VINYL TAP
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T A P // F A L L
A WCWM PUBLICATION
--EDITORS-Kristen Prossner Matthew Rigsby
--IMAGE SOURCES-Kristen Prossner Matthew Rigsby (unless otherwise mentioned)
--CONTRIBUTORS-Arthi Aravind Rob Arcand Kristen Prossner Kenny Revoredo Joe Stewart
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The only time I’ve cried this year was when I watched a live Stevie Nicks performance on TV Kristen Prossner I sat in my car, headlights off, and thought about some stuff. The one CD that lives in this space plays quietly but it’s meaningless. I never learned the lyrics. I forgot the musician’s name. This isn’t some sort of fucking coming-of-age moment where I am totally and completely one-hundred percent honest with myself. Don’t get it twisted. Slowly, I’ve become an expert in the topography of my ceiling. If I stare long enough at said ceiling and listen to Sun Kil Moon again, one of two things will happen: my eyeballs will finally roll out of my head I’ll feel something for once It’s forty-three degrees fahrenheit outside and I’m numb. But not the sort of invigoratingly cold numb that makes you feel on edge. No. It’s more of like a you’re-sitting-in-your-car-in-the-dead-of-summerand-the-windows-are-rolled-up-but-you’re-not-unbearably-hot-yet-butmaybe-a-little-stuffy-and-the-sun’s-glare-makes-everything-fuzzy-andyou-have-to-squint-but-you’re-not-in-pain kind of numbness.
The Producer as a Popstar Kenny Revoredo If you turn on an urban radio station and listen to fifteen minutes of songs, chances are you’ll the phrase “Mustard on the beat” at least once. What this means is that you’re listening to one of the many hits by Los Angeles producer, Dijon “DJ Mustard” McFarlane. Regardless of which rapper the song is credited to, DJ Mustard productions rely on similar elements that at this point are known as distinctively his own. If you hear a 3-note synth bass riff and handclaps on the radio, there’s a pretty good chance Mustard is on the beat. DJ Mustard is just the most prominent in a wave of modern hip-hop super producers that have managed to craft their own aesthetics and often overshadow the rappers who are credited as the main artists. Besides DJ Mustard, Mike Will Made It, Young Chop and Lex Luger are all producers who have managed to step onto the limelight and create distinctive sounds that rappers seek out instead of the other way around. This new wave of beat-makers has elevated the hip-hop producer to a degree of prominence they have never before enjoyed. When Hip-Hop came to be the DJ and the MC were of equal importance. The DJ’s manipulation of existing records would combine with the MC’s manipulation of language to create a new song all together. When these artists began to perform and record together, it was still an equal partnership. The names on the recordings would reflect this whether it was in the context of a duo like Eric B (DJ) & Rakim (Rapper), or a group like De La Soul (Maseo was primarily a DJ while Posudnos and Dave were rappers). But by the time rap music began to be a serious force on the pop charts in the 1990’s, DJs and producers had largely been pushed to the background in favor of the more dynamic and marketable personalities that existed in front of the microphones. For the next two decades, the narratives and personas created by rappers would define mainstream hip-hop while producers were called upon mainly to reinforce a rapper’s existing aesthetic. By the beginning of the 2010’s a shift in this dynamic was apparent. Much to the chagrin of some rap traditionalists, the tide of popularity had turned towards styles like trap and hyphy. These styles had their origins in poorer areas of Atlanta and the San Francisco Bay area respectively and the artists involved generally rejected classic ideas about the function of rapping. Instead of focusing on wordplay and complex rhyme schemes as a means of verbally communicating ideas, these rappers had the intention of using their speech as a means of crafting an aesthetic. The lyrics and flows were simpler and intended to produce immediate emotional reactions. While rappers were stepping into the background and allowing the instrumentals to lead the way, the artists behind the beats saw their opportunity to step into the foreground.
