This is a bit of a wacky one. If you’ve ever wanted to be whisked away to impossible worlds, frolic with mythical beings, or finally hold a sword, our Spring 2023 issue is for you. Our theme is “high fantasy,” which has been simultaneously exciting and challenging, because there are very few limits to what that could entail. We wanted to capture the way music can appeal to the dreamiest parts of the mind, expanding the imagination beyond the confines of our universe. This issue is playful, dramatic, contemplative, and everything in between. Fantasy, in all its breadth, has been an instrumental part of my life since childhood, and it’s been wonderful to see how everyone has interpreted such a boundless concept to fit their personal tastes. And, let’s be honest, we all deserve a little escapism.
If you’ve ever played Dungeons & Dragons, or participated in any other form of collaborative storytelling, you’ll know that daring to embrace a reality other than your own can be invigorating. But more than that, the spirit of community and the joint effort of building something creatively satisfying is genuinely (and unashamedly) magical. Our publication, and this issue in particular, feels a lot like that. So many unique perspectives came together to form the final product, and that’s truly invaluable. It was also a ton of fun. We donned silly costumes, crossed swords, tempted fate, leapt, lurked, and desperately avoided the gazes of tourists and townies on a crowded CW Saturday. We closed our eyes and imagined soundtracks to far away realms. We balked in horror and amazement at cursed medieval creatures (seriously, Google medieval cats). Within this dusty tome, you will discover the fantastical elements of doom metal, breathe in an ekphrastic ode to some of the great album cover art of yore, embark on a harrowing journey through the movements of a bewildering, opium-induced symphony, sift through the layers of the enigmatic and surprisingly influential baroque pop, spiral into the experimental storytelling of Phish, and unearth the hidden inspirations for classic rock icons. And, of course, we have album reviews, a playlist, and haikus, not to mention gorgeous art and photography, as well as a few other surprises.
A sincere thank you to everyone who participated in this issue, be you writer, copy editor, artist, designer, or photographer. Your time and energy throughout such a chaotic semester is deeply appreciated. And thank you, reader, for taking the time to cast your eye over this letter. I hope you peruse the pages to follow as well!
On a personal note, this will be my last issue as Editor-in-Chief, and I just want to express how grateful I am for this publication. It’s been an honor, a pleasure, and a wonderfully unique creative outlet. I look forward to reading Vinyl Tap for years to come.
Your Knight in Rather Tarnished and Ill-Fitting Armor,
Nathan Hall Editor-in-Chief
p.s. keep an eye out for these critters throughout the issue
art by nathan hall | creatures by evelyn hall
On Who Owns the Graveyard’s first track, Matthew Cothran sings of his typically American love of “sex, drugs, and money.” His voice, autotuned but otherwise unaffected, sits atop a sparse synth line. It’s almost jarring. Elvis Depressedly is known for sloppy, guitardriven lofi - not experimental pop. In light of the album’s opening lyrics, you have to wonder what prompted this change. Is this commentary on his own preoccupations with money and success? Is it a thinly-veiled attempt to amass more popularity? Regardless of the answer , Who Owns the Graveyard is easily Cotharan’s most ambitious album yet. While much of the album has a pop aesthetic, Cothran plays a range of styles, including country, rock, and hyperpop. After hearing “Hold Me Down’s” tapped guitar solos or “On Earth’s” wailed vocals, a fan might find themselves thinking, “I didn’t know he could do that!” Lyrically, Cothran says a lot in few words. On “Piper,” he shares memories of “making love when love was enough,” somehow sounding both wistful and devastated. He “thanks the lord” for putting an end to his sobriety on the tradcountry detour “Sober No More;” he is not just parodying country music, but also engaging in a bit of gallows humor. On the title track, Cothran insists that “this is not music you hear right now / you hear only your mind.” In a way, this is Who Owns the Graveyard’s thesis statement. In listening to the album, you are confronting a confusing - and often confused - mess. You choose what to make of it. Maybe Cothran’s change in musical direction is a selfdeprecating commentary. Maybe it’s a cynical calculation. Maybe it’s just an artist making the kinds of music that excites him now. Whatever you come away thinking, it may say more about your mind than his music.
Gracie Abrams, like all other fans of Joni Mitchell and Taylor Swift, is familiar with breakup songs about a past lover who has caused pain. Think Swift’s “All Too Well” or Mitchell’s “A Case of You.” But what makes Abrams’ first full length album, titled Good Riddance, interesting is not the ways in which
Abrams follows in the footsteps of her musical heroes, but rather the ways she separates herself from them. Good Riddance is not an album about being heartbroken and left behind - it is an album about being the one who leaves. On the opening track, “Best,” Abrams confesses “You fell hard / I thought, good riddance / I never was the best to you.” On the next track, “I know it won’t work” Abrams asks “Why won’t you try moving on for once?” While the ‘you’ in many of our classic breakup songs is cruel and imagined to be off living happily while the narrator wallows, Abrams shows that life is rarely this simple. Abrams is honest about her part in the breakup, and she is just as heartbroken as the other person seems to be. Good Riddance is set apart by its honest, whispered confessions that show life in your twenties is never as clearcut as you want it to be. She is unable to stay in her relationship but misses it just the same, she turns to drugs to escape a place she isn’t truly ready to leave, and she is happy about leaving her home while she misses it.
