Almastat: Why are Students Excited To Be Back On Campus?
—All of the beautiful construction cranes.
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—All of the beautiful construction cranes.
Indie rock staples the New Pornographers and Broken Social Scene each recently released their first album in years without much fanfare. While their last respective releases were anything but disappointing, it points to the rapid pace of the Internet-run indie world to consider how over-the-hill it feels to desperately want to praise this release; mostly because you have to miss the exhilaratingly vibrant indie rock benchmarks set on 2002's You Forgot It In People and their eponymous follow-up in 2005. But in more than one way BSS are showing the effects of their age, or perhaps just the loose nature of the supergroup, through compromised results. Where there were fluid melodies walking you down a beach and introducing oceans of cymbals and fuzz guitar to swim in, there are now quirks and affections hidden in walls of sound that are too often more transparent than they are shoegaze.
It's my last chance to talk about music for The Daily Cardinal, but I'm going to use it to talk about movies instead. Specifically, a movie that presents the picture of music intellect that so many have subconsciously tried to replicate. This movie is ""High Fidelity,"" and the film's protagonist, Rob Gordon, stands for what audiophiles today both strive for and are hindered by.
Rock shows and record stores. That is what touring was all about according to Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore in ""I Need That Record!,"" a documentary that was streamed on the Pitchfork website on the heels of Record Store Day. It profiles various record stores as they shut down and the audiophiles who depended on them for sustenance, and interviews industry veterans for perspectives reaching back to the early prominence of the recording industry. It laments the decline of independent music stores and the creative side of the industry. Yet out of all of the dejected faces seen, hope can be found when the undertones of those laments point to industry-defying artists of today.
Young rappers are often filled with as much naiveté as they are ambitious, let alone a young rapper who is a white full-time student from ""Chicago... well, north Evanston, Ill."" Their eagerness to talk about smoking weed and grinding on the streets often dilutes any uniquely personal perspectives and quirks. A giddiness to make every line rhyme leads a new rapper to grasp at the beat like a drowning man at a life preserver floating by. Their lack of preparation can lead to amateur observations of the local grocers, while preparedness can quickly become an awkward inability to adapt in the booth. At some point or another, all of these plagued Jeff Trigg's solo rap debut, Through the Window... To My Soul; naiveté equaled passion and ambition. For his follow up, The New Era Mixtape, Trigg attempted to leave some of those barriers behind.
""You are now about to witness the power of street knowledge,"" is the line that introduced the world to gangster hip-hop. It demonstrates the necessity of a background on the streets to spit true gangster raps. It establishes street cred and makes reputation an inherent concern for rappers. The eventual suburbanization of the genre into mainstream forms of R&B and rap—ranging from radio-made hitsters like Lil' Jon and Akon to gangsters who moved up to middle- or upper-class society, like Jay-Z, 50 Cent and Common, or Kanye, who has brought the most credibility to suburban rap with his polos and troubles in college—is a response to rappers finding it easier to keep a somewhat clean image and avoid the ire of concerned parents and other more active opponents of potty-mouth lyrics. With labels shrinking and forced to sign artists like the ones mentioned above (who tap into the easiest market to make money off of: suburban kids), gangster rappers who relied on street knowledge to survive only to depict their troubling lifestyles through verses and beats have been relegated to mixtapes.
I know I'm jumping the first-anniversary gun or maybe just missing the farewell boat by the better part of a year, but a career of such transforming polarizations is beginning to complete its form for me. Michael Jackson transcended cultural and artistic barriers, which has been conflicting a large majority of the general populace since the beginning of his career. Reflecting on the last year, the last pieces of his career have fallen securely into a safe place for him, as his death has prompted a 360-degree turn among fans. Just a year ago, most saw him as an alleged pedophile who had become more deformed than the zombies in his ""Thriller"" video from 30 years ago. However now that he has passed, somehow the dark secrets in his closet are forgotten entirely while everybody stands in awe of the glistening garments that masked his vices and drew roaring applause throughout his career.
The Swedish music scene has long stood as a valued contributor to pop music, from ABBA, Europe, Ace of Base and the Cardigans of old, to the Knife, Peter Bjorn and John and Jens Lekman descendents of today. But these acts always manage to share a flamboyant, quirky or ethereal aesthetic. So it seems from outside the theater, sitting on the curb, we hear the energized finger-picking and jaunting vocals of Kristian Matsson: The Tallest Man on Earth. An ironically monolithic moniker from someone of small stature both literally (look up videos—he's short and lean) and sonically when compared to the flair of the Swedish scene. Musically, however, the title is apt.
Apparently, history often forgets to question the separation of church and state, assert the presence of Russian spies in the U.S. government during the Cold War, glorify Ronald Reagan above Lincoln and unwrite hip-hop as a contributing part of American culture. Such are the (generalized) recommendations coming from the Texas Board of Education as it awaits the final vote on what has become a buzz-worthy topic over the last month: revisionist history, a touchy subject when it comes to mixing seemingly historical fact with how certain factions may prefer to view history subjectively. What Texas' Board of Education is really trying to do is take the rules of recontextualization—the refitting or reassigning of a work of art into its greater context because of enhanced or simply new perspectives reached over time—and apply them to history.
Lollapalooza releases its full lineup today, and for some diehard fans and annual attendees, that makes today something of a holiday. To take advantage of this anticipation, summer music festivals across the board have been creative in their unveiling methods. First it was Bonnaroo, and now Lollapalooza represents the extreme. Apparently, the new thing for festivals to do if they want to be cool and exclusive is reveal their lineups in some creative way—or in the case of Pitchfork, lengthen the process and aggravate future attendees.
