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Sun-Bathing in Lockdown

Cornell Daily Sun, front page, April 16, 1918

—Friday, November 13th

During the dark days and nights of the pandemic I occasionally rummage in the archive of the Daily Sun in search of a sense of how Cornell coped with the Spanish Flu a century ago. Such then-and-now comparisons fascinate not least for the exotic look of a vintage broadsheet even when leafed through in digital form:  the front-page cartoon crowning the seven-column layout; the creativity and craft of the advertisements that open windows onto the vibrancy of Ithaca’s urban life with its cafeterias, smoke shops, haberdasheries, and many theaters (both live and movies). At every turn one encounters juxtapositions and synchronicities, international wire stories jostling with campus announcements, as in the issue of April 16, 1919—Eastertide—and the call for Cheerleader try-outs placed just below the headline about peace terms being presented to the Germans at Versailles. The ominous subhead runs: “Paris Believes the Central Powers Will to Balk at Hard Conditions.” To the left of the cartoon making light of the looming introduction of Prohibition, we read of a Bolshevik defeat, corruption in state government Albany, and a strike on the docks of New York. Just below the illustration of a drunken Noah watching his bottles of booze toddle towards the Ark, comes an announcement of University Organist James T. Quarles’s pre-Easter potpourri program that ranges from Chopin’s Marche funèbre to the Good Friday Spell from Wagner’s Parsifal on which the recitalist is joined by his wife Gertrude, a contralto. Gone are the days when an organ concert, even in Easter Week, makes it onto the front page of any newspaper.

On page three another cartoon calls for funds to bring the troops back from Europe by depicting the Doughboys forced to swim home across the Atlantic. Almost comically moored alongside the cartoon is another watery column about changes to the order of the rowers in the Cornell varsity eight. On page five we read that the number of “English” deaths has surpassed births, nearly 100,000 having fallen victim to the flu. Just below this report comes news that the Cornell Mandolin Club has given up plans to re-form because its long-time director is still France. These and other collisions bring home the mortal truth that Spanish Flu was spread and worsened by war.

From University Historian Morris Bishop’s classic History of Cornell published in 1962 one learns that that in October 1918 the university began quartering soldiers on campus. With them came the flu. There were 900 cases at Cornell, some 1,300 in Ithaca. Thirty-seven students died, and about the same number in the town. In 2020 by contrast, the first Covid death in Tompkins County, home to Cornell, was reported a month ago. In the autumn of 1918 many doctors were overseas, so local resident and students were called on to help the stricken.

In World War I, Cornell’s fraternities were converted to dormitories for soldiers, with as many as seventy-five cots in each house. There were no campus clubs, no publications, no athletics. Tompkins County had voted to go dry already in October of 1918, more than a year before the Eighteenth Amendment went into effect. The cessation of student activities and the popularity of the movies, as Bishop wryly noted, “operated to keep the students away from beer’s redolence.”

During Covid there has been more than a little beer pong played. Today there’s a cluster of new cases at Cornell caused by party-hopping students.  Rather than facing quarantine in fine style in the Statler as has been the case in the present crisis, one could have been sent off to the trenches instead, not for contracting the disease but for being alive.

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November: A Pick-Me-Up Playlist

“Dora” – Tierra Whack

One of the most exciting rappers working today released her first single of the year, an anthem celebrating Gucci sheets, going vegan, living on the beach, and leveling up in all areas (mostly financial). Bouncy hi-hats and a casual flow give way to immense talent and just enough optimism to make the future look bright, at least for two and a half minutes.—MILES GREENBLATT

 

“Little Drummer Boy  (feat. Mzansi Youth Choir)” – Leslie Odom Jr.

The release of Hamilton star Leslie Odom Jr.’s 2020 holiday album resuscitates Little Drummer Boy from the catalog of overplayed Christmas music. The invigorating, alluring voices of 50 young choristers of the Mzansi Youth Choir sprinkled with an anticipating drum beat generates a refreshing gusto to the 1941 American tune. And while there’s nothing wrong with listening to Christmas tunes before Thanksgiving, it does help that the advent of distinct genres of pop, R&B, and traditional South African choral music make the song a suitable listen for anytime of the year. You’d never expect the bitter and green-eyed Aaron Burr to be so full of holiday cheer.—PATRICIA KU

 

“Probably Up (Live in SF)” – Lawrence

The soft, sweet trickle of piano notes leads you in, but you’d be jumping the gun to characterize this song as soft or tender. Any sentimentality is shattered by the horn line, which is elevated by punchy jabs at an electric organ. Add in a tight beat and the staccato tease of a guitar and you’ve got one serious funk groove. Drawing energy from the audience, Clyde Lawrence coats the tune in a warm, throaty wail that won’t fail to stave off your impending winter woes.—JONAH LEVINE

 

“I Wanna Get Better” – Bleachers

There are certain songs that beg you to dance, transforming your mundane life into an early-2000s rom-com montage, and Bleachers’ “I Wanna Get Better” is the pick-me-up we all need sometimes. Each time the choppy piano starts to play, my head prepares to bop and my pulse quickens, the booming drums enveloping me in energy. Though the lyrics detail moments of hopelessness and fear: “And I’ve trained myself to give up on the past ‘cause / I froze in time between hearses and caskets” each verse ends with Jack Antonoff’s optimistic belting. Bleachers’ first hit single is sure to inspire you to reflect on your troubles and decide to grow from them…because the first step in becoming happier is telling yourself, I wanna get better.—GRACE STASOLLA

 

“Hawái” – Maluma

Maluma, the Latin superstar from Colombia, took the world by storm when he released a summer bop on the 29th of July 2020 titled ‘Hawai’. The single quickly shot to top billboards for countries around the world and the official YouTube video has accumulated over 400 million views to date. With a soft entrance laced with synths and an electric piano, accompanied by Maluma’s soothing and rich tone, the listener is left to sway their head to the ballad-like nature of the opening. The classic Latin percussion enters shortly after, immediately transforming the song into a rhythmic and energizing piece of music for all people to enjoy and dance to. From catchy melodies to danceable rhythms, Hawái is the perfect song to blast on our porch speakers with the company of your friends on a hot summer day.—AARIK IBANEZ

 

