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Calling all fangirls, the stage is yours.

In her new book Fangirls, VICE editor Hannah Ewens spotlights the real champions of music.

I’ve never considered myself a “fangirl” for any artist or band. Perhaps this is because I never camped outside the Staples Center or changed my Instagram username to patriciastyles123. So, when I came across Fangirls by Hannah Ewens, I was certain this was not a book I will be able to relate to but will nonetheless make an interesting read. I mean, a juicy exposé of crazy obsessions? Don’t mind if I do.

Ewens most likely knew this was the headspace of many readers giving a go at this book. So she dedicates the first three pages of the book to three simple statements:

For every girl who has ever had an obsession.

I guess I can’t deny that I’ve made collages of IM5band’s Cole Pendery to be my phone wallpaper during my middle school days.

Suggestion: replace the word ‘fangirl’ with ‘expert’ and see what happens.

Alright, so maybe my 2011 YouTube history is evidence enough that I was expertly knowledgeable of K-pop group SHINee’s dance regimens… and of Jonghyun’s ambidexterity, of Onew’s inseparability with his Rubik’s cube, of Minho’s blood type, and Taemin’s ideal spot for a date in Seoul – Namsan Tower.

Look what I found! A conceptual space where women can come together and create.

Finally, something consoling to remedy the first two convicting statements. I can now see that, with the help of Ewen’s sneaky diagnosis. But why is it that being labeled as one feels so disgraceful and sounds so derogatory?

Growing up on a remote island and with two parents who weren’t fans of music, Ewens reflects on her incredibly lonely childhood. It wasn’t until she serendipitously met E, who adopted Ewens as a little sister and introduced to her the true fangirl lifestyle. While she took E as a pattern, Ewens asserts that the metamorphosis was instinctive. It burgeoned from within, bestowing in her a sense of self for the first time in her life.

Years later, post-Frank Iero concert in a church, Ewens stopped in her tracks as she approached the altar to say goodbye to the former ex-My Chemical Romance member. Before her stood hundreds of fans with a motley of expressions that she knew too well – ecstasy, misery, and perplexity. It was not too many years ago that Ewens herself was sitting at home with E, pretending to smoke, blacking her eyelids, dyeing her hair, and blowing up over My Chemical Romance, all in proper fangirl fashion.

It was now clear to Ewens that fangirling is timeless, manifesting itself in the same way decade after decade.  It’s simultaneously communal and personal – “to be a fan is to scream alone together.” Ewens’ personal fandom experience established the purpose for her book: to demystify the amorphous fandom and reinstall power in the “fangirl” label through thorough cultural and historical analysis and empowering fan narratives.

In “Fangirls,” 68-year old Susan from Melbourne has more influence than Harry Styles. This is Ewens’ strategy to give fans full control over the microphone. Styles gets a brief, six-word introduction to the first chapter about fangirl history, and Susan from Melbourne gets two full pages to share her story. Serving as moderator is Ewens, who dedicates an entire section to offer relevant background behind the word “hysteria,” a term negatively associated with fans, especially female fans:

Hysteria comes from the Greek word for uterus, which according to the Greeks, is the “anatomical source of problems.” Essentially, uterus-carriers – women – are cursed with this illness that brings about anxiety and the desire for sex. Virgins, widows, single, and sterile women are the most hysterical, according to Hippocrates, and they are therefore the largest population of women thrown into asylums for this apparent illness. Their symptoms? “Female disease,” “imaginary female trouble,” and “mental excitement,” all of which are apparent fangirl behavior.

I join the community of infuriated girls when I read this barbaric origin story. This sudden digression from jaw-dropping anecdotes of fans tearing their lungs and camping outside Zayn’s house to a serious analysis of linguistics was shocking but necessary to show readers just how stigmatized and stereotyped the fangirling concept is. The music world is heedlessly stuck in this mentality, and Ewens is simply snapping us out of it.

Turning back to Susan, a lifetime Beatles fan from Melbourne, Australia, I appreciated her piece on her own fangirl behavior growing up. Now 68 years old, Susan urges girls to “let it go, enjoy it. It’s good for you.” Don’t listen to Hippocrates. There’s no such thing as a female disease pent up in the uterus. Susan is exhorting young girls of this age to release all that energy for their favorite music. In fact, it’s the healthiest form of expression. Ewens selected the perfect fan narrative to debunk the Greeks.

This leads to another major reason why I appreciate “Fangirls.” Ewens makes it clear that she is here to empower young, teenage girls to scream for their idols. But at the same time, she acknowledges all women: those fresh out of their teen years, those entering college, and like Susan, those approaching their senior years. Ewens takes this approach to fortify the female fandom.

One of the most memorable chapters, headed by Patti Smith’s quote, “No one expected me. Everything awaited me,” spoke of the rite of passage of any fangirl: waiting in line. Here, Ewens introduces a new age group of fans that have not been mentioned yet – young adults. According to an interview with a security guard at London concert venue O2 Shepherd’s Bush Empire, these older fans arrive much later relative to the young campers and overtly express their distaste for “the waiting game.”

What is really happening here is the manifestation of insecurity and wistfulness – the older girls, with their college and job commitments, envy the younger girls and the time they have at their disposal to be the superior fan. One excerpt was especially powerful,

The waiting has an earnest optimism that is unsettling because it speaks to a jadedness that has crept in, something that younger fans haven’t yet learnt. It cuts back to a past where they might have had the pre-devotion to act similarly – maybe they didn’t when they had the chance.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I am a member of this sad crowd of older girls. Ewens has shown me that if I imagined myself standing in line seeing duffels strewn over the pee-stained pavement and tripping over empty jars of baby food packed by the parents of the sea of devoted fans’ that lay before me, I would experience the same sensation of “what-if.” Specifically, “what if I had let myself play the waiting game 7 years ago?” Especially now, I’ll most likely be much older by the time concerts are up and running again.

As the book comes to a close, Ewens surprises audiences with, “When I said my dad wasn’t a music fan, that wasn’t strictly true.” Ewens’s dad would always have the staticky radio on when picking her up from school, the station always switched to the same handful of songs, “Stop! In the Name of Love,” “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted,” and “Waterloo Sunset.”

As a teenage girl wishing to protect her precious reputation, Ewens would turn the volume dial down and frustratingly complain, “Don’t have it up so loud, for fuck’s sake, Dad.” As a teenage girl at that time, Ewens was so enveloped in her own angst that she didn’t realize her dad was trying to stir up the small bit of fangirl he had left. He didn’t know that bringing a new fangirl into the world would require him to relinquish the one inside him. “I was working six days a week, I would never have had the time to be a fan,” he says. Fandad proved an impossible feat.

Ewens waits till the end to reveal the truth, but looking at the book in its entirety, it’s clear that upbringing actually has little to do with whether the person will turn into a fan or not. Ewens states, “The girls I had studied had left a template – if the new ones wanted it. Now all they would need was an obsession.” We may not all be teenage girls at the moment, but we are all screaming fangirls of all ages and genders.

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Miley Cyrus Finds Her Voice Through Covers

After years of reinvention, Cyrus is settling on her most fitting persona yet

Credit: Miley Cyrus (YouTube.com)

Miley Cyrus is solidifying what feels like her most honest persona yet. After beginning her career as a tween Disney Channel star, she seemed to evolve with every single release. Following her pop country era, she encountered multiple controversies related to lyrical content, sexuality, and cultural appropriation. Some criticisms of course were fairer than others, but one thing remained consistent: negative critical attention. No matter what genre she performed in (or appropriated) she was faced with low scores and controversy. Every album signified a new era, and every era came with a different reason for critical panning. 

