December 2020 – Page 4

December 3, 2020Miles Greenblatt

The Many Lives of John Prine

(AP Photo: John Humphrey)

Folk icon John Prine died earlier this year, leaving behind decades of influential work and a legion of artists who carry on the style he helped pioneer.

John Prine died on April 7, 2020 from complications caused by COVID-19. He was 73 years old.

Often referred to as one of the greatest songwriters in American history, he reached his peak in popularity near the end of his career, and his legacy will continue to grow. He leaves behind his wife and two children, along with every life he invented through his songs.

Following a stint in the army that would go on to inform much of his writing, Prine began his career in the late 1960s, performing alone with his guitar at open-mic nights at a small Chicago club called the Fifth Peg. He was immediately offered paid gigs, and gained notoriety in the local area following a chance encounter and glowing review from Roger Ebert. He began to play at more clubs across the city, quickly becoming one of the figures in the folk revival scene.

Prine released his self-titled debut in 1971, garnering little commercial success but establishing himself as one of the most important musicians in folk. The songs were witty, political, and relatable, demonstrating his ability to seamlessly weave haunting tragedy and biting satire with romance and simple beauty. The album was filled with ruminations on war and patriotism, with songs “Your American Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore” and “Sam Stone” criticising America’s actions in Korea and Vietnam, and the government’s exploitation of soldiers. Lyrics like “But your flag decal won’t get you Into Heaven anymore, they’re already overcrowded from your dirty little war” tapped into a disillusion many Americans felt at the time, and resonate currently with American disgust at the wars fought in the middle east for the past twenty years.

Prine’s song “Illegal Smile” connected with drug users, a group that overlapped greatly with antiwar protestors at the time. Although he later admitted the song wasn’t written about marijuana smoking, the lyrics “And you may see me tonight with an illegal smile, it don’t cost very much, but it lasts a long while. Won’t you please tell the man I didn’t kill anyone, no I’m just trying to have me some fun” spoke to smokers who seeked escapism in the way Prine described. Drug use was a theme across many of the songs in the album, but he often discussed them with a darker tone.

The themes came together in the standout track “Sam Stone,” a song that told the story of a drug addicted disabled veteran who received a Purple Heart for his time in Vietnam. The tragically beautiful lyric “There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm where all the money goes, Jesus Christ died for nothin’, I suppose” is just one example of Prine’s ability to boil down the tragedy of a universal American experience to a single line. He could connect with anyone who listened to him though, as his dark lyrics came with beautiful, simple chords, and were often cut with humor. “Illegal Smile,” for example, ends with the simple “Well done, hot dog bun, my sister’s a nun,” bringing back his audience from the bleak story he just laid upon them.

He continued to release music consistently throughout the 1970s, building his commercial success and maintaining his critical stature. He hit the Billboard Hot 100 for the first time with 1975’s “Come Back to Us Barbara Lewis Hare Krishna Beauregard,” and went on a tour across the country. By the end of the decade though, he had grown disgusted with the exploitation found across the music industry, leading him to found his own label, Oh Boy Records, in 1981. At that point, many of his most well known songs became popular through covers by acts like The Highwaymen. His talent was plainly recognizable to his contemporaries, and through them he began to build a legacy as a “songwriter’s songwriter.”

He continued to release original albums until 2005’s Fair &Square, after which he took a pause from full length albums. He spent the next decade working with younger artists and performing for younger crowds, filled with a new generation discovering him for themselves for the first time. In 2018, he released his final solo album, The Tree of Forgiveness. The album sold over 50,000 copies in its first week, debuting at #5 on the Billboard album chart, by far his highest ever. His final song, “I Remember Everything,” was a rumination on his career, recounting all of the places he’d performed, artists he’d worked with, and beautiful times he’d experienced throughout his life.

Though he hadn’t released an album of new material for over thirteen years, his profile had grown immensely, in part due to the success of those he mentored in the industry. The album featured contributions from Jason Isbell, Amanda Shires, Dan Auerbach, and Brandi Carlile, all of whom are successful artists who credit Prine as a major inspiration to their own work. It is in this way that Prine’s legacy will continue to grow, constantly exposing him to a new generation of fans, including myself.

When an artist is so influential, there is often a generational delay before the full scope of their influence can be recognized. Although they are not appreciated by most fans during their creative peak, artists take notice, and find great influence in their work. When the next generation finds success, they will bring their idols along with them, leading to a revival of the original work. For Prine, this cycle materialized through his mentorship and shared live performances with many of the most talented artists in current country and folk music. Following his death, Kacey Musgraves said Prine “impacted [her] songwriting more than anyone else.” Sturgill Simpson, Jason Isbell, and Margo Price all participated in tribute concerts for him as well. I mention these four names because they also occupy spots one through four on Paste Magazine’s top country albums of the decade. John Prine helped to shape the modern sound of country music, and his fingerprints can be found across myriad projects, constantly expanding his reach.