Unlike the producers and DJ’s of the 80’s and 90’s whose beats were made while already in collaboration with a rapper, producers in the 21st century often make beats first and then look to sell them to any rapper who wants. to use them. To stop rappers or other producers from stealing their instrumentals, producers often add a unique tag at the beginning that marks the songs as their own. While anti-piracy is the intended function of producer tags, they actually contribute far more than that. If a song by a producer gets popular enough then their tag is heard just as often as the actual rapper’s voice. If a producer is responsible for multiple hit songs then because of their tag a listener has a name to associate with the sound of these songs as opposed to associating each song with the rapper featured on it. In this way the likes of DJ Mustard and Mike Will Made It have become names recognizable to every person that interacts with mainstream hiphop. What separates the success of these two in particular from the likes of Timbaland, Pharrell Williams or Dr. Dre, is that Mustard and Mike Will do not feature prominently on their own songs as rappers. Pharrell and Timbaland have always contributed vocals quite frequently to their own productions. Dr. Dre is notorious for requesting that ghost-writers write his raps on both of his albums. With these artists in particular you get the sense that they undervalue the role of a producer. There’s a sense that they don’t believe that it’s possible for them to star on their own albums without listeners hearing the sound of their voices somehow. By contrast modern producers seem content to use their instrumentals as a vehicle to achieve fame. It is a very good thing that the listening public at large is finally acknowledging producers. For decades they have created the grooves and vibes that allowed gifted wordsmiths the opportunity to rock the microphones. It is only fair that people take the time to appreciate how important they are to the songs we all know and love.
The Ghost of Alice Glass Arthi Aravind I bought these cigarettes because they matched my outfit, and smoked them on the lawn of 306 Griffin, while party guests trickled in from the black void of the night. The street lacked any source of light save for the sickly yellow glow of the house’s windows, which emanated a dull, thumping bass as well as illumination. Senior year was so fucking boring. It was the same goddamn story every weekend. I drove here from my apartment, after doing a couple lines of coke I bought off the Internet, a prop to use in the thesis I was writing about my time at university. I had spent most of my weekends on some kind of research chemical as a result of this project. Freshmen, bushy-tailed or jaded, were among the first arrivals, and as much as I wanted to talk to someone, I felt weird about the idea of talking to them, like I was some kind of dark specter that would only cast a shadow on their experience. People I knew were few and far between. I was a loner now, a free agent. I was no longer part of a clique that pregamed together, or a romantic couple, any kind of group that could be guaranteed to show up together. A school of fish, as a friend once said. Two drags later, I was distracted from my train of thought by the arrival of Myra and an unfamiliar boy. I was pleased to see her, as I enjoyed her company, and my coke-fueled oral fixation meant the cigarette was gone. “This is John,” she said, introducing the boy. “He’s from down the hall. I promised I’d take him to a radio party.” His pale blue eyes were as wide as a freshman’s and flitting around. I didn’t blame him; this party didn’t really look like any other kind of party you could find on campus. I remember she had mentioned him before and wondered if he was the guy she was hooking up with. Well, he was cute. I smiled. “Let’s go inside and get beers, shall we?” The screen was tenuously attached to its frame by rusty hinges, which creaked horribly as we opened it, and the door was stuck and took a small body slam to open. Noise and warmth immediately assaulted us and we pushed past warm, bundled up bodies to reach the more spacious kitchen. “I have a story you’ll love,” started Myra, popping open her can. “I went to John’s room to pick him up and his roommate Matt was there with this preppy chick, who asked us where we were going. So I told her, oh we’re going to a radio party—“ “She asked me, ‘Oh, are you going to go hang out with your hipster friends,’” said John, and we all cringed. “And I was like um, sure, it’s at 306—“ “And then she said—get this—she looked kind of shocked and she said—‘Oh my god, I heard they do drugs!’” finished Myra, and she and John burst out laughing. I blinked at them and said, “Are you kidding me? Is that a thing real people say?” “Yeah, I guess it still surprises people that drugs are a thing?” Myra shrugged, sweeping her curly brown hair back with one hand. “But I mean, she’s in college, it’s kind of weird.” “That’s a great story though,” I said. “So John, what’s your usual scene?” He began to answer, but I didn’t hear because two things simultaneously