Spiral XP rips. Hailing from Seattle, Washington, the Max Keyes-led project released It’s Been a While in February on Danger Collective Records. Wall-to-wall fuzzy guitar riffs, distorted vocals, compressed drums, and a stereotypical shoegaze album cover create a pure project. It’s not necessarily anything new; it would be easy to compare the project to records released by shoegaze giants like My Bloody Valentine. However, I would urge listeners to look past comparisons and listen to this EP for what it is, rather than who influenced It’s Been a While. In my mind, there is something distinctly Pacific Northwest about the project. On “Free Thinking,” Keyes sings over a repetitive guitar riff, his voice recalling the low-hanging clouds. The opening track, “Deja Vu,” (not to be confused with the song of the same name by a much more well-known popstar), opens the EP with driving guitar and hypnotic drums, as the lyrics echo over the top of the instruments, singing “All my life / I’ve been here twice.” At just under two minutes, it wastes no time in presenting the EP’s sound. Like most other shoegaze outfits, the lyricism is melancholy, opining on life, death, and everything in between. That’s not to say there’s
nothing new within the work that Spiral XP is producing. The EP’s closer, “My Personal Hell,” sounds more like a pop song with shoegaze tendencies. That is all to say, if you are a fan of slowcore, shoegaze, melancholy, and gray skies, give “a band from Western Washington” a try.
HELLO MARY ROSE FIELD
Hello Mary’s first full length record reeks of teenage angst. The Brooklyn-based trio is a meld of ‘90s-grunge elements, a dash of alternative indie rock, and a touch of shoegaze. Released in early March on Frenchkiss Records, Hello Mary’s crunchy guitars, dreamy harmonies, and melodic bass lines pay tribute to the timeless sounds of ‘90s alternative rock. New York City’s very own Helena Straight and Mikaela Oppenheimer met in high school, adding Stella Wave to the mix shortly after. Taking inspiration from their favorite ‘90s rockstars, The Breeders, L7, and Swirlies, to name a few, Hello Mary have already impressed many with their dark and fuzzy anthems. The haunting harmonies and taunting vocals in their latest single, “Special Treat,” applaud the momentary desire for pleasure and satisfaction. Their sense of relatability almost appears absurd, as they pick apart the universal struggles of adolescence. The trio’s latest LP delves into the unappealing aspects of being a teenager, mixing sounds of unconventional harmonies, ear-shattering distortion, and rock star-esque guitar solos. Hello Mary’s teen spirit is undeniable, paving the way for angry teens. I highly recommend you give this album a listen!
Cuts & Bruises is the sophomore album of Irish indie rock band Inhaler. Inhaler released their first album It Won’t Always Be Like This during the pandemic, and it reached popularity for its optimism during a time of uncertainty. Their first album was the UK’s fastest-selling debut album on vinyl, so the pressure was on for their follow-up album, but they delivered, debuting at #1 in Ireland and #2 in the UK. Unlike the sheer optimism of their first album, Cuts & Bruises shines an honest light on friendships, relationships, and teenage years. The lead single, “These Are The Days,”
highlights young people living the “days that follow you home.” While talking about these carefree years, the song also includes a bridge that chants the lyrics, “I think we’re gonna be okay.” This earnest hope is sung as if he is trying to convince himself it’s true, like the optimism that many young people try to take to heart. The next track on the album, “If You’re Gonna Break My Heart,” addresses these carefree years in relation to a failing relationship. The lyrics admit that they were “caught in the tide of being young and alive.” That mentality does have a downside. This album has many other hits, such as “The Things I Do,” “Love Will Get Me There,” and an old fan favorite, “Dublin in Ecstasy,” which has finally been officially released. Cuts & Bruises ranges with sounds of country, folk, and electric rock and it is definitely worth a listen.
Massive amplifiers, elaborate paintings, and otherworldly soundscapes. Three descriptors which, when taken by themselves, occupy their own spaces in the art world. Guitar amplifiers exhibit raw power and stature, while the intricacy of physical art expresses creativity visually. In a combination of the two, soundscapes sweep through space with the grace of a painting, while presenting itself through audio.
When combined, the presence of power, intricacy, and depth creates the means to explore new worlds, both through a listening experience and lyricism. Though many different artists and genres have explored this trifecta of art, one above all others channeled this creativity towards creating fantasy worlds: “doom metal.”