Following this year’s Country Music Awards, Isbell and fellow singer Amanda Shires announced that they would be returning their lifetime memberships to the Country Music Association due to their failure to mention John Prine during the show. The tension between the singers and establishment is emblematic of the gap between Prine’s adoration among the music community and in the general public. For the CMA’s whose goal is to make money and appeal to as wide a reach of people as possible, avoiding Prine is a decision that sacrifices integrity for commercial success. Whether they wanted to avoid discussing the coronavirus due to its politicization, or didn’t want to bring him up due to his anti war and anti republican messaging, they made it clear that many areas of the industry are still lagging behind the innovation Prine has brought since the 70s. This only makes him connect with those who care about more though. Isbell wrote that they were giving up their memberships because “we cared a lot about our heroes.” Sturgill Simpson didn’t hold back in his response, writing “Don’t get it twisted,.. wouldn’t be caught dead at this tacky ass glitter and botox cake & cock pony show even if my chair had a morphine drip. … I just wanted to see if they would say his name but nope.”

The omission of Prine reflects more on the CMAs than it does on his career. The Grammy’s gave Prine a lifetime achievement award in 2019, and the DNC used his music to soundtrack a tribute to those lost to the Coronavirus, but the show dedicated to country music didn’t mention him. Already facing backlash for advertising the show as a “no drama” night (during a pandemic, massive civil rights movement, and contested election,) the CMAs showed that they care more about appearing accessible than being honest. In a genre built on storytelling, the artists proved that they have the final say in who lives on. I was able to discover Prine through a tribute by Phoebe Bridgers, and then through cover after cover from a dozen other artists I love, regardless of any omissions by the CMAs (a show I would never watch anyway.) Because of the time he spent working with and influencing other artists, his legacy will continue, and his characters will live on. When his self titled debut turns fifty next year, the story of Sam Stone will as well, and every veteran he represents will have their stories told a little bit more thanks to him. This is the legacy of John Prine: by weaving his own truths into songs everyone can relate to, he will live on through the stories told by those he inspired.

December 3, 2020Patricia Ku

Phillipa Soo: the detective, archeologist, and mystery-solver

What do founder of the first NYC orphanage Eliza Hamilton, quirky Parisienne Amelie Poulin, and Chinese goddess of the moon Chang’e have in common? Not much.

When you listen to Broadway singer and actress Phillipa Soo, she is undoubtedly all three of the leading ladies she has played in one body: a devoted advocate, an admirer of life, and an incontestable pop goddess.

Coming from a household with parents involved in both performing arts and the medical field, a young Soo was encouraged to pursue her singing and acting goals while at the same time highly valuing a university education. Just weeks after graduating from Juilliard in 2015, Soo wasted no time running from audition to audition before landing her first off-Broadway role as Natasha Rostova in Natasha, Pierre and The Great Comet of 1812.

Sitting in the audience during her debut performance was Lin Manuel Miranda, playwright/composer/lyricist/lead of the artfully distinguished musical Hamilton. Soo’s solo of “No One Else” expressing her wistful longing for her on-stage lover Andrey Bolonsky while he is off in war demonstrated the power of Soo’s voice to stir up an audience’s emotions.

Soo’s live performance at Barnes & Noble of “No One Else” from “Natasha, Pierre and The Great Comet of 1812”

Soo didn’t have the wintry backdrop and cold lighting in her live performance of “No One Else” at Barnes and Noble, but her sweet yet resolute voice never fails to have a glowing effect, rendering her surroundings sunless and irrelevant. Her docile voice so effortlessly swings from a soft, sweet carol to an intense forte projection causing the audience to feel every emotion in her character’s body: sorrow to frustration, nostalgia to exasperation, and muted hope to passionate anticipation.

Miranda recognized Soo’s potent vocals, and after making his praise Tweet-official, “@PhillipaSoo is a star,” Miranda invited her for a table reading of his new musical, casting her as Eliza Hamilton, the loving and dedicated wife of short-lived founding father Alexander Hamilton.

Soo, like most of us, was unfamiliar with Eliza’s character when she was first introduced to it. It was a quick Google search, but Eliza’s benevolence and resilience were enough to convince her to commit to the character. Signing on to this particular role came with a rare responsibility, however, especially for a fledgling actress to the Broadway industry: originating the part. Soo jumped at this opportunity, and her collaboration with Miranda turned out to be the perfect partnership.

Wielding creative control over her roles was exciting. In a 2017 interview, Soo tells the New York Times, “I get to see a writer’s process, which is really special, especially having gone to Juilliard where a lot of the things we were doing were by playwrights who were deceased, so to have a live playwright in the room is such a treat. There’s no map for you to follow and take your journey. You are Lewis and Clark. You are the mapmaker.”

