WEEKEND

WEEKEND // FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015

//BY STEPHANIE ADDENBROOKE //PAGE 3

COUNTRIES

B4, B9

CERAMICS

B5

CRÊPES

B12

TRENDY TRAVELOGUES

TOUCHABLE TILES

TASTY TREATS

This summer, WKND put pen to paper in Argentina and Japan. Don’t hate us cuz you ain’t us.

The YUAG’s new ceramics exhibit will broaden your horizons!

Trot over to the Elm City’s new crêperie for a snack between (or during?) seminars.

PAGE B2

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

ZHAO

WEEKEND VIEWS

THE BAGEL MAN // BY ALICE ZHAO

ROGERS

When I tell my friends at Yale about The Bagel Man in Cambridge, I don’t start at the beginning. There was obviously that first transaction, the reason why I began to buy bagels obsessively from his stand, but I don’t like to talk about that, the initial meeting — not at first.

Instead, I start by telling them that I’m a regular.

I didn’t realize until that summer in Cambridge that I’ve always wanted to be a regular, that person whose order the owner knows by heart. I’ve always wanted the shared recognition, the friendly chat, the warmth in the thank you and come again, a secret joke because they will, they always do.

I’ve been a regular before, sure, back at home in Arizona (the Vietnamese restaurant with the winking server, #2, #16, and #44, he doesn’t even hand us the menus anymore, just writes on his notepad, grinning), but that was always with my family, and it’s not like I had much choice in the matter, it’s not like I picked the place myself. But in England, I was on my own and, better yet, I needed breakfast. I thought it would be easy, this whole regular thing. I thought if I showed up enough times, he’d know me soon enough.

My friends in Cambridge and I almost turned it into a game, a race to become

a regular first. The banter over lunch, dinner, in between classes, passing by each other on the streets, Bonnie wooing the crêpe woman (I think I’m getting there — there was something in her eye, I saw it), Max with the McDonald’s cashier five minutes away, midnight, chicken nuggets and McFlurries (I’ve seen that guy before, that guy with the beard — it is possible). It began just for fun, a bet we weren’t keeping, until I realized one day after buying a bagel that The Bagel Man didn’t know me yet, that after two weeks of buying the same bagel (Salt Beef and Gherkin but I never pronounced the last part, worried I’d say it wrong, one of those social anxiety things) and basically wearing the same outfits (blue blouse, purple sweater, patterned long-sleeve, repeat, repeat, laundry, what laundry?), I still got the same response, literally the same response. Our conversations were genial, distant, exact repetitions, a constant déjà vu.

It was stupid, I know. It didn’t really matter, becoming a regular — I hadn’t come to Cambridge to become a regular. But I was already in too deep, sunk cost fallacy, I couldn’t stop now, I could see the money I had spent on these bagels, all of these bagels, bagels upon bagels, I could dream about

bagels, I’d gone crazy for bagels, and then, suddenly, it happened — “You’ve been here a lot, haven’t you?” he asked. He plucked out a card from the corner of the counter, handed it to me. “Cambridge Potato and Bagel Bar,” neatly printed in the center. A loyalty card. “This bagel’s free.” He winked at me, and I left, star-struck, and then I immediately took a picture, sent it to all my friends, captioned it

IF THIS WAS THE WAY HE TREATED A STRANGER, HOW WOULD HE TREAT ME IF I WERE A REGULAR?

“#win.” I said it was one of the proudest moments of my life. I even texted my mom.

This is usually when the story ends, when they ask me about The Bagel Man during the summer. I won something, something intangible. I smiled

to myself every time I went to that stand, bagel in one hand, card in the other, triumphant.

But becoming a regular wasn’t just about the game. It became a game, but it wasn’t always one.

The first day. A sticky summer in Cambridge, the market bustling, people weaving in and out of stands, skimming over books, stamps, baubles and trinkets, the sound of a guitar, an accordion, a piano in the distance, street performers with their microphones or just their hats. I walked up to The Bagel Man, intimidated, because I’ve always been intimidated when ordering food (what do they think of me, did I say this right, don’t stutter, don’t stumble, calm, assured, adult, adult-ish), and it was all right.

It was all right because I saw a sign beneath the menu — heating bagels was optional, had to be requested — and I said, mousey, awkward, could he heat my bagel for me, and he smiled as he said, “Of course — I’ve never known a person who liked their salt beef cold,” joking, as if we shared some inside joke, even though we were strangers, and I wanted to come back, get to know him better, because if this was the way he treated a stranger, how would he treat me if I were a regular?

Every day, I saw the way he treated

his customers, the regulars — free cup of tea, how are you, construction workers in their fluorescent jackets and scuffed boots leaning up against the stand, right at opening time, waiting patiently for The Bagel Man. And, when I became a regular too, I was a part of that, that inner circle that wasn’t secretive, no, that wasn’t friendship, not entirely, but was much more than just patron and owner.

On the last day, the day before I left Cambridge, I took a photo with The Bagel Man, just something to pin to a corkboard and look at in New Haven.

I’m holding a bagel, his arm around my shoulders — and his name is Lee, it turns out, because he didn’t ask for my name, and I didn’t ask for his name, but on the last day, because I knew I wouldn’t come back for a while, I felt like I had to do it, the introductions, what everyone does at the beginning, except reversed for us, and it was very anticlimactic, this name-sharing, because we had already progressed beyond that, the formalities — and he told me to send him a postcard when I got home, and I think about the postcard I’ll get him, I think about it every day.

Contact ALICE ZHAO at alice.zhao@yale.edu .

We’re not in Kansas anymore (but in Kentucky) // BY STEPHANIE ROGERS

I am not used to life-threatening situations.

I have faced my fair share of gnarly thunderstorms and blizzards during my 20 years in the Northeast, but never have I feared a forest fire or even felt a tremor below my feet. The closest my town came to a hazardous scenario was a small-scale bank robbery … five towns over. I don’t think the burglars even had real guns. Suffice to say, the last thing Pleasantville, New York prepared me for was a tornado. I had a rude awakening this summer in Kentucky.

During the fourth week of my Louisville internship, I heard my first tornado warning.

I was overwhelmingly excited and proceeded to fire questions at my coworkers about their experiences with tornadoes. They recounted their close calls, but assured me that I was safe inside the building. Really, tornadoes were rather rare.

Fast forward to July 17th, both my younger brother’s birthday and the opening night of Louisville’s Forecastle music festival, a sort of Coachella along the Ohio River. About a dozen Yale students came out to dance and sweat in the hot southern sun. Everyone was just the right amount of tipsy as Sam Smith came on stage. (We saw him perform his first show back in the United States after his vocal surgery! His performance was powerful, magical and yes, it was transformative.)

We were about halfway through his set and the crowd’s positive energy was surging. Suddenly, a magnificent breeze rushed over our bobbing heads. After a long day in the sun, this was welcome relief, not unlike standing directly in front of a fan at an off-campus party crowded with people. But within seconds, that breeze became something far more sinister.

Maybe it was the drunken stupor or maybe I just blinked too quickly, but one moment Sam Smith was serenading us and the next he had vanished. His mesmerizing voice was replaced by a smooth baritone, like the one you would hear in a Nissan Altima commercial. In a not-so-calming manner, the omniscient voice boomed, “As you can all see, some kind of weather phenomenon is occurring.

Everyone, clear away from the stage as fast as possible. Your safest bet is your cars.”

My first thought — “Fudge, this is a tornado.” My second — “Why did we take an Uber?” I cursed my middle school principal for not preparing me with tornado drills. “I will die today in a tornado,” said a very hopeless but aggressive voice in my head. “This isn’t Kansas, this shouldn’t be happening.”

Then the Nissan Altima dealer returned, “You’re all doing great.” A sense of calm and purpose washed over me. Just kidding! I was overwhelmingly anxious. Elephant tranquilizer couldn’t have knocked me out. I just grabbed my friends by the hands and headed downtown. On the way, we passed a group of fratty college kids clinging to the column of

FRI D AY SEPTEMBER

4

the overpass: they were holding on for dear life.

At one point, I lost my sandal. I kept moving. I wasn’t going to die for a five-dollar pair of flip flops I bought at Walmart. Ahead of us was a baseball stadium where we could seek shelter. Alas, the man inside wagged his finger at us and would not let us in.

Another security guard came out to chastise us and on command, tears spilled from my eyes. To make matters worse, my 15-year-old brother then returned the voicemail I left for his birthday. I picked up the phone and wailed, “I love you.

Just know that I love you.” I truly thought I was going to die on my brother’s birthday. I imagined the years of horrifying birthday cakes ahead of him, candles flickering and people singing but my brother only hearing my whine in his ears, “I love you.”

At this point a dear friend took my hands and calmed me down.

All my life I had imagined that I would be calm in dangerous situations.

