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Across language, through love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listen on Spotify, Youtube or Deezer 

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Warblings

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

__________

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

___________

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

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Next stop, Hadestown

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

Art by Katherine Ku

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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ARTPOP by Lady Gaga: Seven Years Later

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

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

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

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

TRACK ONE: AURA

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

TRACK TWO: VENUS

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

TRACK 3: G.U.Y.

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

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

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

TRACK 6: MANiCURE

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

TRACK 7: ARTPOP

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

TRACK 11: MARY JANE HOLLAND

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Track listing:

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

A college ensemble puts the world on notice by performing complex pieces of music at a high level, comparable to professional ensembles.

The Ithaca College Wind Ensemble

Times are tough, people are stuck at home without much to do, desperately searching for ways to stay entertained and motivated. But thanks to the heroics of the Ithaca College music program and the wonders of modern technology, not all hope is lost yet. On March 3rd, 2020 at 8:15pm, the Ithaca College wind ensemble, led by the celebrated conductor, Christopher Hughes, put on a marvelous show. The concert took place prior to the premature closure of universities across the US, due to the pandemic, and so lucky concertgoers got the privilege of experiencing what would end up being the last in-person concert for the foreseeable future. Though we may not be getting the same in-person experience, we are fortunate enough to have access to a video recording of the event (available on the Ithaca College School of Music 2019-2020 Archive webpage). Unfortunately, due to copyright issues, the wind ensemble was not able to release the entire performance, but thankfully we still get to view a majority of the concert.

Opening with ‘…and the mountains rising nowhere’ by Joseph Schwantner, the recorded concert begins with a bang, quite literally. The percussion section plays the drums with an incredible amount of force, producing a sound that is sent echoing throughout the building, immediately capturing the attention of the entire audience and leaving them to wonder what could possibly proceed such an intense entrance. What can only be described as an ominous and musically ambiguous section proceeds the drums, leaving everyone quite confused as a typical spectator would have assumed that an intense entrance would be followed by an equally intense musical motif. This ominous music continues as it begins to feel like a battle between the conductor and ensemble, wherein the conductor is constantly trying to regain control of his seemingly lost ensemble. There are moments of success within certain instrumental sections, however, he never seems to gain complete control. The wind ensemble appears to be blowing into seemingly hollow aerophones failing to produce any sort of musical sound and only emitting a sound that can only be described as the howling winds you hear on a cold dreary night, which adds to the eerie nature of the piece. To give the average reader an idea of what kind of music to except, when listening to this section upon closing your eyes you may just see yourself trapped within an abandoned house while slowly watching its interiors being contorted into different shapes and sizes by an invisible force. As we progress, the conductor acquires more and more control of the ensemble until it is clear he has regained complete command and the ensemble are playing as they are supposed to. By the end, the average listener may be questioning what array of cacophony and musical dissonance they just witnessed however the more experienced listener would be awed by as they know the technicalities and skill required to perform this unique piece.

Upon completion of the last piece a majority of the ensemble leaves and we are left with eight members, marking the beginning of an intimate experience of ‘Serenade No. 12 in C minor K388 (I. Allegro II. Andante IV. Allegro)’ by Wolfgang A. Mozart. As soon as the performance beings we are overcome by beautiful melodies and countermelodies. But perhaps the most impressive facet of the performance was the incredible technical ability of each member of the sub-section. Each individual clearly demonstrating expertise in their instrument with their quick transitions between notes and ability to clearly sound each individual note without ever faltering. Though the Allegro movements were excellent in that they showcased the musician’s incredible technical abilities, the Andante movement showcased a different side of the musician’s talents: their ability to generate emotions by paying attention to cutoffs and dynamics. I must also compliment their unbelievable stamina, the ability to play the wind instruments at such a high level for such an extended duration of time is truly an incredible feat. Imagine the amount of breath required to be playing for up to 22 minutes with a few second intervals between each movement, a feat that I am sure takes years of dedicated practice. Mozart would be proud of this performance.