“TWFNO” – Tiffany Day

Following her viral debut video of her singing “Hallelujah” into a well in Italy, Tiffany Day has been releasing her own airy, bedroom-pop songs ever since. “TWFNO” came out right before the pandemic hit, and the song’s candid idea that time waits for no one makes the world seem a little more manageable. The words “all that s*** built up inside is okay, feel alive” is met with a steady beat of the drum that gives a feeling of an unwavering, balanced life. When the drums are not playing there are electronic melodies that drift through the background and crisp snaps that will make you want to snap and sing along with Day. With its heart-to-heart lyrics and uplifting beat, “TWFNO” is the perfect song to blast when you want to forget about time and any responsibilities.—MIA GLASS

 

“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” – Marvin Gaye

If darkness is the absence of light, then Marvin Gaye’s legendary tune is the absence of sadness. Much like the persistent narrator of the song will not allow any obstacle to infringe on his ability to get to his love, so to will Gaye not stop from making the listener smile. The song has a melody that inspires a smile immediately, and the lyrics are as happy as can be. Gaye didn’t let the rock formations of thousands of year old glaciers stop him, and neither should you let the events of the day impact your life. There ain’t no mountain high enough to stop you from getting to the top and screaming that today will be a good day!—JON DONVILLE 

 

“Proof” – Paramore

Maybe you’re not in love. Neither am I. Proof by Paramore is still the perfect alt-rock song to enliven oneself, but also to forget about the imminently setting sun. With dynamic lyrics about the force of love and vibrant guitars and melodies, Proof is the shimmering reset for the inevitable seasonal melancholy (as well as the current pandemic). Swim in this song for a few minutes and don’t forget about the blushing, reggae-inspired bridge where Hayley Williams’ vocals shine with lovestruck joy. Taylor York’s deep guitar lines meld with Williams’ voice for that unique Paramore sound: the brightness of Hayley’s vocal melodies and the shadows of true emo influences from their early 2000s days. Proof begs to be danced to, giving you a reason to smile and sing along.—ANDIE CHAPMAN

 

“Tongue Tied” – Grouplove

Nearly ten years later, “Tongue Tied” by Grouplove is the one song that never fails to lift my mood. It’s the anthem that every Zillennial knows and loves, and has inspired countless Spotify playlists such as “if tongue tied by grouplove was a playlist,” which boasts 8,747 followers to date. This song remains Grouplove’s most popular song, as it’s often hailed as the synth-pop, alt-rock teenage party song of the decade. One scroll through TikTok today will reveal countless travel videos and summer memory montages set to “Tongue Tied.” From the chorus of crescendoing “Woooo!”s at the end of the guitar intro to the energetic, bouncy verses, there’s only one way to describe “Tongue Tied”: the auditory form of serotonin.—EMILY HURWITZ

 

“Some Skunk Funk” – The Brecker Brothers

There is nothing better than tapping your foot to an upbeat jazz tune, and “Some Skunk Funk” by The Brecker Brothers is no exception. At the same time that this song will push your jaw through the floor, especially the hyper-speed live version on their Heavy Metal Be-Bop (1978) album, the band is so deep “in-the-pocket” that the groove is bound to make you feel great. The Brecker Brothers is a jazz fusion duo fronted by Michael Brecker on sax and Randy Brecker on trumpet, and the band’s energy while playing this virtuosic piece live is so infectious that it feels like you are in the audience yourself while listening to the wild flow of melodic lines. If you prefer a more laid-back version of this masterpiece, head over to their The Brecker Bros (1975) album and you will be equally stunned and uplifted. “Some Skunk Funk:” groove first, then speed. —SPENCER NACHMAN

Buttercup by Hippo Campus

I’m not good with motivational quotes or the saccharine pep of “you can do it!” songs. Buttercup, by indie phenoms Hippo Campus, is the perfect cocktail of self-deprecation and obstinate resolution to shake off a bad day. Acerbic lyrics play off against the jaunty, teasing bounce of the guitar and synths, keeping the song taught with mischief even as it puts an uncomfortable finger on all the things going wrong.  Whether it’s an incomprehensible academic reading or a perilously close deadline, there’s something cathartic about yelling “yeah, swing, sucker swing, finish sobbing” with the band in full chorus. And like a charm, after those three and a half minutes, I feel ready to peel myself off the floor and lurch back into society. —LYNN HONG 

“Budapest Concert (ECM)” – Keith Jarrett

After all the pulse-racing, mood-boosting excitements of this playlist, here’s a dose of sonic calm to re-balance mind and body. One of the most wide-ranging, expressive, and original pianists of the last half-century. Keith Jarrett turned seventy-five in May, but he was not celebrating.  He was struggling to recover from two strokes suffered two years ago.  With aid, he walks again, but can no longer play the piano. Last month his famed record label ECM released a double album of his live 2016 concert in Budapest, a sprawling hour-and-a-half of music that traverses a vast stylistic terrain: jazz, classical, free improvisation, coloristic tableaux, and percussive ruminations. Jarrett’s kaleidoscopic cosmopolitanism is self-indulgent only in the best sense:  personal, inimitable, compelling, expansive. Jarrett has Hungarian ancestry and saw the Budapest Concert given at the Béla Bartók National Concert Hall as a kind of homecoming. Bartók has long been a vital influence on the pianist and its echoes, dances and sings throughout the evening, the audience enraptured by the music’s masterful surety and unbounded imagination. All material is original and spontaneous, Jarrett returning toward evening’s end—just before two popular song encores—to the Blues of his native land, the sound of one home heard in another. That this irreplaceable musician will not perform again is a devastating loss, but in the Budapest concert—and in the wealth of recordings stowed in the ECM vault to be released in the years ahead—there is uplift enough for several lifetimes, and for generations of listeners still to be moved by Jarrett’s undying art.—DAVID YEARSLEY

 

Complete playlist here:

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Intros For the Ages

Eight of the best song intros ever, to take you into the weekend. 

via GIPHY

While I will most certainly never know, I imagine there to be nothing as cool in this world as playing a show in front of thousands of screaming fans. Like Freddy said in the movie School of Rock, one great Rock show can change the world.

