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Harmonizing Identity and Soundscapes: A Journey Through Latinidad, Post-Punk, and A Kiss Across the Ocean

Interpersonal lines and influences haven’t been fuzzier in the incredible book written by Richard T. Rodriguez

Siouxsie and the Banshees

A Kiss Across the Ocean: Transatlantic Intimacies of British Post-Punk and US Latinidad

Growing up as a first generation student, it always felt like I was pinned as something and someone I wasn’t. My white peers would ask me if I liked tacos or if I wore sombreros, and my latin american peers would assume I had a good grasp of the language and my own culture. It just felt like my being was always assumed, with experimentation not even possible. I had to be a shape that would fit into some slot, rather than just being the box that holds them. This led me down the road of music least traveled, at least by hispanic standards. Besides what my parents would play in the house and whatever generic pop/rap music my friends would play, I have always enjoyed post punk. It’s a genre with air quotes around it, it’s a genre with a million different roads. It’s a genre with an incredible history. It doesn’t have a true definition, and that was something I yearned for, and it seems that my encounter with it was meant to be. 

Post-punk, a musical identity that emerged in the late 1970s, is a kaleidoscopic landscape that transcends the conventional boundaries of rock and punk. It is a rebellious frontier where dissonance and rhythmic experimentation collide, giving birth to a musical tapestry that is both raw and avant-garde. Post-punk rebels against the confines of traditional structures, allowing musicians to explore the uncharted realms of sound and emotion. In its rebellion, post-punk becomes a resonant anthem for the marginalized, a sonic sanctuary for minorities seeking solace and expression. Its importance lies in its ability to encapsulate the nuances of their experiences – a cacophony of voices echoing the struggles, resilience, and unique stories that often go unheard. Through its unconventional sounds and lyrical depth, post-punk provides a space for diverse narratives, making it a vital platform for the expression of the marginalized, a testament to the power of music to unite, empower, and give voice to those who have long been silenced.

Having the chance to explore something that has influenced my taste had me excited and prepared to take the deep plunge. It took me a while, with a ton of open tabs from reddit and just general google searches. This is when a title caught my eye, A Kiss Across the Ocean. It had a very cool looking cover, with a girl who had frayed hair that melts into the black surrounding the front. Another highlight, the author was of latin descent. I may have originally assumed that from reading his name (shame on me!), but then I dug deeper. Richard T. Rodríguez, a literary alchemist, navigates the realms of storytelling with a distinct blend of grace and grit. With roots deeply embedded in the rich tapestry of his Chicano heritage, Rodríguez weaves narratives that create a new universe. His prose dances on the delicate line between introspection and societal critique, offering readers a kaleidoscopic lens through which to view the complexities of identity and belonging. Rodríguez’s literary palette is vibrant, splashed with hues of cultural pride, familial bonds, and the intricate dance of tradition and modernity. Through his words, he invites readers on a journey that is both introspective and communal, a testament to the power of storytelling to bridge the gaps between cultures and illuminate the universal threads that connect us all. In the world crafted by Rodríguez, every sentence is a brushstroke, painting a vivid portrait of the human experience with a wisdom that resonates long after the final page is turned. A Kiss Across the Ocean combines two things I love, music and my heritage as a latin american. 

Besides the interesting cover, the book itself is an academic book. This means that, tragically, that it is stuffed with jargon. Big words that have little meaning outside the scholarly field, but it is something that I was able to successfully ignore as I progressed through the book. I still felt that the book has intriguing ideas, inventive stories, and excellent parallels. The book is split into 7 distinct chapters, all of which outline a singular entity or band. These are bands that affected the author and ones that he has had experiences with. For example, Rodríguez has gone to concerts to see these artists, or even has a sort of friendship with some. The six he outlines in this book are Siouxsie and the Banshees, Adam Ant, Bauhaus, Soft Cell, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, and Pet Shop Boys. Splitting the book into chapters devoted to this varied manifestation of punk, Rodriguez removed a lot of clutter from an already complicated book and made each chapter important. As a bonus, Rodriguez sprinkles a lot of personal details about each band. For one chapter, he may write about the fanzine (magazine for a band/person that is run by some mega fan) he was subscribed to or the song of theirs that he recorded on his tape. It felt that the book had wonderful highs, but the book had some outlying issues I couldn’t get over. 