As the applause of in-person attendees echoed through the hall we are reunited with the rest of the ensemble and prepared for the next piece, ‘Molly on the Shore’ by Percy Grainger. Immediately we are greeted by the technical expertise of the wind section that we have grown so accustomed to through the clear articulation and rapid fluctuations of notes but this time it is performed by the entire ensemble thus creating a much more powerful and overwhelming sound. Accompanied by the percussive section that never seems to miss a beat, this performance is truly one to remember. Throughout the performance I found myself forgetting that this was being performed by a cohort of college students, accompanied by a few professionals, and realizing the enormous amount of time they must have dedicated to their craft to reach the point where they are today. After a bit of reorganizing we are catapulted into the final performance of the night, ‘Elsa’s Procession to the Cathedral’ by the famous Richard Wagner and transcribed by Lucien Cailliet. It opens with a heavenly chorus performed by members of the sub-section we saw perform earlier. They are then joined by the rest of the ensemble creating a heavenly and full sound for the audience to relish. Unlike the last piece, this one is much slower and thoughtful which allows the ensemble to showcase their other incredible abilities such as expression and dynamics. Cultivating a feeling of triumph and success through the grand and glorious nature of this piece, the performance acts as a perfect way to mark the end of a magical night  that leaves the audience satisfied and feeling complete. As the stand ovations and overpowering applause fill the auditorium, I am left wondering what can’t the Ithaca College Music Program do.

Watch the live performance here

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Stories Told Through Strings

The multimedia performance shines when the music is left to speak alone.

 

Violinist Ariana Kim. Photo: Erica Lyn

How Many Breaths? – In Memory of George Floyd and Countless Others came together when four Minneapolis artists processing their grief in unique ways realized they shared a similar vision. Writers Lou and Sarah Bellamy connected with composer Steve Heitzeg and Cornell professor and violinist Ariana Kim to create a hybrid work of spoken word, video, and solo violin. With each artist examining the feelings of their community, and the stories of black lives lost, the piece became a coherent whole, but struggled to get away from its inception as several different ideas. At times the violin and spoken word fought for the listeners attention rather than working off of each other, but when the music got opportunities to star, Kim revealed a world of emotion, channeling months of anguish into 15 minutes of instrumental mastery.

In the immediate aftermath of the murder of George Floyd, the most visible reactions were visceral, angry, and often violent. The earliest song I heard come out as a direct response to the killing took a week to be released. Compared to the hundreds of thousands of people who were on the streets across the country within days, it’s easy to see how protest art almost always follows physical protests themselves. How Many Breaths? attempts to blend the emotions of the moment with the weight of a lifetime spent being black. The narrators told the story of Floyd, along with those of mothers, widows, and black boys growing up in a country that has told them that they are disposable. The most powerful moments though, were when only the violin spoke. The video would return from protest footage to Kim, and she would deftly perform a solo that dug to the core of the emotions of the story being told and laid bare what it found. Tempo, technique, and volume would vary, as the violin cried for Floyd, but it left enough space for the listener to fill with their own emotions. The solos connected more closely with the audience than any other part of the performance, even through the muffled audio.

Because the performance had to take place virtually, all the visuals and audio went through Zoom, which significantly reduces the quality of both. This didn’t have a significant effect on the visual or spoken word aspects of the piece, but it hindered the violin performance, especially when it played with the spoken word piece. Notes were lost and distorted, which became distracting and eventually led me to miss entire lines that were read. The speakers and instrument began battling, not only to be heard, but to be felt. Whenever the violin would win the former, it would dominate the latter. The solos came through clearly, and established themselves as the most interesting parts of the performance. The playing was raw, but filled with confusion, anger, and beauty, a respite from the stories of hopelessness.