happened. The voice of Alice Glass came from the speakers, and I spotted a familiar, yet menacing person at the edge of the kitchen. I looked again and he was gone, replaced by a girl who looked like Grimes and a girl who looked like MIA. “Are you okay?” asked Myra, who had apparently noticed. “Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I said, returning to the conversation, though I was losing focus and needed to re-up soon. “Well,” said John, “I was just saying, the IR Club parties pretty well, but it’s hard to find a cigarette there, so it’s nice to see something different.” “Ah yes, the IR Club,” I said, my eyes still flicking over to the edge of the kitchen. “Good people, though last time I went a sophomore tried to hit on me by asking me what my major was.” “Bless his soul,” said Myra. “I think I’m going to visit the ladies’ room,” I said cryptically, trailing off in a hint that Myra would understand. Her eyes lit up. “John, you’re also invited,” she said. We found the bathroom, which this early in the party, remained unused. John shut the door behind us, and joined Myra on the edge of the tub, and I took out the razor blade and box from my purse. There wasn’t a good surface to use except for the smooth black glass of my phone. “I guess I can tell Lena that the rumors were true,” said John, who was unfazed. “Oh jeez,” I said, “You don’t even know the story of my semester.” “So who was that guy,” asked Myra. I looked up from what I was doing. “That’s him,” I said, and she nodded in understanding. “I didn’t expect to see him here. You can explain to John if you like.” As I carefully divided the powder into lines, she told him the story, of this guy and how one intoxicated night last spring semester, I hooked up with him and he took more than I was willing to give. “I’m sorry to hear that,” John said, in the perfunctory way I was accustomed to hearing. He was jarred by the shift in the tone of the conversation. I always forgot how serious a topic it was as I had become remarkably nonchalant about sharing it. I shrugged in response and handed him a rolled up dollar bill. We each did a line in turn, and sat for a moment, contemplative, as the stimulant hit our system. “I’ve always kind of wanted to tell him,” I said. “I don’t think he realized what he did.” “What do you think you’d gain from it,” said Myra. “I think he’s one of those guys that’s more stupid than malicious,” I said. “Maybe I can have a conversation and get, I dunno, closure.” As the drug flowed through my veins, I began to feel better about the idea. I could just say what I wanted and then leave. No need to even talk it out. I had to say something, and this was a good opportunity. “Well, if you think it’s best,” said Myra. “I’ll still be around.” We left the bathroom and I set off with new vigor to hunt him down. Crystal Castles was still playing. “They’re so 2012,” someone said, without a trace of irony, and I furrowed my brows. It wasn’t a big house, so it was easy to find him. He wasn’t half as goodlooking as he was that day, though to be honest, I hadn’t thought he was good-looking to begin with. My friends had.
I was immediately repulsed by the expression on his face. He thought I was interested. The very thought made me want to abort the mission. “Hey,” he said. “Um, hey,” I said, dozens of words dancing around my tongue. “I wanted to speak with you.” “Okay,” he said. “So we hooked up last semester,” I began, and I could see that he was startled. I just didn’t know how to skirt around the subject in a way that was eloquent. “And, I don’t know how to say this, but did you know, did you know that what you did was rape?” Time passed very slowly for me then. His eyes evinced surprise for a moment, but he quickly regained composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If I was sober, I might have become angry, but instead I wasn’t at all surprised. What was I expecting, a confession? He probably didn’t even remember. “Sure,” I said, adopting a blasé façade. “I just thought you should know.” As I turned away from him, intending to end the conversation, concern enveloped him. “Wait,” he said. “You’re not going to like, tell the cops or some shit, are you.” I faced him, irritated. “It was too long ago. I just thought you might want to know that you’re a rapist.” “I am not,” he replied. “Listen, I’m not trying to prove anything to you,” I continued. “If you hadn’t known, on some level, that what you were doing was wrong, you wouldn’t have—“ Here I hesitated. “You wouldn’t have told me, then, that I wanted it. You wouldn’t have tried convincing me that I went along with it. I’m telling you this because I don’t think you’re a completely terrible person.” He was silent.