To begin, Rodriguez revolves his book around latinidad, specifically that of a Chicano. “Chicano” is a term that originally referred to Americans of Mexican descent, particularly those who were born in the United States. It emerged during the civil rights movement in the 1960s and 1970s as a way for Mexican Americans to assert their identity and heritage in the face of discrimination and marginalization. The term has since evolved to encompass a broader cultural and political identity. Chicanos often embrace a hybrid identity that incorporates both Mexican and American cultural elements. They may also be involved in political and social activism, advocating for the rights and recognition of the Latino community in the United States. The Chicano movement, rooted in the quest for social justice, cultural pride, and political empowerment, has played a significant role in shaping the narrative and identity of Mexican Americans in the United States.The term Chicano is predominantly used in California due to the vast number of Mexican Americans and the culture of political turmoil in the state. Since Rodríguez grew up there, it makes sense to speak about it. Because of that, I didn’t remove too much from these ideas due to being a Colombian. Not that they detracted from his message per se, but they didn’t land as hard as I have no idea what it means to be a Chicano. The stronger message, and the overall thesis of the book, was that Post Punk (a genre created by the british bands of the worlds) has its roots deeply nestled in latin american soil. All the bands he talks about in his book had their identities shaped by Latin americans. Their biggest fans were Latin americans. The ones who weren’t posers. They were a group of people who strongly believed in and identified with these post punk bands. Rodriguez was able to pull excellent stories from each of these bands. Such as Bauhaus going to a Latino Drag Bar in NYC or Soft Cell letting latinos sneak into their concert through their dressing room window. It convinced me that they wouldn’t be here without us. 

A great highlight of these influences would be the chapter where Rodriguez talks about Siouxsie and the Banshees. To add some context, Siouxsie and the Banshees were a pioneering and influential British rock band that emerged during the punk and post-punk era in the late 1970s. The band was formed in 1976 by vocalist Siouxsie Sioux (born Susan Janet Ballion), guitarist Marco Pirroni, bassist Steven Severin, and drummer John McKay. Although the lineup changed over the years, Siouxsie Sioux and Steven Severin remained the consistent core members. Siouxsie and the Banshees were known for their innovative and distinctive sound, which blended elements of punk, post-punk, new wave, and gothic rock. They weren’t afraid to use unique instruments such as bongos or afrobeats. They loved to make rock sound like a religious experience. Siouxsie Sioux’s haunting and atmospheric vocals, coupled with the band’s use of unconventional instrumentation and experimental production techniques, set them apart from their contemporaries. Their music often featured dark, dreamlike textures and Siouxsie’s enigmatic lyrics such as the one from Spellbound “Following the footsteps/Of a rag doll dance/We are entranced”, exploring themes of love, alienation, and the surreal. Siouxsie held a contest with a radio station in the US. The winner would be able to meet Siouxsie and ask her questions. The winners ended up being a young boy and her mother, both of latin descent. Rodriguez mentions that the younger boy asked a very forgettable question but that the mother asked one of utmost intrigue. While Rodríguez did not explicitly state it, the question got Siouxsie elated. It was apparently influenced by the tragic death of a young boy from Colombia. Siouxsie proceeded to get comfortable and touched their cheeks. Rodriguez describes this juxtaposition between the mother and Siouxsie as “mirror-like”. You could tell that this mother was deeply touched and influenced by Siouxsie. She had almost the exact same hair, same outfit, and even similar makeup. Siouxsie was influenced by the mother. She has written music that was inspired by latin americans, she has gone to latin america and performed her music. Hell, her identity was really created to highlight the distance between her whiteness and what she identifies with (marginalized people). Siouxsie and the Banshees bounced back and forth with latinos during their time in the limelight. They invited them on stage, provided them with free tickets or just sang songs influenced by them. These incredibly strong connections that Rodriguez makes within these chapters are extremely important. Without a book like this, many people will forget and realize that bands are influenced by people like me. We have a place in this music sphere, and no other person can argue otherwise. Latinos are a key figure and a hidden influence for many.

In all of the good Rodriguez makes when writing about these influences, I struggle to agree with his approach to the negativity all these bands have in the book. Many of these bands are a testament to their time, for the best or the worst. Some of them made use of nazi imagery, others were a bit racist. For example, Rodriguez mentions that Adam Ant from Adam and the Ants had two big songs that perpetuate a stereotype, “Puerto-Rican” and “Juanito the Bandito”. The first is a song that describes a Puerto Rican as a dog being walked by a white woman. The other is a Zoro-like character being played by Ant. In both of these songs, Adam says horrendous things and just perpetuates identities that many of the groups were trying to get away from. Rather than acknowledging the inherent issues in an influence like this, Rodriguez pushed it aside and states that Adam Ant was trying to push an envelope. Basically, by using a negative connotation you can reclaim the identity. This happens repeatedly throughout the book and honestly brings it down. I wish Rodriguez did something more unique with these situations rather than leave them to dry and crumble. 

