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--EDITOR-Kristen Prossner --CONTRIBUTORS-Rob Arcand Stephen Axeman Elena Bischak Kathleen DeLaurenti Ellen Heberling Kristen Prossner --VISUALS-Liam Corcoran Kristen Prossner (unless otherwise mentioned)
--LAYOUT-Sarah Henry Kristen Prossner
2015
T h e I m p o r t a n c e o f S a f e S p aces Ellen Heberling It was August 23rd and I was overwhelmed with nervousness and joy on the stage of a DIY safe space in Brooklyn. A month prior to this it was suggested by a friend (who would eventually take part in this with me) that I apply to take part in Friends First Fest, a subset of fmly fest, a festival that has traveled internationally to celebrate and support community-oriented art that produces positive social activism in its many forms. Friends First Fest in particular, hosted by the Silent Barn, was a chance to showcase art by those who are usually underrepresented in the purported DIY populism, such as queer, POC and female-identifying artists. I was hesitant to email my interest to perform at first. This would be the first time performing in front of an audience since my middle school band concerts; let alone, I only knew but a few chords on the piano, and have a horribly high-pitched voice. But positive pressure, and the lack of risks I take in my life made me press forward. After all, this would be a safe space, right? Safe spaces. Safe spaces. Safe spaces, what the heck is a safe space… You could probably name spaces you, personally, find safe, such as your room, near your computer, phone, etc. But places that are open to the broader public lack this safety and comfortably for many. This problem seems to be reoccurring time and time again in many music venues, and other art-driven, community-oriented spaces. Only a couple of weeks ago at a house show Richmond, VA did I witness a man (who was not a part of the band performing) adjust the female bassist’s EQ on her own equipment throughout the whole performance, without advising or asking her first. While seemingly good-intentioned and far from malicious, this invasion of personal space felt like an attempt for a man to assert his dominance as “The Man Who Knows It All,” denying the possibility that this woman, who is actually a fairly accomplished and well-known producer in her own right, could possibly know anything of the complexities of live sound. Safe spaces attempt to eradicate this hierarchy, and provide a place of equality, openness, and justice. One example of safe space I’ve experienced is the Silent Barn in Brooklyn, NY; touting itself as a “non-hierarchical organization in which all members are equally empowered,” the Silent Barn offers an escape from the violence and masculine ego of typical DIY or “punk” culture. While largely a music venue, the Silent Barn also functions as a multi-disciplinary art space, where many active community members live and work. They regularly host events beyond the music, including panel discussion, exhibitions, and workshops, where equal representation is key. Feeling uncomfortable in many music venues myself, but also having the opportunity to perform at a safe space such as the Silent Barn has inspired me to set up a safe art space of my own, in Richmond VA. In my hopes and dreams, by the beginning of next year, I will transform my house into a safe, community driven space. The Peach Pit, for what it will eventually be called, is place for artists, preferably unrepresented peoples such as queer, trans, non-binary, POC, etc. to openly express and show their work in a judgment-free, violence-free realm. Hopefully, I can also offer other events like discussion panels later on, just as the Silent Barn, where informed people can come and constructively discuss important social issues. On August 23rd at the Silent Barn in Brooklyn, we played under the name peggy hill. Though our set was closer to a disaster than many would admit, we were very graciously welcomed by the Silent Barn and Bushwick community, and were even asked to come and perform again. The world needs more safe spaces, where artists and activists, especially those marginalize in the greater community, can come to feel safe to express themselves and be open and honest with their work and identity expression.