I had never been a neurotic or anxious person, but I had also never stared death in the face. Eventually, we escaped to a bar where they let us wait for the storm to die down (despite my lack of appropriate footwear). So, what did I learn? Well, I learned that all schools should prepare students for natural disasters. Pleasantville, NY, should have bi-weekly tornado drills! But I also learned to slow down. When my friend took my hands and watched me cry, I felt loved, I felt appreciated and I felt cared for. She calmed me down, showing me the importance of human contact and connection in moments of crisis.

I slowed down to the speed of conversation and as I did so, my heartbeat slowed down too.

I learned that a moment of calm in a tornado can save someone’s sanity. Some of us, like Sam Smith, must remain calm even after vocal surgery. Others must brave traumatic concerts by their favorite musicians and remain loyal fangirls.

// ASHLYN OAKES

(This article is dedicated to Pleasantville, NY and their numerous fire drills.)

Contact STEPHANIE ROGERS at stephanie.rogers@yale.edu .

MINDFULNESS MEDITATION Yale Stress Center // 12 p.m.

Already stressed? That’s all right — calmness is just one session of meditation away. Just don’t stress about finding the “Yale Stress Center.”

WKND RECOMMENDS: Fall Rush. First, rush mindfulness meditation. In case you didn’t know, it’s by audition basis only.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B3

WEEKEND SAFETY

POLICING OUR PERCEPTIONS // BY STEPHANIE ADDENBROOKE

ance is back.

It’s the video all the freshmen have been waiting for, and the one that upperclassmen laugh about in memory. An unfortunate freshman, Lance, a hapless figure straight from the late ’80s, just doesn’t understand the concept of personal safety. His computer is stolen from his residential college library, his “sweet” bike is taken from the rack, and he’s attacked on his way from a truly “radical” frat party.

The hundreds of sweaty freshmen from Berkeley, Branford, Calhoun and Pierson Colleges were the last group to sit in Sheffield-Sterling-Strathcona Hall on Saturday afternoon. Talking among each other as if they’d known each other for years, the freshmen exuded an excitement perhaps excessive for the annual safety talk.

“I hear the video is hilarious,” a girl in front of me said, turning to her neighbor who nodded in agreement. Other freshmen around her are exchanging phone numbers, recalling events of the past 24 hours and two are even beginning to discuss classes.

All of a sudden, it went quiet.

The police were there to talk.

Though their delivery was light-hearted and hilarious, Assistant Chiefs of Yale Police

L

FRI D AY SEPTEMBER

4

//LAURIE WANG

Michael Patten and Steve Woznyk had a clear message for the group: Be smart, because you’re not entirely safe.

“You should feel comfortable here,” he said. “But we can’t do it all.”

The freshman sit silently, captivated by the passing mentions of homicide, active shooters and an emergency alert system.

“Are we safe here?” a hushed voice from behind me asks.

THE GOOD NEWS “Right next to the Yale campus, there is a dangerous neighborhood.”

That’s what a reporter from the Today Show said when covering the murder of student Annie Le GRD ’13 in 2009. It was a unique time in Yale’s history, when reporters flooded the campus to scrutinize the safety of the nation’s “best and brightest” students.

The cameras soon left, a suspect was found and the campus began to move on, but the reporter’s words still strike a chord with students, parents and visitors alike.

Last week, the News sent a survey to more than 400 students asking them about campus safety. Seventy-nine responded, spanning all class years and backgrounds.

Sixty percent of surveyed students said they were at least “somewhat concerned” about their safety on campus and in New Haven. But in a survey of the freshmen class in August, only 43 percent offered the same opinion.

A shift in attitude evidently occurs after students descend on campus. The survey results show that, as time goes on, students become more concerned with their safety in the city. All of the students who said they were “very concerned” for their safety on campus were upperclassmen.

It’s difficult to say why this may be: Respondents could have been victims of crime, heard one too many cautionary tale or maybe are simply unnerved by the frequency of “emails from the Chief.”

Gabriela Bucay ’16 said upperclassmen are typically more aware of what’s going on in the surrounding areas than freshmen. For some, she speculates, that means focusing on the negatives, while she and others see the differences between a college and a city and the common sense necessary for living in an urban environment.

Although it isn’t the only Ivy League school in an urban area, Yale is still widely disparaged for

FURNITURE STUDY TOUR YUAG // 12:30 p.m.

You’ll enjoy looking at the 1,000 objects from the 17th century to now, until they remind you of how poorly you’ve furnished your own suite.

its perceived lack of safety. Prospective students turn to College Confidential to ask if the campus is safe (sample: “If I’m next to a bluelight, are muggers less likely to mug me?” from SquealOfaRaven), and tour guides are frequently asked a similar question. A video by the Harvard comedy group On Harvard Time mocking the notorious music video by the admissions office, “That’s Why I Chose Yale,” points at New Haven’s crime data as a reason why students might consider going to Harvard instead.

But the Yale and New Haven Police Departments are pushing back against the stereotypes, highlighting that the number of crimes in New Haven is going down. And it is. In 1990, according to statistics published by local analytic group DataHaven, there were 16,104 crimes in the New Haven area. Twenty-four percent of these crimes were classified as “violent crimes,” and there were 31 homicides.

Crime has fallen dramatically since then. Between 1990 and 2009, the number of crimes in the city has almost halved. The most recent data published on the New Haven Police Department’s website revealed that there were 8,386 crimes reported in 2012, a slight

i n c rea se from 2009.

In the 1990 Commencement issue of the News, an article recognized the rising crime rate, particularly how fast crime swept onto campus, making students victims of crime more than ever before. In response, crime prevention efforts were boosted and YPD added more officers. But no awareness program was as jarring as the experience of the student body.

“Security consciousness has improved tremendously just because of the number of thefts and robberies and major crimes since I’ve been here,” then-Yale College Council President Margaret Chen ’90 told the News in 1990.

Twenty-five years ago, when Chen and her classmates were at Yale, New Haven was the fourth-poorest city in the country. Now, the median household income in New Haven is higher than that of the whole United States.

Now, compared to the larger student body, Patten said, the number of students who are actually victims of crime is consistently small. Of the 79 students surveyed by the News, just four had been the victim of a crime since arriving at Yale.

And even though students interviewed said they’ve frequently

heard talk of crime, few knew someone who had been an actual victim, particularly if the crime was violent.

It doesn’t come as a surprise that an overwhelming majority of survey respondents said they felt safe on Yale’s campus.

The police officers assured both freshmen and parents during Camp Yale that students have options if they ever feel unsafe.

They can take the shuttle, call an officer to walk with them or they can look for a blue light, where students have a direct line to the police station. It is difficult to ignore the constant reminders that the YPD is definitely watching when it employs 84 officers, all of who have trained with the New Haven Police Department at their police academy. This is not to mention the 150 security officers walking around campus wearing high-visibility jackets.

THE BAD NEWS Three of the four crime victims who self-identified in the News’ survey said that the incident had occurred on campus. On average, according to Woznyk, around 300 crimes SEE SAFETY PAGE 8

WKND RECOMMENDS: Rushing YUAG Gallery Guides because the Center for British Art is closed for renovations this year. Sorry, Anglophiles. Them’s the breaks.

PAGE B4

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND JAPANESE

LOST IN PUBLICATION // BY CLAIRE WILLIAMSON

There is something exhilarating about seeing your writing in print. The tingles I feel every Friday when I open the WEEKEND section and see words that I’ve painstakingly assembled never quite go away. (As a matter of fact, I revised that last sentence several times before I could even move on.)

The challenge of achieving the same level of writing in your second language, however, is a whole other story.

This summer I interned at the Hokkoku Newspaper in Kanazawa, Japan. Foreigners have rarely heard of Kanazawa, a mid-sized city on the coast known for its “fat” cucumbers, hundred-dollar-apiece Ruby Roman grapes, and traditional arts and architecture.

Spared from the destruction of World War II, Kanazawa still has a castle, many preserved samurai houses and a functioning teashop district, which, yes, does include geishas. In spite of Kanazawa’s charms, few Japanese people have been there. Until last March, when the Hokuriku bullettrain line was finally completed, the only way to get there from Tokyo was a grueling three-train endeavor or a six-hour drive. But Kanazawa’s local government is very interested in attracting new tourism and international connections, so every summer they sponsor several internships at local companies.

But Japanese businesses don’t exactly give off the most welcoming vibe. Everyone has

FRI D AY SEPTEMBER

4

heard of the stereotypical Japanese “salaryman:” someone of no particular importance who is locked into his job and trudges to and from work in his unadorned black suit every day (not that this is restricted to men — women, if they work, can also find themselves in this sort of job). Hierarchy within companies is paramount and frequently enforced.