A Kiss Across the Ocean is full of ideas about latinidad, queerness, the search for a place to belong, and filled to the brim with new post punk bands to explore . As I was writing this review, I found out that Rodriguez created a playlist for the book. I gave it a listen, which felt like a 3rd ear had opened. These bands were fantastic and were nothing like what I normally listen to. It was unique. It soothed the soul. I gained a deeper appreciation for what Rodriguez was trying to do in his book. Just like post punk, I feel like it’s hard to define A Kiss Across the Ocean. It’s a book that speaks on influences and their importance. It talks about being an outsider. It speaks to the journeys artists take to find their true identity. If I were to place the book in some ill defined spectrum of numbers, I would just be giving it a shape to fit in some slots. A Kiss Across the Ocean instead is a black box of ideas and thoughts that speaks to the amount of time and love Latin Americans have put into artists they love.

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The Accordion that Rings Across Colombia: The Importance of Diomedes Diaz.

In the peaks and valleys of life Diomedes Diaz provides guidance every step of the way, even ten years after his death.

 

A stereotypical week in the life of a latino in a predominantly white neighborhood. School with a bunch of people who don’t look like me, telling me things and doing things that didn’t align with my nature, at least in my small sphere of experience. Being taught by teachers who didn’t really see me for my true identity. That’s okay, and like all animals, we learn how to fend for ourselves. This came at the cost of my comfort though. How could you ever be comfortable in a place where you never fit in. 

Just like a naive animal, even in these stereotypical weeks, I always find my way back home. Home was something different. It was a warmth that I lost at school. It was what I was. What added to this feeling was my mother. My mom would typically be at home, cooking or cleaning. Many of these menial tasks involved listening to music, which was dominated by an artist titled Diomedes Diaz. While at that time I didn’t know who he was, all I knew is that his music made my mother happy. It seems like he provided her comfort, and to an extent myself as well. Comfort can be a finicky thing, but it seems like his music had that type of power. 

As we approached closer and closer to his ten year anniversary of his death, I wanted to look back and see his impact. I want to see why he could provide the comfort no other artist could do at the time. I want to share the warmth that he provided me with others who may not understand the diaspora of being a Latino in the US.

Born on May 26, 1957, in La Junta, La Guajira, Colombia, Diomedes Díaz was raised in a family deeply connected to the vallenato music culture. His father, Rafael María Díaz, was a notable musician and exposed Diomedes to the traditional sounds of vallenato from a very young age. The captivating rhythms and melodies of this folkloric music quickly captured Diomedes’ heart. Living in a humble home, Díaz’s family faced financial challenges. To support his family and his growing passion for music, Diomedes took on various odd jobs from an early age such as donkey sitter. Despite the economic difficulties, he remained devoted to his musical aspirations. At the age of seven, he received an accordion as a gift, a pivotal moment that shaped his destiny. This instrument became an extension of Diomedes body and character. He spent countless hours mastering its keys, even as he balanced the demands of work and household responsibilities. The young Diomedes was not only a fast learner but also a keen observer of the world around him. He soaked in the sounds of the traditional music that echoed through the streets, internalizing the emotions and stories conveyed through the vallenato tunes

He sings in the genre of Vallenato. Vallenato, stemming from Colombia’s Caribbean coast, is a cultural emblem that embodies the essence of Colombian identity. At its heart lies the soulful resonance of the accordion, an instrument that infuses its music with tales of love, struggle, joy, and everyday life. It’s a genre that resonates with a blend of African, Indigenous, and Spanish influences, reflecting a rich tapestry of Colombia’s diverse heritage. This music is more than just a set of notes and beats; it’s a vibrant storytelling tradition passed down through generations. Its lyrics paint vivid pictures of rural life, unrequited love, and the struggles and triumphs of ordinary people, becoming a cherished repository of the nation’s history and emotions. Vallenato rhythms reverberate through local gatherings, festivals, and celebrations, setting the stage for lively dances and heartfelt connections. It’s a cultural touchstone where communities come together to share stories and experiences, fostering a deep sense of belonging and unity.

The music’s infectious energy isn’t just about entertainment; it encapsulates the soul of Colombia, preserving its traditions and heritage. Vallenato is a living, breathing testament to the resilience, beauty, and depth of the Colombian spirit, captivating audiences with its timeless tunes that echo the sentiments and history of an entire nation. Diomedes had this sewed on his skin. He understood the culture and significance.