The Redemption of Justin Bieber Elena Bischak To be a child pop star is to inevitably fall. Not to tumble and rise neatly, brushing off metaphorical knees and resuming the climb up the Billboard ladder--but to fall and keep falling, until a claim of some deep spiritual revelation (or something) saves them. We’ve seen it, to some extent, with nearly every pop star that got their start young: Lindsay Lohan, Demi Lovato, Miley Cyrus. But the ascent is something we the impartial vultures of pop culture relish even more. The public tears, the raw interviews, the most meticulous and honest album yet. Anything for a second look from the dislike-trigger-finger-happy masses. The most recent case of this, and perhaps the most incredible in the index of my brief and compromised young adult memory—is the case of Justin Bieber. Justin Bieber is exactly 30 days older than me. He was fifteen when his first album was released, and subsequently became an international pop phenomenon. Even though we were the same age, his status as a young male teen pop star meant that his fan base consisted of pre-pubescent crying girls. They were so ferociously supportive of his vapid cause that they formed the monolithic cult of “Beliebers”—a title I couldn’t assume at a time of already precarious search for identity. I couldn’t be concerned with his quasi-sexual message, flawless skin, and perfectly sculpted hair, even though these were pretty much the only traits I valued in anyone at that time in my life. Being a young girl, I had to focus on the unobtainable sexuality of older pop stars, such as Justin Timberlake. (No point in mentioning that female pop stars that came to prominence at the same time in their lives were instantly sexualized by males much older.) Thus, Justin Bieber remained inaccessible to his age group for a number of years. His hairstyle and high voice labeled him for a number of years as “stupid” and certainly “gay”. No matter how many perfectly- crafted pop songs he sang in our direction, they inevitably fell to younger ears. In his fiercest attempt to reach his desired fan base (me), Justin Bieber cut his hair. He sacrificed his signature seventh-grade-shag for a sleeker-more-adult-undercut. I tore my eyes away. He couldn’t be hot. Then, Justin Bieber released the video for “Boyfriend”. He spiraled around in a fancy car and touched women in crop tops and stood among cool older Black people. He had nearly all the makings of a desirable pop star, and therefore one worth listening to. Yet his use of the word “swagee” and the fact that he hadn’t quite grown out of the facial structure of a young lesbian kept his accessibility obscured. No doubt I listened to the song a countless number of times and had a decent number of daydreams involving me as the woman in the crop top, but my fascination was forced to remain a secret. Justin Bieber continued to be ridiculed by his peers. And then the descent began. He got arrested for reckless driving (and took perhaps the most beautiful mug shot in modern history). He threw eggs at his neighbor’s house. He got tattoos. He had a proper prescription drug addiction. He peed in a janitor’s mop bucket and yelled, “Fuck Bill Clinton!” Footage was revealed of him using the n-word. He tried to punch a paparazzi in the face while wearing an all-red outfit. Selena Gomez definitely broke up with him. The video of his deposition exposed him as an ignorant, unintelligent spoiled piece of human trash. There was even a petition to have him deported to his home nation of Canada, garnering more than 270,000 signatures. Everyone hated him, and everyone loved hating him. I was perfectly happy to distance myself from his foolish and callous behavior and participate in his demise. I would still listen to “Boyfriend” occasionally, and subsequently make some remark about him peeing in a bucket. He was a fallen star. And yet, Justin Bieber has risen once again. His Second Coming is stronger, more meaningful and better intentioned, and more permanent than his first lucky break. His redemption can be credited in part to one of the biggest douchebags in the world and one of Ellie Goulding’s most unlikely suitors: Diplo and Skrillex, respectively. Together they launched Bieber’s single “Where are Ü now” into EDM-fulfillment-still-applicable-to-the-radio, letting it coolly slide into the slot of the elusive “song of the summer”.
Rumors circulated of a new album, confirmed by the most celebrity-laden social media campaign to promote his next single, “What Do You Mean?” If they could forgive him, could I? I was sucked in, but I was skeptical. What could have changed? And then, he released the video. Cleverly, a lyric video first with once-famous skateboarders moving to the undeniably catchy and well-sung anthem. Then, the real video. A cryptic opening. A long unapologetic sex scene with a hot girl. Kidnappers. A surprise skateboarding party. A vague plot even Wikipedia couldn’t make sense of. It was everything I looked for in a pop music video. I was hooked. Everyone else was too. The song played everywhere. To seal the deal, he gave a flawless live performance of the two singles at the VMAs complete with vocals deviant from the recordings and un-fudgeable dance moves, and broke down in tears when he was received with a standing ovation. We loved him. Next came “Sorry”, a helplessly catchy pop song and a video full of colorfully clad dancers and original choreography from an innovative New Zealander. It played everywhere. I watched the video every day for two weeks. I still can’t do the dance moves. Next two more infectious singles, and finally, the album: Purpose. Complete with eighteen well-polished songs with a subtly Christian message (all of which Bieber is the primary writer, something only a handful of other pop stars can claim), features from no less than Nas himself, and thirteen corresponding videos showcasing talented dancers other than Bieber: I can’t get enough. We can’t get enough. We wait with baited breath for his next interview. We refresh his Instagram. His beautiful naked body is now even available for liberal viewing on the Internet. The potent virus known as Bieber Fever has finally infected his own demographic, and there’s no known cure. Let me have your babies, Justin.