A subgenre of heavy metal, “doom metal” consists of slow, driving riffs, plumbing drums, a heavy emphasis on rhythm, and dizzying volume. Guitars featured in the genre are often gritty, biting at the listener with a jolt. Meanwhile, the rhythm section of bass and drums keep a driving feel to the track, usually with very little variation throughout long run times. Though the history of “doom” is long, defining bands like Black Sabbath, Sleep, Electric Wizard, Sunn O))), and Boris have stuck to their influences tightly, deriving from earlier genres such as blues rock and psychedelia.
Across various albums and decades, the sound of “doom” has a commonality: the creation of fantasy worlds for the listener to explore. From elder wizards to ancient desert soldiers, the haze of “doom’s” distorted guitars and pounding cymbals explore alien landscapes, both instrumental and lyrical. To start the path into the foreign realms of fantasy, two “doom” albums serve as storytelling landmarks in the genre.
When one thinks of mystical fantasy worlds, Birmingham, England, in the 1960s likely isn’t the first location they would imagine. However, clogged with industrial smoke and congestion, the gloomy city served as the perfect backdrop to a new escape from reality: heavy metal.
Following an industrial accident in 1965, then Earth guitarist Tony Iommi had damaged his fingertips, rendering him incapable of playing the instrument at speed. However, he discovered that tuning the
instrument down allowed for his damaged fingers to be able to regain control of the strings, now more loose and malleable. Though this was helpful for ease of play, the real advancement was in sound. The downtuned guitar produced a heavier, more aggressive sound, perfect for Earth’s renaming. A new title which, given enough time, would throw them into controversy: Black Sabbath. In 1970, the band released their self-titled debut album which aimed to take rock-and-roll into completely new territory. While bands of the past would allude to images of witchcraft and the devil, Black Sabbath directly discussed these controversial topics. Over tense guitar riffs and claps of thunder, the opening track, “Black Sabbath,” sees both the creation of “doom” and its early entry into fantasy. Hauntingly, the vocals of Ozzy Osbourne echo with heavy reverb, as lines such as, “Big black shape with eyes of fire,” invite the listener into a frightening atmosphere. Seemingly being dragged into hell, the narrator describes his encounter with the devil himself, a creative liberty never explored by rock music in the past. Though run-ins with the devil became commonplace in Black Sabbath’s later works, the self-titled debut explores other various realms of fantasy. “Wasp,” the third track on the album, indulges in vivid language portraying one’s embrace of death. The paired lines “Feel your spirit rise with the breeze” and “Feel your body falling to its knees” portray an unnamed character transcending into the afterlife, indulging in
The early works of Black Sabbath would go on to play a massive role in “doom,” as many bands mirrored their writing style throughout the latter half of the 20th century. However, as the 2000s approached, so too did a growing trend in the genre: increasing song lengths. By the 1990s, “doom” albums, featuring 15 and 20 minute tracks, became standard,
embracing the over-the-top feel of fantasy. In 1998, acclaimed “doom” band Sleep released their magnum opus, Dopesmoker, to the acclaim of both critics and fans alike. Despite being nearly 70 minutes long, the album consisted of only two tracks: the closer “Hot Lava Man” and the monumental title track lasting 63 minutes. Across the
boundless track, Sleep wears the influence of Black Sabbath on their sleeves: slow, droning guitars, enormous crashes and cymbals, and bellowing vocals. Once again, the lyrics of “Dopesmoker” paint the image of a mystical, faraway world, swallowed by sand and sky. Over the course of an hour, the track weaves through a tale of discovery and adventure, describing a holy quest through barren wastes: “Creedsmen roll out across the dying dawn, Sacred Israel Holy Mountain Zion, Sun beams down on to the Sandsean reigns…”. Though a strong contrast to the lyrical paintings of Black Sabbath, Sleep employs the same droning song structure to conjure the image of a sacred quest, rather than a descent into hell. Additionally, artist Arik Roper brilliantly casts image to sound, creating a jaw dropping cover for the
album. Across the original 17 by 36 foot masterpiece, scorching sands meet rocky cliffs to form an alien desert. Despite the barrenness of the landscape, an oceanic blue sky contains many fantastical elements, such as a double moon and steampunk spacecraft. However, most notably featured are the explorers themselves, a caravan of beings swaddled in rags, trudging through the blistering heat. In its totality, both the visual and audio experience of Dopesmoker fills the listener’s head with whimsical visions of foreign lands, holy quests, and alien creatures, all cornerstones of the fantasy genre.
Though the sound of “doom” may correlate with screeching guitars and drums, the lyrics and structure of the genre’s songs tell a different story. It is a story rooted in fantasy, from the origins of occult imagery to the long-form adventures of today. Vibrant imagery, haunting soundscapes and brash instrumentals may conjure images of terror, but the fantasy drive of “doom” proves the genre to be one of the most intricate in the music world.