At the Hokkoku Newspaper, I was excited to practice my Japanese, meet new people, and shadow reporters on the job. But I was also concerned about how strict my boss would be, if my writing was up to the newspaper’s standards, if I could possibly understand the company’s nuances, and even if the clothes I brought — the most conservative of the “Western business attire” I owned — would be appropriate.

(A waiter I met in a restaurant told an amusing, yet relevant, story about a foreigner working in Japan whose reasonable neckline — by American standards — was roughly tugged up by an older Japanese woman who chastised the American with a “Sexy no, no!”)

These worries persisted as I boarded my plane from Chicago to Japan. I knew little about my future job, except that I would be writing for the Society Section and working the occasional weekend. Oh, and I shouldn’t bring heels. Despite the fact that this was my fourth trip to Japan, it was my first in a working capacity, and I worried that I’d let my teachers — and myself

— down. I spent the plane ride frantically reviewing keigo, the honorific forms of verbs used to address one’s superiors.

All of this sounds dreadfully negative, I know. And I admit that with my seemingly endless worries it was hard to be excited about the amazing opportunity and privilege ahead of me.

As someone with little experience in investigative journalism (I tend to prefer spouting my own opinions), I relied on stories heard from fellow YDN reporters to give me a framework for approaching my job. But I quickly learn that there are many differences between Japanese and American newspapers, in both the type of news they report and the way readers and reporters interact.

The Society Section of the Hokkoku Newspaper is staffed mostly by women in their late twenties. Single and living alone, this small army of white-bloused women presented a strange contradiction. They wanted to both improve their careers, and to settle down to start a family; more than one lamented the impossibility of meeting guys. Few of them could cook for themselves, and most ate regular breakfasts and dinners from Japan’s many convenience stores. Every day I was assigned to follow one of them around to their stories and assist them with photography, note-taking and interpretation.

Some days we went to four or five smaller stories; some days we covered one or two large events.

TWELFTH NIGHT, PRESENTED BY THE ELM SHAKESPEARE COMPANY Edgerton Park // 7 p.m.

If you’ve never listened to the Barenaked Ladies’ rendition of songs from Twelfth Night, you should.

Occasionally I was asked to write a longer piece detailing my own experiences as a foreigner, often incorporating interviews with locals — not entirely unlike what I often write for Weekend. I wrote about flower-arrangement exhibits, local coffee shops, renovated 17th-and-18th-century houses, traditional arts in schools and historical festivals. I interviewed everyone from former Olympic skater Johnny Weir to random tourists on the street. My articles were carefully written and heartlessly edited for both grammar and clarity. But despite the fact that all the women (and men) worked incredibly hard for five days a week and over 12 hours a day, all of my articles had one thing that theirs did not: my name was always printed next to it.

Most articles in the Hokkoku Newspaper appeared without a byline. The thumbnail sketch and reporter’s email address that are standard in American newspapers were notably absent. In another departure from Western individualism, the Hokkoku paper did not publish opinion columns. It emphasized fact above all: reporters received a book called “The Reporter’s Handbook” which was supposed to guide their articles. Much like a grade-school English class, the book focused on “5Ws and 1 H”: who, what, where, when, why, and how.

I admired this focus because it minimized reporter bias: While many papers here skew to the left

or the right in reporting on economic or political issues like the Eurozone crisis, the Hokkoku Newspaper manages to remain neutral.

Perhaps as a product of this anonymity and factual nature, articles in Japan are also quite short. Picture the front page of, say, The New York Times or the Chicago Tribune. There’s four main articles, maybe five. A large photo for the headline. The articles then continue well into a second page, somewhere in the interior of the paper, particularly if they require some depth or are difficult to explain. Japanese papers, however, might have fifteen small articles on each page, and none of them continues onto a second. I’ve seen articles as short as 10 lines, and the average is perhaps 30.

My articles, which ranged from 40 to 80 lines, were noticeably long and prominently placed.

Naturally this was flattering, but I often wondered why I was given so much space. Was it because I was a foreigner? An American?

Hard to say. After being recognized several times on the street from my accompanying photograph, I indulged myself by thinking that what I wrote was interesting enough to merit its flashy presentation.

This past summer, I was given an incredibly unique view into Kanazawa. Speaking to shopkeepers, artists, businessmen and the reporters themselves, I was able to piece together a much more coherent image of what

working in Japan is like. Yes, the Japanese are strict, but it’s with the intention of providing the best service in a timely and even elegant manner. The main barrier that I perceive is, unfortunately, my gender: as a woman it is difficult to advance in a career without sacrificing family life — women with young children are generally expected not to work.

And the definition of “success” for a woman is often not quite what I would expect. At the end of the summer one of the female reporters was transferred to be the secretary for the newspaper’s president. This was described to me as a good move for her, but I felt this to be a very obsolete definition of “good.”

Yet I wouldn’t have given up the summer for anything. Despite the crazy hours and demanding edits, I learned a lot about what I want to do with my future (i.e., not newspaper journalism) and I made some amazing friends.

They have inspired me to continue studying Japanese, and I only wish that they could be recognized for their individual contributions. Ultimately this article is about giving credit to people who never receive it: the amazing reporters that traipse all over Kanazawa to discover and share the stories of a city without recognition. Reporting serves an important social function, but how many of us would be willing to write without a byline?

Contact CLAIRE WILLIAMSON at claire.williamson@yale.edu .

WKND RECOMMENDS: Rush, the band. Once you’re done listening to the Barenaked Ladies’ renditions of songs from Twelfth Night, of course.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B5

WEEKEND ARTS

A STRONG TAKE ON FRAGILITY // BY GRACE CASTILLO

// KAIFENG WU

When I arrived at the YUAG to check out “The Ceramic Presence in Modern Art,” I began to wonder—what presence? Although I’ve seen one or two token ceramic works at many museums, I couldn’t actually remember ever visiting an exhibit with clay, plaster, or metal sculpture as its central focus. I scanned the brochures for background information —the exhibit is made up of some 80 works from Linda Leonard Schlenger’s contemporary ceramics collection and the YUAG’s permanent collection.

According to one of the people I spoke with at the gallery, Schlenger offered to help create a ceramics exhibit when she saw that the YUAG lacked a satisfactory pottery collection.

But as soon as I stepped into the exhibit, I stopped worrying about not having a ceramics background and started to enjoy the artwork.

I was astounded by the exhibit’s variety—there were sculptures with moving parts, ceramic cups smaller than my hand, plates made by dropping slabs of clay. Some pieces had a glaze so vibrant and smooth that they seemed to glow.

The spacing between the works allowed me to view them from all

angles, and the light on the top floor worked wonders on some of the white pieces, particularly Hauer’s “Design 6 Special.” This piece, made of vertical, twisting white, almost seemed to ripple.

As interesting as each piece was on its own, the meticulous arrangement made them even more special.

Because of their placement within the gallery, the pieces interacted in formal, biographical and theoretical ways. Thanks to the guides, I learned that many of the artists knew one another, taught together, or even worked in the same studios.

For example, Robert Arneson’s “Last of the Great Buffalo Hunters” drew on a friend’s experience with illness. Its base, which showed a three dimensional rendering of a Pollock, was particularly prominent given the two actual Pollock paintings 10 feet away.

My favorite part of the exhibit was a setup of three large spheres

by Toshiko Takaezu, which were placed on the floor near two Rothkos, Sylvia Mangold’s Valence with Grey Cloud, and Motherwell’s Elegy to the Spanish Republic. Depending on my perspective, the spheres and the relevant paintings shifted — they made the Man-

gold much more definitively a landscape, brought out the Rothko’s color, and mimicked the Motherwell’s spherical form.

The upper floors were also particularly enjoyable. In one room, simple colored panel tiles on the wall, white with lines of red, yellow, and blue pencil, became a veil of color when I viewed them from a distance. They emphasized the subtle color in the surrounding works. And looking at delicate Agnes Martin prints alongside Lucie Rie ceramics created an interesting contrast between abstraction and functionality.

By the end of my time in the exhibit, my appreciation for both ceramics and curators had skyrocketed.

The show broadens art’s sometimes narrow definition by bringing ceramics into the limelight.

Because the interaction between pieces plays such a huge role in the exhibit, viewers should stop to read the information panels – in doing so, they will come to appreciate and enjoy the art more. Don’t miss this fantastic exhibit!

Contact GRACE CASTILLO at grace.castillo@yale.edu .

Art and Art-Making in New Haven // BY MICHELLE LIU

There are a few things in my life I would like to do, but would regret: plunge my hand into a vat of boiling soup, bite into a bar of soap or a tube of lipstick, reach over and touch an oil painting when the museum guard isn’t paying attention.

The objects in Make.Art.Work’s newest exhibition, currently located at the Arts Council of Greater New Haven, trigger exactly that third and last feeling. Make.Art.Work, a career training program for visual artists based in Connecticut providing artists with coaching and support, culminates in a group exhibition in three regions — Fairfield, Hartford and New Haven.

