, the Grammy committee and committees of other awards shows need to incorporate the opinions of the general public in order to better represent the people, and think of a better way to represent “the best” music.

#TBT: MIDDLE SCHOOL MUSIC REVISITED BY LAURA WOLFE

few months ago, I was invited to an eighth grade themed birthday party. Looking at the Facebook event invite, I thought, “What could possibly be fun about reliving what is objectively the worst, most awkward time in your life?” but once I arrived at the party, it clicked. Dressed in tank tops on top of t-shirts and shorts on top of colorful tights (layering was really big in 2013), everyone was able to reframe their painful middle school experiences as young adults comfortable with their identities. They were not worried about being excommunicated from the lunch table for not having the right sneakers or for liking school too much. My own middle school music taste can be traced directly back to the first time I watched the movie Garden State, which is essentially two hours of Zach Braff and Natalie Portman being quirky in New Jersey — I highly recommend it. In one scene, Natalie Portman plays “New Slang” by The Shins for Zach Braff, saying “You gotta hear this one song — it’ll change your life.” And it changed mine. I was constantly worried about what people would think of my place on the Continental Math League team, or my solo in the winter choir concert, but I always clung to the coolness that I felt liking indie music. While there is scientific evidence that backs up why we find the nostalgia of music from our tween-hood so compelling now, I chose to focus on what Tufts students think about it. Here are the results from a survey of over a hundred people who were once in middle school. Let’s dive into our collective memory of middle school to laugh about what felt so serious then and empathize with our past selves.

What is a song that you associate with middle school? Replay by Iyaz

Party Rockers in the hoooouuuse tonight - LMFAO

Airplanes by B.o.B

Crank That by Soulja Boy

Starships by Nicki Minaj

Face Down by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

You’re a Jerk by New Boyz Gangnam Style by PSY Pompeii by Bastille

Tokyo Drift by Teriyaki Boyz

Party In The U.S.A by Miley Cyrus Low by Flo Rida

Lucifer by SHINee

Dynamite by Taio Cruz

Like a G6 by Far East Movement

Jesus of Suburbia by Green Day

Today Was a Fairytale by Taylor Swift What Makes You Beautiful by One Direction

Fireflies by Owl City

Ballad of Mona Lisa by Panic! At The Disco

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 19

What specific experience do you associate eating spicy korean ramen with that song? with my friend rika watching Me and my friends trying to nigahiga videos after school learn the dance to the song on fridays in our apartment building i kissed a boy during the k- k- kiss me part (of kiss me by katy perry) boys in snapbacks fistbumping

Reposting Two Door Cinema Club fan content on my Tumblr page dreaming about romantic Northern Irish rockers who “can tell just what you know. You don’t want to be alone” and feeling that deeply inside my soul.

it played during my 8th grade dance and i wanted to slow dance with this when my group of friends lacrosse kid named jake but i was too slowly shut me off becaus I nervous didn’t play sports Sitting at my friend’s house listening to it on her pink ipod nano

bar / bat mitzvahs

crying in my moms minivan before soccer practice and when she asked what was wrong i was like “it’s hard to explain”

Do you think that music is better now? better! ... or maybe i have better taste?

At least the music that I listen to now is more melancholic and sad

I think that it is of the time, I still like it because I have fond memories associated with middle school era music but I feel that I listen to better music now

It’s a bad song but still hypes me up and puts a smile on everyone’s face trash pile It’s pretty gross but nostalgic for it

Fun to sing along to. Bad music.

The songs are so comforting to listen to when you need them

Catchy? annoying

Still slaps

It’s still an absolute banger. Dramatic and fun

Anything else? Why did Green Day have a musical???????

Crazy how we still know the words at an instant but have not necessarily listened for years.

Old songs make me sad

Check out this playlist of all the submissions!

It always brings a smile to my face when i hear a song i used to bop to in middle school Huuuge part of my growing up.