Creedsmen roll out across the dying dawn, Sacred Israel Holy Mountain Zion, Sun beams down on to the Sandsean reigns…
PHOTOS BY VAN MONDAY
Splendor Aphrodite, I kneel before your altar
A loyal supplicant, Gorging myself on the sweet nectar That drips from your holy stage. I am overcome by it, Longing for you.
Gazing into it, I see the creature reflected back. Distortion is connection is creation.
O Lady Mine, Lay back and feast. The colors of your aura, They mesmerize, hypnotize. Hold back nothing of yourself But shame.
That has no place here. Let yourself transform. Rip up the veil and you’ll find What you seek inside.
Final question–What does it cost to look?
Venus on her canvas beach, Shell bikini and ochre tan lines. Her entourage swarms and crashes; An atelier of flowers laid out on the sand. Apollo pursues his jewels without end; Daphne knows a pig when she sees one. To be the girl underneath a god is no prize; You cannot rest on such laurels.
The art, the altar, the goddess herself. Not a women, but a sculpture of one; Not a Koons, but an image of one. This way, we can all have a piece of her.
Power is control is love; Fragmented and fabricated and free. A raving maenad in the eternal mirror maze. Tear my clothes, pull my hair; Anything to keep the music playing And put off the icy silence of morning.
The cameras flash once more. The performance is ending, Are you ready for this? Are you ready for me?
Clap your hands if you believe.
A new age dawns o’er the mountain of dreams; The children of the sun must climb alone. Carefully, they trace their steps in mud To rebuild Avalon without crown or throne.
Icarus leads the front line force, Holding back the spears of time. The enemies’ shadows tower over their souls; The bells in the tower begin to chime.
Through the trees and whispering wind, The songbirds’ call forged a path toward peace. Wonder’s army wears flowers in their hair. From an eternal battle, they seek release. The fallen crowd the roads of time; The longing bring the buried back. The hermit sends them all alway; The weak are picked off from the pack.
Prayer never saved a man nor child. No god above ever got off his heavenly ass To stop the piper’s sweet seduction Or earn devotion carved in glass.
Icarus is an old man now; Broke his back climbin’ up to the top. Jacob fought an angel once, But wax wings can’t know when to stop. His portrait hangs forgotten in a crumblin’ house;
A flood carried away the rest. The sun still shines down on his chosen. Is this what it means to be blessed?
by Natalie Lopez
art by boowa zarcone
PHOTOS BY CATHERINE HENRY
An hour-long classical composition from 1830 probably isn’t what first comes to mind upon hearing the word “psychedelic,” and that’s a problem. Hector Berlioz didn’t take copious amounts of opium and write a five-movement epic symphony to be completely ignored by the audiences of the modern day, and especially not by the audiences of the past.
As a young man, Berlioz always held onto a bit of angst that manifested itself into poetry, opium abuse, and musical
composition (coupled with a dash of musical pretentiousness, similar to that of other great psychedelic artists). When Berlioz attended a theatrical performance of Hamlet in 1827, he was immediately captivated by Ophelia, played by English actress Harriet Smithson. Despite not speaking Smithson’s language and only having been to this single performance, he wrote about her frequently in his journal, sent her letters (in French that she couldn’t understand), and even went as far as renting an apartment close to hers so he could see her come and go. By far, the greatest length to which he went in his obsessions was the composition of a five-part symphony about his parasocial relationship with her. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Smithson tried her best to avoid Berlioz. She managed to do so until she unknowingly attended an 1832 showing of Symphonie Fantastique, which she quickly realized was written about her.
Berlioz composed the symphony in only about three months, and it seems to be a projective self-portrait of the composer. This is programmatic music broken into 5 parts or “movements” that follow a very clear and coherent story. To illustrate Berlioz’s vision, he insisted on supplying programs with visual descriptions detailing the subject of each movement at every performance. They are included, alongside my analysis, here: art and words by amelia goetz
A passionate artist sees a woman that, according to the program, “unites all the charms of the ideal person his imagination was dreaming of, and falls desperately in love with her.” When he sees her and thinks of her, a dreamy melody floats in called the idèe fixe, similar to a love theme in many modern movie scores. This movement also features eerily ascending phrases and crescendos, making the audience believe a great revelation is happening in the artist’s mind.
Harps, for the first time ever, are included in a large musical work. They evoke romanticism and a kind of intimacy in this ball scene, in which the artist imagines his beloved dancing with another. Interrupting horns and a faster and faster tempo show that, as Berloiz imagines, the “beloved image keeps haunting him and throws his spirit into confusion.”