And truly a mapmaker she is, on and off stage. Soo is a modern day Eliza, standing up for her beliefs and using her contagious spirit and passion to be an influential leader. During the three impending weeks leading up to the 2020 presidential election, Soo and her husband, actor Steven Pasquale, posted a series of self-composed duets on their Instagram accounts motivating various states to register to vote and head to the polls. The couple used their impeccably intertwined vocals and improv lyrics to excite their followers.

Soo’s participation in the NYCLU Sing Out event, however, was the epitome of the compelling influence of her voice, and her pure devotion and indubitable care for her country and fans shine through.

Soo’s monumental Zoom performance of “Democracy” from “Soft Power” featured on her Instagram page

The power and force in her vocals are dipped in elegance. Even the least ideal format of performing, Zoom, cannot tarnish her range of dynamic and vocal finesse.

After two years of being a part of the global takeover of Hamilton, Soo jumps right into another opening – carefree, wide-eyed Amelie Poulin from the 2001 French indie film Amelie. This role also required of her to conceive her own creative decisions of the character, though this time around, Soo was very familiar with Amelie.

“That movie was like my religion, as a young woman who was not necessarily introverted, but certainly a very quirky person,” she said. Growing up watching Amelie, Soo admired the Parisienne’s knack for doing good for those around her and leaving small but meaningful goodies for people, and Soo carries a part of Amelie in both her personal and professional world.

The plot of Amelie centers around the title character’s inability to express herself and find her purpose in life. During the character development process with Amelie’s composer/lyricist Daniel Messe, Soo turned to what she knew how to do best to give Amelie the voice she had been looking for – singing. The musical’s most famous number “Times Are Hard for Dreamers,” is plainly the result of Soo’s trial and error improvised vocal warm-ups. The process of character origination, however enjoyable, is quite an arduous and pressuring task. Having done so for her first two Broadway roles, Soo remains grateful for these extraordinary opportunities to breathe life into her characters.

It also worked to Soo’s advantage that creativity and artistry naturally flow from her inclination to try new things and cherish little joys in life. For Soo, it’s all about “allowing yourself to enjoy being a human in the world,” and if that means dabbling in “transcendental meditation,” or finally trying that medicinal mushroom coffee, or beatboxing into a megaphone with your fellow Schuyler sister, then by all means.

Outside Richard Rogers Theater, Soo beatboxes for co-star Renee Elise Goldberry as she performs a Schuyler sister rendition of “Right Hand Man” from “Hamilton”

Soo’s virtuosity isn’t limited to Broadway numbers.

This past October, Soo debuted in her first Netflix animation Over the Moon, where she plays the brokenhearted Chinese moon goddess Chang’e waiting to be reunited with her lover Houyi.

This was Soo’s first time in voicing an animated character and getting in touch with speaking Mandarin (Soo is the only family member who does not speak the language). But most notably, Soo recalls the most fabulous part of her Chang’e experience as being an inspiration for young Asian-American girls in the same way she looked up to Lea Salonga, Filipina singer and actress who also rose to stardom through Broadway and film.

There have always been severely limited roles for Asian women in theater/opera. Within the few lead roles that were available, such as in Miss Saigon, Madame Butterfly, and The King and I, the female characters were degraded to a simple portrayal of a weak, “oriental” damsel in distress. While the roles are still few, new movies like Over the Moon are restoring power in female Asian representation in art and film. Soo mentions her feeling of pride in being a part of this full-Asian cast and giving this mythological goddess a new image of an independent woman finding new ways to care for herself and forming uplifting and empowering support systems with other female characters.

Soo’s performance in the Over the Moon was in fact “ultraluminary,” (as her character sings in the animation), probably due to the fact that the film portrays Chang’e as someone totally unexpected: a superior Mando-pop star with dance moves inspired by famous K-pop group Blackpink. Audiences are also exposed to Soo’s never-before-heard pop vocals. Her vocal range is just as extraordinary, but it sure is different than her previous grief-stricken ballads from Hamilton and dainty musical theater numbers from Amelie.

Soo guest stars in a Skivvies concert, belting a pop/R&B/rap mash-up of Beyonce, Next, and Juvenile

While Soo’s role in Over the Moon marked her first time receiving public acclaim in the pop-genre performance, Soo has indeed had her share of mainstream covers and genres other than musical theater. During her period of stardom in 2015 with Hamilton, Soo was invited for a concert with the Skivvies, a duo band known for their musically (and physically) stripped-down musical arrangements.

Soo manifests her vocal versatility in this collaboration, busting out in explosive, soulful vocals, grooving to early-2000’s R&B and hip-hop rhythms, and ending with her signature Phillipa-esque harmonization.

As Soo once said, “My job as an actor is also that of a detective, archaeologist, and mystery-solver.” And yes, she truly has done so, from delving into a deep Google investigation of Eliza Hamilton, excavating her childhood memories of Amelie Poulin, and enlightening the world with the true star quality of Chang’e.