Although there has been a leap in the amount of black art being made in recent years, a disproportionate amount of it has been about black pain. Suffering will obviously be central to most of the art related to Floyd’s death, but in the case of How Many Breaths?, that was all that was offered by the spoken portion. Black families and communities figuring out how to grapple with pain in their communities is a story that has been told repeatedly, especially in the past few months, but the narrators just told other people’s experiences. The violin freed my emotions, putting my stories and experience at the forefront. Painful creaks and whines made up the sonic backdrop for most of the performance, the tension of the strings breaking though to communicate pain more clearly than the words were able to. Pizzicato added dynamism and texture, and the changes in volume signaled the moments that were meant to be the heaviest. While most of the time I was hearing someone else’s stories told to me, when the violin would solo I became a part of the community, experiencing anger and grief in my own way. Nobody was telling me how I should feel, and I could react honestly. The result was a moment of catharsis, before the reality of the current state of America crept back in. At a time like this though, we should be grateful for those moments, wherever we can get them.

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The Best of Pitchfork Fest

A reminder of how great concerts can be, this stream works a little too well.

In a year filled with tragic firsts, the fact that this was the first summer in decades without any major music festivals may seem inconsequential, but the one year gap has been wreaking havoc on the industry. Prominent festivals have failed over a weekend of bad weather, so a pandemic that has rid the country entirely of live music is more than enough to put the festival industry on edge. Livestreamed concerts have seen limited success, but they mainly only work for one off shows for single artists. An entire livestreamed festival would no doubt be underwhelming, and, in a time where selling a festival is about the experience more than it is about the music, there is no way people would spend enough on tickets to cover the cost of talent. Coachella selfies just don’t have the same impact when taken from a bedroom in front of a laptop. In an attempt to please audiences, and likely an attempt to remain relevant, festivals have begun to post archival footage in lieu of a real live concert. The most exciting release for me was Pitchfork’s best of Pitchfork Fest compilation, a collection of performances by beloved artists, sorted by set time. Although the videos succeeded in bringing me back to a time of live music, I was left missing concerts more than before I had begun the show.

It began with a 2012 concert from electronic artist Grimes, a self taught producer who takes pride in doing nearly everything alone. She’s one of my favorite artists of all time, and hearing her perform an albeit amateurish version of “Genesis,” her breakout hit, was a shot of adrenaline to the already energizing nostalgia of seeing live music and a crowd. Knowing how much she’s grown as an artist, the missteps of the performance were more endearing than embarrassing. Other artists including Solange, Danny Brown, and Jamila Woods gave performances before their respective breakout projects. They felt technically complete, though not fully realized stylistically.

Many artists who perform at Pitchfork Fest are on independent labels and have small but passionate fanbases. Although there is variety in the genres being performed, the type of fan who attends the festival often ends up enjoying nearly every act available, as they all fall into a sort of Pitchfork-core. While the performance of Carly Rae Jepsen could be a time capsule of pop in the 2010s, Charli XCX’s performance may still feel modern in 2100. Those who love the classic saxophone line of “Run Away With Me” and raunchy glitchpop of “Lipgloss” did not get to experience both at the real festival, but could watch them back to back on  the livestream. Without the need to walk between stages or adjust one’s energy, there is just continuous excitement as great song after song plays.

After roaring guitar solos on sets from modern indie greats Big Thief and Blood Orange, and a deeply personal performance of the LGBT anthem “Queen,” by Perfume Genius, the concert began to transition to night. Of course this meant playing sets that had occurred that night, as the actual livestream itself began after the sun had already set. A standout performance from FKA Twigs signaled a shift in the caliber of performer. Known for her experimental electronic sound and theatrical performances filled with sword fighting and pole dancing, Twigs was captivating through the screen, gliding across the stage in a flowing dress while the skittering drum beat of “Pendulum” guided her every move.