The artist decides to go to the countryside for a bit to relax and appreciate the simplicity and beauty of nature. The program describes his inner thoughts: “He broods on his loneliness, and hopes that soon he will no longer be on his own… But what if she betrayed him!… This mingled hope and fear, these ideas of happiness, disturbed by dark premonitions, form the subject of the adagio.” Apparently, not even the beauty of nature remains pure; an ensemble of 4 timpanis interrupts the returning idèe fixe with the “sound of thunder… solitude… silence…”
This movement was apparently written in a single night, likely under the influence of opium. This is the first movement in which the audience is meant to enter a dream state with the “artist” in the symphony. Berlioz writes that the artist, “Convinced that his love is spurned [...] poisons himself with opium. The dose of narcotic, while too weak to cause his death, plunges him into a heavy sleep accompanied by the strangest of visions. He dreams that he has killed his beloved, that he is condemned, led to the scaffold and is witnessing his own execution. At the end of the march, the first four bars of the idée fixe reappear like a final thought of love interrupted by the fatal blow.” The movement features erratic changes in volume to connote extreme emotion and events that transpire within. The “fatal blow” is a loud burst from all the instruments, interrupted by a very small note at which the artist’s head falls down the stairs, and once again the full orchestra reenters to simulate the crowd roaring in approval.
Following the artist’s execution in his dream state, a second, somewhat more psychedelic dream comes to the artist. The program describes that, “He sees himself at a witches’ sabbath, in the midst of a hideous gathering of shades, sorcerers and monsters of every kind who have come together for his funeral. Strange sounds, groans, outbursts of laughter; distant shouts which seem to be answered by more shouts. The beloved melody appears once more, but has now lost its noble and shy character; it is now no more than a vulgar dance-tune, trivial and grotesque: it is she who is coming to the sabbath… Roars of delight at her arrival… ” A sort of mocking sound comes from the woodwinds, meant to emulate the artist’s beloved (?) laughing at him from beyond the grave. The artist sees that she is no longer a beautiful and graceful figure.
Illustrated above, many technical and aesthetic aspects of the Symphonie Fantastique were designed to be dreamlike, experimental, and completely revolutionary. Berlioz branded himself to his audience as a dramatic musical and lyrical genius with a complex, brooding mind. Compared to the relative mundaneness of Bach, Beethoven, or Mozart, it’s not out of the question for Berlioz to be labeled as the first rockstar; there are certain parallels that come to mind.
In the aftermath of the symphony, Berlioz continued to come on incredibly strong to Smithson, and after much hesitancy on her behalf, Berlioz staged a dramatic proposal. He asked her to marry him and swallowed a lethal dose of opium which he pulled from his pocket. After much chaos and confusion, Smithson agreed and he quickly produced an antidote from his other pocket, which he swallowed immediately. Though sick for a few days after, Berlioz had finally achieved what the principal subject of his greatest work could only hope to do.
Unfortunately, as is the case for many musicians, the hasty marriage built on manipulation, obsession, and physical attraction came to a swift and brutal end. Smithson, struggling with debt and receding notoriety, became somewhat rageful and lashed out frequently at Berlioz under the influence of alcohol. She left one day in 1843, never to return. Berlioz took a small number of lovers very shortly after her departure (and no doubt more opium), perhaps even further solidifying his status as the original psychedelic rockstar from beginning to end.
Uniquely fantastical, intriguingly colorful, and deeply imaginative, baroque pop is an ever-evolving style, rooted within an eccentric pocket of music. Whether it was The Beatles’ fusion of rock and classical elements or The Zombies’ juxtaposition of psychedelic ingredients, classical tradition transformed folk music into a brand new subsection of music. Thirty years later, an emerging and introspective subgenre revived the texture and melody of baroque sound. Known as chamber pop, it reinforced the lush instrumentation and ornamentation of the baroque pop era, mixing conventional rock styles with the intricate use of strings, horns, piano, and vocal harmonies. Belle and Sebastian’s loose melodies and Elliott Smith’s emotional depths helped to mold a distinct channel of music that continues to inspire contemporary genres. The roots of baroque pop extend across centuries, shaping and sculpting its individual space during the ‘60s. The baroque period, a European cultural movement that thrived during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, influenced baroque pop and was heavily inspired by baroque composers. This cultural movement was especially dramatic
and as elegant as its colors, stretching its borders further than Caravaggio’s Calling of Saint Matthew or Bernini’s Ecstasy of Saint Teresa. The baroque style pushed musical limits, incorporating all art forms, including music. Antonio Vivaldi’s Four Seasons perfectly encompasses this, displaying a colorful characterization that not only inspired Bach and Handel, but influenced contemporaries through suspenseful mood swings and tensions between light and dark.
In the 1960s, the baroque personality, categorized as baroque pop, was reintroduced to a new generation. Classically influenced pop songs dominated the ears of listeners across the globe, fusing classical and rock elements for the first time. The sub-genre was both airy and peppy, creating whimsical compositions that blossomed from new interpretations of eloquent instrumentation. A foundational example is “In My Life” from The Beatles’ Rubber Soul. While embracing a new-
found lyricism style, instrumental sections simultaneously mirrored chord heavy sequences that reflected 1600s tradition.