Photo by Chona Kasinger
An Interview with Car Seat Headrest Rob Arcand Car Seat Headrest, the project of immensely prolific Will Barnes (Toledo?) merges DIY ethos with the epic ambition of arena rock. With heartfelt, thoughtful, introspective lyrics that still somehow capture both the sneering irony and sweet candor of 90s college rockers like Stephen Malkmus and Lou Barlow, Car Seat Headrest brings both wit and intensity to the stages now-nationwide. Barnes, a former W&M student/WCWM alum who graduated in 2014, has had a seemingly whirlwind year, moving to Seattle, playing a number of incredible shows, releasing some of the most ambitious material of Car Seat Headrest’s staggering cannon, as well as receiving the sort of critical recognition any indie musician would dream of. I sat down with Will to talk about his post-grad move to Seattle, day-to-day life as a prolific songwriter, rise to internet fame and budding indie notoriety. RA: First off, thanks for letting me interview you, I know it’s been awhile. WT: Definitely! RA: Anyway, How’s your post-W&M grad life been going? Can you give us a rough sketch of the last year through your eyes? WT: Last year was pretty quiet. After graduating I moved in with a friend in a neighborhood outside Seattle; he was letting me stay rent-free, so I concentrated on music stuff. I recorded a lot over the summer and into the fall, which resulted in my last album, and in October I met the rhythm section I’m now playing with, and we did our first few local shows. This year is looking to be a lot busier. We added a second guitarist to our lineup and it’s really filled out our sound. In a month we’re headed to the east coast for a short tour (minus the guitarist, since the plans were made before he joined). Meanwhile I’ve been re-recording old tracks with the full lineup for a new release, and plan to record some new ones once we get back to Seattle RA: Okay, well I’m a big fan of How to Leave Town, what was the process like for recording/releasing that? I know you guys self-released it, was that a conscious choice or an artistic necessity? WT: It was a fairly straightforward process. I’d been working on writing a new album for almost a year, but still wasn’t finished with it yet, when I recorded the demo for a song off it that I really liked, and wanted to release with a few other songs as an EP. In the next month or so I ended up writing and recording enough tracks for a full album, several based off of demos that I’d made earlier and rejected. Self-releasing just made sense, because I didn’t want to emphasize it as a canon album or anything, since it was made so spontaneously. I hate trying to shop around for labels, something I’ve done in the past, so it didn’t even cross my mind to try this time. I have had a couple offers from labels who wanted to distribute it after I put it out, actually, but it will probably remain just a self-release RA: So which song had you initially recorded to become “How to Leave Town”, then? WT: The song that started the process was “Hey Space Cadet”. Which I’d thought would be on the next full album, but now probably won’t. RA: Hmm, cool. Idea-wise, what about it sparked the whole album?
WT: Maybe not much about the song in particular, but I’d been thinking earlier in the year of doing something close to my roots with CSH, something recorded quickly and spontaneously. And I’d had the idea of it being structured around the ‘leaving town’ idea, for obvious reasons RA: Yeah. So what’s your songwriting process like? A lot of my favorites like “Kimochi Warui”, “Hey Space Cadet”, etc. have an incredible narrative bent, does everything come from personal experience? Ever written from other perspectives/viewpoints/etc.? WT: Nervous Young Man had some songs that were from constructed viewpoints, but I don’t think they aged very well. I pretty much always try to keep the core of it autobiographical, because it’s hard to connect with it otherwise RA: Yeah, that’s understandable. What was the reaction like to the pitchfork review? Any instant bombardment from PR/booking people/label offers/etc.? WT: Yeah definitely, lots of emails, but none I actually pursued. That’s mostly because of stuff I’d already been setting up beforehand, which I don’t wanna mention publicly yet, but which will become clear later. Suffice it to say that I’m quite satisfied with my current position, and I think it will be a good year. PR people can be hounds though RA: Haha yeah, industry bs is always kind of discouraging. It’s always cool to see artistry triumph though, and idk with “Beast Monster Thing (Love Isn’t Love Enough)” getting on Pitchfork, the industry felt at least somewhat democratic again WT: It was certainly cool, and a great honor - but note that the track review is really more of an album review - I think a non-BNMed track review is the most P4K allows its authors to do with a non-affiliated artist unless they’re intentionally doing a ‘let’s blow this act up’ move There’s definitely a lot of politics involved, but I’m glad my position is one that doesn’t really have to engage in it RA: Going forward, do you think you’re working towards more critical attention? Is there any more pressure to put things out? WT: Yeah, I mean there’s always more pressure the more people are following you, and that’s what you want. But I’d like to concentrate on what actual fans want, not what interests industry people RA: For sure WT: there’s some lyrics I like to think of to remind me of what’s important - “Money! Get away/get a good job with more pay and you’re ok...” RA: Haha yeah, I feel that, Do you think that ‘pay what you want’ on Bandcamp results in that? Does it for you right now, or is it more from shows/touring/merch/etc.?