December 2, 2020Jonah Levine

Dead in Flesh; Alive in Spirit

The LP is dead. It is survived by artists everywhere, who will be influenced by the art form for years to come.

Born to Columbia Records in 1948, the long-playing (LP) record ran circles around its elder sibling, the 78. Shedding the staticky shellac synthetic of the 78, the LP’s vinyl construction produced a cleaner, crisper tone. Its 12-inch stature and 33 rpm speed allowed for more minutes of playing time than any of its predecessors. Inscribed in its grooves, artists found a new code of corpus production: 10-12 songs, 30-45 minutes, one coherent album.

This new format broadened the canvas of expression within a single disc. Jazz musicians were first to take this shift in stride, using the album as an opportunity to comprehensively explore new styles; Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue and John Coltrane’s Giant Steps are a few famous examples of this phenomenon. In the 1960s, popular music took the torch of innovation, engineering the concept album: a coherent story or theme carried across a collection of songs. The Beach Boys famously perfected this form with the lush, alluring Pet Sounds, to which The Beatles retorted with the scintillating Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band. Two years later, The Who pushed the boundaries of the album still further with the first ever rock opera, “Tommy.”

From the 1960s forward, the LP album established itself as the quintessential mode of musical expression, and the entire music industry became fitted to its features. Aspiring artist were disciplined by record labels with deadlines for writing and recording 10-12 songs. After routine artistic deliberations on track order, album art, and liner notes, an artist’s work was finally deemed ready for placement on record store shelves. The LP structured an artist’s operations on the road as well. Tours became centered around album promotion, and the 10-12 songs of an LP provided the perfect amount of new content to add to ones setlist. Albums had become the locus of all professional musical endeavors.

It wasn’t long before this favorite child of the music industry began competing for attention with its slimmer, sleeker siblings. The cassette, released in 1968, steadily gained popularity in the 1970s and 1980s for its compact design. LPs still sold, but more and more consumers were willing to pass on vinyl’s alluring album art and graceful grooves for this new plastic box which could be conveniently slipped into a car dashboard or boombox. Even more alarming for the LP was the rise of the famed and feared mixtape. Rather than listen to an artist’s released work front to back, as the LP encouraged, listeners at home could dub their favorite individual songs from their records or radio onto a blank tape, curating an individualized listening experience. Thus, a dissonance grew between how the artist packaged their material and how the consumer experienced it. While artists still followed the conventions of the LP, taking time to create enticing album art and arranging their tracks in optimal order, consumers lurched towards a less dazzling, more convenient way to play.

If the cassette tugged at the fabric of album ascendancy, the CD ripped it completely apart. Introduced in 1982, this diminutive doppelgänger of its predecessor had the appearance of an LP shrunken in the wash. Much like with cassettes, consumers were willing to pass on the comely, weighted feel of an LP for another portable plastic box with mix-taping capabilities. By the early 1990s, the LP was wobbling on the edge of the wastebasket. It was finally nudged into oblivion by the emergence of music digitization in the early 2000s. In both legal and illegal fashions, consumers began using computers to transfer the music of their CDs with MP3 files, turning their backs completely on the aesthetic of physical product for weightless ones and zeros. The market soon caught up with this phenomenon; platforms allowing consumers to purchase files directly from the internet rose to prominence. Consumers were further encouraged to ignore the greater body of an artist’s produced work for individual tracks of an album.

Consumers’ slow rejection of the LP’s conventions solidified in the 2010s with the rise of music streaming services like Spotify and Apple Music. The all-you-can-eat nature of these platforms encouraged consumers to take bites out of the works of an array of artists rather than devouring one singular product. Streamlining the playlist-making process, these sites reinforced consumers’ cravings for an individualized listening experience. The shift away from albums is well documented. In one 2016 study by the Music Business Association, 77% of surveyed participants acknowledged playlists and single song streaming as their dominant mode of listening. Comparatively, only 22% of participants still favored listening to albums. Creators of album charts, such as Billboard, have had to acknowledge that the most successful albums are no longer those selling the most whole copies. Their solution was the mythical metric of “streaming album equivalents.” For Billboard, this means weighing every 1,250 subscription paid streams and every 3,750 free, ad-supported streams as one album unit to count towards the total number of records sold. This assuredly arbitrary algorithm boosted albums to the top of the charts off the success of only a handful of hits.

With the singular sensation of holding a piece of physical music, poring over its liner notes, and playing front to back finally meeting its maker, some makers of music bemoan the album as an outdated model of production. For artists who labor for months to create their 12-song statement to the world, it can be downright disheartening to see the majority of their tracks disregarded. In response, some artists are preferring to focus more on singles and EPs—a pattern of production that we haven’t witnessed on a large scale since the 1950s, when the album had not yet been embraced as the premier format of recording. This method not only ensures that individual songs are not lost in the greater catalog of an album, but it also allows for artists to release music with greater frequency. A smaller, steadier stream of content is phenomenal fuel for an artist’s fanbase, keeping them continually interested. With none of the hurdles that come with pressing and packaging physical product, a frequent output of content is both doable and desirable.

