Posted on

Bass Drops for Charity: Guetta Plays Benefit for UNICEF, Misses the Mark

Guetta’s set had some of his patented beat drops and exciting remixes, but the lack of audience and luxurious setting gave the concert an odd feel – especially when it was supposed to benefit the less fortunate.


A mansion in Ibiza was an odd place for world famous DJ David Guetta, a Spanish superstar who has thrilled millions of fans around the world, to stage another of his virtual concerts. Sure, the Spanish region known for electric music and an intense party scene has long been a proving ground for famous DJ’s from around the world. Perhaps Guetta thought it would make sense given the history of the region. It was still an odd space for a concert that was benefitting UNICEF, and was seemingly in support of less fortunate communities around the world who have been crushed by the Coronavirus. Benefit concerts like these can raise money for a cause, but they also tow the line of being tone deaf. On one hand they have the ability to raise significant amounts of money, but there is irony in wealthy Rockstar’s doing objectively fun things to apparently support the poor. On September 19th, a sunny day in the Spanish countryside, Guetta falls on the side of being deaf to the real issues of the people he is trying to help.

Was it his fault that the benefit came off in that way? Not necessarily. There is a difference between a DJ and a folk singer. A guitarist playing a solo set can convey a full range of emotions. Sadness, empathy, and resilience can all flow from a guitar and a voice. Guetta’s music does not have the same emotional power as some others, at least not to anything other than hardcore fans. His music is made to party, a luxury most of us without a Ibizan mansion do not get to enjoy right now. Guetta’s set crashed and banged for over an hour, but it lost some magic without a live crowd, and knowing that most of the audience was alone behind a computer. Even Springsteen would have trouble communicating through a computer screen.

“I hope you can feel the vibe like me, we’re here, in Ibiza with DJ mag, the magic island,” says Guetta. I could not feel the vibe. Like millions around the world, stuck most of the day inside and longing for a chance at freedom, Guetta and his sprawling estate did little to improve my spirit. Frequent drone shots that showed the extent of Guetta’s property did not help his cause. The UNICEF logo in the bottom left hand of the screen is the only proof that Guetta has any self-awareness at all – at least he was trying to raise money. Thirty-five years after Queen, Bowie, and U2 took to the stage at Live Aid, Guetta shows that benefit concerts can safely join the long list of cultural events that were better in the good old days. Live Aid brought people together, focused the aid to people who needed it, and situated the bands and fans in the same status: people with the ability to help. Guetta, alone and enjoying the privileges of his lifestyle, didn’t have the sane effect.

The actual music has its moments. The remix of Madonna’s “Hey Mr. DJ” about halfway through punches more efficiently than other tunes. DJ’s provide interesting case studies of stardom. Many armchair quarterbacks will claim that these music-mixers sit behind a keyboard and make millions riffing off others music. But Guetta’s remix of Madonna provides the template for DJ’s at their highest value. Artists like Madonna are so widely loved, that remixes can almost be difficult to pull off. Soundcloud is full of thousands of remixes of remixes of songs that are no better than the tunes that gave them inspiration. Guetta amplifies the brilliance of Madonna, giving the bass line some extra energy, and makes a great song better. Madonna’s version was fun, Guetta’s was intense, suspenseful, and had attitude. Guetta at his best is a booster, a rocket ship that when attached to a song, takes it to the moon. The mix with Madonna was short lived but a wonderful example of Guetta’s talent.

Earlier in the set, Guetta showed off some vintage beat drops. While they certainly lost power without a crowd to energize, Guetta’s beats could at times contend for control over your body. They might not make you jump out of your seat and dance, but they will make you think about it. At their best, they will summon a longing for times when such actions were acceptable and encouraged. If Guetta can elevate Madonna, then surely he can elevate the mere mortals on the other side of the YouTube screen to be slightly better than they were before they clicked onto his video. That might have been impossible, but at times Guetta had a punchers chance. As one of the heavyweights of the industry, that’s all he could ask for.

At other moments however, the set dragged on. Without a festival atmosphere, the audience doesn’t need time to recover. There is no fist pumping, no po-go stick jumping up and down, and no breathless “that was so awesome” moments. Without the physicality that the music demands, the music seems ironically deliberate and slow. As it turns out, even music has to adjust to the digital age, and the attention span that created EDM music now demands more action. In a virtual concert, there simply is not space for time killing. Instead of catching my breath, I found that I was picking up my phone or opening a new internet window. The medium did not help, but Guetta would be well-served to adjust his own style for the COVID age.

Guetta entitled his set “Future Rave” and while it wins points for cleverness, it loses points because it identifies precisely when the music will again be relevant. Guetta has talent to spare, but was fighting such odds that it was impossible to be successful. He is a fabulously wealthy music superstar, playing a benefit concert from the comfort of his paradise property, without the fans who are so crucial to genre. Until there is another rave, it is hard to see any virtual concert accurately reflecting Guetta’s supreme ability, and until then his concerts will conjure images of awkward corporate creations, and not of the soul-changing tunes that have made Guetta a household name.