Released in 1968, The Zombies’ “This Will be Our Year” features piano compositions and playful harmonies that act as driving musical forces throughout Odessey and Oracle, their pioneering sophomore album. The emerging sub-genre utilized baroque and renaissance elements while establishing a new name for pop music. Although it was never a chart-dominating genre, baroque pop’s hidden classical elements encouraged individuality that catered to the orchestral sounds of another emerging sub-genre decades later.
Chamber pop, also known as ork pop, took shape in the 1990s, carrying over the horns, strings, and piano of baroque pop. Chamber pop emphasized a mixture of multi-layered elements and poetic lyricism that distinguished it from other subgenres of its time. Stemming from indie rock and indie pop, chamber pop opposed distorted guitars and the lo-fi aesthetic. Instead, it embraced the introspective sounds of its ancestors and their classically derived melodies. We often credit chamber pop’s origins to Belle and Sebastian, Elliott Smith,
and R.E.M, artists that juxtaposed complex orchestral elements with conventional rock music. “Expectations,” from Belle and Sebastian’s debut record, Tigermilk, features whimsical piano, horn, and violin melodies that pay tribute to their predecessors, while also helping to establish their own name in the indie scene. Elliott Smith’s “Son of Sam”’ from Figure 8 utilizes layered vocals, piano melodies, and organ compositions that emphasize chamber pop’s weightlessness and atmospheric qualities. Chamber pop is stylistically diverse, carrying the spirit of the 1960s baroque pop era. How does a noise, sample, or instrument make a song exceptional? In typical baroque fashion, the more eye-catchingly dramatic, the better. Today, indie rock and folk genres continue to adopt the whimsical styles of chamber pop and the textured melodies of baroque pop. Vampire Weekend, Sufjan Stevens, and Radiohead are three of many contemporary bands that emphasize classical roots within their psychedelic tunes. The artists who defined the baroque pop era and its resulting subgenres are the artists we consider to be rock legends today. The emergence of baroque pop marked the beginning of an endless classical scavenger hunt within popular music.
ike many individuals my age, I attribute my music taste wholly to the influence of my dad. Riding to my pee-wee soccer games, we would jam out to the 90s grunge and alternative station, nodding my tiny head along to Cake’s “The Distance” and tapping chubby fingers on beat with Smashing Pumpkins’ “1979.” While this makes me seem a lot cooler than I am today (thanks, Dad), this wasn’t the only genre I was introduced to at a formative age. No, come dinner time, the channel was swiftly swapped to Pandora’s jam band radio, where I was exposed to the groovy music of The Grateful Dead, Dave Matthews Band, and– most importantly for the sake of this article– Phish.
For those unfamiliar with Phish, they were formed in 1983 at the University of Vermont by Trey Anastasio (lead vocals and guitar), Jeff Holdsworth (guitar), Mike Gordon (bass), and Jon Fishman (drums). Page McConnell (keyboard) would join them two years later, while Holdsworth left in 1986. The band began seeing success in the mid-90s, quickly collecting a cult following, and despite two brief hiatuses, they are still touring today. Their music festival events helped to inspire Bonnaroo, they’ve performed 72 times at Madison Square Garden (tied with Elton John for the second-most concerts there), and were described by Rolling Stone Magazine as “the most important band of the 90s.” Suffice to say, Phish is one of the most prominent bands of the genre and, in general, a pretty big deal.
Despite this, very few of my peers have ever heard of them, save for those whose parents are also Phishheads, which to me, dear reader, is a crime. So, as a way to further introduce you to the wonders of Phish, I’d like to take a closer look at their most elusive album yet, a magical concept album I implore you to put on the next time you, as the kids say, smoke that zaza (responsibly and legally).
A few years after the creation of Phish, Anastasio would produce his senior thesis at Goddard, a project titled The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday (TMWSIY), also known among fans as “the Gamehendge saga.” The album is composed of nine songs with narration in between.
“Possum,” the final and only song not written by Anastasio-- instead created by Holdsworth– was added later on. Other songs by Phish, including “Llama,” “Punch You in the Eye,” and “The Divided Sky,” are based on the Gamehendge saga but not included in the original concept album. The story follows Colonel Forbin, a fiftytwo year old retiree with a small, crusty dog named Mcgrupp. While on a typical afternoon walk, the colonel discovered a mysterious door, which, as most sane people would, he proceeded to ignore for several weeks. One day, however, he is finally compelled to enter it and finds himself transported to Gamehendge, a magical land once inhabited by a race known as the Lizards. Now, the evil Wilson rules from his mighty castle using the power of an all knowing text, the
Friendly Helping Book, which he stole from the Lizards.