Still, the LP resists relegation to the glass cases of the Smithsonian with the other obsolete inventions of music’s past. After being buried below cassettes, CDs, and Spotify, a new generation of listeners has dug the LP out of its grave. Some are enticed by its collectible nature. Others are searching for a superior stereophonic experience. A third group is staging a desperate escape from the Silicon Valley giants collecting and selling data of every stream. Whatever the motive, vinyl revival has arrived. The LP is now the fastest growing form of physical music. In some sense, the LP itself has taken a similar trajectory to the genres of music that were once inscribed in its grooves. Just as jazz and rock have gone from chart-topping sensations to somewhat niche genres with smaller audiences, the LP has abdicated its role as the primary purveyor of music for a second life as an item of nostalgia.

The lengthy life and times of the album is a captivating saga. Yet, to dramatize on all the foes the LP has fought, as I have attempted, might miss the forest for the trees. The shock value that this topic provides is proof itself that the album still looms large over the cultural conscience of America. The LP is no longer a titan of the music market, and some artists are indeed leaning towards a more piecemeal manner of production, yet the album still stands as the benchmark achievement for musicians everywhere. Despite vast changes in technology, the conventions of production that the LP provided are preferred by most artists. While recording musicians are no longer bound to the 45 minutes limit of what could fit on a record, many still value this length as the optimal balance between substantial and succinct. Album art survives as well; despite some musicians forgoing physical music altogether, the tradition of creating a colorful cover is embraced by all. The “album,” as we refer to it today may be a skeleton of its former self, the LP, yet decades of cultural prominence have knighted the album with a reverence that won’t be lost on the music industry for years to come.

December 2, 2020Andie Chapman

Sonic Reducers: Chill Punk Kids

Cornell-hailing punk band Sonic Reducers tap into a vibrant and genuine art form in a DIY fashion.

The weather outside is far too warm for an autumn day. Sonic Reducers begin appearing on my screen, smiling. Everyone appears to be in the serene moods. It may be virtual and my glimpses of body language are terribly limited, but the aura radiating from Sonic Reducers casts a comfortable feeling into the air. Their music is punk yet not riotous; their sound sits in an eclipse of punk and indie fuzz rock. The chillness of Sonic Reducers is warm, welcoming, and the delegation of answering questions is natural. No one appears hindered by the influences of any great city. Floating in cyberspace now, we delve into the intricacies of the band. A mere year-and-a-half-old, Sonic Reducers have a full-length out, and it’s self-titled.

Ayta Mandzhieva, a junior architecture student and native Russian, began dreaming of forming a punk band after she had read Percy Jackson & the Lightning Thief in Russian. One of the main characters mentioned Green Day, she googled the moniker, and shortly thereafter began learning guitar. Somehow it was her first time telling this story as her bandmates replied in wonderment that they had never known the genesis of her musical passions. During the Cornell Orientation Week (the first week before school for freshmen to mingle and acclimate), Ayta met her future bandmate and drummer Jackson Rauch at a collegetown party. They dove into a conversation about music and agreed to play together, getting ideas flowing already. Since Orientation Week brims with activities, all four members found themselves at the same event.

Luke Slomba, the lead singer and guitarist, arrived a half-hour late to a half-hour long radio open house and serendipitously met Ayta and Sebastian at the Cornell radio station. The inevitable freshman mistakes and college radio encounters all follow in the jagged way that punk kids meet. Luke recognized Ayta as she was in the same architecture major, and introduced her to his roommate and future bassist of Sonic Reducers, Sebastian Fernandez.

Ayta casually mentioned to Luke that she was in a band to which Luke replied “That’s so cool! I could show up if you have a practice or something!”

At the heart of punk is a keen messy candor. Add college students to the mix and you end up with frazzled and genuine art. They also carry a quirky performing history, with the guitar and bass player shotgunning La Croix seltzers throughout the intro of their song return to ithaca. The half-wild nature of Sonic Reducers manifested naturally, a bunch of passionate college students existing creatively together.

Their first practice occurred at Cornell’s program housing dorm called Just About Music, JAM for short. Afterwards, the unnamed quartet sat at a table in the dining hall, pining over name ideas. There happens to be an extraordinarily compelling class (to me) offered at Cornell – during Ayta’s freshman fall, she enrolled in MUSIC 2006: Punk Culture: The Aesthetics and Politics of Refusal. She suggested the title of the Dead Boys song, Sonic Reducers. Sebastian clarifies today that the name is sort of a joke, prodding at the comments they receive about being a Sonic Youth pastiche. Jackson expresses a different sentiment of the name, calling Dead Boys a huge inspiration. Sonic Reducers explain that they aren’t actually Sonic Youth fanatics, remaining unfamiliar with their greater work. Teen Age Riot is a cool song though, Sebastian concedes. Luke’s father held nothing back in telling him that their song everything i hate about american cities sounds exactly like Kool Thing. Though maybe it’s better to be compared to Sonic Youth’s second most famous single than a Blink-182 cover band.