But while hundreds of artists have played sold out shows around the world, very few have come up with tunes that are so recognizable, and so damn awesome, that they will push the crowd into a frenzy with just a few notes. Inspired by this week’s reading on The Who, this is my very unscientific list of the songs with the best first 10 seconds. For the sake of clarity, the best songs ranked by what you hear before the first lyric. You know these tunes, I know these tunes, and thats the point. When you hear one or two notes, you scream. I scream, you scream, we all… ok you get it. Here we go.

Baba O’Reilly – The Who

The Who provided the inspiration for this list, so only fitting they take the first spot. The keyboard solo at the beginning is as widely recognizable as they come, perhaps only matched by the emphatic guitar that breaks in. The Who rock, and their biggest hit proves why.

Thunderstruck – AC/DC

Most of AC/DC’s jams could have made this list, but Thunderstruck is my personal favourite face melter. After finishing high school I attended a prep school in New England for a year. Easily my proudest legacy was getting to the locker room before any of my teammates for hockey and lacrosse games, and blasting Thunderstruck as loud as the speaker would go. There was a cafe and student hang out space above the locker room, that I was told would start shaking slightly when I would start my routine. Eventually people learned what it meant, and that hearing the song simply meant that the weird Canadian was at the rink. If my tombstone reads “Here lies Jon Donville. The Thunderstruck Guy” then I think I will have lived a good life.

Neon – John Mayer

Neon isn’t a rock anthem. I wanted to include it not only to show I have taste (not to brag) other than famous rock songs, but also because my father is a die hard fan(boy) of Mayer. I am quite sure he will never read this, but life is too short to worry about probabilities.  I actually thought of this very video when I was making the list, because Mayer goes on for over a minute strumming some freestyle riffs, but when he switches to Neon, the crowd picks up on it immediately. That is when you know your tune is iconic, when the audience recognizes immediately that they are about to start crying. Its John freakin Mayer.

Mama, Just Killed a Man – Queen

If I could go back to any moment in history, it might be Live Aid. With Queen, U2, The Beatles and more, it would be great value for my imaginary time travel money. Freddy Mercury defies categorization, which is to say he fits squarely in his own category: The Freddy Mercury category (population: 1). Like AC/DC, Queen has a number of contenders for this list. But if you can excite 72,000 folks with a few taps on the ivory, you belong in the music hall of fame on my list of great songs on Ezra’s Ear.

Sweet Home Alabama – Lynyrd Skynyrd

The guitar riff to start this song absolutely shreds. I really don’t know what more I can say. Also I was today years old when I learned that the proper spelling of the bands name was in fact Lynyrd Skynyrd. Here at Ezra’s Ear, we are humble enough to admit our previous spelling shortcomings. We are all learning today!

Jump – Van Halen

The synth keyboard in this song starts it off with a bang. A psychedelic, awesome bang. Eddie Van Halen passed away recently, and the world is worse because of it. RIP to a legend.

Enter Sandman – Metallica

Two of the craziest videos on Youtube, Metallica takes no prisoners. Old School, bad-ass, rock and roll music. Still alive decades later. Enter Sandman belongs on this list.

Born in the USA – Bruce Springsteen

This week especially, it seems only proper to end this list with the Boss. There is perhaps no more quintessential American icon, Springsteen is as widely loved as it comes. Born in the USA is probably his best tune, and it starts hotter than most. Drums, keyboards, and patriotism. An awesome combination.

There you have it folks, my list of the best song intros ever. Have a healthy, happy, and stress free (just kidding I know that wont happen) weekend. In the words of AC/DC – For those about to rock, we salute you!”

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Good Morning from Bingalee Dingalee

Every morning, the clocktower rings over the entire campus to signal another day. The chimes and their masters remain an integral part of the Cornell experience. 

A Cornell music performance cannot get more local than the glorious clock tower that rises over the Arts Quad, serenading students every day with its powerful chimes. This past Friday, Emily Liu, a Masters Engineering student at Cornell, began her morning at the bottom of the clocktower steps to meet me. As we breathed in the crisp, morning air and trudged up the 161 steps, she asked me to choose the songs for the concert. I started rambling off some of my favorites, chuckling at my intensely eclectic mix of choices. She nonchalantly responded, “Sure, works for me!” and my heart raced with excitement (and from the steep ascent).

As the chimes came into view, Liu turned to the cabinet and started scouring through the thousands of files of sheet music to fulfill my requests. She then kicked off her shoes, set up the papers on the music rest, and proceeded to adjust the bells.

The clock struck 7:45 and the concert began. Every morning concert starts with the “Cornell Changes,” also known as the “Jenny McGraw Rag.” The level of physical movement shocked me, despite hearing the song every day. The songs seem almost automatic from down below, and one tends not to ponder the lively acrobatics that are actually taking place up above. Liu swiftly glided across the floor with her socks, with frequent one-footed hops to depress the large keys as her arms crossed over one another in order to quickly transition between notes. I could feel each vibration, each undertone of the piece that I had not recognized before. Liu’s rendition was vivacious, and at the same time, heartwarming. As the strings moved up and down, it looked as if they were cheerfully dancing to this lively melody. I could feel the Cornell spirit seeping out of her and onto the bells. 

Up next was my first song request, “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles. This song has a prominent chorus that is repeated throughout, so it required less side to side movement, but Liu’s short height required her to fully reach her legs out to get to the lowest note and operate the hulking levers. Despite the extra time it took to do this, she was able to continue with smooth, effortless transitions. The meaning of the song rang true, and even my not-so-morning person self was happily woken up as the sun was pulled from its own slumber by the echoing chorus.

My bizarre music taste chose “La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin” by Debussey to follow the Beatles. This slower melody still required Liu to move her diminutive frame with energy and expertise, but this time, her movements matched the mood of the song. She looked graceful, and carefully lifted her hands up in the air before softly placing them on the handles. She expressed the emotions of the song through beautiful dynamics, progressing from subdued, calming sounds to more forceful at times. 

To satisfy the Disney fan in me, Liu played “Under the Sea” from The Little Mermaid. This was the only slightly weaker performance due to a few errors and pauses. I was still impressed that she was able to spontaneously play such a fast-paced song, and again, make it so animated. If I were a student walking by the tower, her performance of this song would have added a beat to my step. 