TMWSIY opens with the pulsing melody of Wilson’s theme, followed by narration from Anastasio that introduces the land of Gamehendge and our ordinary hero. After stepping through the doorway, Forbin meets Rutherford the Brave, a Lizard knight who’s on a quest to save his people by stealing back the Helping Friendly Book. They wander through the forest outside of the capital of Prussia, detailed in the upbeat and jazzy song “The Lizards.” The contrast between such a happy tune, sung from the perspective of Rutherford, and the reality of life under Wilson shows how naive he and the rest of the Lizards are. During the final chorus, Rutherford even jumps into a river fully clothed in his armor, promptly beginning to drown.
Thankfully, another revolutionary, Tela, arrives atop a magnificent Multibeast to save the day. Forbin is in awe, proclaiming her the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and a new slower, lighter tune begins. From Forbin’s perspective, we hear a romantic guitar cadence paired with the beating of the high hat and tinkling octaves on the piano. However, when it switches to Tela, the song picks up pace, increasing the intensity of the guitar and drums. Despite her looks, she is fueled by hatred, and does not show interest in Forbin outside of his potential to help the Lizards’ cause. The group arrives at the revolutionaries’ camp, and Forbin is introduced to their leader, Errand Wolfe, a small man who
“seemed to emit a kind of violent energy that sent chills down the colonel’s spine.” He cries out in anguish, cursing the evil dictator of Gamehendge who murdered his 14 year old son, as the song “Wilson” begins. The song has become a staple of Phish concerts, with crowds chanting the man’s name along with the simple yet gut-punching guitar riff. By the end, each instrument has crescendoed into a cacophony of noise, losing all control after the line “I must inquire, can you still have fun?”
Meanwhile, Wilson himself is in Prussia, executing his accountant Mr. Pommer because he had been embezzling funds to support the revolution. Wilson’s arrogance in “AC/DC Bag”-- another Phishhead favorite– evokes the same villainous swagger as Rocky Horror’s Dr. Frankenfurter in “Sweet Transvestite.” You can easily imagine Wilson prancing around the executioner’s block, cocky and sure that he has finally squashed the Lizards’ rebellion, before finally killing his former employee.
Back at the camp, the cold-hearted Tela is revealed to have been the spy that snitched on Mr. Pommer. She is promptly slaughtered by Rutherford as Forbin watches on in horror, the narration stating “In a world that had turned upside down so many times that he’d no longer knew which way was up… good versus evil, and of course he had sided with good, as he had done all of his life.” Brazened, Forbin ascends the nearby mountain of Icculus to
confront the sky god who had created the Helping Friendly Book – the cause of all this strife – many years ago. In the end, Icculus complies by sending his mockingbird to retrieve the stolen book. Despite his willingness, Icculus reveals himself to be aware of the immense power of the text, telling Forbin “[t]he sacred creed will be yours to devour, to seize, and to obey.” Thus, Icculus shows his true nature, not as a benevolent deity intent on protecting the Lizards, but rather as an indifferent god of chaos. With the Helping Friendly Book in the hands of Errand, one dictator is merely replaced by another. Colonel Forbin is sent back to his world, where he hears Wilson’s theme played once more, this time the people chanting “Errand” instead.
TMWSIY is a whirlwind of a concept album, replicating the absurdity of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland while highlighting how intended liberators often perpetuate the wrongs of their abusers, creating a vicious cycle of injustice. While knowledge should be shared amongst the people, that doesn’t prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. Anastasio realizes that complete ignorance isn’t the answer, then, but posits that we should wean ourselves from reliance on tools, as dependence aids subjugation. The message of TMWSIY, although somewhat obscured by its absurdity, likely resonates with today’s youth, and, in a climate fraught with divisiveness and inequity, Icculus’ advice to the audience rings even more true.
The intersection of fantasy narratives and rock music sets the stage for a tale of two unlikely friends and their mutual conquest of songwriting expectations in popular music. Rock and roll arose from rhythm and blues, a genre whose lyrics were often grounded in reallife pain and struggle. However, rhythm and blues singers, through their lyrics and instrumental compositions, were embarking on their own quests for freedom in a better, future world, a prominent theme in some of the most well-known fantasy narratives. Classic rock music in the 1960s, ‘70s, ‘80s, and beyond not only kept this abstract theme alive, but songwriters in the rock genre became authors of fantasy narratives in their own right, merging music and classic literature, but also creating fantasy worlds of their own. Classic rock – like much of popular music in general – has never been widely regarded as a particularly “intellectual” style or genre of music. Modern musicology is breaking into intellectual studies of popular music, but classical music still takes the cake in terms of a musical genre that is believed to contain true, intellectual artistry in composition. All the while, classic rock contains an abundance of fertile soil for study. For many classic rock and
progressive rock lyricists, songwriters, and musicians, fantasy narratives originating from both literature and their own creative minds alike had a home in the rock genre’s larger-than-life, epic music. Across its many subgenres, classic rock music provides a vessel for retellings of classic myths and stories from fictional literature. From an unsung, George Martin-produced 1960s group The Action’s song “Icarus” to “Flight of Icarus” written by metal icons Iron Maiden in 1983, classic rock songwriters have illustrated the ability for stories to be retold and recycled over and over through rock music, but each time with a new sound and perspective.
