Melisma Winter 2016 by Melisma Magazine

MELISMA EDITORS-IN-CHIEF

Grant Fox Jordan Rosenthal-Kay Rebecca Sinai

MANAGING EDITORS Ross Bretherton Chelsea Wang

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS Noah Adler Jonah Allon Kriska Desir Mallory Grider Liam Knox Kelly Kollias Jason Mejia Dan Pechi Jake Rochford Anna Tolette

CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS Evan Sayles

FROM THE EDITORS

ello, welcome to the latest version of Melisma Magazine©. This update comes with a brand new user interface, allowing a more immersive and interactive experience. All of the content is of the most superior technology and design, incorporating elements of queer rap, sludge doom, and vaporwave. Our elite staff strives to provide only the best and most luxurious aesthetic to meet your needs. The semester began with Jordan and Grant yelling at our freshmen about the aesthetics of non-mainstream music changing from indie fetishization of the old and rustic to the high tech fetishization of the cold and futuristic. To that end, our entire semester has been future-focused. We started a radio show, put on concerts that featured some of our favorite up-and-coming electronic artists from Tufts and beyond, and spent this issue focusing heavily on what’s next. We predict the future of Pitchfork, explore the progression of vaporwave past its roots, and forecast which artists are going to be huge in 2016. Melisma has always had an eye to future, but now that we have a sizable dedicated staff and more focused art direction, we can now spend our free time dutifully mining the depths of Soundcloud instead of cleaning out our email. This issue couldn’t have been possible without all of our new freshmen staff members. Thank you to all of you who came out to the GIM and decided we were cool enough for you to stay. Whether you took pictures, wrote for the website, or helped lay out the magazine, your work and time meant a lot to us. Welcome to 2016, kids. The future is here, and we have the soundtrack. The present is so last semester. Out with the old in with the new. Yadda yadda yadda, Fetty Wap for spring fling. Cheers, Jordan Rosenthal-Kay, Grant Fox & Rebecca Sinai Editors-in-Chief

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

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 3

MELISMA TUFTS’ PREMIER JOURNAL OF MUSIC ELECTRONIC MUSIC ENSEMBLE

A look into one of Tufts’ most forward thinking ensembles Noah Adler

CUISINE EN LOCALE

Exploring the evolving Somerville venue Jordan Rosenthal-Kay

QUEER RAP

A new generation of LGBTQ voices in rap is challenging the rapper archetype Kriska Desir

THE CHANGING FACE OF SLUDGE Kylesa are pushing the lethargic metal genre into the future. Jason Mejia

A LOOK AT 2016

Who will blow up, what shows to go to, and which albums to look out for

4 6 8 9 10 12 14 16 20

LOS FLETCHEROS

Meet the 12 students behind Fletcher’s versatile and hilarious cover band. Kriska Desir

WHY I’LL ALWAYS FORGIVE KANYE

Being a Kanye West fan has always been an exercise in patience Jonah Allon

VAPORWAVE

What does vaporwave mean in 2015, and does it still have a point? Jake Rochford

PITCHFORK & CONDE NAST

Will the acquisition of the most trusted voice in music undermine its reputation? Dan Pechi & Jordan Rosenthal-Kay

ON THE COVER

Dreams of Future Ross Bretheron

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.

A SONIC PYRAMID THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE TUFTS ELECTRONIC MUSIC ENSEMBLE BY NOAH ADLER Most schools’ electronic music ensembles (if they have one) exist on laptops. Paul Lehrman, the conductor of Tufts University’s electronic music ensemble, finds this approach boring. Rather than only using computers to produce music, his group’s setup is composed of four computers with ten electronic instruments connected to them. Software on the computers create the sound, which is run through a four channel sound system. This complex arrangement takes about three hours to set up, and includes instruments such as electronic bassoons, drum pads, keyboards, and the sonic pyramid, a device that can be used by up to three musicians, designed by a former student of Lehrman’s. A benefit to using all electronic instruments is that they can play any kind of music, as the sounds of each device can be altered, either by the instrument itself or the computer it is hooked up to. This allows for the ensemble’s sound to change dr depending on what type of song is being played. The ensemble only meets in the fall, and had their concert on December 12th, where they performed jazz, rock, and classical compositions, in addition to three original pieces written by students. Paul Lehrman was introduced to electronic music by his older brother and his teachers, who showed him recordings of the genre. He started making his own electronic music by using tape as a junior in high school. Lehrman made the first all MIDI album in 1986, called The Celtic Macintosh. It features MIDI folk tunes. Another impressive achievement of his is the ballet mecanique project. It was written in the 1920’s for sixteen player pianos, which at the time couldn’t exist due to technological limitations. Lehrman was hired to program the ballet, and a CD and documentary film came of this feat. He has also performed a few gigs with Jamie Lidell, a great singer who uses electronics in clever ways, in England. Lehrman mentioned he really likes the element of surprise and improvisation in Lidell’s live shows. Lehrman first theorized the Tufts electronic music ensemble in 2007, when the Granoff music building first opened. There were some large hurdles to overcome in order to

incorporate it into the curriculum, namely that this type of ensemble had never been done before at Tufts, but the group was finally realized in 2012. What Lehrman looks for in the ensemble’s musicians is that they are comfortable in both musical and technological realms. He says the best part of his job is showing students how to combine these passions. In a regular ensemble, everyone knows their role and how to play that role, but in an electronic ensemble there is constant reinvention. Their challenge every year is to figure out what kind of music they want to play, and how they can accomplish that style. The students have a tremendous amount of say in what they play. One member of the ensemble suggested playing a song by Talking Heads, so they will be performing that at their concert. There is a very organic feel to the ensemble, which is in juxtaposition to the synthetic noises that make up the music they perform. Lehrman thinks of the ensemble as “technology in service of art”, where the technology lets you do stuff that is artistically interesting.

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In a regular ensemble, everyone knows their role and how to play that role, but in an electronic ensemble there is constant reinvention.

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Lehrman’s office is appropriately tucked away in Granoff Music Center. His office is a fascinating space, filled with different keyboards, strewn cables and wires, various digital audio devices, and high-tech instruments whose sounds could not be guessed based on their appearance. Some of these gadgets are the Casio MIDI saxophone, a QuNeo programmable pad used to trigger loops, Yamaha wind

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 5 controllers with breath and bite sensors, the MalletKAT MIDI xylophone, and a Roland HandSonic with “ribbons”, fourteen pressure sensitive buttons, and a distance sensor. When asked about an obscure-looking white instrument called a theremin, Lehrman sprang into action, playing it skillfully using its dual proximity sensors to change the volume and pitch. What makes these instruments as well as the ensemble itself so versatile and interesting is that their physical makeup doesn’t connect to their sound. An

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While Lehrman’s conducting closely resembles that of a regular ensemble’s conductor, the way that the musicians switch instruments is entirely unique.