Sonic Reducers’ influences are a mix of rock sub-genres, melting together into the shape of their sound. Jackson’s drumming history is a colorful one that permeates the Sonic Reducers’ sound. As a fan of reggae, he borrows reggae drumming patterns and places them in a punk context. Having also played blues rock in high school, he affirms that his favorite music is old-school punk. Ayta japes, “What about Brand New?” He stands up to show his shirt, blushing in embarrassment because of the singer’s scandal. Known today as “cancelled,” Jackson claims he doesn’t want to give them a platform, but Sebastian interjects with more banter, “Yeah just wear their sweatshirt!”

Sebastian confesses, albeit with pride, that he began learning the bass after agreeing to be a member of Sonic Reducers. He crafted the basslines for the debut album first on MIDI, almost as one composes music, and then purchased a bass over winter break 2018 to learn it on the instrument itself. The prominent, melodic bassline of Is This It? by The Strokes is his primordial inspiration for writing.

Luke Slomba stands as the main songwriter although each member adds to the sound. One song from his high school demo archive, cool hair, is on the record. Once a drum-machine and acoustic guitar diaristic indie song, now a ska-punk dynamic, throttling banger. The reworked final version combines Jackson’s eclectic drum style with the punk influences of Ayta. The combination of sounds and ideas shows the DIY harmony of Sonic Reducers. Luke did not name each song that was a demo of his, but expressed his wonderment with how the songs effloresced when they were revisited and recrafted.

The do-it-yourself atmosphere of Sonic Reducers coalesced through the recording process. The music program housing had several spaces for practicing and recording, however, time was precious and often, rooms were full of other students ribboning together their own creative endeavors. Once Sonic Reducers realized that they had a catalog of tunes, the next step was to begin recording the album. Some vocals were recorded in unorthodox spaces, such as those for supermarket, recorded at a desk in a tiny dorm room. Free time for Cornell students is sparse during the semester, so Jackson and Luke crafted a system of quick-learning. Luke would have an idea recorded from a drum machine, play it for Jackson, and after five minutes of listening they’d record takes for about an hour.

“We’d mic the drums, press record, put a metronome in, and record a song” Jackson and Luke detailed the simple process of drum recording, but perhaps the swiftness of learning relates to Jackson’s immense talent. Usually Luke would mic all of the instruments and record, but Sebastian took to the computer to produce and mix the record.

The recording process was wildly rushed, Luke joking that he didn’t really know why they were so adamant about mixing it by a particular date. They speak about this frenetic, frazzled time period with chuckles, Sebastian nonchalantly saying that he mixed the entire album for eight hours straight on a random Friday, not knowing anything that he was doing. I asked him how the experience felt, and he responded ironically with “I was just pretty tired after it.” There is a small jovial note at the bottom of their bandcamp page that reveals it was uploaded at exactly 3:22 A.M. The ungodly yet fairly normal hour for college students adds to the punk clumsiness and charm. Everyone agrees that the rushed mixing process gave the record a distinctive sound.

After the release of their self-titled debut album, Sonic Reducers played as many open-mics as they could. All of their eyes glow when Ayta mentions the Watermargin show of September 2019. At this performance lies the heart of Sonic Reducers lore; the candid, quirky, laid-back, fun vibe that radiates into the crowd. The cyber-chatter begins to overlap as each member jubilantly tells the story. This performance is luckily immortalized on Youtube, quickly discovered by searching Sonic Reducers Cornell. The video is recorded from a nearly front-row perspective, very close to the band. Everyone glistens with sweat, strumming with passion. The intimate camera angle never dips away to show the crowd, but the closeness makes you feel like you’re right there. About 11 minutes in is what the band calls their “legendary” moment: the La Croix supernova. Luke announces “now comes a special moment in our set.” Jackson brandishes the cans to the crowd well above his head and shouts jovially,“This concert is endorsed by La Croix! Zero calories!” The moment the cans pop and burst, Luke begins the intro to return to ithaca. Sebastian and Jackson toss the cans and join in. The timing is immaculate. Shotgunning seltzer and singing about the cold winter of Ithaca at a co-op on campus is a quintessential Sonic Reducers moment. It may have been their only full-band show, but it serves as inspiration for the upcoming shows once the world is not in a seemingly never-ending pandemic. Over this cloudy time they’ve done acoustic sets over Instagram live. The tantalizing, invigorating magic of live shows is a ways away, but Sonic Reducers continue to write punk songs that they wish to perform someday. The band admits that communication relating to the band has lessened over the past few months, even Sebastian joking “Wow we’re so good at being a band!”