Why rating music is overrated HOW MUSIC IS REVIEWED AND WHAT THIS MEANS FOR US BY LOLA NEDIC

s music streaming services like Spotify and Apple Music have grown, music-reviewing platforms like Pitchfork, Rolling Stone, and YouTube have become increasingly popular. These sites have become the be-all end-all for the listeners who worship them—and with due cause. Most of these sites are run by professionals who understand the technical qualities that make up good music. This is why music-reviewing sites claim to be objective in their ratings. However, many of these reviews reflect the personal preferences of the reviewer or opinions of the platform itself, thus sacrificing objectivity for subjectivity. And although it’s valid for reviewers to have their own individual opinions, it becomes a problem when these issues are published as fact—as most of them are. For this reason, the rise of music reviewing is detrimental to a listener’s relationship with their own music taste. Reviewers are thought to be in a position of power, holding an influence over the general population of listeners. So when the opinion of the reviewer conflicts with the opinion of the listener, the listener begins to feel “wrong” or inferior. This offset power balance between the reviewer and the listener

has the ability to drastically change the listener’s opinions - all based on an arbitrary rating. But maybe we shouldn’t be assigning number values to music at all. Maybe there’s more to music than how “good” it is, or how consistent it is, or how much The Needle Drop likes it. After all, music reviewers represent an insignificant proportion of the listening population. So why should such a small group of people get to decide whether an album is a worth listening to? Take Anthony Fantano (theneedledrop on YouTube). Aside from establishing himself as “the internet’s busiest music nerd,” he doesn’t hold any greater power than the average listener —he’s just a man who listens to a lot of music and chooses to voice his opinions on a public platform. This isn’t problematic in and of itself, but becomes an issue when listeners use Fantano’s reviews to shape their music taste and structure their listening experience. Because of Anthony Fantano’s powerful internet presence, listeners feel pressured to agree with his (often controversial) opinions, and end up changing their own tastes as a result. Listeners then adopt Fantano’s way of listening to

music in place of their own, which takes away from the innately personal experience of listening to music. Anthony Fantano, like many current music reviewers, has an extremely niche music taste, geared towards Rap, Experimental Hip Hop, and Hard Rock, which heavily influences his ratings. He also pretty much has a heavy rotation of generic reasons he doesn’t like certain albums. He frequently criticizes well-liked albums for being too “boring,” or for “drowning in influences.” However, many people like the slow, dreamy albums that Fantano thinks are boring, or enjoy new music heavily influenced by artists of the past. Sometimes the reasons that music is deemed “bad” by reviewers are the same exact reasons that people like them. This leaves listeners with a dilemma: should they stick with their gut and maintain their opinions, or let a “reputable” figure mold their music taste? Fantano, like other reviewers on YouTube or other sites, only exacerbates the problem.

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They listen to music to satisfy an emotional craving—one that can’t be quenched with instrumental perfection or anything of the like.

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Although there are objective ways to review music, like instrumental proficiency, audio quality, vocal quality, and creativity, whether individual people like music or not is based on personal preferences and experiences. We need to consider why people even like music in the first place. It’s not because it’s consistent, instrumentally perfect, or has good vocals—at least it’s not for most listeners. The average person, while listening to music, doesn’t look for any of these aforementioned technical qualities. For the most part, people like music because it’s catchy, or it makes them want to dance, or it reminds them of a good memory. They listen to music to satisfy an emotional craving—one that can’t be quenched with instrumental perfection or anything of the like. In short, people don’t like music because it’s objectively “good,” people like music because of the way it makes them feel. So how could a handful of Pitchfork reviewers possibly encapsulate these feelings in a single number? Many of the reviews put out by Pitchfork or similar sites use metaphors or complex sentences to describe music, that don’t really attest to the quality of the music at all. For context, here is a particularly egre-

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 21

gious quote found on Pitchfork’s Kid A album review: “The experience and emotions tied to listening to Kid A are like witnessing the stillborn birth of a child while simultaneously having the opportunity to see her play in the afterlife on Imax.” Quotes like these take up the majority of album reviews today, and while these quotes would work well in a thousand page Stephen King novel, they don’t adequately describe music.