WT: It was enough to support me last year - this year, we’re gonna do more shows and everything, cause it’s not quite enough to cover all the expenses (Bandcamp and shirt sales) RA: Cool! Next question: why the name change from Barnes to Toledo on all your work online? Is it a privacy thing? An artistic, stage name-type thing? WT: Mostly an artistic move; I think the name sounds better. Like 8 years ago when I was first starting to put music online, there was already an artist named Will Barnes who turned up on Google. There were less Will Toledos. Sometimes the artifice of it bothers me a bit, but it’s not too extravagant. Toledo is my mother’s maiden name RA: Ah, that makes sense, ever think of changing it legally? WT: Actually it’s on my birth certificate as a middle name. But I don’t think it’s really necessary to change it, although it has resulted in some confusion with checks and things. From what I hear, changing your name takes a while to get through everywhere, your bank accounts and IRS and all, so it’d just be more of a hassle. RA: True, so you guys are touring the east coast soon, right? Do you know what cities you’re gonna hit yet, or still figuring it out? WT: It’s gonna mostly be the usual places in VA, and a few shows in NYC We wanted to make it a continuous route, playing at colleges through the east coast, but a lot of shows fell through. Pretty disillusioned with student booking at the moment, even the W&M alum house dropped us for a gig RA: Damn where were you supposed to play at W&M? Like for an alum function or something? WT: It was Senior Spring Day. Luckily I talked to Alaric and we’re gonna play the meridian that day instead, which will probably be more fun. I’m also doing WCWMFest solo RA: Yeah I was gonna suggest that, it’s always pretty straight forward when dealing with the meridian. Well, anything you wanna say about the new tracks/releases/etc? Any last words? WT: Once I get the dang mixes right they’re gonna sound great! Right now everything is too treble-y. And thanks for the interview, WCWM rocks!
Curating your collection in the digital age: Can we have collections without ownership? K a t h l e e n D e L a u r e n t i --A r t s L i b r a r i a n
Is music essential to your studying? Imagine settling in to finish those research paper revisions and deciding you want to spin that new Bob Dylan reissue you picked up on Record Store Day. Yet when you go to the shelf, it’s gone! You check your Tumblr account and you’re shocked to find out that Other People’s Music sent a rep to your house and snuck it off the shelf. Why? Because the record label decided to withdraw the release due to an error on the master. This might sound like something out of Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, but fans of Kindle and George Orwell have already been through the digital equivalent when, in 2009, Amazon remotely removed copies of Animal Farm and 1984, from users’ Kindles claiming that the company who had put them in the store didn’t have the rights to sell the e-copies. You might wonder, “How can they do that? How do they just take something you bought and paid for and take it back off of your device?” The answer is all in the license. In the information age, it might not seem like it’s a different transaction when you buy an ebook or and mp3 instead of a print book or a CD, but legally it couldn’t be further from the truth. Companies like Amazon and iTunes can reach into your device library and remove content at any time for a variety of reasons. The most important one is that you don’t own it! Maybe you didn’t read the terms and conditions too carefully when you purchased that latest Death Grips mp3 (and who can blame you? Apple’s agreement is longer than Shakespeare’s Macbeth!), but the devil is in the details. Nearly all of the “purchases” you make of digital content online amount to something quite different: a license. End user license agreements (EULAs) are the legal contracts that govern most of your digital content transactions. Usually, EULAs terms end up turning your digital mp3 purchase into a long-term lease rather than the buy it and play-it-until-it-wears-out arrangement you have with your vinyl and CDs. As we move more of our interactions with content into