Diomedes’s early exposure to local gatherings, festivals, and community events became platforms for him to showcase his developing talents. He would eagerly perform at these events, gaining recognition and admiration within his community. His determination, combined with the rich musical heritage of La Guajira, became the cornerstone of his future success. These formative years in the heart of vallenato culture that not only shaped his musical prowess but also instilled in him a deep understanding and appreciation for the cultural significance of this music in Colombia. It is in this that we can see some stark differences between him and other singers. He grew up extremely poor, only getting crumbs at the dinner table. He was determined to make it in the world. He focused on his music, his life, his story. In a genre that celebrates life and the connections you make along the way, there is no way he wasn’t going to be popular. The poor looked to find some solace, and he provided the sun.

Diomedes only continued to grow bigger in cultural influence and musical skill. This didn’t slow him down. In fact, it enhanced his skills to a level not seen before. Since he grew up playing the accordion at such a young age, he was able to do a lot more with it compared to other artists.  As a skilled musician and composer, Diomedes also  had a remarkable voice. He combined traditional vallenato sounds with innovative musical arrangements, creating a distinctive style that appealed to a broad audience. He took vallenato out of the “valley” and spread it out across Colombia. He was being played at parties, at farms, etc.

His songs often conveyed authentic stories of everyday life, reflecting the experiences, struggles, and joys of the common people. This authenticity resonated with the listeners, creating a profound connection between the music and their own lives. His lyrics often explored universal themes such as love, heartbreak, rural life, and societal issues. Diomedes had a unique ability to capture the essence of these themes, evoking powerful emotions in his listeners. People found solace and identification in the emotions expressed in his songs. This extended to Diomedes’s charisma and stage presence. It was described (by my mother) magnetic. His live performances were energetic, captivating, and emotionally charged, leaving a lasting impact on his audiences. His ability to engage with the crowd further enhanced the popularity of his music.

My mom told me that she felt as if she was a part of the family. Perhaps everyone felt this way, given that he has performed at Festival de la Leyenda Vallenata, an annual festival in Valledupar, Colombia. It is one of the most prestigious vallenato music events. Diomedes frequently graced the stages of this festival to audiences of 60,000. He also performed at Valledupar’s Plaza Alfonso Lopez, which often hosted massive concerts that drew huge crowds of 20 to 30K. Díaz embarked on extensive tours, performing in various cities across the earth. His concerts in cities like Bogotá, Medellín, Barranquilla, and abroad in the United States, Spain, and other Latin American countries drew thousands of fans. With millions of fans and countless concerts, it is indisputable to say that he brings comfort. He brings sincerity. He knows how to describe life intimately. 

Even though Diomedes knew how to make intimate connections with others, he struggled with his own. He faced various personal and legal challenges throughout his life, which garnered significant media attention and had an impact on his career and personal reputation.While his legal problems and personal life stirred controversy and debate, his musical talent and contributions to vallenato music continued to be widely recognized and celebrated. One of the most prominent issues in Diomedes’s life revolved around legal troubles stemming from his personal conduct. He was involved in multiple legal incidents and controversies, including accusations of domestic violence and physical violence against fans, domestic disputes, and incidents related to his personal life. These incidents often made headlines and drew public scrutiny. One of the most high-profile incidents involved the death of Doris Adriana Niño, a young woman who died in a car accident while traveling in a vehicle allegedly owned by Díaz. The circumstances surrounding this accident raised questions and led to legal inquiries. Díaz was initially acquitted of responsibility for her death but was later convicted of “culpable homicide” in relation to the incident, which resulted in a brief period of incarceration. The intersection of his legal issues, personal controversies, and musical career created a multifaceted public persona for Díaz, with his personal struggles often playing out in the public eye. He took cocaine before concerts multiple times, and was often drunk when meeting fans. In fact, most of the millions he made went towards women and lawyers. Even with this mess laid out on the table, many still related. No one is perfect, and all humans have hubris. Many saw that Diomedes still went up to perform while his life crumbled around him. Diomedes’s chaotic personal life never sapped his popularity, as if music was a lifelong force of transcendence and unity among fragmented/fractured relationships.