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instrument that looks like a clarinet could sound like a bass guitar, drum pads can have samples loaded onto them, and the sonic pyramid can make some wild sounds with up to three people operating it. Some other remarkable devices that have been used are Wiimotes and iPads, which show how creative the ensemble can be with their tools at hand.

When asked about the current state of most popular electronic music, Lehrman responded by saying that there isn’t much current electronic music he’s inspired by. He mentioned “I like music I can listen to more than once, not just that makes you feel good while you’re on the dance floor”. He thinks it’s easy to make not particularly good music, and that people get lazy and let their tools dictate what their music is. This doesn’t change the equation that one needs to know what they’re doing in order to make good music. He knows people that were doing the same thing, albeit on a less complicated level, 50 years ago, which explains why he’s not impressed with most current electronic music. All of this aside, he does like Radiohead and some other current musicians, two of which he mentioned: David Torn and Martin Swan. He writes, “David Torn is a guitarist who does solo shows with tons of electronics, and he can be brilliant. There’s a Scottish fiddle player named Martin Swan who had a project for many years called Mouth Music that combined electronics with traditional folk music, that I thought was incredibly successful”. Lehrman admires these musicians because the techniques they use are secondary to the musicianship that shines through. On earlier electronic music, “You can go back to the early days of synthesizers, where you had dozens of mediocre musicians putting out bad bleepy-bloopy records, but the really great musicians, like Wendy Carlos and Dick Hyman, were using

the same technology to make music that was great then, and still holds up”. Attending an electronic music ensemble rehearsal is an awesome and difficult experience, the latter because Lehrman refuses to explicitly tell where the group practices. After poring over a cryptic email with vague directions and some blurry Google Maps images, one might manage to stumble across “the cave”, as the ensemble refers to their practice space. The cave is a long and skinny room hidden in a nondescript building on Boston Ave, reminiscent of a mashup between a traditional band’s practice space and the high-tech madness that is Lehrman’s Granoff office. The cramped space includes iPads, iMacs, various electrical audio boxes on shelves, guitars that cost less than their advanced pickups, a drum kit that looked like a more professional version of the Guitar Hero drums, an electrical outlet behind each musician, and many of the instruments found in Lehrman’s office. When asked how an electronic music ensemble rehearsal differs from a regular band’s rehearsal, the musicians said that there is much more setup time. Sometimes a strange noise occurs that takes the group quite a while to derive its source. One musician mentioned that it’s more collaborative than his past rehearsal experiences, as the musicians provide half the songs they will be performing come December. What makes the ensemble’s practices so impressive is the variety of sounds the group can produce. Their rehearsals could sound like a non-electronic band’s rehearsal or something straight out of a video game. One moment they’ll be doing an impromptu cover of Rush’s Tom Sawyer, and the next the ensemble will launch into Mean Bean Machine, a piece to be performed at their December concert. Mean Bean Machine takes its name from a Sonic the Hedgehog game and is a concerto for two violinists and an electronic ensemble, composed by a member of the Tufts class of 2015. The ensemble’s musicians are equally as versatile as the group’s sound. While Lehrman’s conducting closely resembles that of a regular ensemble’s conductor, the way that the musicians switch instruments is entirely unique. While running through a challenging section of Mean Bean Machine, the ensemble’s bass player mentioned having some trouble reading the music for bass, as he was new to the instrument. Lehrman responded by saying he could put down the bass and pick up a bassoon at any time. Because each instrument can make similar sounds due to the electronics they’re connected to, it’s the skill and versatility of the musicians that makes the ensemble so impressive.

LOS FLETCHEROS ARE THE BEST BAND ON CAMPUS YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF MEET THE TWELVE FLETCHER STUDENTS ON THE ROSTER OF TUFTS’ MOST MUSICALLY DIVERSE COVER BAND BY KRISKA DESIR

lthough the band is nearly eight years old, Los Fletcheros is one of Tufts’ best-kept secrets. Los Fletcheros was born at one of Fletcher’s culture nights, “Fiesta Latina,” as a band originally meant to represent the music of Latin America. However, the band decided to keep playing beyond that night and gave Los Fletcheros new life. Now, Los Fletcheros is a cover band that has become a fixture in the Fletcher community. Part of Los Fletcheros’ intrigue and mystery is that it becomes an entirely new band every two years (other than Ryo Kato ‘15, who is a three-year veteran, trumpet player, and mascot of the band). “Compared to the last few falls, this has been the smoothest practicing. I think it speaks to the band’s musicality,” Kato says. As the band members are on a two-year rotation, Los Fletcheros holds auditions every fall based on what the band needs. Though musical talent is an important deciding factor in auditions, personality is also a large part of the deciding process. “In putting a band together, it’s important to think about whether or not it would be fun to hang out with everyone as a group.” That kind of cohesion and strong personality is immediately apparent when the band plays— Los Fletcheros is the embodiment of fun. The frequent shift in lineup also lends to evolutions in the band’s musical direction. “I think last year the band had a tendency to play a lot of medleys, whereas this year we feature a lot more solos and improvisation,” says Kirsten Zeiter ’16. However, even with the evolving lineup, Los Fletcheros at heart is and will remain a diverse group of Fletcher students who enjoy playing music together. “What makes this experience unique is

that we all are in a similar ‘boat.’ We’re here at Fletcher to get a great education, and that consumes most of our time, yet we still find time to work out funny pop songs from our high school days,” says Drew Yerkes ’16. Reflecting the diverse tastes of the members of the band, Los Fletcheros covers anything from Stevie Wonder to “the other lady who’s not Taylor Swift.” (That other lady is last year’s Super Bowl performer and Queen of the Sharks, Katy Perry). Los Fletcheros’ performances on Youtube reflect the eclectic nature of their setlists—last year’s videos include a performance of Ylvis’ “The Fox (What Does the Fox Say?),” The Black Keys’ “Lonely Boy,” and TLC’s “No Scrubs.” Maybe it’s the diversity in music that keeps their audience, which mainly consists of Fletcher students, family, and friends, coming. It’s an audience that can reach

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 7 nearly 300 people whether the band is playing at Sugarloaf during the Fletcher ski trip, the Blakely Hall courtyard, or at Johnny D’s.