these kinds of EULA contracts instead of purchases, there are some reasons to be concerned. Music Libraries have been wrestling with this issue for more than a decade. One big repercussion of a EULA is the “end user” part: most licenses are between the rights holder or distributor and a single person. For the same reason you can’t share all of your iTunes with your friends and family under these contracts, Libraries are unable to purchase a lot of content. It may not seem like an emergency when the library doesn’t have music that you can listen to on Spotify any time, but there are lots of legal ways to access and use recorded music which remain unavailable to Spotify users. Let’s say that you want to make a creative video that analyzes the lyrics to Blurred Lines for one of your Gender, Women’s Studies, and Sexuality courses. If it’s on a CD in the library, you can make legal fair uses of that CD for purposes of critical commentary. However, if the music is only available on Spotify and you capture the stream for that same purpose, you’re violating a contract and breaking the law. Music Libraries have started collecting stories about music that is not available for purchase in any physical format. Everything from recordings by the Los Angeles Philharmonic to Fugazi’s live releases on Dischord. None of this music is available to be added to library collections or preserved for the future. In a world of digital ubiquity, it may seem like everything is “in” Google, but some of us remember having MySpace accounts and using Netscape as our preferred browser. If our digital landscape can change that much in 15 years, can we really count on iTunes and Amazon to be the guardians of our musical heritage?
This issue doesn’t just affect libraries. In 2012, there was uproar across the Internet when it was reported that Bruce Willis was suing iTunes because he couldn’t leave his collection to his children as part of his estate. While the rumors of a lawsuit turned out to be false, the underlying premise isn’t. Just look at this from the iTunes agreement: “You agree that your Account is non-transferable and that any rights to your Apple ID or Content within your Account terminate upon your death. Upon receipt of a copy of a death certificate your Account may be terminated and all Content within your Account deleted.” Many of us have had the experience of inheriting our grandparents’ or parents’ music collections and the emotional experience of seeing and viewing their lives through those collections. MP3s are making that a thing of our cultural past. Not to mention the fiscal value of all of those $1.29 purchases over a lifetime… So, what can we do? There are a few things. Pay attention to licenses and agreements and if we have an option, spend our dollars on sites where they are friendly to letting artists set more open terms. Places like CD Baby and Bandcamp give artists some flexibility in how their music is released. Creative Commons Licenses allow musicians to state upfront that anyone can share their music, which allows places like libraries to make those digital files available and preserved in our collections. These flexible, user-friendly licenses also often allow you to post favorite tracks on Tumblr, share through Dropbox, or even remix them like much of the collection in the Free Music Archive. Another important step is to use social media to tell our favorite musicians that we value releases with alternative forms of licensing. By letting artists know that this is something we value as fans—and something we’re willing to support with our music budgets—we can make these licenses more popular for music releases. Lastly, don’t forget your own releases! It’s important to think strategically about what kind of license you use for your own music. When you uploaded a track to Soundcloud, did you mark it All Rights Reserved, but then enable downloads? How do you want your fans to be able to share or use your music? One of the great things about alternative licenses such as Creative Commons is that they put the control directly in the artist’s hands to decide if sharing, non-commercial re-use, or other kinds of downstream uses are ok. Not sure where to start or what to choose? Your librarian is always here to help!