Set up along a hallway and a conference room of the council office, the New Haven exhibition features a handful of artists working in media as diverse as mosaics and jewelry. The works, with their intense variety of textures, have a neartouchable goodness.

Corinne McManemin’s paintings feature neat, bright koi fish peeking out from swathes of chunky seaweed, all in the bright hues of Disney’s The Little Mermaid. On the opposite wall, Linda S. Wingerter’s wide-eyed, rosy-cheeked portraits of women resemble particularly dark renditions of those Mary Engelbreit posters that paper elementary school classroom walls.

Or maybe they go better with Hans Christian Andersen’s Little Mermaid. (One portrait features intricate angel wings and the caption “THE SEA MAKES NO MENTION” in rather curly lettering.)

Equally as fascinating are Lee Walther’s collages. “Below the Surface” juxtaposes jumbo fish with anglers in oversized pants, while “B / W / R” collates what looks like an Architectural Digest magazine into a patchwork of red, white and black. The collage frames a small square mirror in the center — a sad zebra stares into the side of the mirror as I attempt to take a selfie. Below the frame hang red beaded earrings, as if I needed to spend more time preening. Other collages feature necklaces and skele-

ton keys, small trinkets to encourage interaction between viewer and art. (Or, perhaps, they’re a gift-with-purchase deal?)

The Make.Art.Work show blurs the lines between art, craft and design. Take Liz Grace’s “Wedding Cake” print, for example: three glowing, ethereal tiers topped with a pair of cherries. A dove swoops in from above, flowers dotting the corners. The whole deal has an airbrushed, powder-pink background. To the side of “Wedding Cake” is the three-dimensional watercolor “Winter Lily,” the petals popping up above a small square of painted river or lake.

Frankly, it’s easiest to go with the flow: you’ll stop questioning the curatorial decisions and appreciate each work and each artist for their individual merits.

One small suggestion: Visit the Dutch still life paintings currently hanging in the Yale University Art Gallery, and then trek over to Audubon Street, where you’ll find Ellen Hoverkamp’s carefully arranged botanical photographs — lush flowers and unfurled leaves, vibrant greens fighting magentas and whites for your attention. You’ll notice the same care in composition, the same interplay between shadow and light. And then you’ll see how these arrangements emerge from the blackest of backgrounds. In “Okra Harvest,” with its medley of vegetables, Hoverkamp takes fresh produce and leaves, which look both edible and dissectible — laid out for your consumption, whichever way you choose. “Fragrance” gives you all the ingredients for perfume, but denies you the scent.

Art doesn’t just appear, it gets made, and the exhibit makes this clear — visible mortar between pottery shards, or the scissored edges of each element in a collage. In line with Make.

Art.Work’s mission, the exhibition is perhaps a tribute to artistic labor in its many forms, a show not just about art, but art-making.

Contact MICHELLE LIU at michelle.liu@yale.edu .

// KAIFENG WU

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER

4

PUNK SHOW FEATURING TOO TALL GRIZZLY 216 Dwight St. // 7 p.m.

This basement venue is the stage of choice for Yale’s rock scene.

WKND RECOMMENDS: Rushing headlong into the mosh pit. Leave your glasses with someone else.

PAGE B6

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B7

WEEKEND HAGS

H.A.G.S.?

TAKE 1: What I did this summer TAKE 2: What I will tell people at Yale that I did this summer

TAKE 1: I worked at Goldman.

TAKE 2: Oh, not much. //WKND

TAKE 1: Nothing. Literally nothing.

TAKE 2: TAKE 1:

I worked at Goldman.

-Sat in the Starbucks parking lot for 3 hours at a time 5 days a week -Drove my sister and multiple fifteenyear-olds to the mall every day -Typed up bibliographies for my mom’s overdue research project -Got into vaping nicotine on top of already smoking -Rode my wonderful thoroughbred, “WORLD PEACE”, generously gifted to me by my boyfriend -Drank champagne in my best friend’s Upper West penthouse every weekend, solidifying my most meaningful relationships -Cured lyme disease -Replaced Bernie Sanders’ campaign manager, contributing hugely to his massive uprise in the polls -Selflessly devoted myself as a teacher for underprivileged yet talented kids with a heartwarming love of learning -Spent 4 months in Paris taking L8 French Literature and indulging in the incomparable feast of culture that the city has to offer

//WKND

TAKE 2: -Took the opportunity every day to go to my favorite organic coffee shop to read my favorite books, including but not limited to Faust, Critique of Pure Reason, Naked Lunch, and Madness & Civilization. Learned more about myself through literature than I thought possible.

-Drove to the Adirondacks and hiked for a week, practicing mindfulness meditation throughout and finally finding peace with my spirituality -Completed an independent research project in Berlin, the details of which are simply too complicated to succinctly type up in a bullet point -Quit smoking -Played with the $50 sling shot my boyfriend got for himself -Drank 4 lokos every Wednesday -Got Lyme Disease -Signed up for Bernie Sanders’ newsletter -Taught rich kids who hated going to school during the summer -Went to Kentucky

TAKE 1: I worked at Doctors without Borders.

TAKE 2: I worked at Goldman. //WKND

//Eugenia Zhukovsky

TAKE 1:

TAKE 1:

“What’d you do this summer?”

“Oh, I was just in the lounge, dreading the future.”

TAKE 2:

“How was your summer?”

“I drank alone in the bathroom at work on a daily basis.”

“What’d you do this summer?”

“Oh, I was just developing and enhancing my brand. //WKND

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER

5

DRAMAT SHOP ORIENTATION & TOOL TRAINING University Theater // 9:00 a.m.

We assume you’re sharpening the tools in your thespian kit. Or maybe you’re just messing with hammers and nails.

TAKE 1: I sold an irretrievable part of my soul in exchange for minimum wage, severe sleep deprivation, and a resume that will improve my odds at doing it all over again next summer.

TAKE 2:

TAKE 2:

“How was your summer?”

“I cured AIDS.”

I worked for a law firm.

//WKND

WKND RECOMMENDS: Rushing theater at Yale. Actually, it’s a complicated patchwork of auditions for specific productions, which we know nothing about

//Graham Ambrose

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER

5

YALE FIELD HOCKEY VS SACRED HEART

WKND RECOMMENDS:

Johnson Field // 12 p.m.

WKND has never witnessed an actual hockey game in the flesh. But this weekend might be our lucky chance to find out.

Rushing sports. In its past life WKND was a walk-on coxswain for the men’s heavyweight crew team.

PAGE B8

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SETPEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND SAFETY

A TALE OF TWO CITIES // BY STEPHANIE ADDENBROOKE

SAFETY FROM PAGE 3 happen on campus every year, roughly one crime a day when students are in the city.

However, 24 percent of students surveyed said they think the data for the previous semester was above average. Detailed crime statistics have yet to be released, but the department’s daily crime log reveals that this minority opinion of the student body could be right.

In accordance with the Clery Act, the YPD publishes a daily crime log, viewable on their website. While most students are unaware of it, it provides everyone with a record of what crimes have been reported to YPD, or in the vicinity of their jurisdiction that day.

The daily crime logs for the summer months — from May 7 to last weekend — show 353 reports made to the campus police department over the course of 113 days. A hundred and one of these reports ended in an arrest.

A small minority of these crimes were not time-sensitive: two reports were made about events that had happened earlier in the school year. Regardless, when considering that the average number of crimes is supposedly 300 per school year, it is shocking to see 353 reports spanning a short period of time, particularly when 37 of these occurred within residential colleges and on Old Campus.

Twenty-four crimes were reported on Old Campus, and the residential colleges weren’t exempt either. There were five crimes reported in Branford, three in Ezra Stiles and Morse, two each in Davenport, Saybrook and Silliman and one each in Calhoun and Jonathan

Edwards.

Ironically, 82 percent of students said their residential college dorm was the place they felt safest, with Broadway and the Yale Bookstore coming in second. Crimes in the residential colleges don’t constitute a large percentage of overall crime, but they are sufficient to disrupt a sense of safety behind the gates.

Within the gates, however, the kind of crime seems to align with what the freshmen heard last weekend. As Patten told them and their parents, close to 85 percent of crime on campus is theft, most of the stolen items being unattended electronics.

Seeing a police officer in a dining hall doesn’t stop people from neglecting their safety.

Patten told freshmen and parents alike that students mistakenly use their phones as “placeholders” while they go to get their food from the kitchen areas. While they do this, the assistant chief will frequently take the phone to prove a point to the student.

“It works,” he told the parents. “They panic.”

His argument to the incoming freshmen was to be smart about personal belongings. While their iPhones and laptops may be worth more than the cellular telephone device depicted in the safety video, the message is the same: If you stop leaving your expensive stuff everywhere, the amount of theft on campus will go down.