“Anyway, I want to move on with my life. I had to say this.” I left. Now that I wasn’t focused on the conversation, I noticed that my heart was vibrating. It felt like the onset of a panic attack, but exhilarating instead of paralyzing. A rush of mixed feelings washed over me: relief, pride, uncertainty. Did I do the right thing? Well, it was in the past now. I returned to where I left Myra and John, rubbing my thumb and index finger together, feeling the graininess of the particles which still stuck to my fingertips. The Crystal Castles had ended and been replaced with a halfdecent Burial copycat. Someone was mixing the music, because Alice Glass’s voice still echoed faintly, fading out. Myra and John were waiting in the kitchen, listening to a distraught sophomore. “I just, I can’t believe they broke up,” she was saying. “Like, they never said they were mad at each other, they never fought.” Myra nodded sagely. “Yes, well, Alice Glass was always kind of selfcentered.” “What happened?” I asked, the weirdness of my previous conversation fading into the distance like Alice Glass’s voice. As I approached, the sophomore retreated, having found someone else to whom she was eager to break the news. “Apparently Crystal Castles broke up,” said Myra. “Damn,” I replied. “End of an era.” We sat in silence for a moment, and I popped open a can of beer for myself, fidgeting with the tab. “Can I bum a cigarette?” asked John.
Punk Goes Bedroom Pop Joe Stewart A mixer balancing on a chest of drawers, a mic taped to a broken stand, and a drums resting under tatty blankets. Not quite the vision most would have of a ‘recording studio’, that infinitely cool location, hidden from the eye of the public, that enables the great talents of the day to record the sounds that will line their pockets (or not) and reach fans across the globe. Having been in basic and mid-range studios myself, I can affirm that they present themselves to you like the world’s best candy store, offering endless possibilities of recording, improving and manipulating the songs that you and your friends have managed to fashion out of your imagination and your instruments. However, these candy stores aren’t cheap. Not one bit. Whether paid for in terms of hours or days, songs or the entire album, the use of expensive equipment and a competent sound technicians and producer is going to set you back more than you thought it would. The more expertise and quality you look for, too, the more you’re going to have to pay. The Foo Fighters may be able to shell out god-knows-what to record their latest collection of songs; you probably can’t. All is not lost, however. Distributable music has not become the realm of the already-successful and the trust-funded because thousands of hard-up and DIY-minded artists have decided, over the years, to take things into their own hands, forever immortalizing their musical offspring in home recordings of endlessly varying quality. Homerecording culture has over the years defined and supported a number of scenes — see the punk and hardcore tape explosion in the 80s, the haunting early material of Daniel Johnston, and the bootlegs of 90s and early 2000s UK Garage. Whilst music has been recorded by amateurs at home since recording became possible, the 70s heralded the beginning of a recognizable home recording culture with the advent of cheap, portable four track recording machines such as the popular TEAC 2340. These units allowed budding musicians to create both demo tapes and the final product, giving them complete control over the process and as much time as they required. The increasing digitization of recording systems following the 70s did not leave home-recording culture behind, either: from complex programs such as Logic and Ableton to ‘simple’ tools like Garageband, modern recording technology, supported by wide computer ownership and accessibility in the Western world, has created a world of possibility for those looking to avoid the cost-based limitations of professional and even mid-range recording studios.
Money has not been the only factor in the growth of home recording. Rather than attempting to achieve a studio-quality sound, plenty of artists have embraced the ‘authentic’ lo-fi twinge that comes from the combination of comparatively basic equipment and a lack of recording experience. This choice manifested itself most clearly in the 90s, when indie rock allied itself closer and closer with lo-fi, resulting in fuzzy gems such as Guided By Voices’ Vampire on Titus and Pavement’s early material. Indie rock was not the only genre in the lo-fi camp: black metal, what some might consider its polar opposite, also experimented with lo-fi production and ideals in the late 80s, a fusion that was raw, sometimes unlistenable, but undoubtedly visceral and fit-for-purpose. An odd development in home recording, so often associated with a lo-fi sound, is that even simple modern systems are comparable to the most advanced studios of the 60s and 70s. Whilst this might lead you to think that the days of unbalanced, scratchy recordings are over, the music scene of late has proven that this is anything but the case. Yes, the amateur now theoretically has the power to produce chartquality hits on their laptop. But the amateur of 2014 does not want their song to sound like Anaconda.