To end the concert, Liu played “Love Story” by Taylor Swift. The chimes are a loud instrument, but Liu’s command of the different volumes throughout the piece was incredible. She clearly knows the lyrics and the dramatic sentiments of the song, playing with a crescendo as the man in the song “pulls out a ring and says, ‘marry me Juliet.’” I could feel the emotions behind the lyrics, despite it being fully instrumental. Liu perfectly encapsulated the poetic expressiveness of the original through her subtle hesitations and dynamic swells through the song’s different fragments. 

After the performance, we climbed to the highest point where we could see the verdant hills with their first blushes of fall color crossing over the landscape of Cayuga’s Waters. As we overlooked the buildings and students from above, I realized how quintessential this clocktower and its chimes are to the Cornell experience. As the tunes drift through the air and into libraries and classrooms, there is this overwhelming sense of belonging to the common rhythm of Cornell. Liu showed me her talents that day, of course, but her concert also represented how some simple bells can bind a community together. 

 

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A Socially-Distanced Octet

Chamber music during COVID: a logistical challenge with spontaneous rewards

6 feet apart please

It began with an email. “Well, the weather is glorious–see you at the tent at 5:30!.” What was supposed to be a normal Friday rehearsal in Lincoln Hall transformed into a concert thrown together last-minute by our octet coach. 8 musicians were not what innocent passersby of the arts quad were planning to see.

The tent? At our first rehearsal three weeks ago, I was sure that one of the following two scenarios would define the fate of our chamber music group: 1. We get through this first meeting and the school shuts down all in-person gatherings the following week, or 2. We don’t get shut down, but we continue rehearsing aimlessly without the traditional semester-end chamber concert to look forward to. So, when news arrived (granted at the latest possible moment) of this rehearsal-concert hybrid, I was euphoric. The weather gods had gifted us 82 ֯F weather that Friday to play a socially-distant outdoor concert.

Much like the case of the pandemic, however, chaos ensued. Nothing about this concert was extravagant in any way. In fact, it was as far as it could be from refined.

I had imagined walking into the tent with my fellow musicians, sitting down, and playing seamlessly through the first movement. But instead, we found ourselves scrambling to secure our sheet music on the wobbling stands with masking tape amidst the aggressive flapping of the canopy tent in the unanticipated wind.

Insert intermission here. Those first twenty brutal minutes of logistical triaging called for a necessary contingency plan.

Like any musical group, we wanted to execute our piece to perfection. So as per our coach’s request, we ran through parts of the development and recapitulation to recalibrate. That process didn’t work too well though. With our socially-distant seating arrangement and lack of walls, we might as well have been playing in individual soundproof rooms. Then came the point of the dreaded synchronous, or so they were supposed to be, sixteenth notes. I do not exaggerate when I say that this segment has always been the ultimate test of our octet’s musical chemistry, so when a passionate gust of wind knocked over one cellist’s stand and jeopardized the already precarious tape holding all the music together, I was bracing for a crash landing. Sure, a couple violins and violas dropped out of the race here and there, but that one persevering communal brain cell we shared that somehow allowed us to reconvene at that last chord was an accomplishment, to say the least.

I do not doubt the fact that Mendelssohn was most likely rolling in his grave hearing the harmonic discord of our performance. But given the fact that Mendelssohn was only 16 when he composed this universally celebrated work, I’d like to believe that he would have appreciated the youthful mayhem of our concert. The piece features extremes in fortes and pianos and the umpteen use of hairpins throughout, mimicking the bipolar weather throwing us, quite literally, around. Mendelssohn meant for the octet to be full of “youthful verve, brilliance, and perfection,” as music critic Conrad Wilson describes. We blundered on the last requirement but definitely exceeded all expectations on the first.

This glorious mess of a concert was not destined to be ordinary, and I wouldn’t have liked it any other way. When would I ever get the chance again to play the Mendelssohn Octet in E-Flat with this same group of musicians in the middle of a pandemic wearing masks seated six feet apart (more or less) under a tent in the Cornell arts quad with dogs playing fetch and four different games of spike ball happening simultaneously?

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Across language, through love

On Korean indie-rock standard bearers Hyukoh’s latest, connecting with the listener comes first, understanding their lyrics is optional. 

“through love,” Korean alternative phenoms Hyukoh’s (pronounced “he-ah-go”) January 2020 EP, takes you on a sonic odyssey – from bossa-inspired languor, to roguish garage rock, to its final manic, keening outpouring of emotion. Deviating from their previous album’s driving anthems, this is testament to Hyukoh’s commitment to constant reinvention, and is a riveting offering for Korean and global audiences. 

Hyukoh has achieved domestic prominence in a scene commanded by balladeers and idol groups. They have won global plaudits, their album 22 (2015) peaking at fourth on Billboard. Hyukoh consists of lead guitarist Lim Hyun Jae, bassist Im Dong Geon, drummer Lee In Woo and multilingual vocalist and guitarist, Oh Hyuk, who writes English and Korean lyrics. Though the band takes their name from their frontman, the instrumentalists are no slouch. On this six-track EP, Oh’s vocals are kept to a muted murmur, leading into the emphatic instrumentals which do the melodic heavy lifting. 

The first three tracks, “Help,” “Hey Sun” and “Silverhair Express” are bossa-infused grooves for lazy afternoons, hopefully spent near a sunny beach far from responsibilities. If you are unfortunately desk bound, these songs are a reasonably effective escape. 

“Help” is a leisurely, minimalist opener, oozing urbane chic, with a hint of mystery in Oh’s understated drawl. It outlines the template of the coming songs – bossa beat, echoing guitar hook, Oh’s raspy murmur. A sprinkling of unconventional percussion and a flute solo provide a welcome change of texture. The resulting tune is pleasant but unarresting, content to meander into the background. 

“Hey Sun” is a stronger endeavour at this format. In this languid yet teasing take on quotidian tedium, Oh switches between an airy falsetto and his grittier lower register as he dangles the prospect of another day of repetition. The lyrics are mirrored by incomplete arcs of suspense and resolution as the verses build anticipation, but on the very cusp of payoff, deflate. There’s partial release when the instrumentals swell into shadowy harmonies and synths – but almost immediately, we’re back on the crescendo, vocals swathed in a halogenic cloud of synths, cymbals trembling in a sparkling haze. The song never fully resolves, the listener left suspended and searching. 