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Part of Los Fletcheros’ intrigue and mystery is that it becomes an entirely new band every two years

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Johnny D’s is notable not only for its 46-year-old history as a restaurant and music venue in Davis Square but also for Los Fletcheros’ most glorious and embarrassing performance story. Leland Lazarus ‘16 said, “We were setting up a show at Johnny D’s, and they thought we were playing a longer set. The sound guy comes on the mic in front of the entire audience and says, ‘Alright, guys, if you have to repeat songs, that’s what you gotta do.’” Despite the misunderstanding, Los Fletcheros pulled through: “We turned into a jam band and stretched songs out. All the entrances went well without practicing, and we played until 12:30.” The story is just one way in which the band has evolved and grown creatively. Challenges such as stretching a set at Johnny D’s or the sheer time commitment of rehearsing every week for four hours at a time have a way of bringing a band together. “I just feel like we trust each other’s intent

more [than before]…it’s refreshing,” says Lazarus. Right now, Los Fletcheros is preparing for their first big show of the year. In fact, for the first six weeks of every school year, the band learns four or five songs a week. “That’s the kind of work that goes into building up for an upcoming show with a band that’s half new.” As far was what lends to the band’s cohesiveness in such a big time crunch: “Alcohol,” Eitan Paul ‘16 jokes. Zeiter adds, “Lots of practice. And it’s just a nice release from school or being in the library for all of us. It’s getting to do something apart from the typical workload of your studies.” The show will feature some additions to the Los Fletcheros repertoire including a Whitney Houston song complete with a particularly strong horn section, an Earth, Wind & Fire number, and a Destiny’s Child medley. As for the future of Los Fletcheros, the band will continue to evolve and rotate indefinitely. “Fletcher is a diverse and talented community and Los Fletcheros will continue to evolve and expand as members come and go,” says Seth Turner ’17. This year is a special one as several members of the band will graduate. “I will always look back fondly on my time with Los Fletcheros. Fletcher is a demanding program, and taking a break from studying to hang out and make music with such a talented group of people has always been a highlight of the week for me,” says Zeiter. Students of international politics and global challenges by day and rock stars by night, the members of Los Fletcheros will not only impact the music scene here at Tufts for years to come, but will also go on to contribute to the world at large.

VENUE SHOWCASE: CUISINE EN LOCALE

BY JORDAN ROSENTHAL-KAY & CHELSEA WANG

t’s hard to well-articulate the idea of Cuisine en Locale in a single sentence. That’s perhaps why even Google gets it wrong. An online search will bring you to a yelp page describing the restaurant ONCE, which is only one of the many incarnations of Cuisine en Locale. Google says Cuisine en Locale is a “function room facility.” Their website advertises “Catering, Meal CSAs, and Events.” Ticketmaster lists Cuisine en Locale as a venue and provides a calendar of upcoming shows. In August, Elvis Depressedly frontman Mat Cothran declared it his favorite venue. They also delivers meals to my neighbor.It’s a little hard to wrap your head around the big picture at first. It’s easiest to understand Cuisine en Locale by tracing a path from its origins through the present. J.J. Gonson, a Tufts alum, graduated the Museum School in 1991. She worked as a tour manager, promoter, and producer, all the while making rent through her cooking. In 2005, J.J. had just moved back to the Boston area. “I wanted to change. I have obviously strong feelings about food, the quality of food, and where it comes from. The creation of Cuisine en Locale was sort of a combination of my feelings and my looking for ways of work.” Cuisine en Locale started as a personal chefing service in which J.J. brought local ingredients into people’s homes to cook. The service grew in popularity and in size. Cuisine en Locale started holding “One Night Culinary Events.” ONCE events were their first. Collecting under one roof at 156 Highland Avenue in Somerville, ONCE became regular – it’s now the name of the restaurant that inhabits the space. Cuisine en Locale, however, is the package deal, the umbrella company to which ONCE belongs. “It’s really important psychologically for me to see [Cuisine en Locale and ONCE] as being different things, even though, technically, they’re the same company. I mean ONCE is a brand basically. ONCE means that every night is spontaneous, every night is different.” Spontaneity underlies the governing philosophy at Cuisine en Locale. Their menu is in a constant state of flux. Even the events that seem to impose order on their lively schedule are bursting with an unpredictable energy. Every Monday is Taco Monday – all local, of course. Every Tuesday is Heavy Metal Pizza Tuesday. Metalheads gather to eat pizza, drink beer, and listen to DJs blare metal. An unpredictability further governs their musical schedule. They’re not a nightclub and they don’t hire event promoters. As a function hall, they rent out their space to any acts that want to play.

Local taste dictates the behavior of Cuisine en Locale in many respects. Cuisine en Locale is tightly tied to its geography through not only the food it serves, but the musicians it hosts. “We’re not a nightclub, we’re an event hall. Anybody can call us and book a show. We do curate it. We do know what’s going to do better here. If somebody approaches us with something we know is not going to do well—we have a lot of being who come from around the neighborhood. We’ll be very honest with somebody, and say, ‘you know, this isn’t going to work here. We’re not the right place for you.’” The surrounding Somerville community chiefly composes the audience at its shows. Subsequently, what they like is what is played at Cuisine en Locale. Metal does well – the atmosphere is suiting: chandeliers dangle over the 70’s disco-like ballroom. The venue’s weird aesthetics are rooted in its turbulent history, much like Cuisine en Locale. After moving into 156 Highland, J.J. had to decide what to do with the place. “Rather than redoing the space, we staged what was good, and fixed it. We kept pieces. This space was established as a function hall called “Anthony’s Functions” in 1964. It’s been here for over 50 years. There were all these layers of it that you could see. You can tell that the chandeliers date back to the original renovation during the 60’s. There are these mirrors on the walls that are clearly from the 70’s, and there’s some stuff in the hallway that are very the 90’s. I love that you can see those different moments in the renovations, but they all work together.” Metal’s not all that plays there. In November, Cuisine en Locale hosted emo-rival leaders The Hotelier. Last summer, Applejam favorite Mitski and Eskimeaux played. They also cater to big-brass band tastes. Locals like Somerville Symphony Orkestar and The Stationary Marching band often take the stage. Their ballroom doesn’t just feature music. This January, Cuisine en Locale will be hosting a 10-course Valhalla-themed interactive dinner. For events like these, students can get involved as volunteers and apprentices so that they can trade their hours for meals. Cuisine en Locale is a little far out from Tufts – it’s a long walk or a short bus ride down Highland. From Davis, it’s a straight shoot, but that it is not contiguous to the Tufts campus is disincentivizing. I assure you, this is not the case. Cuisine en Locale is an evolving, fun, and adventurous venue, if I dare call it that. Their calendar will surely be replete with great acts this semester. Even if the music hosted there fails to appeal, you can’t ignore their food.