Furthermore, students concerned for their safety should take note of the services offered to them during the nighttime hours. Patten and Woznyk described the personal shuttle system to the freshmen, letting them know that officers can also accompany students as

they walk to various locations on campus. It’s depicted as something that everyone does. The personal shuttle service provides more than 15,000 rides a month.

According to the News’ survey, these rides do not appeal to everyone. Sixty-two percent of respondents said they had never used YPD’s services, and only 4 percent said they use them regularly. Of those that used the services, 66 percent were females, and all those that use the service regularly are now seniors.

SEEING A POLICE OFFICER IN A DINING HALL DOESN’T STOP PEOPLE FROM NEGLECTING THEIR SAFETY.

While theft may be the most common crime on campus, it cannot be ignored that Yale often plays host to more high-profile crimes. Headlines this year have depicted sexual assaults, reports of gunshots outside of Toad’s Place and records of the city’s homicides, including the horrific finding of dismembered limbs minutes from campus. While these may be later identified as rare events, it is something students take with them. Eight percent of survey respondents said they thought assault was the most common crime on campus, and

four percent said the same about sexual misconduct, when these crimes only constitute a miniscule portion of crimes reported.

As Patten told the freshmen, the majority of crime that occurs on campus is larceny and theft.

In 2013, according to Yale’s formal annual security and fire safety report, there were 22 forcible sex offenses reported to YPD and no aggravated assaults.

Over 140 crimes were classified as a form of theft.

BEYOND THE IVORY TOWERS Students who stay here over the summer often choose to live off-campus, leaving vacant rooms on-campus for international visitors or overeager high school students with lanyards and indistinguishable backpacks.

But, now more than ever, students are making the decision to live off-campus for the whole school year instead of within the gates of their residential college.

And, while the freedom of living beyond those gates can sound appealing to the rising junior or senior, it can bring new challenges and new safety concerns.

Most students in the News’ survey listed the area of Howe Street and Dwight Street as the place they feared most, followed

by Dixwell Avenue and the New Haven Green. While Dixwell and the New Haven Green fall outside of the boundaries that traditionally define campus, Howe and Dwight Streets are the home of many upperclassmen who live off-campus.

Students living in the area, however, contested the results of the News’ survey, saying that they did not feel that the neighborhood they live in was the

“dangerous” part of campus as identified by survey respondents. Rafi Bildner ’16 said he was saddened to hear that there was a significant group of students who perceived the neighborhood as dangerous.

“I’ve found it to be a vibrant neighborhood, full of life,” he said. After a year living in the area, he said the fear of New Haven is “incredibly unhealthy.”

Aaron Jones ’17, who lives in the area, said in an email that he wasn’t thinking about his safety when he made the decision to live off-campus. Even though Jones said he has had no problems, he acknowledges that the area is “rougher” than other parts of campus.

“Everyone here is pretty confident they can handle this type of area,” he wrote.

Ward 1 Alder Sarah Eidelson ’12 concurred. Eidelson entered her junior year at Yale wanting to live off-campus. When she suggested to her friends that they consider University Place, a block farther than Howe and Dwight Streets, they expressed hesitation.

“University Place isn’t much different from Howe Street and Dwight Street, but the one block appeared to make a difference,” she said.

Students living in these “more dangerous” places urged their peers to visit them, not just to socialize, but also as a means to learn more about the city.

“I wonder if the people who took the survey have even been to the neighborhoods they called the most dangerous,” Bildner said.

Perceptions, Eidelson said, cannot be simply solved with crime prevention programs and changing rates of crime. Instead, students need to be out in the

city themselves, because it’s not just students that feel unsafe off campus — there are people in New Haven who feel just as uncomfortable stepping on to the heart of Yale’s campus.

Fish Stark ’17, Eidelson’s competitor in the Ward 1 Democratic primary later this month, said he is sure that some of the New Haven population already feels unsafe coming onto campus. The feeling of welcome diminished even further after an incident last January.

Tahj Blow ‘16 became the center of attention in the winter, when he was mistaken for an intruder in Trumbull College. The officer, who remained unnamed in public documents, held his gun in the “low-ready” position towards Blow as he was leaving the library one night.

After Blow’s father wrote an opinion column in the New York Times, the incident became part of a national dialogue about police interactions with young black men, a major demographic group in New Haven.

Safety goes both ways, Stark said, and it’s a part of the campus conversation that he thinks is ignored. After the incident involving Blow, he said he would not be surprised if certain racial groups within New Haven were more wary of stepping onto campus.

The solution might involve a more nuanced understanding of safety within a broader context.

“The only mandatory event during Camp Yale which talks about New Haven is the safety orientation,” Stark said. “We need someone to tell freshmen the real story of New Haven, and all it has to offer.”

Contact STEPHANIE ADDENBROOKE at stephanie.addenbrooke@yale.edu .

20000

CRIME RATE IN NEW HAVEN

CRIME IN NEW HAVEN

15000

10000

5000

1990

1992

1994

1996

1998

2000

2002

2004

2006

2008

YEAR

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER

5

YALE VOLLEYBALL VS UC SANTA BARBARA

WKND RECOMMENDS:

PWG // 1 p.m.

UCSB, your campus is on the beach of central California. You don’t need this.

We do.

The rush you get when you see your name on a seminar admission list.

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B9

WEEKEND GETAWAY

A FEW SCENES // BY JACOB POTASH

This is the first time I’ve written at night. I’m among vociferous old men who are watching fútbol on a flat screen. The hostel where I’m staying has swelled to unmanageable numbers — hordes of yelping Brazilians roam the hallways — and fortunately for my psychic well-being, I’m heading out on my own this week to visit the Sierras, to the north.

After a month of sunny cloudless blue skies, they’ve turned gray, coinciding with my mood. I don’t know the causality perfectly.

A few scenes – 1. On a Saturday morning (July 4, I think), I went to where Google Maps told me there’d be a synagogue. Five blocks away.

You can’t miss it. A photograph wouldn’t convey the impression the building gives — it interrupts the snaking, jostling chain of narrow barbershops, restaurants, bookstores, gyms, hardware stores, hotels, bakeries, coffee shops, clothes stores and pharmacies. It is a huge beige semicircle, flat side down, its surface dominated by supersized tablets inscribed with the ten commandments. The whole structure is set back 15 feet from the road, barricaded behind an iron fence. I felt self-conscious to

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER

5

stop in front, and sensed for the first time that I might be unsafe as a Jew. The building looks alien, cultish and fortresslike, silent and secretive in a loud, easygoing city. The gates, once buzzed into, reveal a tank-like tollbooth, through which you can speak with an unseen security guard.

He can then unlock a massive metal door.

I buzzed in, reached the guard, and asked about services. No, no, no, he said. Services are Friday. There was nothing to do but scamper back onto the downtown sidewalk.

2. The day after local elections, strolling, I looked up and found myself on the edge of a ceremony unfolding in Plaza San Martin, flanked with military personnel on both sides and important political figures at one end. I joined the crowd that was forming, wondering whether I’d be shooed away, and soon TV crews arrived. 20 minutes later, Juan Schiaretti, the governor-elect of the province, joined the political notables.

It was over in a matter of minutes. Schiaretti barked patriotically into a microphone and walked down a red carpet to

raise a huge Argentine flag on the opposite end of the square. The soldiers blew trumpets, tapped drums, trotting back and forth and in circles, and then everyone dispersed. The event was officially a celebration of the city’s 442nd birthday but I suspect also a coronation of sorts for the governor elected the day before.

3. Reading commentary on Plato; watching the owner of this cafe punch another old man and shove him against the plate glass wall on the outside the restaurant; listening to the cafe’s speakers blare “Neon Lights” by Demi Lovato, a seriously propulsive power-pop anthem. The disheveled punch-ee, cowed, is now sorting through bills in his wallet. Now the radio offers up “Summer,” by Taylor-Swiftboyfriend Calvin Harris. Back to Plato!

4. What is more lovely to experience, and boring to read about, than a happy day with friends? I had one with Emma and Alex (Team America), Mariana (Puerto Rico) and Cori (Switzerland, though she speaks flawless English and Spanish, and German and Swiss-German

ANGLES ON ART TOUR, SURPRISED

BY CONVENTION

and Italian and French). We ate brunch, wandered the commercial district, said how we feel young here, said that we were looking for clothes. We didn’t get clothes but wandered through the beautiful day until we were lost enough to need a taxi back.

Cori isn’t talkative. Mariana is hippie-ish, very interesting to talk to, majors in indigenous literature, and parties frequently.

5. Last night I went to synagogue, which was a markedly different experience, my parents will be glad to know, from church the week before. Elaborate questioning about my background preceded my admission.

Their sanctuary is of an epic size, arching, off-white, and when I entered, they were singing a prayer whose words and melody I knew. They were in fact conducting precisely the same service in which I participated every Friday afternoon between kindergarten and eighth grade. Their siddur (prayerbook), I noted, is edited by a woman with that most Latin of names: Judith Silverstein.