Whether to do with the seeming crisis of authenticity in chart pop, the disastrous trend of overproduction (“ABSOLUTELY DIRTY DROP”) or the millenials’ quest for something real in a materialistic world, music culture of late has been embracing home recording and the lo-fi sound that some thought had disappeared. Bands like Wavves (whose early material was fuzzy beyond comprehension) got the ball rolling in the mid/late 00s, a period that importantly coincided with the mainstream teenage blogging culture, and bands from the deepest part of the underground to the mid-league have followed suit. Websites like Bandcamp have contributed to this revival, allowing artists to charge minimal prices (or nothing at all) for their scratchy work, and it doesn’t look set to stop soon. The ultimate distillation of this DIY, lo-fi aesthetic can be seen clearly in one largely internet-based music culture, the ‘bedroom pop’ scene. Proving that underground amateur artists aren’t all desperately interested in “pushing the boundaries” or creating blackened-drone metal, bedroom pop is what it says on the tin: pop songs written in a bedroom. These songs are usually simple, melodic, and extremely accessible. That isn’t to say they are boring, generic fodder — many stand out for their sparseness, extremely honest lyrics and combination of acoustic and electronic instrumentation. Bedroom pop is redefining the value of honesty and simplicity. If it’s cheesy, it’s in a quirky way; if it seems simple, it’s either deliberate or, as is often the case, the artist is self-taught. Leading the way in this increasingly popular scene are bands like Alex G, who was recently lauded by Pitchfork, Frankie Cosmos, R.L. Kelly, and a handful of others. Like the Internet that it sprang from, the scene is also a community: small labels like Orchid Tapes, who showcased at CMJ, Bird Tapes and Double Double Whammy bind it together and offer physical releases to fans. Lyrical subjects range from disillusionment in love and the comparable averageness of daily life to dogs and cats. It is, in a way, what a young twenty-something versed as much on the Internet as real life would obviously write about. But that’s who this music is intended for: if the lyrics sound banal, that’s because our generation kind of is. You can sing about getting sloshed on expensive vodka in the back of a Maserati as much as you like, but whilst you’re out refusing to Turn Down, most of us are pretending to make our dog dance on the sofa. It doesn’t take much more than a laptop to tell that story.
Migos, The Beatles & the Pains of Being an Idol Kenny Revoredo “I’m in London with the plug gettin’ the same car as The Beatles” – Quavo, “Hannah Montana” John Lennon once said in an interview with the London Evening Standard that The Beatles were more popular than Jesus Christ. This statement drew the ire of listeners, particularly stateside, upset that a man had the hubris to compare his pop band to the God of over a billion people worldwide. Despite its inflammatory nature you could find elements of truth in the statement. Rock & Roll was winning the hearts of American and British youth just as rapidly as Christian Churches were losing them. Lennon was observing a transitional period where the young people abandoned the values of their parents in order to adopt their own. In the 2010’s you could say that The Beatles resemble a deity themselves. Their image is iconic and ubiquitous. Their work has been reissued and reinterpreted countless times. Their songs are as familiar to Western popular consciousness as nursery rhymes and national anthems. And just like Jesus Christ in 1966, they are under attack.
This time the blasphemous statement can be found not in print but online and it reads, “Migos are better than The Beatles”. The saying first appeared in hip-hop circles on the Internet before moving onto general music forums and eventually being a common topic for discussion across social media. For those uninitiated, Migos are a rap group from Atlanta, Georgia with members Offset, Takeoff and Quavo. They were launched to fame by their 2013 Drake assisted single “Versace” and since then their every release has become an event and their mixtapes have been downloaded over a million times. Despite their relatively short stint in the public eye, they’ve made a big impact on their genre with numerous rappers riding their trademark “Migos Flow” to the upper echelons of the pop charts.