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 9

WHY I’LL ALWAYS FORGIVE KANYE WEST BY JONAH ALLON

here’s a moment during the bridge of Kanye West’s “Blame Game” that always stays with me. After three full minutes of teary recriminations over a tender Aphex Twin sample, Kanye turns his scrutiny inward, crooning to the woman who brought on this bloodletting, “I can’t love you this much.” It’s a loaded line – both a self-exhortation and an expression of disbelief. With six simple words, it captures all our knotty ambivalence towards those we feel have betrayed us. Which is why it also perfectly sums up my thoughts on Kanye right now. Being a Kanye West fan has always been an exercise in patience. But some of his recent antics have tested the faith of even the most devoted congregants in the Church of Yeezus, myself included. In February, he almost reprised his now-infamous “Imma let you finish” moment, this time with Beck at the Grammy’s. Later that month, he was back in the tabloids for trashing his ex, modelcum-feminist-icon Amber Rose, during an interview with The Breakfast Club. In a cover article he wrote for PAPER MAG in April, Kanye said this about racism in the 21st century: “We’re different colors – my cousins and I are different shapes and we’re all from one family. We’re all from one family called the human race” – a noble sentiment, to be sure, but one that you’re more likely to hear from a closeted bigot than an artist whose latest album featured a song called “New Slaves.” At the VMA’s this past August, he announced his plans to run for president in 2020. Then in October, he auditioned for American Idol - a questionable career move for someone trying to secure a spot in the pop-star pantheon. I know what you’re thinking. an ass lately – what else is new? to the point, who cares? In inclined to agree. I usually to parse the behavior especially one as erratic is futile. And I firmly honored principle artist from art. The that Kanye’s never kinds of delineablends them togetha saccharine tribute daughter like “Only then spit a verse about getting into gloat about his while acknowlshortcomings as in the same song It”). So-called

Kanye’s been And more general, I’m think trying of a celebrity, as Kanye West, stand by the timeof separating problem there is allowed for those tions. His music er. He can drop to his young One” and on “U Mad” bar fights. Or sexual liaisons edging his a family man (see “I’m In “authenticity” in

rap is often just a veneer – a meaningless dick-measuring contest of who hails from the School of the Hardest Knocks. What sets Kanye apart from others is that his brand of authenticity is, well, authentic. Consider his contemporaries. Jay-Z has forsaken his gritty Bed Stuy roots to hang up Picassos in his casa. Kendrick Lamar’s professions of modesty do little to mask his major messiah complex. Drake’s too busy bemoaning his ever-dwindling supply of “good girls” to engage in any kind of serious introspection. Only Kanye continues to delve deeper into himself as he cements his stardom, laying bare the conflicted soul underlying all the personal excess. Maybe that’s why I can’t help but forgive Kanye. Sure, the guy’s imperfect. But his music, especially post-Graduation, reveals a sensitive soul, acutely aware of its own failings and willing to atone for past wrongs – even if those wrongs helped him write his songs. Think of the bruised ego on full display in “Runaway.” The self-flagellating desolation of “Coldest Winter.” The farcical hubris of “I Am A God.” Kanye’s far more self-aware than we give him credit for. And while that doesn’t fully explain, let alone excuse, the tactlessness, or the misogyny, or any of the other things he does that make you throw up your hands in frustration, it does offer a more nuanced picture of a man we’re often quick to dismiss as either callous or clueless following a rash of questionable behavior. Recently, I’ve been revisiting 808s and Heartbreak, an album that marked a turning point in Kanye’s career. In 808s, he grappled with the death of his mother and the dissolution of his engagement, eventually producing something that lacked the formal gloss of the near-immaculate efforts that had preceded it. But what it lacked in polish, it made up for in sheer audacity. The genre of rap, traditionally the exclusive domain of macho bluster and take-it-on-the-chin stoicism, had been upended by one man with an Auto-Tune plugin, a TR-808 machine, and a boatload of raw pain. That’s the kind of bravery Kanye embodies - the willingness to buck convention, to chart his own course, to risk ridicule. That’s what makes him so appealing and so infuriating at the same time. That’s the internal struggle I go through every time Kanye sparks some fresh controversy. Still, I always arrive at the same conclusion: Kanye, I can’t love you this much. But somehow, I still do.

WHAT QUEER

IS RAP?

BY KRISKA DESIR

n another attempt to assign art a neat niche, music journalists bore the term queer rap. In 2012, music writers everywhere dubbed Mykki Blanco, Le1f, Cakes da Killa, Zebra Katz, and House of Ladosha, a group of artists scattered around New York, the queer rap clique. A small storm of think pieces on the genre followed, comparing artists whose only similarities boiled down to their sexual preferences. Then earlier this year, three years after publishing an in-depth overview of the queer rap movement, Pitchfork released an article on its use of the term. “Queer Rap is Not Queer Rap” argues that queer rap is not in fact a genre—it may be easy to classify the work of queer artists as such, but it ignores the broader narrative of these artists’ lyrical and production content. So, queer rap is decidedly nothing. Artists’ sexuality should not define their work, and these artists deserve more than to be the poster children of an in-today-out-tomorrow underground trend. The pursuit of catchy (read kitschy) genre names shouldn’t overshadow the innovative work that these artists are doing, especially since the LGBTQ community has always been a huge influence on music and culture in a broader sense. From David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust to the television show RuPaul’s Drag Race, LGBTQ art has always permeated the bounds of the mainstream and influenced music, slang, beauty, and fashion. More specifically, the existence of LGBTQ rappers is not new—there is a 2006 documentary called Pick Up the Mic that chronicles the development “homohop,” a genre that started gaining traction in 1990s. LGBTQ voices are finally achieving their overdue recognition and are now shaping the future of music. Welcome to the future.

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 11 The future of rap draws heavily from the archives of LGBTQ history and culture. In the 1990 documentary Paris is Burning, director Jennie Livingston made waves for her portrayal of the ball scene of New York City during the late 1980s. The balls featured contests that focused on costume, dance, runway walks, and “realness”— the abil-

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a new generation of LGBTQ voices in rap is challenging the rapper archetype loudly and boldly