At the crux of his recent resurgence, Nas released Hip Hop is Dead, a strong, surprisingly production-focused record from the rapper attributed as one of the ones responsible for spurring the formation of east-coast rap. To put it simply, he's been around the block, which allowed him to pull off the stale angle. Every year there are rappers who try to make a splash in the rap game by declaring that their art form is dead, but not to worry: They are ready to resurrect it right before our very ears. This has become a novelty motif at a point where artists are having a hard time achieving longevity unless they have a specific angle to lend them credibility—basically drugs, crime, misogyny, rags to riches, etc. However, there is a new reason why this motif is still just that, a motif, and not valid as a declarative. That reason also serves as the newest, massively successful motif in its own right: mixtape prowess.
A singer-songwriter, by traditional standards, depicts a bard-like guitar player who can interweave abstract or direct tales of social, personal or political commentary. The most common image behind this phrase has to be a young Bob Dylan, crafted in the mold of Woody Guthrie and singing with a similar country flavor and ""This Machine Kills Fascists"" political motivation. This ideal evolved with technology and genre amalgamation, but to this day, grasps at that mysticism of being the informed poet, using either a guitar or piano to spread musical messages. In other words, singer-songwriters, according to this traditional ideal, are not supposed to be superficial pop artists. They know music is meant for more than that.
Is it so wrong for me to like Beck's Record Club recording of Oar better than Alex ""Skip"" Spence's original cult classic? Well, I'm not willing to make that declaration, and even though that's not entirely because of the (lack of) merit in liking a cover better, it made me wonder, should it be? In this instance, Spence's original is just so heavy. Without the additional weight felt through his background story and vocals, a lighter rendition is a much easier listen—comparing the versions of ""Weighted Down"" is like discussing the merits of ""Mean Girls"" versus ""Precious."" Much like the way an electric, Figure 8-era Elliott Smith is much easier to find yourself listening to even though it's not his ""best"" material, so too is this set of covers, which infuses contemporary sounds and tempered beats into the mix of intriguing conventions on the original.
Something must have clicked in the minds of Frightened Rabbit over the last two years, because their latest album, The Winter of Mixed Drinks, is one wrecking ball of a challenge compared to their previous two LPs. Only traces of their immature but always entertaining witticisms of old (""You're the shit, and I'm knee deep in it,"" ""You must be a masochist to love a modern leper on his last leg,"" etc.) remain, which always kept listeners singing along in amusement as their traditional songwriting prevented anyone from getting lost. Gone are the days of the Scottish group sitting in a bar drinking bourbon too expensive for their own good and stretching ironically affecting lyrics every which way as they stand on the sturdy legs of their natural melodic sensibilities. They are now drowning themselves in a bottle of cheap whiskey while wallowing in an undercurrent of self-pity, trying to fight the urge to extinguish hope. But nobody should be surprised that they pull it off.
Have you seen the Coachella poster with the festival's full lineup on it, including ""Thom Yorke ????"" scheduled as a headliner? What does that mean? Well, remember how Yorke had been noted performing new songs and Eraser material with an above-average crew? It turns out those shows were the answer to that series of question marks. The band behind ""Thom Yorke ????"" performing at Coachella, as well as almost eight other shows across the U.S., will feature Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea, frequent Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich, auxiliary artist Mauro Refosco and Joey Waronker, Beck's drummer.
The pope has broken his silence over rock 'n' roll. Sure enough, the Vatican's ""semi-official"" newspaper, L' Osservatore Romano, has released its very own list of top ten rock 'n' roll albums of all time, despite the immorality of the basic practice of ""rockin' out"" due to its inherent blasphemy. However, it appears the Vatican is branching out in ways never attempted and giving us a rare sneak peek into the pope's potentially most-played albums on his iPod.
I like to describe albums as personalities—created by or representative of artists—and treat them as if they were companions that come and go throughout life, interacting in ways deep enough to consider them entities. Certain songs and albums can be angry at the world for polluting the environment, in search of consolation after a tough relationship ends, demanding society to improve social standards or any other sentiment a human can feel or express. To further my claim and say that personality found in the music world is essentially a microcosm of the same found in our world, all sorts of extremes—many of them unpleasant to seek, and even worse to find—must be sought out.
A large part of making either successful or appealing music today is figuring out how far away you want to keep listeners while still providing them with empathetic emotion or sentiment to grasp. From ambience to pop, today's music requires either hidden, artistic accessibility or transparent pop sensibilities. Phantogram can be seen as hanging in perfect balance between an open sound like Chairlift or the xx and the abrasive, sometimes confusing sounds of Hot Chip or of Montreal.
Music has acquired a unique place in our society's hypermedia atmosphere. Audiences are segmented in more ways than you can fold a single sheet of paper, and mainstream markets borrow or buy trendy sensibilities only after a year or two of sustained appeal. There's no better time to interpret this (i.e. trends) than in the most-valued arena for media exposure our country experiences: the Super Bowl.
Folk music is one of the oldest, most diluded, yet prestigious genres of music. So as frustrating and understandable as it is to hear a good 10 genres ascribed to Midlake—psych folk, indie folk, progressive folk, contemporary folk, alternative pop, etc.—considering The Courage of Others and their past work folk is inappropriate. It's essentially layered pop music with strong folk influences. All of this may sound amazingly bland on paper, and although that is a perfectly understandable response, it would also be a mistake to write off Midlake entirely for their quaint approach. However, on The Courage of Others, the group crosses that fine line between quaint and bland that they had been toying with.