Many articles have been written about the comparisons between The Beatles and Migos. Two of the most insightful are “The Migos > Beatles Jokes Are Very Serious” by Judnick Mayard for Complex Media and “What We Talk About When We Talk About Migos Being Better Than The Beatles” by Drew Millard for Noisey by Vice. They discuss elements of societal prejudice that still exist against black art and the iconoclastic tendencies of younger generations respectively. However these articles largely comment on the effect these comparisons have on Migos and trap music. That got me thinking about what these comparisons mean from The Beatles’ perspective. As millennials the way we encounter The Beatles is bizarre. Whereas older folks would first hear some of The Beatles music or hear about
The Beatles’ band members, the first thing our generation must address is The Beatles’ legend. By the time most of us were born, The Beatles were considered to be The Greatest Band of All Time™. We all “knew” that The Beatles were great before we consciously listened to a note of their music. Not only that, we grew up in a world already full of Beatles mugs, Beatles books, Beatles Backpacks, and Beatles t-shirts, now available at Target. And that’s all failing to mention the countless Beatles reissues and compilations that regularly flood the popular music market. It’s difficult to think of them as a band when they’re presented to us as an institution. And as happens when we are presented with any other institution at birth, we either accept it or rebel. When someone says that Migos are better than The Beatles, there are many who either reject the statement immediately or agree ironically. While both of these kneejerk responses indicate a degree of disrespect for Migos and their craft (read one of those articles listed above, seriously!), they also devalue The Beatles as creators of music. The legend has been expressed so often that it is difficult to get someone who has whole-heartedly embraced it to question it. But the Beatles never set out to become God. They are a band that made music that captured the hearts and imaginations of a generation. When they were made from a band to The Greatest Band of All Time™, people born afterwards were deprived of the opportunity to experience their art objectively. In this era, in this country, it is nearly impossible to hear any Beatles song without the looming figures of “influence” and “tradition” creating bias. We live in a time where someone will declare the Beatles to be The Greatest Band of All Time™ and go for months without actively listening to a single song by them. When the cultural perception of any artist is allowed to dominate the way an audience interacts with them, their art loses all importance in the evaluative process.
While there are young people who genuinely do love and appreciate the Beatles on a purely musical basis, for many of us it becomes a matter of passive embrace of the myth, or in the case of the main proponents of “Migos are better than the Beatles”, outright rejection of it. When asked about these comparisons by MTV, Migos’ Quavo wryly replied, “Only social media can tell us that”, referring to the platform that launched them to fame whose help Beatles never had access to. In that way Migos represent the same sort of iconoclasm that the Beatles themselves represented in the 60’s. It’s the equivalent of John Lennon saying that Jesus never sold a single record. On the surface it seems a ridiculous and obvious statement, but at the end of the day it just highlights the fact that in 2014 we have a direct connection to Migos while the Beatles are hand-me-downs. We’ll never know what it was like to live in the world where The Beatles were just a band but we can let them off of their pedestal and objectively listen to what is an admirable discography that is more than capable of proving itself worthy to stand alongside the best music that is made today. Yes, even Migos.
TRANSGENDER VHS Interview For the last year or so, it really feels like vaporwave has been blowing up online, with SPF420 digital concerts reaching record heights, artists like Giraffage and Saint Pepsi signing to huge indie labels like Fool's Gold and Carpark, and with innumerable thinkpieces proliferating from every corner of the Internet discussing how, if at all, these pastiche muzak-sampling collages can be seen in the context of traditional music criticism. The genre, which ultimately creates hypnagogic pop from extended, pitched-shifted samples, blurs the line between sample and original content, begging questions of authenticity within digital music and internet art. I recently caught up with Alexandra George about her noise/vaporwave project, TRANSGENDER VHS and we talked briefly about the relationship between kitschy samplebased vaporwave and punk ethos, gender identity and the importance of local scenes.