Dorothy H. Turkel Residence Detroit, Michigan -- 1955 Frank Lloyd Wright, Architect
Whichever Way You Are Going, You Are Going Wrong Stephen Axeman This is a pretty cut and dry appraisal of an album that is a personal favorite since I discovered it in the fall of my Junior year. It is an achingly, gorgeously wide eyed album by a band called Woo. Woo is made up of Mark and Clark Ives and they probably recorded this somewhere in the country in a cabin that had a fireplace and field recorders and suitcase synths. The album is an intricately woven fabric of highly textured pastoral folk, new age mysticism, and nondescript lo-fi dream pop in the vein of the most intimate DIY projects that then mutated because of some alchemical imprecision. It is an album that broods and accretes but seldom surfaces. It never arises in conversation, and it is no wonder in light of its closely guarded and personal substance which tends to affect the listener in much the same way, turning them inward and leading them to believe that by merely talking about the album they would somehow complete the ideas that in the album are faint adumbrations or suggestions and thus, betray its defining feature, its incompleteness, its openness and malleability. It casts a marginal gaze on silk tapestries and Fabergé eggs before showing us those patterns under our eyelids. Backwood roads and the crisp swiftness of autumn leaves and winter fires. Fields of lavender and morning dew. Cerulean and chartreuse. Comic and mournful. Despondent and hopeful. Filled with whirring synths like birds chirping and wispy woodwinds to evoke a canopy with leaves breathing. Opener “Swingtime” is the most up-tempo pop oriented affair on the album, supported by a buoyant bass line which poses as a counterpoint to the loping layers of synths and sharp guitar runs. “The Cleaner” mixes equal parts Brazilian folk trills and Spaghetti Western bravado. Angular bass lines hold down “The English Style of Rowing” while sharp diaphanous keys float above which are occasionally bisected by heavily phased mid range funk guitar licks. The tunes are always gentle and modest, despite the incantatory and trance inducing effect that these wave-like loops have surging up and dissipating in harmonious wreckage. There is an undeniably organic and analog quality to the filters on instruments and the way that they are played evokes the vast creative potentialities which sit on a bedroom floor. Only track with vocals sounds like Eno’s poppier moments on Before and After Science and takes its lyrics from a Roger McGough poem entitled “Ex Art Student.” It is hypnagogic. The album carries with it an improvisational demeanor which rests largely on the subtle use of rubato and loose structuring of the segments of each track as they modulate seamlessly from minor to major all while remaining somewhere in between, where those colors overlap. Think of the trees on Colonial Parkway and how big and friendly they are, and the upholstery on a chair that your mother has and the curious smells that emanate from its insubstantial arms. The execution is so thoroughly passive that it can be seen as a sedative and it is no wonder that the album has gone under appreciated because it doesn’t possess the prominent hooks or devoted credos of those committed to a particular philosophy. It is ephemeral and self-contained. The album title is the most assertive component of the entire album and even then it is simply a stark refusal to impetuously commit oneself to a direction where ambition corrupts one’s spontaneity. It is a testament to the importance of preserving the most powerful human capacities: those for change and transformation. The sounds on the album continue to resurface in the most commonplace and profound little pockets of daily life, like the puddles of water in an uneven street on a rainy day, or the fragrance of diffused vetiver oil, or in the warmth of a cup of chamomile tea. Delicate futurism. Soft ripples. Lush sighs. Lounge Jazz. Dulcet tones. Instantly familiar and inviting, you pick up stones that shelter the little secrets of daily life with this album. Celebratory stuff here and there (hence, name of band). It drips serenely.
New Mexican Jumping Beans Kristen Prossner We were driving to Santa Fe in the summertime and I was about to experience death for the first time. Squares of sun singed different parts of my legs as we flew down the highway. In the front of the car, someone was yelling about sports. But on my Discman I listened to Still Cruisin’. Over and over again. It was the only CD my 6 yearold hands could swipe from my brother’s room before we left. I knew nothing about the Beach Boys, but I knew James really enjoyed them. I had already read all my books, I couldn’t fall asleep in the car, so I would just close my eyes watch the colors change on the inside of my eyelids as I listened to the Beach Boys. We made it to the West-- my realm of Northern Virginian cul-de-sacs and strip malls would never be the same. I wanted to experience everything. Having stopped at a gas station, I begged my mom to buy these jumping beans taunting me at the pay counter. My backseat world became a little less empty. I slipped on the itchy headphones that didn’t fit and made my ears sweat and felt the beans vibrate around their plastic container as I memorized all the places in “Kokomo”. Jumping beans are actually seed pods inhabited by tiny moth larvae. They eventually metamorphose and escape the pod only to live for a few days as a silvery, translucent adult. The larvae spasm or roll around in the seed pod when they get too hot--a desperate attempt to escape a dry, dehydrating environment. No one in the car was aware of this. The beans never survived outside the car trip. They jumped for the last time in a Denny’s parking lot. Too hot and no way to escape. I had no idea. I flipped my Beach Boys CD back on, waiting to greet my cocooned friends, waiting to return to my routine.