Diomedes made sacrifices in order to move the genre that made him popular forwards. In many of these strides he tripped and maybe struggled to get up. But nonetheless, he got up and kept moving forward. He played in concerts where he was drugged up. He played concerts when he was happy. He played concerts when he was sloppy drunk. Even in those moments, people remember the impact his music had on their lives. The impact he had on my mom is unspoken. Even today, I come back and hear his music in the car, or in the kitchen. While I wasn’t able to see him live, I am happy that I am able to cherish and remember him with this tribute ten years after his death. As Diaz sings in his hit song Tu Eres La Reina, “Una reina sin tesoros ni tierras/Que me enseñó la manera de vivir, nada más/A estas horas de la vida lamento”

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Yves Tumor Electrifies Cornell’s Homecoming Weekend: A Mesmerizing Concert Experience at Barton Hall”

Fuck identity. Follow the guidance of Yves Tumor in this blurry line they created during their Barton hall performance

Yves entered the stage with a soft clack. Nothing spectacular as he was surrounded in black, with only the lights illuminating himself and the swarming sea of students, professors, and myself. As they began singing, they emerged a monster, reflective of a siren calling out to a ship crew. But instead of trepidation, the call was heeded with no fear in sight. We dove straight into the music, taking in the crashing waves of guitars, drums, bass, and bellowing voices. Yves Tumor uses and oozes so much creativity when it comes to his performances one can’t help but listen and gawk. 

On the 30th of September, Yves Tumor, Izzy Spears, and DJ Reflexx performed at Barton Hall as Cornell’s homecoming celebration, hosted by the ever illustrious Cornell Concert Commission Cornell Concert Commission is a historic organization on campus, who have put on hundreds of concerts since the 70s, bringing the likes of Stevie Wonder, The Police, and JID to Cornell. They are mainly student run, with the general body helping select the artist, build the stage, and bring people together to stampede the concert. As of late, they have been experimenting with different genres of music to bring to campus. Yves is the latest experiment they are bringing to the stage, and as a member of this club, I believe it was a success. 

More than just a musician, Yves is an entertainer  They are dedicated to the canvas, coming up with avant-garde outfits and outlandish colors that splash color all over the easel. As a musician, Yves Tumor is a musical chameleon, a shape-shifter of sound, and a boundary-pushing artist whose sonic canvas is a sprawling, kaleidoscopic landscape of emotions and genres. Imagine a musical alchemist, blending elements of avant-garde experimentalism, soulful R&B, gritty punk, and electronic wizardry into a sonic elixir that defies categorization. Their artistry is a daring exploration of the human psyche, a sonic journey through the depths of passion, pain, and transcendence. 

Before Yves entered the stage though, they were opened by artists of drastically different caliber. First on stage was  Cornell Student DJ Reflexx. He strongly holds the hands of the Cornell Concert Commission– something they should look to drop soon. I say this with all the love I have, as Reflexx made an attempt. My problem lies with his skills. I have been around the Cornell DJ scene for a year or two and caught some truly remarkable sets. Like many stylists, these sets were done with people who have less experience and hardware compared to Reflexx. Regardless, he at least attempted to appease the crowd with a fantastic stage presence. He was shouting, free-styling adlibs and talking to the people in the front. He knew when to speak and had a great eye for seeing what the crowd was feeling. Tragically it was always ruined by terrible transitions, somewhat baffling mixes, and just a lame setlist. It seems like he has very little technical skill. If I wanted to see a set like his, I could’ve walked to some random frat that Saturday night. 

Contrast this with the second act: Izzy Spears, someone who wasn’t afraid to be unique and embrace his style. I can’t say I was fully prepared for the experimental sound he was doing, but I was pleasantly surprised. He had the vocal riff of an average death grips song, but the minimal backing track of an undiscovered indie artist. Hearing the contortions he was creating was enticing, similar to Yves. The urge to mosh to some of the songs sparked throughout, ironic considering the fairytale tracks he had behind him. Adding to this idea of contrast, his whole set didn’t have much illumination. Hell, his whole set didn’t even have a band. It was only him, the stage, and the crowd. This highlighted his all-encompassing style. He would frolic all over the stage, mic in tow. He would drop low, spring high. The stage was just his personal forest, allowing us to use binoculars to peer in. Being Yves Tumor’s touring partner, it was clear Yves made a great choice.

Just as Izzy walked away, the lights slowly illuminated the forest he sculpted  and turned it into a stage. Talk about a loss of immersion. Regardless, the lights showed the band ready. As the crowd began to roar out Yves’ name, they unhurriedly walked on stage. Without an acknowledgement, the band hit the first chord. Many of us were startled as Yves’ voice bellowed and filled the room. Illprepared for this noise to come out of their mouth. As the set rolled on, the ambience of the venue shifted. The crowd was feeling the rhythms more, swaying their synchronous heads with the eclectic violence. It is just as if a storm has blown over into the sea. The waves were crashing, and it seems that Yves noticed. They began to get a bit more lively while still trying to keep their mysterious persona. 