Everyone has creative ideas brewing even though they haven’t met together in a while. Ayta actually announced an idea she hadn’t told the other members yet. An EP, tentatively titled 4D is a concept for four songs in the guitar tuning Drop D, a common tuning for punk and grunge music. Her bandmates are excited about this, mentioning ideas of including a cover they’ve done of a Pavement song. It may be a triumph to get all of Sonic Reducers in a room together, but once they convene, punk magic occurs. The future is vast and welcoming to their passions, and so they will create and blossom.

December 2, 2020Grace Stasolla

The Dazzling Betty Wright’s Miami-Soul Legacy

Betty Wright’s Soulful Singing Rings On, Even After Her Passing

Betty Wright, the sweet soul singer whose fierce vocals brought Miami funk into the public light and whose musical prowess catapulted the careers of hip-hop legends such as Rick Ross and DJ Khaled, passed away this past May. The 66-year old singer had been battling cancer for months, but her honey-sweet voice will live on for years to come.

Born in Miami in 1953 as Bessie Regina Norris, Betty Wright was immediately surrounded by song. At the age of three, Wright was singing with her family in a gospel group known as “the Echoes of Joy.” “We used to sing in local churches and halls,” said Wright in a 1972 interview, “and we used to make demo discs of some of the religious songs and we’d sell them when ever we appeared at a local hall.” Though she was the youngest, “she could not only sing on key but had a strong, loud voice,” said her brother Philip in an interview with The Glasgow Herald.

Wright’s musical career began early, at around 12 or 13 years old, after she was discovered by two local music producers, Clarence Reid and Willie Clarke. The founder of the small Miami record label Deep City, Clarke heard Wright singing along to “Summertime” by Billie Stewart in his combined record store and recording studio, and knew she had a voice of gold. “The record was down low,” Clarke recounted hearing Wright’s voice for the first time, “but she had overpowered [Stewart’s] lead voice. She just shut down our rehearsal.” She recognized Clarke from the times he had “pick[ed] up Philip for a session,” so she gladly accepted his invitation to sing for him. Wright initially faced opposition from her mother, who was deeply religious and didn’t approve of any music other than gospel. Eventually, however, “she changed her mind and she signed over her agreement and I made my first recordings,” Wright told John Abbey of Blues & Soul in 1972.

In 1967 Wright released her first album, My First Time Around, solidifying herself as a powerful performer at just 14. Wright’s voice chirps on “Funny How Love Grows Cold” and croons on “Sweet Lovin’ Daddy,” demonstrating how versatile the young singer was, even at the very beginning of her career. On the slower “Watch out Love,” Wright’s voice smoothly transitions between notes, fluttering in and out of vibrato before letting out hearty belts. And “I Can’t Stop My Heart” is a timeless ballad that begs listeners to take their paramour by the hand for a late-night dance in one another’s arms. It’s hard to imagine that Wright was able to produce such mature and distinct music at such a young age, but “Wright’s vocal power allowed her to ‘pass’ for a much older singer” which led “[her songwriters to] cast Wright as a worldly woman” according to Oliver Wang, a music reviewer for NPR. “Girls Can’t Do What The Guys Do,” the hit of this first album, features the line “Girls, you can’t do what the guys do – no – and still be a lady,” alluding to the sexist ideology that men can (and should) be promiscuous, but women cannot. Wright entered the music industry by testing the limits of what women should sing about, setting a new standard for the topics of songs for female singers.

Wright’s next big hit came with her 1972 album, I Love the Way You Love, when the song “Clean Up Woman” topped charts. Though Wright said she “didn’t like it too much at first,” the record was an immediate success. Wright credited this to its danceability, saying that “People could dance so easily to it – especially the soul sisters! Now [it’s] sold more than a million copies.” Though people originally mistook the song’s risqué lyrics as Wright’s claim that she could steal a woman’s man and be “a clean up woman,” she reflected upon the lyrics in a 1977 interview with Rolling Stone’s J Swenson and denied that they encourage any raunchy activity, “The song is not telling women to be sinful, but to watch out not to lose their husbands to the ‘Clean Up Woman.’” Whether people agreed with the story of Wright’s song or not, “Clean Up Woman” became “a top 10 hit on multiple charts, and it directly inspired Wright’s future singles ‘Baby Sitter’ (1972), ‘Outside Woman’ (1972) and ‘Secretary’ (1974)” according to Wang. In a 1972 Variety piece, Wright is described as “[adding] her own unique ‘soul’ dimension and some uptempo things that had the room vibrating.” Even in 2020, Betty Wright fans can find videos of her performing this memorable tune on television programs from the 1970s, surrounded by other young people, grooving her smooth vocals. And artists – such as Chance the and Mary J. Blige – have since sampled the catchy opening guitar riff continuing the legacy of Wright’s career-advancing song about infidelity.