Modern music reviewing typically details the experience of only one reviewer. On sites like Pitchfork and Complex, reviewers are overly specific when describing their own listening experiences. While it’s interesting to experience the thoughts going through one listener’s head, there is nothing inherently more important about a Pitchfork employee’s listening experience than that of the average listener. And when sites post such personal listening experiences, it damages the listening experience for the general population. Listeners are left searching for something deeper—a personal experience described by the reviewer—that they likely won’t get when they listen. It leaves a void in the listener—a feeling that there’s something they’re missing from the listening experience, or that there’s something they don’t understand. Reviews leave listeners with an obligation to experience music a certain way, when really, this isn’t realistic. In reality, the reasons that people like music are inherently personal, and no two people listen to music in the same way. A good review should help the listener by guiding the listening experience. Perhaps music reviewing platforms should abandon the extensive personal anecdotes in favor of reviews that are more helpful to the listener. By making their reviews overly personal, music reviewing platforms have failed their purpose of relating to their readers. And by doing this, they are taking away from the experience of music as a whole.

Which band that peaked in 2014 are you?

YE E

ZUS

The Lewkk

arts & sciences or engineering?

neering n gi

Converse

What do you call this?

Graduation

TDC

which shoe?

rtens

which kanye album?

Favorite coffee place?

Arts & Sciences

Ma oc

Bottoms of T uf ts

what’s your favorite tufts dance group?

rlesque

what’s your favorite tufts instagram?

Starbucks

lM i

Houston

Diesel Cafe

Harleston

Which freshman dorm are you?

homework

Trai

it’s tuesday night. what are you doing?

esday u b Tu

The Neighbourhood

Arctic monkeys

vampire weekend

alt-j

You’ve got Daddy Issues —but maybe it’s time to Let It Go. Embrace Sweater Weather, dance in some Alleyways, and enter the Void. but whatever you do, don’t be Afraid—we think you’re Flawless anyway.

Maybe you’re worried that you won’t get the Star Treatment you deserve—but That’s Where You’re Wrong. I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor, crankin’ out to some Mad Sounds. So get your Dancing Shoes on, and do The Bad Thing, you Fluorescent Adolescent.

Be careful and watch your Step, cause The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance. But, if you give it a good Run, there just might be a White Sky ahead. In that case, I Stand Corrected. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little (A-)Punk?

For you, life is just gonna be a Breeze (blocks). Ywwou’re gonna encounter Something Good everyday. You’re probably gonna make a new friend; her name might be Matilda. But make sure to keep your Left Hand Free so that you can ride An Awesome Wave.

MELISMA | SPRING 2019 | 23

SUMMER PREVIEW

ARTISTS TO WATCH

KELSEY LU

IGLOOGHOST

London-based electronic musician Iglooghost, real name Seamus Malliagh, makes a unique mix of Glitch-Hop and Experimental. He won international attention for his second LP Neo Wax Bloom and the two 2018 EPs Clear Tamei and Steel Mogu. His maximalist and near-frantic sound make him especially stand out. If the critical success of his recent work is any indication, Malliagh has a lot to contribute moving forward.

Pop cellist Kelsey Lu is coming hot off the release of her debut LP, Blood, which features production from big names like Jamie xx and Skrillex. Haunting and subtle, the dreamy and ethereal instrumentation of her music matches her elegant voice while building steam throughout. Recently signed to Cololmbia, Luâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s blend of Chamber and Folk-Pop is a good omen for things to come.

THE NUDE PARTY

The Nude Party started off in a college dorm at Appalachian State University and gained traction after opening for The Arctic Monkeys in 2018. Their music beautifully blends Garage Rock with Country, reviving a genre that was first popularized by The Doors. Their fresh take on a once loved genre will have you rethinking the way you listen to Country.

COMING SOON

ALBUM DROP RADAR May 3rd | Vampire Weekend | Father of the Bride

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