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ity to pass as certain genders or social classes. The balls were held between prominent members of houses, which were both literal homes that provided shelter for individuals who had no other places to call home as well as teams in the ballroom scene. They were like families. The ball scene bred its own legends, celebrities in a community that was otherwise ostracized through racism, poverty, and homophobia. People like Willi Ninja, mother of House Ninja, later gained mainstream success as dancers, choreographers, and runway walking coaches, but first gained their notoriety in the ballroom scene. These balls and the forms of expressions that emerged from them, among them the art of voguing and slang (e.g. “throwing shade”) which are still a large part of our culture, were a form of self-assertion that was triumphant and even cocky. The bravado expressed in the balls is an inherent part of rap—these two movements that developed in 1980s New York are inextricably linked; however, queer rappers like Le1f, Mykki Blanco, and Cakes da Killa are challenging the notion that only heterosexual, traditionally masculine rappers can release hard-hitting rap. To lump these artists into a genre because of their sexualities is a mistake, but there is a movement happening here—a new generation of LGBTQ voices in rap is challenging the rapper archetype loudly and boldly. They are pushing us out of the old and into the new: new sounds, new aesthetics, and new ideas. Though their sexualities definitely influence the lyrical content of their work, the work these artists produce is innovative. Period. More concretely, though there is a level of separation between ball culture and what these rappers are doing; aspects of ball culture retain a presence in their art. Le1f’s video with Boody for “Soda” features voguing drawn from ball culture as well as Le1f’s signature aesthetic—near ambient beats, avant-garde fashion, and minimalist yet

engaging shots. It’s a marriage of a dance form with a rich history and a futuristic, unexpected sound for rap. That’s the problem with the term queer rap—it shifts the focus from the cutting edge work that Le1f and his contemporaries are doing to their sexuality. House of LaDosha, an art collective that specializes in forms of art from dancerap to fashion, continues to draw from ball culture both in the name of the group and in their art. Though rappers like House of LaDosha and Le1f continue to draw from the legacy of ball culture, the ball aesthetics, the ballroom sound, and voguing continue to shape music outside of rap too. FKA twigs’ release of M3LLI55X features dark futuristic sounds in its production and is a combination of R&B, trip hop, and electronic music. The short film that accompanies the EP showcases these futuristic aesthetics as well as a vogue battle. Music is moving in the direction of avant-garde, electronic, performance-heavy art, and artists who are at the forefront of that move have significantly drawn from ball culture. The LGBTQ community is pushing music forward because rap is becoming a more inclusive and diverse genre of music. However, LGBTQ artists are also pushing the boundaries of music by combining several different forms of art like visual art, dance, and fashion as well as by marrying different musical styles. Rap isn’t just expanding as a genre because of the myriad of identities represented in the group of rappers that are pushing their way to the forefront of our conversations; rap is expanding because of the large development and diversification of sound that is happening within the genre—whether it’s hard-hitting, industrial rap, or electro-soul-rap love children, rap is becoming bigger and better. The result is studio recordings, music videos, and live performances that are innovative and exciting, and that is due in large part to LGBTQ artists. So, let’s stop pin-holing the artists who are shaping the future of the genre.

LISTEN TO: CAKES DA KILLA - WHERE DA TRADE AT? LE1F - WUT DAI BURGER - SOUFFLE ZEBRA KATZ - BLK WICCAN BOODY & LE1F - SODA MYKKI BLANCO - WAVVY

HYPERREALITY AND ITS DISCONTENTS: THE CHANGING DEFINITION OF VAPORWAVE MUSIC BY JAKE ROCHFORD

Left out of most features on the genre of vaporwave is that it does—or, rather, did—have a point. There was a question being asked through vaporwave; a criticism being voiced through the sonic palette of eighties and nineties synthheavy throwback. Now the genre, which was once thematically interesting, has its heap of Bandcamp contributors producing mostly with visuals and aesthetics in mind. While that is not inherently bad, there exists an origin to Vaporwave that is more meaningful and consuming than what is its current oeuvre. Back in 2010, Daniel Lopatin released a limited cassette named Eccojams Vol. 1 under the pseudonym Chuck Person. It was a challenging listen that looped slowed-down samples of old eighties and nineties pop songs (my favorite cut being one from “Africa” by Toto, slowed and looped beyond recognition). As this release spread, along with other experimental works by him and others, the sound developed a definition. A play on the term “vaporware,” which refers to software that is announced but never released, vaporwave became a genre based on unidentifiable source material, modulation, and a distant coldness in the music due to its unknown origin. These tapes sounded alien and pointless, almost eerie in their implacability. Artists like James Ferraro, Laurel Halo, and Lopatin all influenced the start of vaporwave—and their works, while sourced from the bland, actually have deep contextual themes. They all question reality in a virtual world, the sense of identity as it exists online, and the idea of being consumed by technology. Vaporwave recontextualized the most boring

and corproate music and ideas, creating genuinely interesting sounds and messages. At its start, the genre was an artistic endeavor, one which could polarize the music community into questioning the very identity of sound and, further, person, as both can exist in a virtual space. It’s a captivating question, what virtual identity means and how we as humans can—and should—occupy it. However, this heady, post-structuralist concept was ironically subsumed by artists who thought nineties glitch art and out-of-context Japanese was very cool. The vaporwave intent to parody the consumerism of the ‘80s became a genuine fascination with its retro technology. At times, this aesthetic is still enjoyable. While I was listening to albums by progenitors of the Vaporwave / post-structuralist genre, I couldn’t help but notice the glitzy neon pink album covers of other suggested albums. They’re alluring, new, and especially with their odd formation and sometimes parodic sound, can certainly be seen as high brow “you just don’t get it” music. The problem, though, isn’t people not getting it, because almost all content from current vaporwave doesn’t have much for people to get. Even though it was born from an interesting concept, vaporwve in 2015 is bland. Most releases are style with no substance. But can’t scenes exist just for the sake of being fun, be-

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 13 artwork by business casual

ing cool, pushing fashion, even just being danceable? Yes, vaporwave is allowed to be an aesthetic-based scene of nineties internet graphics and retro, slowed down loops. The only issue with this phenomenon is how the original concepts of vaporwave barely pervade current releases. James Ferraro’s 2011 release, Far Side Virtual, stands as an early influence on the growth of vaporwave. This album is a fast-paced parodic amalgamation of internet-based sound effects (the Skype login sound, a Windows shut-down melody) produced solely in Ap-

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almost all content from current vaporwave doesn’t have much for people to get

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ple’s Garageband program. It is both a challenging and easily dismissible album. At times, it’s shrill and unlistenable. It isn’t as polished as other vaporwave releases—and that’s because it’s not trying to be. What it lacks in sexiness it makes up for in intent. Far Side Virtual is front and center with its message: within our futuristic, virtual present is an inherent dullness. It’s a critique, offering a challenge to the listener. It’s saying: you want this new internet world? You want to live in your high speed, hyperreal culture? Well, here it is in all of its weird, alien space. And at the heart of it all is a deep discomfort. On the other hand, consider Macintosh Plus’s Floral Shoppe. It’s challenging too, yet not in the same way as Ferraro’s release. Floral Shoppe, a more definitive example of where vaporwave is now sonically, slows down and repeats samples of eighties pop songs with a creepy, pseudo-soulful result. Its cover features a faceless stone bust, neon green Japanese text, and geometric neon designs. It departs from the themes of James Ferraro’s work, trying to sound more fun and accessible while still using the same methods. But while both releases develop the aesthetic of vaporwave, there is an inherent difference in each album’s sound: one is boring and one is not. Far Side Virtual,’s abrasiveness creates room to think about his intent and message with the work. Floral Shoppe grows stale soon into its runtime because its samples are less captivating