With such a contentious history between her and critics, it comes as a surprise that the reaction to her latest series of ’80s covers has been one of rapturous praise. Although she’s been performing covers for a while, her performance of “Heart of Glass” from the iHeart festival catapulted her into a level of critical adoration she hasn’t seen before. The online response was enough to lead her to drop the song as a single on streaming the next week. She followed it up with a cover of “Zombie” at a Save Our Stages show, which also quickly landed on streaming services. She’s had articles about her covers written in NME and Rolling Stone Magazine, and piqued excitement for her upcoming album.

The “Heart of Glass” performance began with Cyrus walking out in updated Debbie Harry cosplay. Her black bodysuit, short blonde hair, and sparking bracelets running halfway up her forearms clearly signaled the 80s, even to viewers who may have never seen footage of a Blondie show. The attention to detail in her outfit foreshadowed the care with which she would channel the 80s punk spirit. Walking in front of her mask-wearing band as artificial applause began, Cyrus established her power to her virtual audience. She radiated confidence and swagger, and while it’s understandable to see her and think of the Disney channel star who wrote “Party in the U.S.A.”, any doubts in her ability to channel her punk icon inspiration were crushed once she began belting the opening lyrics. 

Her mastery over her low end and vocal growling grabbed attention instantly, and her delight in the performance kept her as that center, dancing and leaning into the mic stand like a captain steering her ship whenever she wasn’t singing. Swinging across the stage in stilettos, she exuded a relaxed confidence, ready to lean back into her belting at any time. While not necessarily making the song her own, she took over the stage and clearly stole the night, confirming her place as a perfect candidate for a modern rock star. By the time the performance ends it’s clear that this headbanging version of Miley is becoming fully realized.

The “Zombie” performance a couple weeks later came with lofty expectations, which Cyrus had no trouble meeting. Draped in a black coat and low lighting, Miley built up the first verse slowly but passionately, reaching a final crescendo and returning to her now trademark belt over a chorus of power chords and drums. By the time she takes off her coat, she’s kicking, jumping, and smiling through a guitar solo, never once losing an ounce of attention. It’s clear that the space is hers and she’s in the perfect place for her skillset. She finishes the performance on her knees, belting riffs that bring the guitars along with her. Praise for this performance on social media was just as rapturous, even if it lacked the surprise felt by many after the iHeart Festival. She seems poised to set up an era of critical acceptance, finally using her voice in the genre it is perfect for. Even with all the skill she possesses and the praise she’s gained so far, it won’t come close to her peak commercial success. 

Cyrus has sold over a million copies of her 2013 album Bangerz, and had top 5 hits with “The Climb”, “Party in the USA”, “We Can’t Stop”, and “Wrecking Ball”. The streaming numbers of her recent original single “Midnight Sky” vastly eclipse those of her covers. The disconnect between the critical and commercial reactions parallels reactions that have been constant throughout pop history, and especially the 2010s. Artists such as Charli XCX and Carly Rae Jepsen translated their initial virality into niche, critically successful careers through projects that worked within the cutting edge of pop production, or harkened back to the synthetic sounds of the 80s. Miley could be venturing on a similar path, finding her lane in the rock sounds of the 80s and 90s, abandoning a sound that was of the moment, which doesn’t seem to be where critics wanted it to lie. 

This newfound respect for Cyrus is part of a long tradition of critical success for pop artist’s least “pop” endeavors. Most massively successful pop acts of the past decade received lukewarm to negative critical reception on release, even though we think of many of them as hugely influential today. Artists like Justin Beiber, Katy Perry, and Lady Gaga dominated the decade with albums critics responded to with a resounding “meh”. Perry’s massively successful album “Teenage Dream” received more articles praising it on its ten year anniversary than it received positive reviews on release. Even an artist like Rihanna who ended up high on many decade-end lists, did it with her least commercially successful album. Artists like Britney Spears, Lorde, and Hayley Williams have spoken about how influential Perry’s work was to their later music, but the influence and success of the album doesn’t change the fact that it was critically panned.

Here is where Cyrus’s issue lies. On the one hand, the praise she has received from critics could be a sign that she has found her genre and is on the road to making the best music of her career, but it could just as well be a response to the fact that a talented artist is singing songs that have been accepted as great for decades. Her performances channeled the original singers without leaving much room for her own identity to break through. They were more reminiscent of a talent show or Voice audition than a career reinvention, an artist proving that she has the talent and just needs the guidance and originality to make it big. The covers were great and fun to watch, and Cyrus is certainly a fantastic performer, but I can’t help but feel like the praise she’s received is a compliment to everything besides her as an artist. People are responding like she’s finally proven herself, as if she didn’t have four top five hits years before any of this. While the performance made me excited to listen to her upcoming album, I hope that her original ideas are approached with optimism by any other new fans she may have garnered from her recent performances. Cyrus also must show that this current era is her authentic voice, and not just another appropriation of artists who have come before her. This shared responsibility between artist and audience of course leans more heavily on Cyrus putting out an impressive album, but her recent performances have proven that she’s capable of making something great.

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Where to Start by Bully: Fiery, Catchy Modern Punk

Where to Start is the first single and music video from Bully’s third studio album SUGAREGG, exploding with melody and singer and songwriter Alicia Bognanno’s passionate screams. 

Quarantine-induced music has ribboned magic into the strangest of times. Artists free from the endless rush of tour are allotted unorthodox amounts of time for their minds to unfurl. Alicia Bognanno, known to the music world as Bully, returns with her third record SUGAREGG, released August 21st, 2020. “Where to Start” launched the project into cyberspace with raspy vocals, indelible bass-lines, and guitar riffs full of fun fury. This bouncy, cathartic punch of a song begs to be played live in a room of sweat-dripping, raucous punks. It is riot grrrl with the heart of a poet. “Where to Start” chronicles Bognanno’s bipolar II disorder, and her strife reflects artfully in the lyrics and accompanying video. The video is a frenetic colorful rush that feels like the inside of one’s brain, a dream visualized. Colors splash one after the other on screen, superimposed with footage of Alicia singing, playing bass, playing guitar, performing wildly in her home. We follow her on a journey of whim, desperation, and anger. Aligning with “I live for you to tear me apart,” three separate shots of Bognanno are shown of her holding a knife to her palm, undoing her braids, and wailing on guitar. The music video is a prism of mood. There is a grunge-like nature to the visuals; film grain, smudges, and distortion. From electric blue to deep red, the aesthetics give off a synesthetic quality. Vivid abstract flares and textures render the song a moving painting with Bognanno superimposed like a modern-art exhibit. The juxtaposition of color and Bognanno’s home feels like an autobiographical dreamscape. It is her likeness, her scrunched expression, guitar playing, and a bloody nose in the shower that feels incredibly personal, but dreamlike due to the ever-changing colors. Alicia splatters paint on a canvas while the lyrics “You turn me back into a child / erratic, desperate, sad, and wild” ring out. The agitated, manic nature of the lyrics and overdriven guitar melt perfectly together.

SUGAREGG is a capricious whirlwind of an album in rock music today. “Where to Start” is brimming with emotion, the fast-pulsing punk that one can lose themselves in, whether in a bedroom alone or on a run. The song is multidimensional, any mood (except for bedtime wind-down time) can enjoy this song. Now is the time to rock out. There are few artists who swell with the howling emotion of Bully in 2020. SUGAREGG demands a listen.