Yves Tumor’s voice, at times ethereal and haunting, and at other times raw and visceral, serves as a vessel for catharsis and introspection. Their lyrics are cryptic poetry, offering glimpses into the enigmatic landscapes of the soul. Onstage, they translate this cryptic vibe into  a charismatic presence that blurs the lines between performer and performance art. With a stage presence that’s both magnetic and disorienting, they challenge conventional notions of identity and expression, leaving audiences in a state of awe and intrigue. Yves Tumor’s artistry cannot be summated about making music; it’s about crafting immersive experiences that invite listeners to question the boundaries of sound and self. It’s an invitation to get lost in the labyrinth of their creativity, where each note, each beat, and each visual element is a brushstroke on the canvas of the subconscious—a journey that’s as thrilling as it is profound, and as enigmatic as the artist themself.

As the first song ended, their voice changed. It was no longer a bellow but rather a whisper. Higher pitched and melodic. It’s like they morphed into a new being all together. They changed their outfit, they even changed their hair.  The scene morphed with it as well. One could say that Yves was a synthesizer, contorting and stretching their voice to very degrees. This nonconformity makes Yves elevate past the notion of musician. They dislike adhering to one thing, and this is what made their performance a twinkle in my eyes. They weren’t afraid to deviate from the standard. It honestly felt as if Yves was doing backflips on stage. You couldn’t help and wonder if you could do the same.

The performance itself was a musical odyssey, with Yves Tumor’s voice serving as a siren’s call, drawing the audience into the depths of their creativity. Accompanied by Izzy Spears and DJ Reflexx, Yves Tumor’s genre-blurring artistry was on full display, showcasing a fearless exploration of emotions and musical styles. The performance was not just a concert; it was a multi-sensory experience that challenged preconceived notions of music and identity. Hearing music allows the listener to connect on a somewhat deeper level to the artist. Removing the surface level plays with the emotions of the listener. Yves Tumor knew this, and decided to play with our physical soul. They allowed the crowd to sing his final song, They changed outfits multiple times. It felt like it was done on a whim, something that is lacking and outright missing in most concerts. Considering just how formative and disconcerting our college years are, many want to relate in the media they consume. Yves made this a highlight of their performance, rather than a mistake.

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“From Brooklyn’s Embrace to Musical Revelation: Black Country, New Road’s Unforgettable Night”

While niche, the crowd made Black Country, New Road the biggest band to take the stage that date.

Being nestled in a crowd of geeks, buffs, maniacs, fanatics, and all manners of musical connoisseurs, Black Country, New Road has always held a mirror up to its audience, compelling them to reflect upon the shared journey: “Look at what we did together, BCNR/Friends forever” as the band sung. Without friendship, the band themselves wouldn’t be performing. Hell. I wouldn’t have been able to see the concert without the help of friends. Even if you entered alone, you came out with friendships that will last a lifetime. 

 This British collective, hailing from London and unified in 2018, has been nothing short of a disruptor in the realm of traditional music. Their hallmark lies in the unorthodox sound, a tapestry woven with an eclectic array of instruments, including guitar, saxophone, violin, drums, and bass, creating an intricate sonic landscape.

The turning point arrived with their debut album, For The First Time, unleashed upon the world in early 2021, a masterpiece that garnered accolades from both critics and fervent fans, firmly cementing their status as pioneers in the post-punk genre. Even to this extent, they fail to meet this boundary of genre. The soundstage is expressive, the instruments are layered, and all of their voices have a texture that cannot be defined.  Lyrics of introspection and philosophical depth invite listeners to embark on a stroll of self-discovery, exploring themes of identity, alienation, and the human experience. Following the release, they delivered their highly acclaimed studio album Ants From Up There, propelling them further than ever before, hands close to the mainstream. It was a 10 track exploration of their relationships, friendships, and hardships of life that continued their inventive instrumentation and lyrical genius. Each track felt like a meticulously crafted course in a gastronomic journey aboard a Concorde jet. Yet, just as the band seemed destined for ever-greater heights, a sudden twist of fate struck. Four days before the release of Ants From Up There, lead singer Issac Wood made the onerous choice to pull his hand away, leaving Black Country, New Road in a state of emergency. The aftermath of this upheaval culminated in the heartfelt “Live at Bush Hall,” an ode not only to Issac but to all who have faced adversity, a reminder that healing is possible through the strength of connection and love.