and it flounders in its lack of a point under the more accessible sound. Its dullness means it has little merit. But maybe this criticism is too harsh. To say that vaporwave was seized and manipulated out of having any point is probably too accusatory, and it’s not a criticism unique to vaporwave either. Almost any genre from punk to hip-hop has had to deal with these growing pains. But current vaporwave producers usually look either towards the past or the future, creating either a more nostalgic or futuristic aesthetic instead of creating an actual critique of today’s culture. This has been the fundamental shift in focus. Instead of this shift itself being bad, maybe this is indicative of problems in our mass understanding of music as art. When it comes down to it, especially in this century, music naturally becomes a brand. We love musicians when there’s a world to dive into, an aesthetic to wear, a person to envy or a style to express. In a way, music is digested in much the same way as most forms of technology, with a desire for novelty driving innovation—and that’s the same message that inspired Far Side Virtual and made it popular. We don’t listen to vaporwave because we like what it’s saying or because we savor it as art. We consume, digest, and wear the related apparel. We buy a bright pink shirt with the album cover of Macintosh Plus’s Floral Shoppe, and we grab the limited cassette too if we have enough cash. The consumerism vaporwive satirizes is exactly what’s driving the genre. And for everything that vaporwave sought to reveal, it ultimately became another way to turn personality into just a style with no substance.

LISTEN TO:

MACINTOSH PLUS - ブート JAMES FERRARO - GOOGLE POEISES VEKTROID - NEO MIAMI BL00DWAVE - LAY DOWN

THE CHANGING FACE OF SLUDGE METAL KYLESA ARE PUSHING THE LETHARGIC METAL GENRE INTO THE FUTURE

ludge metal is the only genre that draws crowds so rowdy that they start violently moshing to the sound of guitar feedback during soundcheck. No matter the venue, the crowds are always this rowdy. So what is Sludge Metal? Sludge metal, or sludge, is a subgenre of heavy metal that started in the mid-1980’s. It arrived as a combination of the lethargy of doom metal with the harshness of hardcore punk. The genre’s pioneers, The Melvins, took influences from the fuzzy, ominous tones of Black Sabbath, the noisy, feedback-filled sound of Swans, and the hardcore speedy, shouting vocals and riffs of Black Flag. In the sleepy town of Montesano, Washington – also the birthplace of Kurt Cobain – The Melvins joined these elements and crafted a unique sound. In the process, they birthed a new genre. It wasn’t until the late 80’s and early 90’s, however, that sludge started to gain more national appeal, particularly in the South and on the East Coast. New Orleans became a hotspot for sludge fans, shifting the spotlight away from Washington. Bands such as Eyehategod, Down, and Acid Bath took the sound that the Melvins crafted and mixed in ingredients of Southern rock and blues. Not only did they merge their regional sound into the genre, but they accelerated the pace of the music and allowed for more dissonance. Eyehategod specifically popularized their signature brand of harsh, feedback-laden, downtuned guitar. Further, their vocal screaming and misanthropic lyrics have heavily influenced modern sludge. Geography was a principal factor in the development of distinct subgenres. While

BY JASON MEJIA

the Southern sound was more punk than hardcore, and the Pacific Northwest had their own variation of the sound, with influences of garage rock and, fittingly, grunge. Other regions, too, brought unique elements to sludge. Bostonbased Grief mixed the slow, churning rhythms of doom metal with screaming, and laid the foundation for a more extreme “sludge-doom” metal style that many modern bands continue to replicate. Sludge metal is deeply rooted in the United States, but its influence and acclaim have spread internationally. England’s Iron Monkey is often viewed as the band that put Europe on the map for sludge metal, and other modern bands, such as Liverpoolbased Conan and Italy’s Ufomammut, are pushing the genre across country lines. Asia also has a vibrant scene, with many bands coming out of Japan, in particular. Corrupted and Church of Misery have become icons of sludge metal worldwide, mainly for their unorthodox take on the genre. Many of Corrupted’s albums are singular songs, varying between 40 minutes to over 70 minutes in length. As for Church of Misery, they decided to take a different lyrical route for their music; their songs are about the lives and actions of serial killers. Even though they do not tour outside of Japan, they are credited for taking the genre out of its traditional lyrical and sonic bubble, while also making Japan a central hub for metal artists and enthusiasts alike. While the aforementioned bands are the true legends and pioneers of sludge, they are not the modern faces of the genre. When fans list their favorite sludge metal bands, most will think of names like Kylesa, Mastodon, Black Tusk, and Baroness. These bands have successfully integrated elements of psychedelic and progressive rock into their traditional southern sludge roots. These potent musical blends hold mainstream appeal; Mastodon,

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 15 in particular, went on to become a household metal staple. Sludge’s fan base grew exponentially with crossovers appealing to listeners beyond the average metalhead. These bands also have moved away from their traditional sound, however. Mastodon in particular has departed from their debut, Remission, which had grimier, rawer production, shouted vocals, and a simpler song structure. Mastodon’s most recent release Once More ‘Round The Sun, was very different in terms of song progressions, including brighter sounds, cleaner production, and more soaring vocals. “I think it’s just one of those things that, we’ve all always kind of have been on more progressive paths, and it’s just naturally happened for everyone” says Phillip Cope, guitarist of Kylesa on how bands have developed over time. Regardless of how different Mastodon or any of these other bands have adjusted their sound, their influence on the growing popularity for sludge is integral for the genre to get that broader appeal beyond the scope of metal. At their core, they still have that same traditional sound that made them so appealing to their original fans in the first place, while still gaining new fans. Georgia has been more recognized in the metal scence, thanks to these bands. Previously, the averrage metal fan would usually focus on New Orleans as the southern hub of the genre. Kylesa, even though they have been around for about as long as the New Orleans scene, didn’t gain the same mainstream

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After checking everything out, it’s something that’s worth having because it doesn’t sound like everything else