The lush soundscape of “Silverhair Express” feels like a fortified version of “Help.” It drifts a touch more fantastical, the guitars an opalescent blur of distortion, ornamented by glittering marimba and flute snippets. The song ends in disintegrating chords which wobble off key with increasingly incredulity, mirroring the reviewer stirring from this sunlit daze, only to be confronted by looming deadlines and assignments. Hyukoh closes with a final echo of the melody, the last wisps of a dream clinging to consciousness. 

From here the EP takes a darker turn. On “Flat Dog,” Hyukoh reprises the garage rock of their back catalogue. The fizzing lead guitar swoops wide and low over the thumping beat and Oh delivers his lines in clipped jabs. In the bridge the whole band heaves on the downbeat in a jangling, percussive crash. With every line, the harmony goes up third, upping the ante till Oh’s vocals are at his most histrionic and the guitar roils scratchy and belligerent. After the delayed gratification of the earlier songs, this is a straightforwardly rewarding stadium banger.  

“World of the Forgotten” offers a momentary pause, sinking the listener into a reflective space. Translucent synths trace the afterimages of Oh Hyuk’s searching croon, “wait I know you, but where did I meet you?” This bittersweet sound is familiar territory for Hyukoh, and they expertly evoke nostalgia and the lull between wakefulness and sleep. The song fizzes out in a static crackle, an otherworldly hint of what is to come. 

“New born,” the penultimate track, is a 8 minute 45 sec long behemoth of cinematic scale and emotional heft. It opens with a moody lower register riff over a simmering distorted lead guitar. The guitar’s guttural, metallic hum after the first verse is unexpectedly meditative, like the flickering outline of a thought taking shape. Rising out of the instrumentals’ monochromatic expanse, the throbbing drums and synths crest in a brooding surge of pace and intensity – till we lurch into freefall, the distortion wailing free, wheeling in and out of harmony. Sheets of static break against its side, like the hissing roar of an equatorial downpour. The dulcet swell Oh’s vocals, echoing like a choir in an empty room, rises into this gale of spectral distortion, soothing over the guitar’s jagged grain. The listener plummets into the harmony, discord, exuberance and chaos of Hyukoh’s sonic universe, like an infant overwhelmed by the sensory barrage of a new world.  

Then the storm seems to quiet, the guitars dwindling into microtonal trills, before morphing unexpectedly into the rattle of a car engine, or aeroplane. Hyukoh thrusts us into an uncanny sonic portrait of our everyday lives, constructed by swathes of nondescript rumble which could equally be construction, traffic or footsteps. Static crackle weaves and dodges, through train tracks and highways and the roadside clatter of your childhood home, blurring the line between Hyukoh’s spectral world and reality. Abruptly, the noise cuts. The riff comes back, a gentle, muted promise, echoing into darkness. “New born” is sound and fury signifying something inexplicable and profound, Hyukoh at their experimental best.  

In “through love,” Hyukoh adroitly traverse genres . There are occasional pacing missteps, but I’m inclined to excuse it as the process of experimentation. This release reasserts the band as a force to be reckoned with on the K-Indie scene and for that matter, globally. There’s a common but reductive view that English-speakers have little business listening to non-English music, particularly in pop where there is a premium placed on music being immediately accessible to the everyman. Why should you listen if you don’t know what they’re saying? But I think there’s a strong case for exploring music you don’t understand. 

To start, you discover new palettes of harmony and rhythm. Languages lend themselves to different rhythms and there are subtle differences between music from different places within the same genre. Further, not understanding lyrics can increase your enjoyment. Inane lyrics can be immensely grating, so listening to music in a language I don’t speak is a little bit of “don’t ask don’t tell” cop out. 

But most crucially, understanding lyrics is not necessary to communicating meaning. We encounter music fundamentally at an aural level, before we process its language. When you listen to Bon Iver on 715 – CR∑∑KS, or Jeff Buckley on Hallelujah, it’s the pleading in their voices that hits you, before the poetry in their lyrics. If a vocalist is expressive enough, you don’t need to understand what they’re saying to hear heartbreak or swagger or comfort. The music speaks for itself. Rhythm, harmony and tone are the building blocks of its deeply affective language. Lyric-less music, from classical to math rock, has always found a devoted following. Some even argue linguistic space creates greater engagement, through deeper focus on the music, or listeners bringing their own meaning to the piece. I thought “New born” was about an initiation into a wondrous yet bewildering world, but the lyrics recount the end of a relationship. The track’s roaring static and howling guitars will probably mean something different to another listener, but this multiplicity of meaning doesn’t dilute the artist’s intention – it strengthens the vitality of the art. 

Good lyrics can reinforce a musical narrative or add an unexpected twist. But they are never the totality of a song’s meaning. Even in daily life, so little of what is said is in our words. Meaning lives also in inflection, body language, silence. Storytelling is at the heart of being human, and we have a plethora of tools beyond language for it. 

Hyukoh may be Korean, but that is no barrier to the evocative power of their music.  The only criteria to enjoy them, or music from anywhere in the world, is an open mind and a listening ear. 

Listen on Spotify, Youtube or Deezer 

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Warblings

With one ear privy to the melodies playing through the wires from my phone and the other observing my peers’ interactions, I entered a sort of dual consciousness. I pranced around campus, but only Spotify could judge my choice in song. I was listening to Miley Cyrus’s cover of Blondie’s “Heart of Glass.” Did the Arts Quad’s pedestrians know that I was attending to their conversations, too? Their worried election-filled dialogue played ping-pong with lyrics that were silent to the world. I was a part of both worlds, yet an observer to each. “Seemed like the real thing, only to find, Mucho mistrust…” “… in Trump’s campaign. He sucks because…” “Love is so confusing, there’s no peace of mind…” “…that we won’t know who wins for another week, at least!”

__________

As I walked to Sage Chapel to get my weekly COVID test I heard the sound of the renowned chimes, from the high reaches of McGraw Tower resonating across Ho Plaza. A sound so powerful that it can be heard by the daily-goers of College Town Bagels when they are sat outside underneath the shade of an expansive umbrella. I have grown accustomed to the sound that seems to be a staple on Cornell Campus, but there was something different this time. It wasn’t only the timbre that rang with familiarity but also the melodies. I was sure I had heard this famous tune before, and suddenly it dawned on me, they were performing a rendition of “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga. Only the Cornell Chimes would be capable of performing a classical piece one day and a hit pop song the next day.