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Spotify Wrapped 2020: The One Where I Don’t Take Responsibility

Dissecting the eclectic mix of music that represents grudges, love, heartbreak, and pure accidents. Essentially, 2020 in an article.

 Image credit: newsroom.spotify.com

Like thousands around the world, I spend the first few days of December anxiously awaiting my Spotify Wrapped. Opening each year’s Spotify Wrapped is the adult, audiophile version of running around the corner on Christmas morning and squealing in delight as you see beautifully wrapped presents under the glistening lights of the Christmas tree. The Spotify Santas have done it again this year; this time with each page of Wrapped more shareable than ever. As a music psychologist who studies Spotify listening habits and is constantly checking my own statistics with Obscurify, I shouldn’t be that surprised at my year’s musical hierarchies. Yet, as with most things in 2020, I had to step back and laugh for a minute when I saw this year’s top artists. There’s only one artist that I even like, much less love, in my top five. 

 

1. The Beatles

Before I get immense hate for this, let me acknowledge that I appreciate what the Beatles did for the music industry and respect their innovation in marketing. That being said, I hate the Beatles. I’m not saying that to be edgy; I’m not one of those people who will tell you that the Beatles are overrated. Rather, I despise the fact that they stole styles from minorities and those less represented in the music industry, repurposed them, and sold them as their own without giving due credit. They also never credited many of these inspirations or the musicians who played on their albums — especially those who helped usher in a new era of “world music.”

Yet here I am, in the top 0.5% of their listeners for the year. How did we get here? After taking a course about the Beatles, I wanted educated opinions about why I hated them. I spent December and the first two months of 2020 excessively listening to their albums front to back, meticulously trying to understand and grasp why and how they made their music so alluring to generations. In the process, I discovered songs I did love, some of which still live in my head, rent-free. 

2. John Mayer

Out of my five top artists in 2020, I never would have expected John Mayer to make that list, much less steal the second spot. Similar to my opinion on the Beatles, I also don’t care for John Mayer that much, at least as a person. Unfortunately, I didn’t learn about his problematic nature until after I stopped listening to him. He’s a manipulative male singer who has dabbled in nearly every controversial topic, from dating Taylor Swift when she was 19 and he was 31 to cultural appropriation to a racially charged Playboy interview in which he used the N-word and described his penis as a white supremacist.

At this point, you’re definitely wondering why he’s on my top artist list. I genuinely wish he wasn’t, and I can say with confidence that this was by complete accident and a bit of psychology. Right before the pandemic struck America, I was returning to Ithaca from a weekend trip to Toronto. John Mayer’s 2006 album, Continuum, came up on shuffle on my friend’s playlist. His soothing vocals dance around the soft sounds of guitar right from the start of the album, and after a long weekend of exploring one of Canada’s best cities, I couldn’t help but fall asleep. I found this album to be the perfect sleepy-time soundtrack, and for the next week, I listened to it before falling asleep. Unfortunately, this led to me accidentally classically conditioning myself into only being able to fall asleep to this album. For all of March, April, and May, I fell asleep to this album every night. Continuum is the only Mayer album I’ve ever listened to, and I think I only know three songs outside of it. Next time, I’ll remind myself to start a Private Listening session before I fortuitously allow someone like Mayer to steal the spot of a deserving artist.

3. The Beach Boys

I was mentally preparing myself to see the Beach Boys near the top of this list, but again, they’re far from my favorite band. Growing up, my sister’s song was “Good Vibrations.” She sang it everywhere. I, of course, was annoyed, as older sisters usually are. This led to a deep-seeded hatred of the Beach Boys and their happy-go-lucky surf melodies. Until 2020, I don’t think I had even listened to a single Beach Boys song on Spotify, but this seems to be the Year of the Beach Boys for me.

In March, I started seeing someone whose favorite band is the Beach Boys. I wasn’t a fan — on our second date, we listened to both the Beatles and the Beach Boys and argued about who was better. Being the contrarian I am, I of course argued for the Beatles. I suppose that makes me a hypocrite, too. Nevertheless, my music taste began to change. I endlessly stalked his 10 hour, 53 minute Beach Boys playlist (this time, I remembered to use a Private Listening Session), eventually making my own much shorter version, and realized that the Beach Boys are much more than just surf rock. “Don’t Worry Baby” became the song of my summer, the song that gave me endless hope that life in this pandemic would be alright. I’m okay with the Beach Boys on this ranking; although I never would have seen that coming, I think this artist represents more than any other how 2020 has forced me out of my comfort zone.

 

4. All Time Low

Here is the only artist that I was confident would be on my top artist list. All Time Low, my guilty emo phase pleasure, stands as not only my #4 artist of the year, but also as my top artist of all time on Spotify. I had a long emo phase, but never stopped listening to All Time Low. Their album, So Wrong, It’s Right, is pinned on my wall against my bed. I haven’t listened to as much All Time Low since the pandemic started, and I’m not a huge fan of their new pop direction. Even their new song with blackbear, my #5 artist, stands no chance next to their mid-2000s music. I may not have been proud that such a remnant of my middle school self stands so high on my list when I posted my Wrapped on Instagram, but for my own sake, I’m happy that the first band I ever loved still remains in my repertoire of music-listening.

 

5. blackbear

I don’t know who blackbear is, what his real name is, where he came from, or what he even sang before “hot girl bummer.” Yet, I evidently liked him enough for him to be considered one of my top artists of 2020. Off the top of my head, I can name two blackbear songs beside “hot girl bummer,” those being “do re mi” and “idfc.” blackbear is popular with teenagers and young adults, especially since some of his songs got picked up on TikTok this summer. In fact, TikTok is the first place I ever even heard “hot girl bummer,” almost a year after it was released.

Music was an integral part of a relationship that I had been in, and after we broke up, I searched manically for new music. I was determined to not ruin music for myself, and although I risk sounding like a pining, whiny heartbreak song here (ahem, John Mayer), for a while, everything seemed to remind me of him. Thanks to TikTok, “hot girl bummer” became the new song of my summer. I hiked alone, reclaiming spaces for myself and listening to “hot girl bummer” and “hot girl bummer” alone for two straight weeks. It became somewhat of an anthem for myself and my roommates, as whenever we’d have relationship troubles, we’d shout into the living room, “Alexa, play hot girl bummer, volume 10!”

More than ever before, my music taste is all over the place, and Spotify Wrapped made sure that I knew this. I have 2020 to thank for that, as during months of quarantine, I shifted my preferred genres from something my friends would call “pretentious and angsty” to something they would now call “an absolute mess.” Despite this change and the fact that I can no longer give a succinct answer to “What type of music do you listen to?,” I can say with confidence that I am grateful for the availability of music through Spotify and the people who have changed my music taste. 2020, that’s a wrap!

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Summer Days (And Summer Nights!!)

A summer view of Route 13 overlooking Cayuga Lake. Image credits: lansingstar.com

“Don’t worry, baby; don’t worry baby; everything will turn out alright,” the Beach Boys crooned as we drove down Route 13 to Stewart Park. He rolled the windows all the way down. We cranked the music louder. Nothing could touch us. We were invincible. The Beach Boys sang the song of our summer — one that held on to immense hope in a time of such uncertainty. We naively clung to the belief that the world wasn’t ending; that we weren’t ending.