The warmth of their music found its manifestation in an old Brooklyn warehouse known as the Knockdown Center on the 21st of September , a venue that enveloped attendees like a mother’s embrace on a winter day or a perfectly crafted latte resting on the counter. It was a concert experience that drove us to forget the pain of standing, a rarity in most concert settings, as we revealed in the welcoming atmosphere. The audience was a mosaic of eager friends saving spots, casual drinkers sauntering from the bar, and those who gazed intently toward the stage, seeking a signal to illuminate their souls.

Opening the night was a New York-based band named Daneshevskaya, a gentle introduction that flowed through the audience like the onset of autumn. Anna, their lead singer, transported us with her vocals, akin to a leaf in a gentle breeze swaying back and forth. The band was the vista, an orchestra of leaves, sunlight, trees, and fruit, expertly complementing Anna’s ethereal presence. Each song stood as a unique composition, ranging from symphonic grandeur to soulful ballads, a testament to their boundless potential.

The transition to Black Country, New Road was nothing short of a shift in the atmosphere. “Up Song,” initiated by Lewis Evans on the saxophone, cast a hypnotic spell, soon joined by May Kershaw’s enchanting timbre. The audience, a thunderous chorus, threatened to drown out the stage, the fervor palpable as every soul in the room sang in unison. May Kershaw, rallying the crowd, declared us all “friends forever,” a chant echoing through the venue, pole to pole. Their set was an unyielding blaze of energy, “The Boy” featuring Charlie Wayne on drums, Georgia Ellery on lead vocals, and Tyler Hyde on bass, a brilliant sun radiating, with waves  crashing upon a beach and the pitch-perfect notes of a finely tuned flute. Every band member had their moment in the spotlight, a testament to the camaraderie that emanated from the stage to the enraptured crowd. They performed “Live at Bush Hall” in its entirety, punctuating the journey with two additional songs. The second, a tantalizing revelation titled “Frolicking,” containing Luke Mark’s guitar strumming like an upright bass, and May Kershaw’s return with her enchanting vocals. It was a tantalizing glimpse of what the future might hold, a song deserving of an audience far beyond this memorable night. 

Emerging from the dimly lit venue, suffused with the lingering scent of cigarettes and sweat. The indelible mark left by Black Country, New Road on the audience lingers in our collective consciousness. In that moment, amidst the shared musical catharsis, strangers became friends, and the bond forged within the maelstrom of their performance felt like an enduring kinship. As we dispersed into the night, there was a tangible sense of anticipation, a shared longing for the next reunion. We weren’t merely concertgoers; we were a community, a testament to the band’s ability to create an atmosphere of togetherness. In the spirit of a Black Country, New Road song, the experience was far from over; it was an ongoing storybook, a soundtrack to our lives, and a reminder that the echoes of their music would reverberate through our hearts for years to come.

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Exquisite Corpse: Paint The Town Red by Doja Cat

What is it like to be fun without Henessy? Doja Cat brings to mind questions like this one in her #1 charted single, “Paint the Town Red,” a track full of sonically pleasing lyrics in combination with a short, smooth trumpet melody. Sly and stylish, Doja Cat remains unapologetic as ever, rapping about shaving her head and refusing to settle down. There’s no tongue-biting here: she doesn’t give a fuck and she’s not afraid to show it. —-CHIEDU, LEVY, MANOS, THAREJA

Leave it to Doja Cat to take up the scythe as the Grim Rapper in her first no. 1 hit, “Paint the Town Red.” The demonic droning frightens the unfaithful and summons those foaming at the mouth for her new musical era. Even then she seems to be out for the blood of her Disciplines, bathing in it. Her insistence of greatness brings forth promises of revolutionary songs that will slay the haters under her reign as “She-Devil.”—ALMEIDA, LEE, OSPINA, YEARSLEY

Doja Cat has certainly painted the town red with her latest single. Its catchy verve belies the song’s soothing combination of pulsating bass, chirping horns and the Cat’s silky, transfixing tones of voice. Creating a pillowy self-indulgent hook, Doja harmonizes with herself, playing on her identity as the “Devil.” The track listens like Doja has indoctrinated herself into a Satanic cult, but with so much charm you can’t help wanting to join her. —FERRY, GOLDBERG, MOINI, NELSON

 