___________

I sat at the top of the slope wondering why I had shown up on time to meet my friend who is known for her habitual lateness. As I waited and watched the sun start to set over the distant hills while various Cornellians ate their dinner on the grass, a faint tune wafted into my ears. Turning my head, I found two students playing violin under a tree on the Arts Quad. The soft, fairy-like melodies meshed together into a harmony that drifted through the air on this shockingly warm, autumn evening. I could see the students on the slope begin to perk up out of curiosity at this sound that contrasted with the usual tunes of the clocktower. The violins dispersed a calm energy despite the anxiety of the week, and I forgot about my responsibilities (and my late friend) as the sun set lower and lower.

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Next stop, Hadestown

Or rather, the Walter Kerr Theatre transporting you to 20s New Orleans where 21st-century politics meets Greek mythology

Art by Katherine Ku

An against-the-grain songwriter and musician, Anais Mitchell penetrated the musical playwrighting realm in 2006 with her “folk opera” Hadestown. The show underwent 12 years of metamorphosis, from being a DIY community theater project to a studio album and to several off-Broadway productions before taking its final form in Broadway’s Walter Kerr Theatre on April 14, 2019.

The show commences with a groovy solo by a bass trombone, first joined by the fates’ alluring gospellike hums and then by Hermes’ rhythmic vocal mimicry of a chugging train. Persephone, Hades, the onstage musicians, Orpheus, and finally Eurydice, hop off this mythic train one by one and convene on the jazzy New Orleans stage.

You may be familiar with the tragic story of Orpheus and Eurydice: Orpheus pays a visit to Hades to rescue his beloved wife Eurydice, only to lose her to the underworld forever when Orpheus’s impatience gets the best of him. Now sprinkle in modern agitations of climate change, capitalism, and… Donald Trump. Have I lost you yet? Don’t worry. It’ll make total sense.

Persephone, portrayed by Amber Gray, descends into the underworld with her husband for the first time in “Chant.” Persephone’s signature raspy, grainy voice is especially intensified here due to Hades cutting short her long-desired sabbatical on Earth as well as the debilitating heat of hell – I for one attest to the heat radiating from the flaming red stage lights. We also hear the Lord of the Underworld for the first time, as Patrick Page confounds the audience with his thunderous bass voice, which deserves a spotlight of its own. Page explains in an interview how Mitchell composes solely on her guitar, resulting in her being oblivious to the fact that a note she wrote for Page was the G below the lowest key on the keyboard. Nonetheless, Page executes the bass vocal range for his villainous, sardonic singing and laughter in a terrifying but impeccable godlike form. Compounded with the heat-radiating foundry, furnace, oil drums, automobiles, this number succeeded in aggravating four out of the five human senses – thank the gods we were not forced to taste the hot spell. Hearing Persephone, the Goddess of Spring, complaining and being ultimately powerless in the outcome of climate change is very effective in conveying the gravity of the global warming. And Hades’ business suit, unsparing comportment, and deep, repressing voice, make one feel hopelessly squashed under the hand of big business.

“Why We the Build the Wall” features Page’s gravelly voice brings about a sense of trepidation among the audience with its uncanny alignment to the Trump administration. Hades’ sentiments for constructing a wall to keep out the starving and poor shed light on Trump’s problematic immigration policy. The show does more than identify these points, however. The spellbinding turntable on the stage that constantly alternates the stage setting from Earth to the underworld speaks a disconcerting truth: society is in a seemingly inescapable loop with these issues. The impending 2020 election certainly was not on Mitchell’s mind back in 2006. But hearing this in 2019, Page’s foreboding voice was enough to send anxious vibes.

Lastly, and arguably the best number in the show is “Our Lady of the Underground,” a thrilling solo by Persephone showcasing her grunge, sarcastic personality. Gray’s drunken dance moves and undulating voice completely throw out the graceful, tacit image we have of Persephone in Greek mythology. But this is exactly what causes the audience fall in love with Persephone and her qualities of strength and consideration for others. It’s not frequent to have a show engage the pit and the audience, but Persephone warmly introduces each musician’s names and roles. Looking around the audience, it felt as if we were a part of the storyline, laughing and conversing with the Goddess of Spring.

Many argue against the point of Mitchell implementing a modern-day twist on this Greek myth. But I saw Hadestown as a necessary, refreshing take in the world of Broadway. Don’t get me wrong, Phantom of the Opera and Miss Saigon will always have a special place in my heart. But it is about time that Broadway storylines abandon the dated black-and-white storylines and character stereotypes. It is time to hop off that train and onto the one to hell.

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ARTPOP by Lady Gaga: Seven Years Later

Lady Gaga’s boundary-pushing album ARTPOP takes on themes of femininity and sexuality, still incredibly important to fans.

Gaga performing her song Venus at the ARTRAVE Tour, 2014.

Lady Gaga’s third album ARTPOP is a collection of eccentric, conceptual, and colorful songs. In 2013, it was a disastrous phantasm of experimentation. Charts donned singles but sales overall were timid for the super-pop-star at the time. ARTPOP was often deemed “highbrow” for a pop album, with many creative moments soaring above the public’s Katy Perry-fixated minds. It was a futuristic, camp narrative of a woman overcoming sexual trauma and exploring an artful landscape constructed by modern artist Jeff Koons.

Gaga’s baroque outpouring of creativity and experimentation was questionably and poorly received. Lyrics surrounding feminism are blown into grandiose pop songs, tilting the norms of a commercial album. I’ve selected standout tracks that never made it on the radio, but deserve a place in anyone’s ears.

TRACK ONE: AURA

ARTPOP opens with a plucky, frantic guitar sound and western-movie reminiscent tones. The distorted voice and eerie howls in the background that greet us with the deranged speak of a murder of Gaga’s “former,” and fall into a sitar melody with maniacal “ha ha ha’s” until we reach a very 2013-like EDM buildup. The drop launches us into spoken-word on top of a slimey, neon, bassy synthesizer. The lyrics are a feminist declaration of who she is, with camp undertones: “I’m not a wandering slave / I am a woman of choice. / My veil is protection for the gorgeousness of my face.” Originally titled “Burqa,” this song is an undressing; the chorus taunts the listener in a cosmic sea of starry synths if they want to “see the girl who lives behind the aura.” She calls herself an “enigma popstar,” mentioning that she may wear things not as a statement but just as a move of passion. It exhibits her true artistic spirit, to wear, dance, and create for the sake of creation. While it does not reveal what is behind the aura just yet, it sets a colorful scene for what follows in ARTPOP.