The Beach Boys released “Don’t Worry Baby” in 1964, yet 56 years later, it was the song that I could never listen to enough. This song quickly climbed to the top of my most listened-to Spotify songs. We listened to it on every drive, on every hike, on every Dunkin’ run. I felt the dopamine surging through my brain upon simply hearing the opening drum beats and first falsetto chord. There was some indescribable quality of this song made me feel transcendent. Infinite, even. Even as a music psychologist, I failed to pin down why this song elicited such strong emotions in me. I had never loved a song so much.

Until the silence came. In the absence of music, what did I have? Brian Wilson and Roger Christian, how could you mock me, singing so carelessly that everything would be alright? How could they — how could I — be so ignorant? The music that once consumed me became a long, deafening silence that eventually crescendoed into commiserating with Morrissey’s dark, complex lyrics. June’s sweet summer melodies were far gone, for July brought nothing but songs drenched in misery yet abundant with emptiness. Summer came to an end; we came to an end; the Beach Boys came to an end. We go onwards, plummeting into Ithaca’s cold, gray winter once again.

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December: A Playlist for Winter Sunsets

“Evening Song” – Cornell University Glee Club

At around 6:15 PM every day, from the narrow streets of Collegetown to the gothic towers of West Campus, there’s one sound that will always ring true: the Cornell chimes ending the evening concert with “Evening Song.” About fifteen minutes later, the Cornell Glee Club and Chorus come together on Ho Plaza, arm in arm, to sing the same piece as we watch the sunset grow and then fade over Libe Slope. Non-Cornellian passerbys may think it strange that the tune of “O Christmas Tree” or “O Tannenbaum” plays every day of the year, but Cornellians know better. This song represents generations of Cornellians coming together “when the sun fades far away in the crimson of the west” and giving thanks for friends, family, and memories. Looking for a sign to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve left them? This is it. – EMILY HURWITZ

“Midnight Rider” – Gregg Allman

December 8th marks what would be Gregg Allman’s seventy-third birthday, so it is fitting for one of his classics to make an appearance on this month’s playlist. A more laid back take on the 1970 Allman Brothers Band hit, Gregg Allman’s solo version of “Midnight Rider” digs deep with its raw and stripped-down arrangement. It is the first track off of his 1973 Laid Back album, and he takes the previously deemed untouchable masterpiece down a darker road. While the song does build throughout the piece with an orchestra rave-up, its overall tone still remains gloomy and solemn, a perfect soundtrack for a reflection overlooking a winter sunset. “Midnight Rider” fades out to a silence, leaving the listener inspired to ride out into the sunset on a winter evening. “I’m not gon’ let ’em catch me, no / Not gon’ let ’em catch the midnight rider.” – SPENCER NACHMAN

“Shake Your Lonely” –  Twin Peaks

East Coast Park, Singapore 

Shake Your Lonely by Twin Peaks is an indie-pop, folk-inspired tune for a tranquil evening. Cradled by the steady amble of the drums, the syrupy electric guitars sketch a melody which goes down easily, drowsy and mellow. Frontman Cadien James’s smooth, winsome crooning is swathed in airy, shimmering upper-register harmonies as he makes the earnest promise that however the day passed, “it’s gonna be good.” Twin Peaks paints a soundscape like a sunset haze, glowing russet gold and serene, gently easing into indigo as the song draws to a close, taking the day’s cares with it. – LYNN HONG

“Mess” – Noah Kahan

Cornellians are full of ambition, always working towards achieving some goal. In his song “Mess,” Noah Kahan writes an honest depiction of his own wistful longing for the life of normalcy prior to reaching his goal of success and fame. Kahan’s raw lyrics combined with his distinct, husky voice and gentle strums of the guitar give an acoustic, folksy vibe not often found in pop songs. He sings “I would wipe myself clean of what I knew was unimportant” and “I paid off my debts but found the world boring” to remind us all of our roots. It gives off a nostalgic feel for every person’s own happy moments like kicking back on Libe Slope with friends or running through Collegetown together to catch a TCAT. There is a sense of comfort knowing that even this up-and-coming artist gets told “oh, you’re a mess, you’re a mess, good God” sometimes. – MIA GLASS

“Talking Slow” – Dylan Jordan

Filled with reverb and echoing sirens, Dylan Jordan’s “Talking Slow” elicits a feeling of nostalgia from every listener. The melody is comfortingly simple, and supplemented by layers of sounds, from a chorus of vocals to steady cymbals to the few strums of a guitar. Synthesized instruments and the ad-libbed vocals backing Dylan’s voice paint a cloudy dreamscape, complementing the story being told, “You were mine, at one point in time.” As a college student home for the holidays, I find myself torn between the joy of being with my family once again and the longing that I feel for my life at school. “Talking Slow” offers solace to those who are yearning to return to their independence, as Dylan reassures himself quietly “I am fine,” and we are reminded that we aren’t the only ones homesick in a new kind of way. – GRACE STASOLLA

“Closing Time” – Semisonic

Last Spring, I drove away from Cornell as a defeated man. Coming off the abrupt cancellation of our season and the school year, I had nothing left to give. Making matters worse, I was worried about the Canada-USA border, and getting stuck in a game of strange geopolitics that would not allow me to get home. Sulking away from Ithaca down the west side of Cayuga Lake, I gave up the fight and played closing time on repeat. Now, staring down the barrel of my last semester in Ithaca, the sun is setting on my own time in the finger lakes. Closing time indeed. – JON DONVILLE

“anything” – Adrianne Lenker

Without the rest of her main band Big Thief contributing to the indie folk sound, Adrianne Lenker plays alone with her acoustic guitar and mousy, nasally, close voice. The song begins with “staring at the barrel of the hot sun / shining with the sheen of a shotgun,” but soon delves into friends’ names and specific moments such as hanging her girlfriend’s jeans with clothespins and Christmas Eve with her family. Written in a cabin during lockdown, Lenker captures a relationship before its end (most of the new album songs is about her breakup), a winding melody guiding us through soft moments with a lover: “I wanna sleep in your car while you’re driving / lay in your lap while I’m crying.” The instrumental is sparse, only a light tapping of percussion with Lenker’s enchanting guitar plucking. “anything” feels as if it was conjured right out of nature, a fitting tune for gazing at a sunset, wrapped in a warm coat. – ANDIE CHAPMAN

“Chicago” – Sufjan Stevens

The center of Sufjan Steven’s 2006 masterpiece Illinois is a balancing act between orchestral crashes and isolation. After each instrumental build of horns, bells, cymbals, and layers of strings, culminating with a wall of choir vocals, the bottom of the song falls out, leaving Sufjan alone above simple piano chords. There, he begins his song: “I fell in love again, all things go. All things go.” – MILES GREENBLATT

“Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me” – Elton John

I don’t often roll down the windows, push the car stereo to the max, and let the rest of suburbia hear my undoubtedly ugly singing voice, but that’s just the Elton effect. Listen to this song at sunset and emotion will wash over you like Elton’s immaculate backing vocals wash over the instrumentation. Whether we want more time, more opportunities, or just a little more daylight in these dim December days, we can all relate to Elton’s plea to not let the sun go down on him. – JONAH LEVINE

“Nimrod (from “Enigma Variations”)” – Edward Elgar

Just as a sunset never fails to make me pause and stare, “Nimrod” imposes the same effect, never failing to make me stop everything I’m doing and solely internalizing this emotive work. The whispering awakening of violins lures in any listener who happens to stumble upon it. And just as there is a brief moment of a sunset, right before the sun dips below the horizon when the rays are most intense, “Nimrod” burgeons toward an impassioned climax, sustained by the restless roll of the timpani and blaring brass section before ending with a wistful egress. – PATRICIA KU