Wright’s next big hits came two years later, on her 1974 album, Danger High Voltage. “Where Is The Love,” a track brimming with the unique sounds of the Miami music scene – beginning with poignant trumpets and energetic bongos – gained popularity thanks to its danceability. As the disco scene emerged, Wright’s Miami funk-infused soul tracks were distinct enough to garner attention and similar enough to disco to draw in diverse crowds. In a 1977 interview with David Nathan of Blues & Soul, Wright explained, “I can sing whatever I want – it doesn’t have to be blues or funk…But the most important thing of all is that it comes straight from the heart, that whatever we do is ‘for real.’” Similarly, “Shoorah! Shoorah!” was a crowd favorite, with its piercing brass line, funky beats, and clapping on the chorus. In 1975, however, New Musical Express’s Roger St. Pierre stated that “a lot of radio stations have flipped over ‘Shoorah, Shoorah’ and gone for the ballad flip, ‘Tonight Is The Night’.” The latter was perhaps Wright’s first expression of her own story, telling an intimate tale of a young girl preparing to lose her virginity. Wang describes the intimacy in this track brilliantly: “there’s a candor and aching vulnerability that felt more authentically personal.” Wright’s live recording of the song (on her 1978 album Betty Wright Live!) revealed the reality of the track, as she told the audience, “I never intended recording this song. It was a personal poem, that is until the day my producer happened to thumb through the pages of my notebook.” The song still stands as a beautiful ode to womanhood through words and music.

The album that signaled Wright’s transition from young star to mature artist was This Time For Real, released in 1977 and filled with songs about her husband and newborn daughter. This record came at a time when Wright had decided to connect with her faith after being separated from it since entering the music industry. After winning a Grammy award and being recognized for her talent, Wright demonstrated her newfound introspectiveness and artistry in This Time For Real. During this time, as well, she had begun to dabble in producing, working with renowned producer Danny Sims to produce singles for up and coming artists. She told David Nathan of Blues & Soul in 1978 that this new role “will help me be more selective about my work. I know the difference between ‘hot’ and ‘cold’ as a record artist and when you’re hot, you can decide what you want more, be more choosy, pace yourself better.” Wright’s personality shone through on this album of slower tracks, particularly on “Brick Grits” and “That Man of Mine.” “‘Brick Grits,’” Wright told Rolling Stone, “is a little three-minute autobiography, I didn’t get a chance to learn how to cook or iron when I was a child…But my husband loved me enough to put up with me while I learned.” About “That Man of Mine,” Wright said, “When I was recording this album I was six months pregnant, I was really big, and all my friends were telling me how my eyes were shining…I wrote, ‘That Man of Mine’ as an explanation of that, because I realized I was really exuding that happiness.” Listening to these songs now, you would have no idea that Wright was six months pregnant, hearing her float in the whistle register in between hearty belts. Throughout her career, Wright demonstrated her resilience as a performer, delivering top-notch vocals as a child and even during her first pregnancy.

In 1985, Wright formed her own label, Ms. B Records, but continued to produce her own music with TK Records (the former Deep City). Wright’s music has stayed true to her style throughout the decades, while still incorporating the trends of the time. “No Pain, (No Gain)” (off of the 1988 album Mother Wit) featured the frequently-used snares and synthesized backing line of the eighties, and “It’s The Little Things” (off of the 1993 album B-Attitudes) exuded the sound of the nineties, with a steady drumbeat and tambourine complementing Wright’s seductive singing. Her 2011 album, Betty Wright: The Movie, perfectly blended Wright’s soul style with the sounds of the 2010s and featured popular hip-hop artists such as Snoop Dogg and Lil Wayne. The middle-aged Wright hadn’t lost any of her passion or skill and even dabbled in rap on “Old Songs.” Perhaps because of her older age, Wright’s belting seems fuller on this album. They ache with experience and knowledge…the result of Wright’s years of singing and producing music that is entirely her own. Her legacy lives on through her pupils and friends, Lil Wayne, DJ Khaled, and Joss Stone (to name a few). In a New Yorker interview in 2014, Wright spoke of her work with hip-hop artists, saying “You know, they are somebody’s children, and I’m somebody’s momma, so we have a really good kinship. I ain’t trying to be in their sandbox – I built the sandbox, but I watch ‘em play in it.” By “[teaching] them breathing and stamina,” Wright transformed hip-hop hopefuls into impassioned rappers with impeccable flow. Most notably, Wright’s raspy butterscotch vocals were featured in Rick Ross and Kanye West’s “Sanctified,” which was recorded at midnight by a tired Wright at the pleading request of DJ Khaled. Hearing the song now, Wright’s aching voice evoked her fulfilling singing career. And juxtaposed next to Rick Ross’s rap, Wright had given hip-hop her blessing.

Betty Wright was a woman full of love, not only for song, but for everyone she worked with. In the same New Yorker interview, she said, “As long as you keep yourself in love with people, you can transcend time.” And her love surely remains strong in the hearts of all whom she touched with her voice, whether they be fellow musicians or simply those who danced along to “Clean Up Woman.”