The stream ended with two performances that were surely special moments to everyone in the crowd, and reminded me of the greatness that live music can display. The first performance was by pop icon Robyn, performing “Dancing on My Own,” a song Pitchfork named #3 on their list of the greatest songs of the decade. Beginning with its instantly recognizable synth bass pattern, Robyn stood at the microphone, passionately singing the first verse, until the chorus hit. At that point, the music cut out entirely, she fell silent, and the crowd sang her chorus as one. Anyone who has ever been part of a crowd in a moment like this knows the incredible feeling of community that overwhelms every member. Suddenly the room full of strangers is connected not only by the shared love of the song, but every experience that has made the song mean so much to every one of them. When the music comes back, and the catharsis of a full chorus hits, Robyn explodes into a performance filled with leaps and twirls, and the audience feels free. The emotion at home though, is a longing to be back in front of a stage. As amazing as the songs are, the joy of watching a performance this great gives way to a yearning for a time when I can experience concerts the way they are meant to be felt.

Ending the stream with LCD Soundsystem’s “All My Friends” is more poetic than just ending a festival set with the song about being alone and missing your friends. Not only is it a song I deeply love, it’s structured around building up to a climax, making it the perfect way to end a night of music. As it crescendos and James Murphy and the rest of the band yells “Where are my friends tonight?”, the new meaning the song takes on is clear. Not only does it center the current experience of a pandemic listener, every performance is put into a more complete context. No footage of a live show can replicate the rush of seeing a great live show, no matter how talented the act or high quality the video.

Even with the longing I’m left with after “Thank you for watching!” flashes on the screen, the most surprising part of my viewing experience is how satisfying it is, compared to the livestreams I’ve been watching multiple times a month since the pandemic began. Seeing artist after artist perform to an empty crowd temporarily made me forget what it looks like when a musician wants to be performing to the crowd in front of them. The energy of thousands of people radiates through a screen, and feeds the artist as well, electrifying their performance and my viewing experience. Seeing a concert is a wonderful high, and when chasing the feeling, I’ll take footage that puts me back into these beautiful moments, no matter how fleeting the memory is.

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COVID-19, Emblem3

Despite a long hiatus, former X-Factor USA band reunites for virtual concert and teases a new mature sound.

Emblem3 in 2020. Left to right: Drew Chadwick, Keaton Stromberg, Wesley Stromberg. Photo credit: emblem3.com

If there’s one thing that the pandemic has brought us, it’s closer to our family. Although we might have cabin fever at this point, we’ve inevitably learned a thing or two about those who with whom we live. On June 25, 2020, California-based boy-band Emblem3 embraced this mentality with their first concert in nearly four years. After multiple breakups since they placed fourth on X-Factor U.S.A. in 2012, the boys are back again, teasing their supporters that this time, they might just remain together.

The live-stream opened with brothers Wesley and Keaton alongside best friend Drew laughing amongst each other. For fans of Emblem3, it’s like coming home. Their wide, easygoing smiles can recapture any former fan’s heart, drawing them back into the music that they screamed for hours into a hairbrush from their childhood bedroom. Their then-teenage fans are now well into their twenties, yet they filled the chat feature with digital messages akin to the screams of young fangirls. For some, this is the nostalgic escape that they need to leave the confines of quarantine and be transported back to a packed venue of teenage girls and their reluctant parents.

The passion in the boys’ eyes shined when they performed older songs from their peak in the mainstream. They opened the concert with “Reason,” a song from their 2014 album, Songs From the Couch, Vol.1., which Drew later explained they wrote after being fired from Subway at age eighteen. Wesley’s harmonies may be imperfect, but that’s part of the charm of the band. They’re carefree skateboarder/surfer boys from California who play music for the sake of playing music.

Their freewheeling attitude sustained through the concert, but the band demonstrated a newfound maturity with new songs that they sandwiched between old classics. Unreleased songs like “Lightning in a Bottle” showcased an acoustically rich side to the band that seems far-removed from the pop-reggae of their past. No longer do they rely on four chord electric guitar solos and syncopation to drive their music; their new songs feature unplugged sounds and intricate guitar finger-work. Despite the apparent juxtaposition between these songs and the “California Bro” stereotype in which they have indulged, this move is unsurprising. The effortless directional shift echoes Wesley’s sentiment from an early X-Factor interview: “The other boy bands… I see them just like ‘I wanna be a star,’ Ya know? I’m like dude, just be a musician.”