TRACK TWO: VENUS

Produced by Lady Gaga herself, the sonic palette that follows is cohesive with the previous track. The EDM sounds are melted into a pop atmosphere, not overwhelmingly wubby or deterring. Venus is an intergalactic love song, weaving space with hot love. The repeated “Venus!” reminds us of the goddess of love throughout the entire track The overarching sublime hedonism lyrically is juxtaposed against a camp, electronic instrumental, resplendent with synthesizers. The bridge is an homage to the planets, and especially after listing Uranus, she shouts in a semi-comical, semi-powerful yell “Don’t you know my ass is famous?” The track is an ode to a cosmic lover, one who’s “out of this world, galaxy, space, and time.” The theme of Venus is baroque, alluding to the world of ARTPOP that Gaga affirms in the titular track. One can create anything, and this is one of many fantasies of art that occur on this album.

TRACK 3: G.U.Y.

G.U.Y. is an acronym for ‘Girl Under You.’ It opens with a spoken word passage that continues the Greek god theme established in Venus by mentioning Himeros, the god of sexual desire. G.U.Y. is a nuanced view of feminism over a frenetic dance beat. The riff in the background has a gritty, aggressive quality, which is a reason why one could have been dissuaded from this song, but it bursts and breathes in the chorus. It is pop experimentation with the EDM trend of 2013 with lyrics that take decoding and ultimately becomes a frequent relisten. Lyrics such as “I’m gonna wear the tie / want the power to leave you / aiming for full control of this love,” assert power, but then in the chorus she decodes G.U.Y. for us: she wants to be in power, but without the trope of being powerless when you’re underneath somebody, both figuratively and sexually. The message of being a powerful woman whilst not wanting the norm of submission to continue is a hefty feminist statement not made by any other pop artist at the time. G.U.Y. is Gaga asserting herself as the intense figure that she is. 5’2 and sure of what she wants in love.

TRACK 4: SEXXX DREAMS (or censored as X DREAMS)

Lady Gaga claims that this track was born out of a psychedelic trip and not until the last moment did it coalesce. A shimmering, 80s inspired instrumental glows as Gaga has almost a conversation with herself. One is talk-singing, the other replying in song. This song is a full admission of illicit thoughts to the lucky person, so candid in nature that she even includes a clip of her talking that mimics the confession that she’d genuinely make to the person at a party. The lines are a bit too raunchy to share here, but the message is a tongue-in-cheek due to how forward she is. This song was never likely going to become a radio hit as the FCC would have laughed at any attempts to censor the message. This song also speaks about Gaga’s bisexuality at a time when LGBTQ+ themes were mostly absent from mainstream pop music. In 2013, her blunt lyrics, subtle humor, and catchy melodies were overlooked.

TRACK 6: MANiCURE

MANiCURE experiments with a cocktail of classic rock guitar shredding and modern dancehall beats. Gaga’s energetic vocals are belted like an 80s rockstar with a hint of Kate Bush. The song begins with the private moment of getting ready to see someone, putting lipstick and perfume on but in a wildly flamboyant way. The bombastic nature of this song matches the ardent vocals, even though the subject is that of an insecure relationship, perhaps on both sides. The production is huge, with a booming drum beat, clapping rhythms, and synths that brighten the mostly gibberish chorus. Even though the chorus may be less literary than a song like G.U.Y., it is still ARTPOP to Gaga, meaning that it is her passion driving this heavy beat pop song. MANiCURE speaks about taking time to oneself perhaps by getting a manicure in order to cure oneself of the insecurity of a relationship with a man. The moment that one takes to focus on makeup, nails, or any type of self-care in that realm is a moment seldom spoken about in music, yet it can be therapeutic to have time alone to get dressed up and feel beautiful.

TRACK 7: ARTPOP

The thesis of the album blossoms in this track. “Come to me / in all your glamour and cruelty,” and “the melody that you choose can rescue you.” The funky synth in the background sounds like an intergalactic telephone, as Gaga sings “We could belong together ARTPOP.” This song is the most lyrically dense on the record, speaking of how art can withstand the capitalist nightmare of the music world we live in. Gaga paints us a fantasy that she manifests in this album. Art and pop can fuse in a colorful, experimental palette. Her creative side of eccentricity is not for shock value, rather for expression, echoing back to the line in Aura that “it’s not a statement as much as just a move of passion.” Her art flourishes in choice, sometimes cultural commentary, other times decadent, the idea that art for art’s sake is the soul singing through the medium of song. Immaterial, visceral passion is perfectly apt ground for art, as she says “my ARTPOP could be anything.”

TRACK 11: MARY JANE HOLLAND

Opening with a guitar riff written by a teenage producer from France, Mary Jane Holland is an avant-garde hyperpop song bathing in synths and unusual beats. Freedom from international fame is a fantasy for Gaga; she conjures a character named Mary Jane Holland, free from blonde hair and the “culture of the popular.” This track chronicles her time in Amsterdam with freshly-dyed black hair, in disguise for the first time in years. It’s a breathtaking song about Gaga having a breath of air unpolluted by paparazzi. In an experimental bridge, one cannot tell if the instrument in the background is an electric guitar or distorted synth. Theatre-inspired vocals create a strange narrative over an EDM beat that beckons her back into the last chorus, in which Mary Jane Holland is introduced as a star again with cameras clicking in the background. Her escapist dream is over as the show begins that night in Amsterdam.

ARTPOP was a wild art experiment in 2013, sonic palettes leaving listeners confused instead of bemused, but now one should relisten and swim in Gaga’s colorful world.

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Blackberry Smoke’s New EP: A Badass Take on Southern Rock Classics

Live from Capricorn Sound Studios, Atlanta group Blackberry Smoke delivers a soulful performance covering songs by artists including the Allman Brothers Band and Little Richard.

Blackberry Smoke gathers for a band shot with matching denim jackets and long hair.