A popular literary source of songwriting inspiration for classic rock songwriters is J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle Earth and its characters. Perhaps the most popular is “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin, released in 1969, which features explicit references to Middle Earth in its lyrics. Our hero is a traveler, who has recently made a stop, but has “smelled the rain, and with it pain” and is ready to “ramble on” around the world to “find the queen of all [his] dreams.”
Along the way, he explores the “darkest depths of Mordor,” where he watches Gollum steal his girl. On a musical level, the instrumentation alternates between a folk-
Peart penned many of his own, original stories and fantasy worlds and incorporated them into Rush songs later in their career, from 20-minute suites like “2112: Overture” and “Cygnus X-1 - Book OneThe Voyage” to the simplistic yet imageryrich storytelling and “mechanical music” of “Red Barchetta.” Many other classic rock - and especially progressive rockbands, built songs around their original fantasy narratives. One of my personal favorites is “Siberian Khatru” by Yes. During my freshman year, I was introduced to “Siberian Khatru” by my COLL 150 professor. I couldn’t stop listening to “Siberian Khatru” because you notice something new and exciting with every listen, facilitated by its lofty runtime of 8 minutes and 55 seconds. To further convey my love for this song, I used to measure the distance between two points on campus by the number of times I could listen to Siberian Khatru as I walked. Caf, for example, was one thrilling Siberian Khatru away from my dorm. For me, it was a means of escape from an isolating semester of Zoom classes. “Siberian Khatru” inspires daydreaming and creativity like no other song, and there is nothing like it. This song has it all: an electric guitar hook that grabs you from 0:00 (seriously, you have to listen to the version from the original Close to the Edge album because the 2003 remaster cuts out the critical first 3 seconds), lyrics that don’t make any sense (what is a Siberian Khatru exactly? No one knows), an electric sitar solo (!), baroque mellotron, chorally
complex vocal harmonies only Yes can pull off – and that’s just the first 4 minutes. The breakdown at the 7-minute mark is life changing. Yes vocalist Jon Anderson stated in an interview that “khatru” means “as you wish” in the Yemeni dialect of Arabic, but this clarifies nothing. At the end of the day, the narrative of “Siberian Khatru” isn’t the primary focus; Yes is describing a new world and you’re being immersed in it, watching the “river running right on over [your] head.”
Fantasy narratives can be found around every corner in the expansive world of classic rock. These are merely deep dives into three songs built on and around phenomenal fantasy narratives. I implore you to do just as the most fantastic classic rockers have done and embrace your inner fantasy nerd.
I used to measure the distance between two points on campus by the number of times I could listen to Siberian Khatru as I walked.
the record by boygenius
van monday down rounder by cat clyde
amelia goetz
wish I could vanish, burning out and freezing up, where is the solace? tiptoe, soak it in, surf rock of appalachia is rarely this calm.
so much (for) stardust by fallout boy
marybethbauermann
songs written for piano by katie gregson-macleod
evelynhall
“everything is lit, except my serotonin.” thnks fr this, patrick. good god katie g. epitome something blue. track one? really? ouch.
eat your young by hozier
evelynhall
the background vocals always get me. thanks hozier. a good ol’ stomp-clap.
fantasy by m83
nathan hall
honey coats my mind, the sounds of epiphany. spacey chords abound.
the jaws of life by pierce the veil
justinberg
on top of the covers by t-pain
abbymendez
vic joins the faithful as old pop punk bands cash in, if a little trite. auto tune be damned, this man can sing so so good, t-pain forever.
supercut by lorde fade into you by mazzy star the world may never know by dr. dog san diego zoo by the 6ths sleep on the floor by the lumineers not yet / love run (reprise) by the amazing devil the sleeper by totally enormous extinct dinosaurs something in the night by bruce springsteen in the woods somewhere by hozier roam by the b-52’s intersection by slaughter beach, dog to s. by father john misty
our staff on songs that transport them to another universe.
NOT PICTURED: EVELYN HALL, ABBY MENDEZ, HANNAH
NATHAN HALL EDITOR-IN-CHIEF VAN MONDAY DESIGN EDITOR
BOOWA ZARCONE ART EDITOR
CATHERINE HENRY PHOTO EDITOR
MARY BETH BAUERMANN COPY EDITOR
NATALIE LOPEZ COPY EDITOR
JUSTIN BERG SOCIAL MEDIA
SOPHIA KRESSE
JAK ROEHRICK
MADELEINE BABCOCK MAYA CHATTERJEE SOFIA