I understood less than in the Catholic service since the rabbi talked faster. A Leonard Cohen lookalike congregant delivered

the sermon and spoke of the Sabbath as a time to recognize the mystery and miracle of existence, the enigma of creation. During “Oseh Shalom” (“[He Who] Makes Peace”) I closed my eyes and sang with 200 synchronous voices and for a moment thought my eyes would well up. My mom or dad sang the same prayer to me every night of my childhood, in the very same melody, and I sang along every time, often so forcefully that my parents worried I wouldn’t fall asleep.

I wrote one of my college essays about not having a culture to belong to. I came to the synagogue that evening fairly distraught about a few things. But I walked through the iron gates and joined the tradition of welcoming the seventh day, and I understood that obviously I have a culture, and it was nice.

At the end, a young couple came up to the bima to close the ark, holding a beautiful blonde, curly-haired child that bore an uncanny resemblance to my brother Josh at two years old.

There are details I don’t want to leave out. Like how only very, very gradually does the everydayness of this place settle in.

How on the wall of my favorite pizza place it says, “Here your grandfather, your father, learned to eat pizza, now it’s your turn.”

How the land encircling the barrio where I worked looks just like the fields in eastern Iowa. How I swear the sky is bluer here. How obsequious and good-natured a person Jorge, my scraggly, round-faced waiter at the cafe I frequent, seems to be. How I had to stand for 25 minutes on the bus every workday and sweat – the space was packed with humans, and I was unsure when to battle my way to the front and ask the driver to stop. How pathetic the bears looked on their triangular patch of concrete at the zoo. How the man with uneven dreads sang the blues in Spanish and picked at his electric guitar, how the woman with round sunglasses sang “Killing Me Softly” throatily on the corner while an older man with a brown-and-cerulean Quiksilver zip-up sweatshirt played drums. How I asked all the children their favorite color in hope of making a poster with their names, and how the most common answer was “Celeste.”

Contact JACOB POTASH at jacob.potash@yale.edu .

WKND RECOMMENDS:

YUAG // 3:30 p.m.

We have learned rather to be unsurprised at unconvention.

Rushing from class to class with a simultaneous sense of purpose and aimlessness.

PAGE B10

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND COLUMNS

SONG OF THE SUMMER: SMOOTH SAILIN’ // BY GRAHAM AMBROSE

// ZISHI LI

It’s a scorching night in July and the moon has begun to crest atop the small town you grew up loving to hate. You’re sweating, despite the car’s air conditioning, and wondering where to go. Enough with burgers, with wings, with all the cheap eateries that flourish in quiet suburbs far from the city limits.

Enough with the worn institutions of this old routine.

And then in the silence of the passenger’s seat, the song comes on the radio: Smooth Sailin’, the fourth track off the debut album of Leon Bridges, a rising star from Fort Worth,

Texas. It’s a real summer thumper, a quick-toed dancing number that cashes in on the singer’s rich syrupy voice and colorful saxophone melodies reminiscent of Charlie Parker.

Like so much American art, from Huckleberry Finn to EDM, Smooth Sailin’ is an infectious addition to the body of work that moves, and moves restlessly. The little ditty opens with a purpose: a journey through the “concrete seas” of Anytown, USA. Later, as the song heads “east down the boulevard,” Bridges finally kicks back and embraces the time-

honored role of being “your passenger,” a willful but easy companion through the plain and straight streets of gridded suburbia.

In three short minutes, the tune summons an anywherebut-here stir craziness endemic to wandering adolescence. It’s a youthful anthem complete with all the bombast of immaturity — hot, sweaty, and assuredly anxious.

The beat lands and suddenly you’re shouting orders to your friend behind the wheel. Just drive. Where? Just, drive.

Your buddy takes the car

out of park while you roll down the windows and unfurl the restive celebration onto the unsuspecting night. You wish you could go ninety down these tired, familiar streets so you roll through stop signs because the song doesn’t brake so why should you? You turn up the volume and tune out the low rolling hum of tires biting asphalt beneath the circling banter of old friends recreating high school days. Things were worse then, you know, you’re certain, but as the guitarist takes a solo the past just seems somehow not so tragic.

Bridges has brought you back here with soulful swing. Smooth Sailin’ sounds like an undiscovered release from Sam Cooke or Otis Redding, the kings of ‘60s soul who mesmerized fans with a spirit that the Texas luminary has since revived. And, while the

balmy summer breeze breathes warm air across your floating mane, for the first time you’re genuinely wondering how to tap into memories gathered before your birth. Leon Bridges has done it with a snappy energy and swaying snare that jolt alive the dormant days of summer.

He’s found that idyllic nostalgia that makes the ride enjoyable in spite of the stifling heat that quietly glues passengers to seats. So you’re stuck here, now, delightfully blind to tomorrow.

And maybe that’s the true state of the American summer, the never-ending chase of a golden happy easily imagined yet never quite experienced. It’s the sound of The Sandlot, of baseball and rollercoasters and innocence even though you’re not coordinated and easily nauseated and have been to Canada once, thank you. It’s the audible hope we peddle to get our listless teenagers through the dreary months of school. The

solace of summer, the promise that these months will be different.

Leon Bridges gives you an out. He’s to thank and to blame for keeping that promise alive.

After all, Smooth Sailin’ is the romp we want but don’t deserve. It consummates, like the season, the previous months of thankless toil that seem suddenly insignificant from atop the perch of summer.

The key is not to think. Just to drive. Because, hell, it’s the dog days, and what else is there to do? It’s all smooth sailin’ on these quiet streets, anyhow, and the forecast’s clear here on out.

Leave the cargo on the side of the road, don’t let it wear you down.

And try not to complain when your friend brings you to the burger joint. You did ask him to drive tonight.

like “Dimed Out” and “Fatal Flaw” provide some of “The Most Lamentable Tragedy’s” brightest spots on this new release: they’re free and loose, unencumbered by the sort of grave seriousness that weighs down the album’s more emotionally hefty epics. The video for “Fatal Flaw” is simple; it shows the band performing its typically raucous sets at the sorts of small clubs at which it got its start six years ago.

It’s eerily similar to the video for “Titus Andronicus,” one of the

standout songs from their first album. There is palpable joy in the chaotic, youthful spontaneity of “Dimed Out” and “Fatal Flaw,” a joy that recalls an upstart band with nothing to do but play.

Titus Andronicus have lost some of that now; they have sacrificed it for the intellectual mindfulness of “The Most Lamentable Tragedy.” Perhaps that is a sacrifice worth making.

Contact GRAHAM AMBROSE at graham.ambrose@yale.edu.

The Tragic Sacrifice of Titus Andronicus // BY NOAH DAPONTE-SMITH Titus Andronicus never shy away from the epic, do they?

The New Jersey sextet arrived on the punk scene in 2008 with an album whose reverberating lo-fi production lent it a feeling of vastness; two years later, they followed it up with “The Monitor,” a record that used the Civil War as a metaphor for anger, adolescence, angst and all the failures of modern America. Five years and another album after that, Patrick Stickles and his fellow rockers are back, this time borrowing their title from the Shakespeare play that gave the band its name.

For the ardent followers of Titus Andronicus — and they are legion throughout the Northeast — “The Most Lamentable Tragedy” should come as nothing of a surprise. Sure, the rock opera clocks in at a monumental 93 minutes, and its production is crisper than anything else heard on a Titus Andronicus album.

But the band’s hallmarks are still there. The album’s length and its subject matter — it deals with mental disorders, a topic largely springing from Stickles’ own life — might be seen as the natural progression from “The Monitor.” This is Titus Andronicus at their most self-conscious, making music that sounds more like them than any of their previous work.

An example is in order here.

Perhaps the strongest track on the album is “More Perfect Union,” the name of which recalls the opening anthem from “The Monitor.” The song’s 10-minute length, on the other hand, brings to mind epics like “The Battle of Hampton Roads,” “The Monitor’s” 14-minute closing track that, replete with bagpipes, previously held undisputed claim to the title of Titus Andronicus’ quintessential song.

“More Perfect Union” starts quietly, with an eerie dirge, as Stickles softly bemoans the relations between his family members. After about 90 seconds, a ray of light breaks into the melody, though the grim subject matter remains unchanged.

At the three-minute mark, the

SUNDAY SEPTEMBER

6

NOAH DAPONTE-SMITH CRITIC OF NOTES song reaches euphoria as Stickles sings: “But on the other side/ My radiant lady’s waiting/With a beaconing light,” the band behind him raising an aural fist high into the air.