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appeal until this decade with their album Ultraviolet, in which they branched beyond their mix of stoner rock, sludge, and hardcore punk. The mix of clean vocals, melody, and rhythm on the album led people from all walks of metal to Kylesa. Many magazines and blogs praised them on how they had progressed, while nonetheless sticking to their trademark sound, as well as for pushing the boundaries of what people would consider sludge. They took these sonic changes even further on their album Exhausting Fire, mixing in the sludge metal sound with atmospheric post-rock and psychedelic rock. The lack of shouting gave it an airy, almost upbeat vibe. Kylesa is not just focused on writing sludge metal, but a more flexible genre that a variety of people could enjoy. “After checking everything out, it’s something that’s worth having because it doesn’t sound like everything else, but at the same time, it could be familiar too. I mean, if you’re a fan of heavy

music, or trippy music, or stoner music, or whatever, there’s stuff in there that you’ll hear and it’s like ‘Oh, I guess I’ll try this,’” says Cope. Cope also had another project – Damad – which eventually grew into Kylesa, and that band served as a precursor into how they would progress with each release. When the band officially became Kylesa, they continued upward, developing and molding a new idea of what sludge is. They are an example of a band that is able to vary their sound while still sticking to their Southern roots. Even though Georgia now boasts the biggest sludge metal scene, there are other areas with thickening sludge, particularly Boston. Grief, one of the most influential sludge metal bands, formed in Boston in 1991. Grief recently reunited after a 10-year breakup, changing their name to Come to Grief. Another notable Boston sludge band is ISIS. Theyformed in 1997, and, with the release of their sophomore album, Oceanic, became the frontrunners of sludge at the time. Neourosis, another sludge nad, added to their style with a strong focus on repetitive riffs and long songs, rather than the more direct sludge style. Boston has sludge metal bands come through and play often, with local sludge bands opening the shows. Some of these bands include Fórn and Morne, but there are several other underground local acts, like Sea, Rozamov, VYGR, and Upheaval. Sludge has gone through many transformations throughout its history as a genre. Originally beginning as a subset of hardcore punk, noise rock and doom metal, it is has developed and grown into an expansive type of metal, with a wide variety of subgenres, and Kylesa is the current face of the sound. Their music serves as the bridge between sludge and everything else. They have widespread appeal and are influencing other bands to do the same. They are working their hardest to give the genre the same recognition and appeal that other genres of metal have. They demonstrate that there is more to sludge than playing slow, harsh music and screaming into a microphone. Sludge metal is a genre that deserves to be held in the same regard as other types of metal, and even other types of music.

LISTEN TO:

ISIS - THE OTHER ROZAMOV - DEATH KINGS GRIEF - RUINED KYLESA - MOVING DAY VYGR - STARVATION FISTULA - BURN THE LADDER

PITCHFORK &

WILL THE ACQUISITION OF THE MOST TRUSTED VOICE IN BY JORDAN ROSENTHAL-KAY What am I even reading? Pitchfork is an online music magazine, and it was just acquired by the international publishing house Condé Nast. Here’s why this debate matters: over the last 15 years, Pitchfork has become “the most trusted voice in music.” That’s what they say of themselves and it’s true. Condé Nast’s purchase prompts the potential for incredible change; its ripples may be felt across the industry. That’s because of the role Pitchfork currently serves. A Pitchfork review is the ultimate measure of success for an emerging artist. Pitchfork reviews 25 albums a week – including reissues. Considering the mammoth amount of music released each day, just being selected for review is of note. Almost every “indie” act that moved on to find commercial success has survived a Pitchfork review, going on to claim the title of Best New Music. BNM is a demand that the reader listen. Chance the Rapper’s Acid Rap received BNM and then slowly it climbed the charts. This summer Drake’s “Hotline Bling” almost instantly got BNM, as did The Weeknd’s “Can’t Feel My Face.” Beach House’s “Sparks” got BNM and then a month later Depression Cherry was everyone’s favorite album. Scrolling through the BNM albums of 2015 is eerily similar to looking at a retrospective best-seller list. Pitchfork’s prescience is astounding and underscores their importance in the music world today. While Pitchfork can bring relatively unknown artists the foreground (Arcade Fire in 2004) and mute the presence of dull, yet stadium-filling acts (every awful Coldplay album), their review system is the product of a unique but nonetheless cheap variation of sensationalist journalism. Pitchfork reviews are well-known for their often harsh and candid treatment of the music they review. This is an illusion. They employ a simultaneously academic and humorous approach to their reviews as a method of amplification. Pitchfork gives high-profile “bad” albums severe reviews: Jet’s Shine On was given a 0.0/10, the review content being a youtube video of a monkey peeing in its own mouth. Such reviews are bombastic approaches to garnering attention. Likewise, albums like Kanye’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy receive wild praise with perfect, 10/10 reviews. However, their median album rating is a 7.2, which is much more generous than you might expect.

Pitchfork’s reviews are not without merit. In fact, their average review is insightful, perceptive, and even occasionally prognostic. Their staff has a deep understanding of both current and historic musical aesthetics and culture. But the rare reviews for which they are famous are just noise making. Unfortunately, Pitchfork’s pre-Condé Nast model heavily relied on and reveled in such radical enmity and fiery praise. It was the result of necessity: their volatility was their trademark. Keeping up the act was the functional equivalent of treading water – now they don’t have to do that anymore. In the last five years, success and ambition have transformed Pitchfork. They now have a print magazine, The Pitch, and host two annual music festivals. One, in their hometown of Chicago, and the other in Paris. But like all journalism today, their ambition is financially constrained. Condé Nast’s backing will ease this constraint. Their expertise in management – they’ve kept Vogue, The New Yorker, and Vanity Fair surprisingly relevant even as magazines like Newsweek have died – will ensure not only Pitchfork’s survival, but will accelerate their transformation. Pitchfork’s “blossoming” is already evident. They’ve begun to cater to audiences outside of their typical young white male readership. They’ve featured articles on southern queerness, the portrayal of black faith in current rap, and sex positivity. These were all printed before the Condé Nast purchase. So, why did Condé Nast purchase Pitchfork? Condé Nast announced the purchase as a way to bring in an “audience of millennial males” into their extended readership. They didn’t buy Pitchfork to change it, they bought it because they saw existing value in it. Of course, they are not so blind as to know that they purchased Pitchfork’s increasingly diverse audience. They saw profit in Pitchfork’s new direction. Therefore, criticisms that Condé Nast’s purchase will alter Pitchfork’s content are unfounded; they will support it. Ultimately, Condé Nast’s acquisition will free Pitchfork from their prior toxic model and allow them to be what they have always claimed to be: the most trusted voice in music.