“Tag und Nacht (Day and Night)” – J. S. Bach

This aria for bass voice comes from a cantata of 1708 for the investiture of the Town Council in the German City of Mühlhausen. Written and performed when Bach was only twenty-two years old, the grandly ambitious work could be thought of as a senior thesis (though Bach never had the luxury of attending university): the cantata is full of newly acquired knowledge, original ideas, brave experiment—and new and beautiful music. The assuring tranquility of “Day and Night” projects both outward-looking wonder and interior reflection—those paradoxical emotions that sunsets so often inspire. In the aria’s instrumental introduction, pairs of flutes and oboes circle around one another, like the sun and earth, their motions marking the day and its end. The bass voice enters with a descending figure that divides the octave in half, as if chronicling the progress of the hours. As the piece moves calmly, inexorably on, we hear the passing of time and the moments—lingering, yet fleeting—between day and night.—DAVID YEARSLEY 

Alma Mater – Cornell University Glee Club

As we come to the end of a historic semester, we can’t help but reminisce in semesters past when attending class wasn’t a potential health hazard. What better way to do so than by listening to the iconic Alma Mater performed by none other than the Cornell Glee Club. A culmination of the best musicians and singers on campus, the stellar performance is sure to make you think of late nights at Olin Library, or long grueling walks up the Slope. The interplay between the various voice parts creates a powerful and resonant sound that is remembered by generations of Cornilieans. The perfect anthem to listen to as we come to the bittersweet ending of this momentous semester. – AARIK IBANEZ

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Oh, To Be a Fish Adored By Harry Styles

6 years after departing from One Direction, Styles picks up an adoring new sidekick – a fish from the remote island of Eroda.

Art by Katherine Ku

“He made me feel…very invested in the future of the fish.”

The only person able to generate this effect on another is none other than Harry Edward Styles.

Since his 6-year journey with One Direction, Styles released his first album as a solo artist in 2017. While his fellow (disbanded) bandmembers also embarked on solo journeys, Styles has retained by far the most generous and supportive fan base, who have experienced an agonizing two years of waiting for Styles’s new album Fine Line.

It was well worth the wait, though. Style’s resurgence to the music scene last December included the drop of the music video for his new single “Adore You,” featuring Styles and his best friend – a gold-mottled fish.

Rather than jump right into the song, the music video plays a 2:30 introduction comparable to a short film. Many viewers, I included, appreciated this mini cinematic detour. The voice of Spanish singer-songwriter Rosalia begins the narration followed by a snapshot of the gloomy, frown-shaped island of Eroda. The story tells of a young boy, Styles, from Eroda’s fishing village who has a special ability to blind people with his luminous smile. The boy continues to be ostracized by the ever-frowning villagers and attempts to drown himself among the weather-beaten boulders by the shore. He is immediately stopped by a small, golden fish that threw itself onto one of the rocks. The irony. Fate has brought the two outsiders together, rescuing each other from death.

No, it’s not a real place. I am also devastated.

The song begins right then. Aside from Styles’s magnetic, irresistible smile amidst the colorless fishing village and cheerless Erodeans, the song’s groovy and bubbling beat that seems to evoke an underwater ebullience, is the only other source of light. Decorated with a pulsing synth and bass, the instrumental introduction sets the pace for Styles’s highly time-sensitive mission to get the fish to a safe place, while simultaneously keeping listeners in anticipation.

The lyrics don’t immediately make people think of a relationship between a human and a fish. But they tell the simple, sweet excitement of stumbling upon someone during a rough patch and finding joy in each other’s presence. Styles starts off the song strong and marching, but alone. He then rolls into a progressive rhythm until he hits the climax of the chorus, singing in falsetto with layers of self-harmonies and subtle veiled vocals, all of these musical features most appropriately paired with montages of Styles and his fish picnicking and dancing atop a mountain. The ultimate pairing.

It’s a love song and a romantic film, but in the most platonic way.

According to a devoted listener, “I was really sad when [the fish] crashed through the glass, but then I felt very hopeful when people came to help carry it. I really liked how cinematic it was,” referring to the ending scene, where the fish had grown so large that Styles had to drag it across the village in a cargo-sized tank. After seeing a fisherman butchering a bucket of fish, it panics and breaks through the glass. While indeed heart-wrenching, the scene is balanced by a continuum of Style’s falsetto chorus offering a sense of comfort that everything will be okay.

But that’s not the most emotional part. The villagers, seeing the fish and Styles struggling, band together to help Styles haul the fish to sea. The song ends rather abruptly but with Styles’s assuring voice shouting with passion, “Just let me adore you./ Like it’s the only thing I’ll ever do.”

Styles’s album cover for “Fine Line.” We’re looking at him through a fish lens. Coincidence? I think not.

Three months after the release of the music video for “Adore You,” Styles partook in an NPR’s Tiny Desk concert, where he performed four tracks from the album: “Cherry,” “Watermelon Sugar,” “To Be So Lonely,” and “Adore You.”

Styles is accompanied by his touring band, this time with mostly acoustic instruments: Sarah Jones on the drums and vocals, Mitch Rowland on the guitar, Adam Prendergast on the bass and vocals, Ny Oh on the guitar and vocals, and Charlotte Clark on the guitar, Wurlitzer, and vocals.

Swiveling around on the chair in front of his mic, Styles awaits his cue as Jones playfully taps the cymbal and snare. Prendergast immediately follows with the bass creating a similar groovy pulsation from the original recording. All vocalists harmonize a full 8-beats with a mild crescendo, paving the way for Styles’s entrance.

Two things are missing from the Tiny Desk rendition: the fish and the mystical, abyssal background music.

Stripped of these and the theatricalities of the music video, the message still stands. According to Styles himself, “It’s about a fish. And uh, I just had this fish. And I just really liked it. And that’s kind of the whole story behind the song,” his facetious answer backed by his bandmembers cueing the sprightly intro to “Adore You.”

Styles and his band in their element. Everyone is there for the purpose of supporting the main star: the fish on Styles’s sweater. (“Adore You” begins 15:10)

All jokes aside, Styles confirms that the point of “Adore You” is to express the initial excitement of meeting someone (or multiple someones) and riding the flow of the shared joy and ease. And it is especially evident in the Tiny Desk concert, where Styles and his bandmembers are filmed just jamming, having fun, and purely enjoying each other’s company. The vocalists are much more apparent, and unlike the original recording, Styles ditches the falsetto. The guitarists each show off a mini solo.

Styles has proven that he can truly do it all. From being the face of boy-band heartthrob during his One Direction days to now flirting with many different genres in his solo music, Styles has created his own (pun not intended) style. Fine Line brings to the table tastes of the 70s, indie rock, modern pop, and rock, all of which are represented in “Adore You.”

Between the music video and the Tiny Desk concert of this single, what really shines through, besides Styles’s blazing smile, is the versatility and flexibility of Styles’s artistry.

If that’s not enough to convince you to give “Adore You” a go, the adorably lovable relationship between Styles and his favorite fish will be.

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It Only Takes a Taste

You won’t need a KitchenAid stand mixer to stir up your emotions when you have Waitress.