For the next six minutes, no lyrics are sung. Like “The Battle of Hampton Roads,” the song eventually becomes entirely instrumental, and a brilliant instrumental it is. Twin guitars ring out over heavy chords, slowly ascending; tension builds but only reaches a half-release; from six-and-a-half minutes the band is off and running and the guitars gleefully trade riffs as their accompaniment speeds along. Then suddenly the song becomes a halting stutter, only to accelerate again and grow ever faster until it reaches its conclusion. “More Perfect Union,” in all its effervescence, approaches the best music Titus Andronicus has ever made. And although it still has much in common with “The Monitor,” it matches if not betters that album’s finest songs.

In other respects, “The Most Lamentable Tragedy” is a unique entry in the band’s oeuvre. “More Perfect Union,” for instance, is followed by over a minute of silence, after which comes a minute-long song in which a choir sings “Glory to Ra in the highest:” simultaneous paganism, holiness, and irreverence. Immediately thereafter is the nine-minute “(S)HE SAID / (S)HE SAID,” an intense thirdperson narration of eating disorders, raw sexual frustration and a rapid descent into insanity. It’s weird, foreign, decidedly experimental. The standout tracks on “The Monitor” — “No Future Part III,” “A More Perfect Union,” “The Battle of Hampton Roads” — dealt with many of the topics addressed here, but chose to skirt around them, favoring metaphors and symbolism over

explicit reference. On this album, Stickles and his entourage forsake that approach. They accept hardship as ineluctable truth, and instead of dancing around the inevitable battle, they eagerly greet the challenge. Two songs on the album are called “I Lost My Mind;” a third is called “I’m Going Insane (Finish Him).”

Not that “The Most Lamentable Tragedy” is simply a 90-minute menagerie of pain and suffering. Many of its best songs exhibit a brand of punchy, wellproduced, sunny punk. The love song “Come On, Siobhan” comes to mind, with its full-throated declarations of desire and adoration backed by a vibrant string ensemble. Or the piano-driven “Fatal Flaw,” where Stickles’s shining vocals, backed by an energetic rhythm section and peppy strings, truly carry the music along. It’s catchy, poppy, the sort of track that gets stuck in your head and that you’ll happily hum for hours. But even that song is a heart-on-thesleeve admission to imperfection and mediocrity. Not even the album’s sunniest spots can escape its uncompromising truth-telling.

At many points, the album, burdened by its sheer length and weight, threatens to collapse onto itself. But the singular presence of Patrick Stickles keeps it all together. His vocals, ranging from a surprisingly tender drawl to an incomprehensible roar, are the album’s finest aspect. His persona in performance — best encapsulated by his central role in the 15-minute music video “The Magic Morning,” featuring Stickles, heavily bearded, acting alongside himself, clean-shaven — is utterly captivating. He has a certain Old Testament fervor about him: on “The Monitor,” he reminded me of John Brown and his abolitionist zeal; on “The Most Lamentable Tragedy” I can think of no direct comparison. Perhaps, in his obvious intent to make his

UNDERGRADUATE CURRICULAR BAZAAR

music into a three-dimensional performance, he seeks to emulate David Bowie. But Bowie seems of a different, more calculated, sort. Stickles sings and performs without any meta-ness, without any irony: He is direct at all times, and always deadly sincere.

But that sincerity can only go so far. If anything hurts the album, it is the band’s unwillingness to loosen up and take it all less seriously. For all of Stickles’ sincerity, his method too often comes across as heavy-handed, and despite the superficial clarity of the a l b u m ’s

ly r i c s, his ultimate message remains opaque.

The album closes with the 30-second “A Moral,” but you’re left wondering what the moral is. On “The Monitor,” the tying of his hatred and angst to the familiar cultural landmark of the Civil War gave the listener a roadmap of sorts, weathered guideposts that marked the way through the album’s moral complexity. “The Most Lamentable Tragedy” has no cultural reference of that kind, and the result is an album whose purpose remains devilishly hard to divine.

There’s a reason that tracks

WKND RECOMMENDS:

PWG // 12 p.m.

WKND avoids this event at all costs. Enter at your own peril.

Contact NOAH DAPONTE-SMITH at noah.daponte-smith@yale.edu.

Russian. Intensive.

// ZISHI LI

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

PAGE B11

WEEKEND COLUMNS

BEACH HOUSE CLOSES OUT THE SUMMER // BY JACOB POTASH Beach House’s live show is like their output over the last nine years — gorgeous, cool without being cold, and so consistent that it could almost be called static.

The duo played their first ever show in New Haven on Aug. 26 to a sold-out crowd at the College Street Music Hall, a concert venue near Yale’s campus that opened in May. The performance was part of a world tour in support of their fifth album, “Depression Cherry,” released Aug. 28.

Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally said in a recent press release that their new album “shows a return to simplicity” after two records that were “louder” and “more aggressive.”

But in concert, live drums buoyed the band’s early, less percussive material, and the new set of sin-

gles sounded enormous, particularly the cinematic groundswell of “PPP.” Legrand (vocals, keyboard) and Scally (guitar, backing vocals), along with a backing drummer and an additional guitarist, moved little onstage, but musically the pair zigzagged across their four-and-a-half-album oeuvre, performing the three singles from “Depression Cherry” and a raft of their most popular tracks, including “Gila,” “Zebra” and “Master.”

Opener “10:37” gave way to “Master of None,” and the Baltimore band continued in this vein, gliding from album to album with the audience following their lead.

The opening riffs of most of the songs prompted cheers from concertgoers, none more so than “10 Mile Stereo,” the encore.

THE BEACH HOUSE SOUND IS OFTEN DESCRIBED AS “DREAM POP,” A LABEL THAT THEY’VE OUTGROWN. During “10:37” Legrand looked downward and stood tall behind her instrument, long dark hair pushed forward and bangs covering her eyes, stage lights silhouetting her black sweater and skirt.

The image of a faceless black-onred silhouette brought out the menace in a melancholy song, but the forbidding impression

softened when Legrand swept her hair back and warmly thanked the audience for their attendance.

Legrand proved a spellbinding presence whose voice — soaring, clear, precise — needed few visual pyrotechnics, though she swayed, whipped her hair and interpretively torqued her hands.

Scally jumped and strutted to her right, guitar in hand, while the two additional musicians stayed in the shadows on her left. Behind the band were three tall rectangular prisms made of sheer, iridescent cloth — these were the canvas for an expert light show that complemented and moved in time with the music, by turns bathing the prisms in a pulsing orange glow or falling globs of white light.

The Beach House sound is often described as “dream pop,”

a label that they’ve outgrown.

Many of their melodies feel classic — transcendent and instantly recognizable. But not all of the songs were riveting. Much of Beach House’s music rests in a gray area of almost sing-alongable and almost danceable, an awkward purgatory for live concert, where some seemed unsure whether to listen reverently or let loose. But most of the crowd appeared content just to hear their favorite tracks live.

“Depression Cherry” has attracted positive reviews for merging Beach House’s strengths, striking a balance between the mellowness of the band’s early work and the boldness of 2010’s “Teen Dream” and 2012’s “Bloom.” Everything blended to maximum effect on Wednesday night, creating

sounds that were richer than their recorded counterparts but no less precise. The live sound quality and mixing were as wellexecuted as the instrumentation.

The final moment of the final song was memorable: They drew out a musical flourish as scattered, star-like lights flashed behind the stage. Everyone existed for a long moment in the medium of noise, as if Beach House had melted the other dimensions into music. When that ended, so did the show.

These two prolific perfectionists had no other declarations or gestures to make. They seemed most confident, and most fluent, in the language of sound.

Contact JACOB POTASH at jacob.potash@yale.edu .

An Improvised Introduction // BY SOFIA BRAUNSTEIN

// ALEX KRONMAN

You stand in front of 200 people who stare at you intently, unsure of what to expect. Many of them have not seen an improv show before. Some might not even know what improv is; perhaps they’ve been dragged here by their friends. Your mission tonight is to impress and inspire, to make people take a break from reality and immerse themselves in whatever kooky world you imagine.

You call out the rules of the game. You ask for a random place, a random relationship between two people and special word. As the game begins, you are standing in a kitchen with your brother — with whom, it should be added, you are in an incestuous relationship. Ridiculous phrases roll off your tongue with minimal thought, and the audience’s laughter is a sign of your success.

Those watching seem to delight in your wacky, off-the-cuff jokes, unaware that hours of practice were required for you to appear so spontaneous and carefree. It’s this feeling of freedom

that drives you to keep improving your craft and become more and more comfortable on stage.

Five Yale improv groups took the stage in Davies Auditorium on Tuesday night to demonstrate that craft at Improvaganza!, Yale’s annual improv showcase. Inviting the predominantly freshman audience to imagine themselves onstage, Just Add Water, Lux Improvitas, The Purple Crayon, Exit Players and the Viola Question each gave the audience a taste of their respective styles through a mixture of short skits and games.