CONDÉ NAST

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 17

MUSIC MAKE IT THE LEAST TRUSTED VOICE IN MUSIC? BY DAN PECHI There’s no denying that the music magazine Pitchfork filled a certain niche in the music journalism world. Whereas Spin and Rolling Stone had no issue plastering their covers with images of Katy Perry or whatever zeitgeist-y pop star had an album coming out, Pitchfork did things differently. The bands that had nothing more than a Soundcloud account could get an op-ed in Pitchfork just as easily as any big name band. Drake’s “Hotline Bling,” although lauded for its “gorgeous” and “aching” nature got no more applause than “Run Up,” a track by L.A. rappers Cam & China, who have a grand total of 347 Facebook likes. Alternatively, if they felt a band sucked, no matter their popularity, even among their perceived reader base, they had no issue expressing that opinion. Telling a bunch of self-identifying hipsters that Alt-J’s This is All Yours sucks may seem like music journalism suicide, but Pitchfork had no issue laying down a brutal 4.0/10.0 for the album when it dropped in the fall of last year. The writers over at Pitchfork genuinely sought to write about what they were interested in, not what they thought would be interesting to readers. And it wasn’t just who they talked about that made Pitchfork so unique, it was how they talked about them. For the first time, 13-year-old me was reading about how music could be considered “ethereal” and even “lysergic.” While such descriptions are challenging for readers to immediately understand, they nonetheless demonstrate a definitive and ardent view of the music being discussed that reflects more-so on the writers than the music itself. These are not just people trying to convey a popular opinion or even an intentionally unpopular opinion, these are conscious writers taking their own views on the music at hand. This is surprisingly refreshing in a music journalism world focused all too frequently on what the reader will think, and how to attain more readers. And then there were all the things Pitchfork wasn’t. There were never any Clickhole attempts to try and get me to “see what crazy stunt Death Grips pulled at their latest gig!!!” or headlines about Thom Yorke tell-all’s. Employing journalistic tropes like these would have undoubtedly attracted more readers, as they do for other publications, but Pitchfork chose not to. Maybe it was because of their attempts to stick true to their niche of non-conformity,

maybe it was because they genuinely didn’t care about getting more readers; regardless, they didn’t stick to the formulas for success that so many other magazines do today. With Condé Nast’s recent purchase of Pitchfork, the unique identity the magazine has forged throughout the years seems slated to be irreparably changed. What once was the magazine dedicated to holding a festival away from the bro-tank-infested grounds of Lollapalooza has just become another niche-pandering publication. For those who are unaware, Condé Nast is an international publishing house whose portfolio includes “some of the most iconic titles in media.” Think magazines like GQ, Vanity Fair and Vogue. These publications seem to focus less-so on content as Pitchfork does, and more-so on developing readership. Just take a look at the most recent cover of Glamour, a subsidiary of Condé Nast. Instead of focusing on content, the magazine instead claims to hold the secrets of “The #1 Work Skill We All Need Now” and “Best Hair Days Ever.” While Glamour may indeed provide me and thousands of others an end to our hair woes, these sorts of cover quotes are problematic because they qualify as a physical form of click-bait. Few who actually bother to pick up the magazine to read it have necessarily been trying to find work skills or hair tips, the magazine just manages to coerce the reader’s curiosity enough to flip through its pages. Other magazines like GQ and Wired employ similar journalistic tropes for what can only seem like a push for readership. One could just as well imagine these sorts of Clickholeesque titles gracing the front pages of Pitchfork under the auspices of Condé Nast. As interesting, original and thought-provoking as Pitchfork articles may be on their own, making use of these eye-catching titles is likely to catch the attention of even more people who see the latest Pitchfork reviews on their social media feeds. Still the face of Pitchfork seems poised to change in other ways as well. Take for example the content of other Condé Nast’s magazines. These magazines will rarely break from the cycle of pop culture, tacking onto the stars of upcoming films or playing into the public’s interest in certain trends. Magazines like Vanity Fair are far more likely to plaster their

covers with images and names of easily recognizable celebrities or musicians than other, equally talented individuals. Although both Rihanna and Arca have album releases within the coming weeks, a magazine like Vanity Fair will choose to cover Rihanna as her name and image is likely to sell more copies of the magazine. If you look at some of the top Condé Nast publication covers, you see some of the most recognizable faces in media: Taylor Swift, Mark Zuckerberg and the much buzzed about Ronda Rousey. Pitchfork currently does not conform to this standard

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ficial Condé Nast publication, but everything that has made Pitchfork the great music journalism magazine it has been for the past 20 years seems destined to change. It seems Pitchfork will no longer be the place for music enthusiasts to find underappreciated music, to read genuine, interesting reviews, and most importantly broaden their musical perspectives. All may not be lost however. Although Pitchfork may lose its identity as an independent music publication in the coming years, there nonetheless exist hundreds of independent music magazines that fulfill

With Conde Nast’s recent purchase of Pitchfork, the unique identity the magazine has forged throughout the years seems slated to be irreparably changed

however. Condé Nast’s acquisition of the company is likely to change this, as focusing on those who are more culturally ubiquitous will make the magazine itself seem more relevant. To the average consumer, the faces of artists like Arca or other equally obscure musicians do little to actually sell the magazine. The logical conclusion here is that Pitchfork will move away from its coverage of those who hold little pop cultural clout towards those that will encourage increased readership. Overall, the publishing house is unlikely to preserve Pitchfork’s unique qualities in the face of the pressure to garner greater readership, an initiative clearly seen in other magazines published by Condé Nast. Their acquisition of Pitchfork suggests that Pitchfork will soon be just a vestige of what it was. While the magazine’s alternative focus may remain, it would not be surprising to see greater focus on popular artists and a shift towards the sensational language of other publications. Some may make the case that Pitchfork will be better off at least financially as an of-

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the same sort of role as Pitchfork. Publications such as Vice’s Noisey, Complex’s Pigeons & Planes, The Fader and Gorilla vs. Bear provide a much-needed alternative voice and perspective towards music that’s not filtered by large publishing companies. None of these publications is anywhere near the size as Pitchfork, but for those wishing to find a source of music journalism written for the sake of music journalism, these are among the best options.

MELISMA | WINTER 2016 19

A Look At 2016 WHO WILL BLOW UP COUSIN STIZZ The Boston native’s single “Shoutout” was the song of many a local rap fan’s summer of 2014. This past summer, Stizz demonstrated he can carry a full-length project full of dark, drug-heavy street bangers. That project, Suffolk County, helped secure Stizz as an artist to watch by rap fans outside of Boston, and more crucially, rap bloggers. Now residing in LA with the rest of the Michael Christmas affiliates, he’s only going to go up.

KACY HILL

To tell the truth, there are dozens of artists that sound exactly like Kacy Hill. Her strong-voiced brand of indie pop evokes Grouplove, Misterwives, Lucius, and the opening acts for many Concert Board shows to come. But what sets her apart are her co-signs. She’s signed to G.O.O.D. Music, the Kanye-founded imprint now run by Pusha T. Yung Gud just remixed her song “Foreign Fields.” If anyone has a shot to escape the perennially boring mold of songs that sound like they could be in the soundtrack of “The Fault In Our Stars” it’s Kacy Hill.

KITTENS

The LA bass music scene is transitioning fast from bedroom beats to the club, and the Athletixx crew has been leading the charge. Kittens is one-fourth of the group, and the one that flies the most under the radar. While goupmates Falcons and Hoodboi have been touring off of trap-influenced productions, Kittens has kept it low key, honing a club-friendly sound that earned her a spot on the Fool’s Gold roster.