Art by Katherine Ku

Rhythmic whispers of “sugar, butter, flour,” echo across the Brooks Atkinson Theater on May 20, 2019, to signal the start of the Grammy Award-winning Broadway show, Waitress. The curtains lift to reveal the legendary Shoshana Bean making her grand return to Broadway since her 2005 role in Wicked as Elphaba. This time, Bean takes on the role of Jenna, a waitress and avid baker at Joe’s Pie Diner who turns to baking as a way out of an abusive relationship. Bean’s elegant voice in the show’s first number, “What’s Inside,” was like a melt-in-the-mouth strawberry mousse at the start of our 3-course meal – an unusual proceeding, but acceptable.

In a whirlwind, the set changes from a dim, blue-lit industrial kitchen to a bright, pastel-colored, bustling diner, the live band picking up the beat in the same way our hearts pound in anticipation for the first course. The characters pile in one by one in step with my favorite exchange in the show from the title number, “Opening Up,” (you must imagine it in a Southern accent):

“JENNA. What’s the special pie today?”

“Deep shit blueberry bacon.”

“Deep shit??”

“O-oh dish! Sorry Cal!”

This number provides the audience a peek into a typical day at the establishment, complete with an introduction of the main characters, as well as the false and sarcastic affability plaguing the diner. First enter Jenna, working tirelessly in the weeds while dealing with the looming worry that she may be pregnant with her abusive husband Earl. Then enter Becky (Charity Angel Dawson), whipping her head around, holding her tray high, and strutting with conviction, while the petite Dawn (Lenne Klingaman) scurries in with her signature red frames and clumsiness. Cal, played by Benny Elledge, is the scruffy, grumpy manager, and the only person in the theater who neither enjoys nor partakes in the concept of breaking into song at any possible moment. Nonetheless, he is an integral character, his rough impartiality holding down the fort at the diner. The upbeat instrumentals of the number radiate jubilance, but when listened closely, are matched with lyrics that don’t quite reflect the same excitement – the diner staff robotically greet customers and call out orders with forced, pre=programmed hospitality. The catchy beat tricks the audience into believing the exuberant aura over the concealed dispiritedness.

In the subsequent number, “The Negative,” Jenna is urged by her two most trusted companions to take a pregnancy test.  With the distinct, strong, and comforting harmony performed by all three ladies, this number serves as the utmost embodiment of their close relationship. This number abandons the fake cheerfulness of “Opening Up” and relies on a more flowing beat, with the non-overpowering instrumentals taking on a supportive role while the waitresses sing words of tough love to each other.

The next major number in the show, “What Baking Can Do,” shows Jenna channeling her fears and anxiety into an activity that empowers her, baking. While her predecessor, Tony Award-winning actress Jessie Mueller, applies a lighter and sweeter touch to the song, Bean strategically kneads her voice into the lyrics with much richer resonance. The catchy tune and cute baking metaphors are not what makes the song so memorable, but rather the fact that it is so relatable. We often find ourselves in Jenna’s position, sprinkling some flour over our problems to bury them – out of sight, out of mind. The song’s playful and dotted piano keys at the beginning illustrate this point – just laugh and joke about it till it goes away. But at some point, we realize that the issue won’t go away until it has been fully accepted. The song transitions into a pensive, legato melody, mimicking the gears turning in our brains. And finally, the climax of the song hits, and we hear Jenna belt with conviction and passion for the first time, “So with flour on my hands, I’ll show them all how goddamn happy I am!” Bean executes this portion perfectly, tipping from delicacy to fierceness.

The next thing to do after finding out you’re pregnant? Go see an OB/GYN. Or in Jenna’s case, pay a visit to Dr. Pomatter, the handsome, charming, and pretty much everything that is the stark opposite of your husband Earl. Explain your medical concerns, bring him some pies to break him out of his sugar-free diet, and proceed to have a series of affairs with this married man. Dr. Pomatter is played by Jeremy Jordan; you can imagine the audience’s gushing reaction as the Ithaca College alum, award-winning Broadway star and TV actor, walks through the door of his clinic for the first time.

Shoshana Bean and Jeremy Jordan pose for the Waitress playbill

This love story is far from the typical “prince charming and damsel in distress leave their worries behind and run away together,” however. Rather, the sole purpose of Dr. Pomatter is to help Jenna tap into her true potential and offer the moral support she couldn’t find at home. While “Bad Idea” was a comical number featuring all three waitresses and their affairs and dalliances, “You Matter to Me” serves as a revelation for both Jenna and Dr. Pomatter that what they truly cherished from their relationship is the simple fact that each genuinely cared for the other. Rather than project this onto what she wants in her future counterpart, Jenna uses this slow balled to recite a touching monologue to her future child:

Dear baby

I hope someday

Somebody wants to hold you for twenty minutes straight

All they do is wrap you in your arms

Without an ounce of selfishness to it

It was no longer about Jenna. It was about her baby, and that drives her to enter the Springfield pie-making contest for a chance to leave Earl.

Waitress also showcases Becky and Dawn’s own set of life problems. Dawn, made famous by Kimiko Glenn, struggles with self-confidence and closes herself off to any romantic prospects until she meets Ogie, a strong-willed and equally-gawky suitor. His quirky dance moves, impulsive decision to buy pie for everyone, and description of his feelings as one of loving Dawn like a “table,” were the exact comic reliefs we needed after watching the weighty travails of Jenna. At the same time, Becky reconciles with the fact that she is responsible for her own happiness through the song “I Didn’t Plan It.” She unapologetically makes the decision to have an affair with their boss Cal, knowing that she must move on from a tough relationship with her very-ill husband. We see Becky handling her vulnerability in the most resilient way by providing the most powerful vocals of the musical, with flaring dynamics and vibrato.

In the end, “Opening Up – Finale” undergoes a complete metamorphosis. Jenna gives birth to her daughter Lulu and takes on her new single life as the owner of “Lulu’s Pies.” In contrast to the chaos and jittery first rendition of the song, the reprise is resolute, pompous, and unyieldingly lively.

Waitress in its initial form as a film never got to be a major blockbuster hit and was criticized by many critics in major publications as being bland and one-dimensional. But thanks to Sara Bareilles, the lyrical and musical mastermind behind the songs, Waitress’s characters had the chance to become more substantial. Originally only being known for her top hits “Love Song” and King of Anything,” Bareilles has definitely made a new name for herself as a songwriter. Bareilles and Waitress are the human forms of peanut butter and chocolate. Each brings out the other ingredient’s strongest flavors.

As Dr. Pomatter says, “it only takes a taste” to know it’s good. So, I urge you. Dig in.

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Live Your Life

Broadway star Nick Cordero and his wife, Amanda Kloots, were happily raising their young family until COVID-19 changed everything. 

Nick Cordero poses on the red carpet. The actor, 41, died due to COVID-19 this June. 

My grandmother, Kate Yungblut, is a wonderfully spiritual woman. One of her most closely held beliefs is that bad things come in threes. That belief has passed right down through the maternal line in my family, from my grandmother’s mother down to my own mother. They all like to say that it is something their mothers used to tell them, but they all really believe it. Well, so did I, until the year 2020, when we have been bombarded with so many possible bad things, the number three seems laughable. The COVID pandemic is the paramount issue, although it can hardly count as only one part of the “bad thing” trinity. To date, COVID in the US has taken more than 240,000 people. One of them, was Nick Cordero.

Cordero was born in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, a tough town on the shores of Lake Ontario that would not look out of place in the American Midwest. Cordero attended high school in Hamilton before leaving to attend Ryerson University in downtown Toronto. Like so many performers, Cordero didn’t finish his stint at the school, and soon left to join a band. It was many years until he would achieve his eventual career as a mainstay on Broadway.