Rob Arcand: How do you define vaporwave? What differentiates if from other net-art aesthetics and creatively, why vaporwave? Transgender VHS: Vaporwave has diversified so much lately it's almost undefinable. I like to describe it as chopped and screwed elevator music to those who are unfamiliar, but everyone has their influences; from smooth jazz to Disney pop. Visually and sonically, vaporwave has a dystopian, post-ironic take on corporate and capitalist culture that separates it from other recent online art movements such as witch house, seapunk, and so forth. I chose to start making vaporwaveinfluenced music because I felt it was relevant and established, but not past its point in evolution. I'm trying to push the aesthetic in new directions. RA: Okay cool. So how'd you get started and how has the project evolved since it's inception? Also what influences have shaped things sonically? TVHS: I started Transgender VHS this past summer. At the time I decided I needed to give my life a mild restart: I moved, tripped on acid, and broke up my old band all within the space of a week. It was incredible. When I started I knew exactly what I wanted the project to sound like. Being on the internet was a total influence, and seeing a lot of vaporwave artists getting buzz made an impact on me. I've also been hugely in to Tycho and other chillwavey stuff. I've lived in Baltimore for over a year, and witnessing the noise music scene here
is a continuous influence. Artists like Sewn Leather and Marcel Du Swamp felt way more punk to me than anyone with a guitar. I wanted to blend vaporwave and noise music because I felt that even though the two are sonically apart, they rely on creating and capturing the same frustrations. Some of the first tracks I made were just unstructured noise, but I've moved towards doing songs. RA: What links do you see between vaporwave and punk music? TVHS: It's the fact that a lot of artists in both genres rely on warping the image of capitalism for artistic purposes. The only difference between the two is that punk relies on refusing "high class" or consumer aesthetics. Vaporwave relies on making that culture surreal and disorienting. RA: Definitely. So I feel like a lot of vaporwave has to do with a sort of self-aware embrace of hyperaccelerated consumerism, how do you see this intersecting with LGBT and Black culture, if you do at all? Since gender identity seems at the forefront of what you're doing with the name "Transgender VHS" TVHS: When I started Transgender VHS, I did it in part so I could have an outlet where I could talk about my identity, especially the negative sides of figuring out my gender identity. Being transgender has had some scary moments. I've never given heavy thought to vaporwave and my position as a Black person. Gender identity has just been super relevant for me recently. I don't think the aesthetics of vaporwave generally intersect with the Blackness or Queerness, but you can make them intersect. It depends on the artist. What I find to be of importance is the issue of people assuming anyone who makes vaporwave, or any electronic music, is a white man. When Vektroid played on spf420 last month, people were shocked when they realized she's a trans woman. I'm concerned about the vaporwave scene becoming mono-racial or mono-gender. That's why I'm here making vaporwave music as a visible identity, because I want people to view vaporwave as a demographically diverse scene. RA: Okay, so by presenting your trans identity at the forefront of the music, you're able to open a conversation about diversity within vaporwave? I guess then, is awareness the main goal? Aside from your artistic outlet, that is.
Image Source: Transgender VHS’s SoundCloud
TVHS: Awareness is a side product, I guess. If you present yourself as being outside of the norm of any culture in any way, you create some awareness. Part of it is also me wanting to make other women, queer people, and people of color feel like that can go out and make something of their music. RA: Okay, cool. Next question: do you design all the artwork? or work with a graphic designer? What's the process like of pairing music with art and how much are you thinking of visuals when making music? TVHS: I've been making my own art. I really want to work with a graphic designer, but I'm a control freak. I haven't designed much cover or promo art recently so that's hard to answer. I like to think of my songs as if they're in music videos, but I'm not huge on making films. RA: Back to the vaporwave/ punk question, I remember an article recently from Adam Harper (who wrote that Dummy piece on vaporwave that initially coined the term (I think)) for Resident Advisor where he said that bandcamp and soundcloud free downloads have effectively hypeperaccelerated DIY/punk tape culture to create a massive oversaturation of amateur artists on the internet. Do you feel like local scenes are still important? I know you're pretty involved in the Baltimore scene. TVHS: Local scenes are extremely important! There's a lot to learn from participating in local scenes, and a lot of connections to make. Scenes create inspiration. I'm not concerned with the so-called "oversaturation" of DIY music, especially vaporwave. If anything, it makes me feel slightly more accomplished for actually playing live. The internet offers an infinite database of music for sure, but you're only going to get somewhere if you get off your computer. Thanks so much for the interview by the way, this was great! RA: Yeah, Thanks so much for this! You've had a lot of great stuff to say!
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