Emblem3 ended the concert with the song that started it all: “Sunset Boulevard.” As one of the few bands that made it to Hollywood on X-Factor after performing an original piece, the band recognizes the nostalgia that this song brings to fans. Melding together old material with new harmonies and ending on a riff that induced great frisson in me, the boys gracefully reinvented their signature song. Like a perfect concluding paragraph, “Sunset Boulevard” highlighted the energy of the concert and left viewers excited for the next chapter. Quarantine may have forced us into the confines of our childhood homes, but Emblem3 shows us that family bonding leads old passions to burn all the stronger.

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Local Artist Shows Courage, Creativity, And Vision

Nathaniel Oku’s Driver EP was a solid project produced in a very uncertain summer. With smooth bass line and a groovy feel, Oku delivers the funk in this four song EP.

Image: Nathaniel Oku. Driver EP

While most college students were concerned with re-starting school, or complaining about the lack of parties on campus, former Cornell student turned New York City resident Nathaniel Oku worried about perfecting funky bass lines and smooth vocals. His reward – the Driver EP, released just days ago on September 25th.

Unfailingly smooth, the four-track EP won’t force. A listener will not jump out of their chair and hit the dance floor, but they also will not put up with stillness. Oku urges the listener to move and groove to his funk, easily fitting the bill for music that was perfectly suited to be played in the car with the windows down.

“For Summer” provided the best song of the bunch. The groovy bass line is an easy one to identify with, and produces the best moments of the song. Oku has a voice that is easy to listen to, but it is the groove of the bass guitar and other instrumental tracks that give the tune its flavor. The track seems specifically designed to put your hand out the window and let it pass through the wind, perhaps only breaking to tap along with the bass line on the window sill.

“Driver,” the project’s title track, features a bass line that puts a strong fight for the best one on the EP, and should have been used more. In the moments between these guitar riffs, Oku seems lacks an identity in his music, often just continuing for minutes without much variation. In an online description, Oku claimed that one of the concepts of the song was to break away from the boredom of the summer of 2020 and drive away on a roadtrip.[1] This authentic message meshed perfectly with the smooth beats of the song.

And that is exactly what happened on the first track of the project “Animated Movies.” The track starts out with a light piano accompanying the vocals, before quickly turning into what feels like a knock off of The Weeknd with some dramatic drums and synthesizer tracks. But the tune doesn’t progress as well as the others, and seems to be stuck in the same moment for three plus minutes without any real change. Then Oku introduces a violin at the end of the track that fails to change the feel of the music, but does feel sort of strange and unnecessary. “Animated Movies” doesn’t fit, and feels more like music to be stuck in traffic to than cruising the freeway.

“Simple Times” is the last track and a solid ending for Oku. It has better pace than the “Animated Movies” and has an excellent feature from Alex Vince that gives the song some bravado. Oku has a talented voice, but takes a soft tone throughout the EP, so Vince is a welcome aggressive voice, and he takes the beat and makes it his own. The songs message of making the best of the situation is again a poignant one, and helps to add to the road trip motif.

Oku’s music doesn’t to have a major message behind it, and his lyrics are universal and bordering on cliché. But the project is well produced and is a pleasant listening experience. Considering Oku created the project in such a divisive and utterly confusing time, he should be commended for just completing the project, let along creating something that has some soul behind it.

In a normal world, bravery is the willingness to discuss difficult themes in music that confront big challenges. Perhaps in the bizarre world we find ourselves in, artists like Oku are the real brave ones. To have the spirit to look towards a better day, when society can get back to enjoying long drives and bass lines. Oku had the courage to imagine that things will get better. Given the circumstances, that is not an easy thing to do.

[1] Nathaniel Oku, Genius Lyrics, https://genius.com/nathanieloku