Cordero got his break in 2012, serving as a replacement for Rock of Ages on Broadway. Soon after, in 2014, Cordero performed as Cheech in Bullets Over Broadway, a story about  a playwright who gets entangled with mobsters and dramatic riffraff. Cordero was rewarded for his efforts on the production, earning a Tony nomination for Best Featured Actor in a Musical.

The actor made his television debut around this time, appearing in the CBS show Blue Bloods, among other shows. Meanwhile, he continued to play music, and would eventually release his own solo projects, including the single “Live Your Life.”

Two years later, Cordero graced the stage again, this time as Earl in Waitress, a story of a small-town baker who considered entering an out of town cooking contest . Cordero jumped back in the limelight for his most recent role as the lead in A Bronx Tale the Musical. The show grossed more than 68 million dollars in total, and Cordero earned nominations for Outstanding Actor in a Musical from both the Drama Desk awards, and the Outer Critics Circle.

While Nick was well on his way to establishing his career at the center of the Musical world, he was also making some life changing moves off the stage. In 2017, Cordero tied the knot with Amanda Kloots, a celebrity fitness trainer and former actress, whom Nick met when they both acted in Bullets Over Broadway. Kloots, who now runs a jump rope fitness class, would so tragically become a public figure this past year, when she shared moments from her husband’s battle with the Coronavirus. Kloots and Cordero welcomed their only child, Elvis, in June of 2019, just months before their lives would be turned upside down.

Cordero and Kloots began their nightmare on March 30th, 2020. Nick was admitted to the hospital that day, just weeks after lockdowns began around the country, while the pandemic was still in its early stage in the US. Nick’s health was deteriorating rapidly. However, Kloots remained steadfast in her optimism. On one instance, her post showed a screenshot of Elvis Presley’s, Got a Lot O’ Livin to Do, and encouraged her followers to sing the tune in support of her husband.

Nick’s condition worsened by the day, and the tone of Kloots’ posts showed her increasing anguish. In April, Cordero was put on an ECMO machine, a machine that helps to support the heart artificially. Unable to actually see her dying husband in person, Kloots was left to sharing her experiences on social media, with heartbreaking hashtags like #wakeupnick. Her chronicles show the ups and downs of a man fighting for his life. Small victories were celebrated when they happened, but it was clear that Nick was fighting for his life.

Some of her posts, like the one posted on May 8th, describe just how horrifying and scary Cordero’s health situation was.

“Nick is 41 years old,” she writes, “he had no pre-existing health conditions. We do not know how he got COVID-19 but he did. He went to the ER on March 30th, and intubated on a ventilator on April 1.” She goes on to describe the list of complications that ravaged her husband’s body, including an infection that caused his heart to stop, two mini strokes, dialysis, and multiple surgeries on his leg that ultimately led to the amputation of his right leg. But the list continued on, with the actor facing brain damage, multiple operations to clear out his lungs, to the finding of holes in his lungs, and the implementation of a pacemaker to keep his heart beating. All of this happened in the 38 days after he was first admitted to the hospital. I may not be fully versed in my grandmother’s rule of threes, but it seems a guarantee that Cordero and Kloots had blown right past the trinity.

Two months later, Nick’s condition was no better. On June 25th, Kloots wrote, “Nick is profoundly weak,” a statement that reads like a punch to the gut. At that point, Cordero was interacting only with his eyes, moving them up or down. The rest of his body was useless.

Finally, on July 5th, Kloots reported that Nick had died. By any possible measure, it was far too soon for him to go, and added a tally to the list of tragedies during this bizarre and miserable year.

In a twist of fate, one of Cordero’s lasting gifts to the world was a song he wrote entitled Live Your Life. The song sends a powerful and clear message, along with a lively guitar playing throughout the tune. Without context, the song is a mainstream pop-song with a theatrical feel. But in context of Cordero’s fight with COVID, the song and its lyrics feel ever so poignant.

“You’ve got your plans, I’ve got mine” sings Cordero. The hook continues “live your life / like you’ve got one night / live your life.” The song was a rallying cry for Kloots and Cordero’s fans as the Family did everything they could to keep Nick alive. Kloots sang the song daily on Instagram, and was joined by supporters around the country. Live Your Life became a slogan of sorts for Nick to continue his fight, and for those around him to cherish the life they enjoyed.

Cordero and Kloots’ horrible embodiment of 2020 continued with a frustrating episode this fall. Just months after the healthy, young actor died at the hands of the virus, President Donald Trump had his own stint with the virus. The story is well known, but Trump declined to take his hospital visit as a chance to sympathize with families who lost loved ones to COVID. Instead, he urged Americans “don’t let it dominate you.” Kloots took to social media in a teary response to the commander in chief.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to walk out of the hospital after two days” she said through tears. “Let it dominate your life? No one is letting it. Nick didn’t let it. It wasn’t a choice. It dominated his life, it dominated my life, it dominated our family’s lives, for 95 days. And because he didn’t make it, it will forever effect my life.” While the lack of compassion from the Oval Office is unsurprising, it is no less heartbreaking to watch a wife and young mother grieve from losing her husband while citizens and politicians around the country continue to insist that the virus is no more than a common flu.

What does it mean to “live your life?” Kloots urges her followers to distance, wear masks, and practice distancing. Living your life emphatically does not mean that we should all do what we want. Instead, Kloots sends a message on behalf of her late husband, someone who never got the chance to finish what he started. Do what you love, cherish your family, and never take a day for granted. It is a helpful reminder as this pandemic rages on, that losing university semesters, athletic events, and social interactions are a small price to pay. Families like Nick’s are more than circles on a COVID map. They are more than statistics in a chart, or part of some politician’s daily update. They are real families, with horrifying stories that deserve to be told. More importantly, these stories deserve to be taken to heart, and actions need to be taken to ensure we limit the number of similar tales.

Nick defied odds throughout his life. From a steel town in southwestern Ontario to the most important proving ground in theatre, Cordero’s talent was matched only by his resiliency. He had more music in him, and the world is worse without getting to hear it.

Live Your Life ends with the lyrics “They’ll give you hell but don’t you let them kill your light / not without a fight / live your life.” Nick fought an incredible fight, and alongside his wife, his light will live on far past this most strange year.

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Remembering Christiane Eda-Pierre, Lyric Coloratura Supreme

Through a career filled with international opera fame, Christiane Eda-Pierre inspired and opened doors for Black classical musicians everywhere.

Eda-Pierre performs one of Mozart’s concert arias in Salzburg. Image credit: youtube.com

Christiane Eda-Pierre, a champion of Baroque theatre and champion of Black excellence, has died at the age of 88 on September 6, 2020. As France’s first Black international opera star, Eda-Pierre overcame racial barriers to pursue a successful career filled with critical acclaim. The French coloratura’s strong, agile, emotion-filled voice moved opera fans around the world. While she flourished in any role she embarked upon, her precision and flexibility in Baroque opera catapulted her into the international spotlight. Christiane Eda-Pierre was not simply another classical star; rather, she showed the world how a Black immigrant woman could infiltrate the ranks of and thrive in a White-dominated, elitist field.