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Exploring Olivia Rodrigo’s ‘Guts’: A Pop-Rock Journey of Heart and Resilience

Sour,  the album written by Olivia Rodrigo after a publicized breakup, was a smash hit. It contained hits like “Driver’s License,” “deja vu,” and “good 4 u” that dominated social media discussions for months, something that still holds true today due to its solidity in the Billboard 100. I remained skeptical of the album’s popularity until I decided to give it a listen myself. Olivia Rodrigo, known for her role in “High School Musical: The Musical: The Series,” poured her heartache and pain into a ‘musical diary’. While the approach in the album theme isn’t entirely unique, she managed to create a distinctive sound by blending impassioned screeching and singing with the lyrical depth of a “sad girl.” While the lyrics might not resonate with everyone, the raw emotions are palpably woven into the music. This concoction catapulted her to the status of one of the youngest artists to achieve four times platinum status and amass over 50 million Spotify listeners.

That’s not to suggest Olivia Rodrigo falters in any way on this album. Her voice echoes even more powerfully in this record, bar none. Rodrigo has unearthed deeper heartbreak, more profound pain, and even addresses falling in love with gay men. Yet, the true essence of the album lies in her rapid ascent to fame and the emotions behind them. Lyrics like, “Got your whole life ahead of you, you’re only nineteen. But I fear that they already got all the best parts of me,” from Teenage Dream, hint at a sense of nostalgia for her earlier work, as if she believes her previous album was her pinnacle. She grapples with the fear that her current album won’t gel with anyone and that she has already peaked. This undercurrent of anguish entwines through every song, infusing the album with a sense of apprehension about what lies ahead. It transforms the album from a typical teenage “sad girl” narrative into a more universally relatable story of facing the unknown.

While Olivia Rodrigo undoubtedly strengthens the thematic thread running through her album, she also disrupts it. In her own words to the New York Times, “[I’ve] always loved rock music and always wanted to find a way to make it uniquely mine, to infuse it with femininity, and to convey vulnerability and intimacy.” Rodrigo’s  prodigious vocal talents serve her fiercely in her confrontation with the rock, even if she sometimes swerves  .‘Guts’ doesn’t quite veer into the realm of rock; it remains a pop album at its core. This longing for a rock-inspired sound does give rise to tracks like “get him back!” which, while a good song in itself, feels somewhat out of place and disrupts an otherwise seamless listening experience. It may sour some people looking to see her transform her sounds. Sorry to break it to those who want a rock album, you were given a great pop album.

Rodrigo has sharpened her voice, pinned down her emotions, vastly improved her song mixing, and hasn’t fallen down the sophomore album hole as many others behind her have. Even so she is fearful as many of us are. She wants to impress, she wants to scream, she wants to be heard. She doesn’t want to be held down by standards. She’s relatable, but yet intricate. Her feelings may feel conflicted, but her album is not. ‘Guts’, in its search to be something that it may not be, tumbles down. It gets back up each time, with new ideas and sounds that feel refreshing and different.

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Harmonious Fusion: Slow Pulp and Sidney Gish Unite in a Musical Adventure on the Arts Quad

The Cornell Concert Commission, off of their success of the JID & Muni Long concert last April has brought two unlikely artists together. Sidney Gish, a girl who rose to Internet Microcelebrity with the song Presumably Dead Arm and Slow Pulp, a band who steamrolled onto the scene with their first feature-length album Moveys. While their sounds are completely different, their message and vibes are hand in hand to a bystander.

I came into the concert with little listening experience to Sidney Gish. I have never heard of her nor her style of music. Because of this I asked around to see what brought people to, what I understood, was an artist who was relatively unknown number-wise. People raved about her lyricism, others thought her one-(wo)man band style of performing was inspiring, and some just enjoyed how human she felt. It seemed that Sidney Gish felt more like a person than an performer, and that was exemplified by her performance. She walked on stage, guitar case in hand, and greeted the fanatics who were at the barricade. As she begins her first song, you can see her mimicking various instruments with her guitar, looping it with a pedal at her feet. Her voice, on top of this garage-feeling sound, feels like a phone call. Soft, well-spoken, and at times, intimate. Sidney Gish did not let down, nor did she do her fanatics wrong.

Slow Pulp, however, was a band that I have been listening to for months. They have a sound that is less like Sidney Gish and more like a local band. It was electric, loud, and sincere. Loosely produced and emotional. Their live performance is the same way. Emily Massey shouts, talks about periods, and gushes her love of Ithaca; Mixing this in with wonderful vocals left me yearning for this duo to return.