Just five minutes into each presentation, each group’s quirks and particular brand of comedy became evident.

I personally do not have a favorite group — rather, each one excites a different aspect of my sense of humor.

Just Add Water relied on music and played to my fondness for jokey

songs and parodies. I’ve been to a few of their shows, and I am always waiting for them to break into song in the middle of a skit. The way they say things and the notes they hit make me laugh; when set to song, the word “snickerdoodle” becomes a joke in itself (no offense to snickerdoodles, or to those who bake them).

JAW’s relaxed energy encourages the audience to engage with the scene and allows the players themselves to feed off the laughter that they’ve created.Yet as amazing as JAW’s performers are, my favorite part of their show is the improvisational pianist who sets the tone for every scene.

The Viola Question has a similar style to JAW and uses many of the same games, but infuses every skit w i t h

sexual innuendo. The humor is crude, childish and flat out hilarious. It’s almost embarrassing to admit that I find their improv the most entertaining, especially given that their favorite game involves time-travel orgies. They play with taboo topics and create humor out of the resulting awkwardness.

JAW and the VQ structure their shows similarly, but many of the other groups that played on Tuesday night used different formats. The Purple Crayon, for example, relied on structured, long-form improv with interwoven scenes and characters. Rabid pigs, the U.S. Marines, and runaway farmgirls m a d e

repeated appearances, tying together different scenes and giving their performance the feel of a coherent whole. Lux Improvitas, Yale’s newest improv group, relied on a similar format, while The Ex!t Players — Yale’s oldest group — experimented with a mixture of long and short form.

As the last laughs subsided on Tuesday, freshmen began to make their way towards the stage.

They met members of the various groups and collected fliers extolling each group’s virtues and advertising their upcom-

ing recruitment workshops. The wide variety of improv styles on view ensured that there was something for everyone present. But regardless of their differences, each group knew how to make even an uninitiated crowd roar with laughter.

Contact SOFIA BRAUNSTEIN at sofia.braunstein@yale.edu .

// IVONA IACOB

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER

5

ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND WHC // 7 p.m.

How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot! / The world forgetting, by the world forgot Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!

Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d.

WKND RECOMMENDS: Rushing English 126. Alternatively, the blameless vestal’s lot.

PAGE B12

YALE DAILY NEWS · FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 2015 · yaledailynews.com

WEEKEND BACKSTAGE

LET’S MAKE ADIL — THE MAN BEHIND THE CREPES // BY DAVID SHIMER

A

dil Chokairy, owner of the new Crepes Choupette Restaurant, broke out on the New Haven food cart scene last summer when he and his

coworkers started making crepes on the street and sell-

ing them to Yale students and New Haven residents alike.

Last night, he and his fellow restaurateurs hosted the soft opening of their new shop at 24 Whitney Ave. The free event featured crepes filled with Nutella and banana, fig and Brie and jam and white chocolate, which were served to visitors along with flutes of cold champagne.

// DEBORAH FEINGOLD

Q: How would you characterize the mission of your restaurant?

A: We started with a tricycle. And I wanted to go for something that is really quality food, diversified a little bit. Different than what New Haven has. And I thought of crepes, escalating from a tricycle to this. I want to keep focusing on the quality of the batter, staff, ingredients, operation in the kitchen, little things that we undertake.

Everything that we do has to be quality. And that is already done well so far.

People in New Haven know this and are receptive to this. And I am in the quality business.

Q: Do you have any plans to expand in the future?

A: I am hoping not necessarily to open another restaurant. I want more people to love us, to love me, to love crepes, to love the restaurant. Customers can be whoever, but I just want people to love our products and customer service. The most important thing is the product.

Q: Can you tell me about your team?

Q: How would you characterize your target customer base?

A: I have been in marketing all of my life, since I was 19 years old. I have a marketing and business background, and I have worked with different companies in marketing and sales. And I have been in banking since I moved to America in 2006. And when I switched to crepes, I went away from this. I don’t talk numbers, I talk quality and love. I don’t have strategy. This is about being open to anyone who loves the crepes.

We’re not doing any marketing strategy — I need to reach this or that. Whoever comes here is welcome.

Q: Why give free crepes?

A: It was something to say thank you to everyone who supported me and supported the carts. In the snow making crepes — people still came. People still looked for us in the tricycles. It’s to say thank you to everyone who has supported us. It’s for all of them.

Q: What sort of support has helped you get to this point?

A: The support of the smile, of love. You can believe that or you don’t have to believe

I DON’T

that, but it’s how I function. And this is just the beginning of the hard work to come. The support really was the love — the people surrounding me. When they see me they smile. When I talk they smile. There was a guy at 2:00 who came, and I didn’t expect him to come, and he helped me to clean the windows and open up. There were people calling me asking if I need anything. It’s just amazing.

Q: What inspires you?

A: These personal connections have pushed me to give more, to work harder and to not disappoint. My mom also inspires me, because she taught me very good lessons. First about food and the tastes of food and the service of food. My dad inspired me in the business way. He used to be a businessman as well, and he passed away in 2008. He inspired me and taught me how to be in the business.

He had a small business, and he showed me what makes a small business successful. That’s the love of people. If you don’t have love as a small business, you won’t survive. You need the love of the community to survive.

Q: Why should Yale students come to your restaurant?

A: They should come to our restaurant because we cook in front of people. We make batter and we put it in a crepe, which is a pseudo type of bread. We are not cooking bread in the old fashion way. We are cooking fresh food in front of people. And for Yale students, it’s very important, for anybody it’s very important, because nowadays we don’t see anything fresh. You go to any

TALK NUMBERS, I TALK QUALITY AND LOVE. I DON’T HAVE STRATEGY. THIS IS ABOUT BEING OPEN TO ANYONE WHO LOVES THE CREPES.

“

“

A: We have four here and two in the carts. There is one

cart on College and Wall Street. The cart has been operating for a year and a half now, and this is the result of it today. It was just me running the cart.

deli or restaurant, the bread has been sitting for a long time. We cook in front of people. Students work hard, and they deserve fresh products.

Q: What made you choose this location?

And was it difficult to get it ready?

A: It just came up randomly. I was looking for the smallest location in New Haven, and this is what came up.

Opening a restaurant is a long process.

Health departments, fire departments, construction, design, details, everything. It’s not an easy process. It took about seven months. I had a good contractor and designer — good people surrounding me.

Q: What was the most challenging part of opening the restaurant?

A: Making simple things is harder than sophisticated things. That means that simple is the most sophisticated thing.

I wanted something simple, and it’s not an easy thing to do something simple nowadays. For example, the façade of our countertop — I wanted it to look aged, a simple thing. But it’s very hard to do. So the most challenging thing is to do a simple design, a minimalistic design. People come and say it is simple, but it’s actually the most difficult. You can do expensive work and be done in two days — that’s sophisticated and easy. But simple is difficult.

Q: What is your leadership style?

A: I want this restaurant to be a prime address for people that are looking for good food and a nice atmosphere.

I want it to be a getaway. I work with my staff in a way that I trust and listen to them. I want them to feel it’s their business as well, because it is. I want them to feel responsible for each task they are assigned and they should treat it respectfully, and vice versa.

Q: What sorts of events and parties can be held here?

A: We host many events here — (gesturing to worker) like right now she wants to have her baby shower here. She just told us that. We have corporate events as well. We can host birthday parties or we could just have

a crepe party. We could have Christmas parties. We already have Christmas parties booked. Or we could go to people’s houses and cater them. We cater all of the time. That is the core of our business.

Q: Would you characterize this as a family business?

A: I don’t think it’s a family business.

It’s my business, but the style of it is you come here and you feel at home.

But my nephew is visiting for two weeks to help.

Q: How have your roots influenced you?

A: My mom gave me the basics, and then I practiced. And that’s it. I grew up with this. I grew up in France, and that’s influenced me in the taste, the cooking, in everything. It’s more fresh ingredients and slow cooking and more about the creativity of mixing up ingredients. It’s more versatile. That’s the style of the French cooking way.

And living in America has taught me how to learn about people and how to understand the culture and how amazing people in America are. To know how it’s evolving — the gastronomy in America. And how people are very conscious about their food. It’s all about the quality right now in the restaurant business.

If you don’t have it, your business will die. People watch what they eat more than they used to.

Q: Is there anything you’d like to add?

A: Catering is a big thing for us. We’re not any other caterer. We don’t cook sandwiches in the morning and serve them in the afternoon. We cook in front of people. That’s our way of catering.

We smile when we provide our services.

We are thankful for people, and that shows in our manner of service. It’s almost like more traditional. The label of our business is everything we do is traditional. The batter is made from scratch. We mix the eggs, the batter, the milk. We let the batter rest overnight.

The ingredients have to be fresh. It has to be fresh before we put the crepes there.

Contact DAVID SHIMER at david.shimer@yale.edu .