The opera diva’s clear voice, her greatest strength, propelled her into numerous roles. Across a rich and varied career, Eda Pierre’s most popular recording on Spotify, with 19,046 plays, is “Vous soupirez, madame?,” from Berlioz’s Beatrice et Benedicte. Her voice floats effortlessly above the contralto, Helen Watts’s, voice, with careful ornamentation and bright color. Critics commented most frequently on not her acting, but her singing. According to the New York Times, Eda-Pierre “displayed a clear voice backed by good coloratura equipment and a very strong top.” The Chicago Tribune agreed, describing Eda-Pierre’s voice as “a clean lyric soprano with a slightly metallic edge to it,” filled with “delicacy and dramatic fervor when needed.”

Despite these outstanding reviews of her talents, other critics took the liberty of commenting on her race first. In 1981, the New York Amsterdam Times opened their review of the Verdi performances in New York City with the following statement: “Four unusually fine Black singers were cast in recent productions of Verdi Productions in the New York area.” There is no doubt that had a white person been cast in those roles, the reviewer for the New Amsterdam Times would not have begun with a pointed notice of their race, much less call them “unusually fine.” Although Eda-Pierre, among these other skillful Black singers, often had to endure commentary on her race first, and talents second, she prevailed against such prejudice and gained wide critical acclaim in the opera world.

Given her superlative ability to ornament passages with elegance, Eda-Pierre thrived in Mozart and French Baroque operas. She performed roles in many of Jean-Philippe Rameau’s operas, including Les Indes galantes (1962), Les Boréades (1964), and Zoroastre (1964). Through these performances, as well as her role in the first public performance of Rameau’s Dardanus, Eda-Pierre secured her place in the French opera stage and helped a movement to revive Rameau’s music. On tour with the Paris Opera at the Metropolitan Opera House in 1976, Eda-Pierre alternated nights with Welsh soprano Margaret Price as the Countess in Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro. This performance is now regarded as one of her greatest, but the New York Times’s John Rockwell felt that she lacked “that final solidarity of breath support that distinguishes great singers” and did not live up to the expectations of the other cast members.

This review did not deter her success on the international stage, however, as just four years later, Eda-Pierre went on to make her official Metropolitan Opera debut as Konstanze in Mozart’s The Abduction From the Seraglio. In contrast to their earlier remarks, the New York Times raved about this performance. “Any soprano who can sing Konstanze’s ‘Martern aller Arten’ decently is a better-than-average singer, and Miss Eda-Pierre’s accomplishments with this fiendish aria were far better than decent.” In the 1980 and 1981 seasons at the Met, Eda-Pierre went on to participate in sixteen performances, including as Gilda in Verdi’s Rigoletto and Antonia in Offenbach’s Les contes d’Hoffmann. These performances were just as widely successful. Rigoletto in Central Park drew a crowd of between 150,000 and 300,000. Writing in The Guardian, Barry Millington described her interpretation of Antonia as having “a real sense of drama and a plenitude of tone that contrasted favourably with the mechanical delivery of decoration and pitchpipe timbre of some notable exponents of the role.”

The Baroque talent’s roles were not limited to Baroque opera, however. She performed in a vast variety of roles, from canonical operas in the standard repertoire to contemporary works. These newer pieces include roles in Chaynes’s oratorio Pour un monde noir (1979), which was composed specifically for Eda-Pierre, as well as Erszebet (1983). Notably, in 1983 she created the angel role — sung by a soprano but referred to in the libretto as “he” — in Olivier Messaien’s Saint François d’Assise. Messaien had Eda-Pierre specifically in mind as he wrote this role, and she proved his instincts right. Her ability to sustain long, high notes with elegance served her well in this role, as she maintained careful control over her timbre to create a warm, not shrill, tone. Though her voice floats, it does so with depth and passion. After this performance with the Paris Opera at the Palais Garnier, it was not staged again for nearly ten years. These contemporary performances elucidate how Eda-Pierre, much to the dislike of racist critics, thrived in not only standard roles, but also stood at the frontiers of innovation in opera.

Eda-Pierre was born March 24, 1932 on the French-owned Caribbean island of Martinique. She grew up in an accomplished family that inspired her with their musical and professional endeavors. Her father, William, was a journalist, and her mother, Alice, was a piano teacher who brought music into her life from a young age. Her grandfather, Paul Nardal, was Martinique’s first Black engineer. Furthermore, Eda-Pierre’s aunt, Paulette Nardal, was the first Black woman to study at the Sorbonne, one of the world’s oldest universities. Nardal, who played an important role in the development of Black literary consciousness and Negritude, spent her professional life introducing Black culture to White elites, much like Eda-Pierre would go on to do with opera. Nardal also pursued international projects, as she introduced French intellectuals to the poetry of the Harlem Renaissance. Eda-Pierre’s home environment served as a place of cultivation for professional excellence and promoting Black culture in white spaces.

In 1950, she immigrated to Paris to advance her musical education, and in 1954 enrolled at the Conservatoire National Supérieur de Musique et de Danse (Paris Conservatory). She had originally planned to study piano there, following in her mother’s footsteps. However, the budding pianist soon switched to voice after her teacher, Jean Planel, heard her sing and encouraged her to pursue this talent. At the Paris Conservatory, Eda-Pierre studied under Swiss baritone Charles Panzera. With his guidance, she flourished at the school, winning a first prize of singing and lyric art. As one of the first Black students at the Conservatory, she had to work against racism to prove herself as a capable singer. In 2013, Eda-Pierre detailed her experience at the conservatory: “My eyes almost popped out of my head because I was like, ‘Me, a black girl at the Conservatory, it’s just not possible.’” It was more than possible, though, since in 1957, she graduated with honors.

The same year, Eda-Pierre made her opera debut with the Opera de Nice as Leila in Bizet’s Les Pêcheurs de Perles, a role she later took to America in 1966 to make her American debut with the Chicago Lyric Opera. After her first performance, she soon after earned the title role in Delibes’s Lakmé with the Opéra Comique. These early performances catapulted her to fame not only in France, but around the globe. The New York Times took note of her role as Lakmé in particular. “She breathed such life into the faded orientalism of ‘Lakmé’ that London’s leading music critic, Andrew Porter of The Financial Times, wrote after a detailed rave, ‘We must hear more of this remarkable singer!’”

Eda-Pierre performed in opera houses around the world, touring with French opera companies and earning roles in these cities’ own opera companies. Highlights from her international career include performances in Berlin, Hamburg, London, Lisbon, Wexford, Vienna, Salzburg, Moscow, Chicago, and New York. Beloved by the global opera community, Eda-Pierre took every opportunity to use her career to advance Black singers and musicians more broadly.

After retiring from the stage in the mid-1980s, Eda-Pierre dedicated many years to inspiring others in the way that her mentors did her. She became a teacher at the Paris Conservatory while continuing her recital career and engaged students with her impressive experience as a world-renowned opera star and strict pedagogical approach to singing. The Opéra Comique, with which she had performed for twelve years, opened an academy for young musicians in 2012 and gave Eda-Pierre the title of honorary president.

Eda-Pierre’s career had no shortage of impressive roles, and there is no doubt that she played a vital role in advancing the opportunities for Black women in opera. From starting as one of the first Black students at the Paris Conservatory to creating an international name for herself in an impressive array of roles, she exceeded society’s expectations. Her experiences position her as a hero of promoting global Black excellence. Her biographer, Catherine Marceline, noted how Eda-Pierre aimed to advance Black musicians. “[Eda-Pierre] said that the more often we put them on stage, the more it would end up becoming normal.” Throughout her extensive opera career, Eda-Pierre opened up opportunities for her successors, and her voice and integrity were far beyond what one would consider normal.