Blackberry Smoke, an Atlanta-based powerhouse band indebted to their musical roots, was responsible for creating the soundtrack of quarantine summer 2020 with their new EP Live From Capricorn Sound Studios. The six-track extravaganza is an amalgamation of covers freshly picked for this unique recording opportunity, and each song takes on its own character as the set unfolds. With only 30 minutes of content, this live EP holds its own among the various other Blackberry Smoke albums, and it is a brief but mighty work that keeps listeners gripped with every note.

Live From Capricorn Sound Studios commences with “Midnight Rider,” a well-known song by the Allman Brothers Band. Though this was not simply a note-for-note cover of the original. Blackberry Smoke delivers a rousing rendition of this song with a heavier feel than the Allman Brothers version, which can be mainly attributed to Brit Turner (drums) opening the tune with heavy emphasis on the ride cymbal. This gives the song an open and vibrant feel right from the beginning, almost as if the band is picking up from the intensity at the end of the Allman Brothers version.

Blackberry Smoke carries this same energy throughout the song and reaches a climax with an expressive and articulate slide guitar solo towards the end. Charlie Starr (vocals, guitar) delivers a powerful vocal performance in this song, which shines through even more as a result of his vocal style that naturally resembles that of Gregg Allman. “Midnight Rider” is an opportune opening for this live EP since Gregg Allman broke into Capricorn Sound Studios to record the demo for what became this Allman Brothers classic.

Blackberry Smoke then digs out one of The Marshall Tucker Band’s early tunes, “Take the Highway.” Based in South Carolina, The Marshall Tucker Band played an integral role in establishing Southern Rock and paved the way for the genre to flourish in the following decades. Since flute plays a major role in the original version of “Take the Highway,” Blackberry Smoke calls on Marcus Henderson (flute) to guest on this song. Midway through, as the song changes from major to minor and the band lays down a funky groove, Henderson at first joins in on the riff and then dives into a solo filled with tasteful staccato lines that punctuate the mix and rise over the rest of the group.

After swiftly exiting the solo section, the band returns to the main chorus of the song with even more energy than the beginning. Paul Jackson (guitar, vocals) proves to be an integral part of the group on this song as he thickens the guitar sound and keeps the main feel steady while Starr takes a guitar solo. Jackson’s higher vocal register also adds a unique texture to the group and further fills out the sound.

Each song on the live EP has a video of the band’s performance at Capricorn Sound Studios, and while watching Starr grin from ear to ear as guest Jimmy Hall (vocals, harmonica) sings “Keep On Smiling” with the band, it is hard for the viewers to keep from smiling themselves. Blackberry Smoke puts a modern twist on the acoustic Wet Willie tune, but the band stays true to the intent and feel by summoning the magic of the Black Bettys, a duo of backup singers (Sherie and Sherita Murphy), as well as Jackson who plays acoustic guitar in an isolation booth in the studio. In the middle of the song, Hall jumps into a soulful harmonica solo that sets up the final segment of the tune in which the Black Bettys engage in a lively call and response with Hall. This mighty singing duo’s sweet sound and vibrato create another instrument in itself that occupies the upper register of the mix.

Hall’s vocal delivery of “Keep On Smiling” is topped by that in “Grits Ain’t Groceries.” Taking on a Little Milton tune is a bold move in itself because of his wide range and powerful voice, but Hall performs this tune perfectly while raising the key a full step. His voice blooms and blends beautifully with the Black Bettys in this song just as it did in the previous tune. Richard Turner (bass) keeps the up-tempo groove rock solid, rooting the rest of the band in a feel that is rigid, but that also takes on a bounce on the back end of the beat. The song closes with an open jam with the three guitarists and Brandon Still (keyboards) repeating unique riffs simultaneously. Starr’s smile remains throughout this song as well, an indication of the joy that ran through the studio during the session.

To honor the legacy of the Allman Brothers Band’s music recorded at Capricorn Sound Studios, Blackberry Smoke pulls out another classic, “Revival.” Turner’s heavier drum work on “Midnight Rider” is similar to that “Revival,” which makes it a vigorous cover. The band’s respect for the Allman Brothers Band’s original is apparent as each melody and harmony part is executed to perfection, and the Black Bettys’ continue to lay down soulful background vocals that enhance this version of the song. At the time of this live recording, Blackberry Smoke was preparing for a summer tour that focused on music from southern musicians like the Allman Brothers, but it was disappointingly cancelled as a result of the unstoppable COVID-19. The music off this live EP is a hint of what is to come for Blackberry Smoke once they resume touring.

The band lets loose their country twang for their final song, Little Richard’s “Southern Child.” Little Richard passed away just two months after this recording at Capricorn Sound Studios, and he would have been proud to hear Blackberry Smoke play homage to his work in an honest and true fashion. The band adds slide guitar, a traditional touch to this southern rock gem recorded in 1972. Turner also has an opportunity to shine in a brief but impactful bass solo, a proud showcase of the often forgotten instrument in a rock group. Each member of Blackberry Smoke holds their own while recording this live EP, and their shared excitement while playing is infectious even across the computer screen.

Blackberry Smoke has amassed a hefty following and achieved great success over the years, so over the last few months the band has been in a position to give back to the music community. They decided to donate a portion of the proceeds from “Live From Capricorn Sound Studios” to the Recording Academy’s MusiCares COVID-19 Relief Fund as a way to help struggling musicians during this difficult time. The members of Blackberry Smoke have remained busy during their time in quarantine by writing new music and posting some of their collaborations on their YouTube page.

They have also put on two live stream shows, one from the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee on September 23, and one from The West End Sound in Atlanta, Georgia on October 30. The band will film their next live stream show from The Tabernacle on November 23, a full-fledged rock-fiesta to ensue. Don’t wait to see Blackberry Smoke in person, they are bringing their mastery right into your home: hop onto the couch, grab your computer, and let the 21st-century rock wizards take over.

Track listing:

  1. “Midnight Rider” – Allman Brothers Band
  2. “Take The Highway” (feat. Marcus Henderson) – The Marshall Tucker Band
  3. “Keep On Smiling” (feat. Jimmy Hall and the Black Bettys) – Wet Willie
  4. “Grits Ain’t Groceries” (feat. Jimmy Hall and the Black Bettys) – Little Milton
  5. “Revival” (feat. the Black Bettys) – The Allman Brothers Band
  6. “Southern Child” (feat. Jimmy Hall and the Black Bettys) – Little Richard