Posted on

Old School Cool

Drop the glitter and the glam—Alicia Keys puts a new twist on “cool,” using authenticity and passion to please her audience. 

“Cool” has come to mean a million different things. Most often, it involves money, clothes, or status. “The flex” describes the outward display of possessing any of these qualities, and it has become a staple of modern music, especially hip hop.

But there are still examples of old-school cool. Artists who exude their coolness through their demeanor, their music, and the way they can bring a room together. Few out there who outpace Alicia Keys. Just before the pandemic, Keys recorded an episode of NPR’s very popular Tiny Desk series, where artists perform in a small space with mostly acoustic instruments. Keys performed a set list that included hits like “Show Me Love” and “Fallin” but also some new tracks like “Gramercy Park” and “Underdog” – the perfect anthem for those struggling with the COVID pandemic.

Keys overflows with natural talent, and the audience is immediately made aware of her powers when she sings. Her voice achieves constant playfulness and a casual tone, while also being precise and powerful. She switches between vibes effortlessly, talking to the audience through her songs. Where most artists sing their music to the crowd in general, Keys is clearly connecting with individuals in the audience, often involving them in the music, and asking for their feedback in between songs.

Underdog transcends coolness. Most stars singing a song about the underdogs in their communities would lose authenticity. Keys has been a star for decades, but still speaks about underdogs with power and passion. When the COVID pandemic struck, the lyrics fit shockingly well.

The lyrics that make up the hook include “young teachers, student doctors serving on the front lines knowing they don’t get to run” before ending with “someday soon enough you will rise up, rise up.” Keys couldn’t have known that the pandemic would make the song so poignant, but she knew that the universal themes and messages from the song could have been used in a variety of scenarios. The song has none of the celebrities for charity notes that we have seen during the pandemic. Keys breaks the mold, providing the audience with honest, authentic, and real experience.

Keys then took a crowd poll on what song she should sing next, easily being able to produce anything on demand. Eventually she settles on “Fallin” a hit from 2001 that shows the lasting power of her music, along with the incredible resilience of her talent. The song requires a powerful voice, and seems to put Keys back into Tour de force mode. Her band and backup singers accent and emphasize, but Keys is a superstar showing her gifts. When she lets the crowd join in the end of the song, she shows her ability to connect and collaborate, and the humility to share the light of her superstardom with the lucky mortals who are lucky enough to see her play.

The entire set was short on bravado, bragging, or displays of money and status. But Alicia’s natural talent, and uncanny humility combine to create something different: a refreshingly cool experience.

Posted on

A New Beginning, or the End of Everything?

On her new EP, Noah Cyrus’s maturity shines through, illuminating struggles from which she has recovered and encapsulating the uncertainty of a lonely pandemic.

Noah Cyrus’s 2020 EP, The End of Everything, offers an intimate view of her personal life.

In the midst of a global pandemic with no apparent end in sight, it’s difficult to feel any semblance of hope for the future, or at least the near future. Socially-distanced outings, businesses reopening with limited capacities, and our inevitable marriage-like unions with Zoom events feign some sense of normalcy, but we’ve all questioned if, and when, we would ever again see someone’s smile or feel the crisp fall breeze against our tired eyes during morning strolls. The small aspects of pre-pandemic life that we failed to notice before have become simple memories under the sense of doom we all feel in the core of our being. Is this the end of everything, or at least life as we know it? How do we act as normal teenagers during this unprecedented time, especially while experiencing heartbreak and loneliness? Noah Cyrus, a triple-threat singer, songwriter, and actress, tackles these questions on her 2020 EP, The End of Everything.

Released on May 15, 2020 in the height of lockdown restrictions, The End of Everything grapples with hopelessness, loss, and doubts about self-worth  — feelings that we have all struggled with as of late. Although most, if not all, of these songs were written before the pandemic, her timely release of the album offers a comforting view of the sadness and changes that come with teenage years and becoming a young adult. Combining the fragile vocal style of Billie Eilish with joyous gospel harmonies and the smooth Southern country sound of sister, Miley, and father, Billy Ray, Noah Cyrus has successfully created her own voice. Without even listening to the lyrics of her songs, the emotions pour down like rain on a cool spring day. The minimalist piano accompaniment draws attention to Cyrus’s delicate yet powerful voice on the album’s eight tracks, creating a tragically beautiful and intimate narrative.

The album opens with four soft, pregnant minor piano chords that set a somber mood for “Ghost” before Cyrus’s vocals even come in. When she does enter, she maintains the mysterious and heavy ambience with dynamic swells and decrescendos. Cyrus ends most sentences with a soft whisper that almost cries out for help, deceiving us into thinking that this ballad will end in a quiet stream of tears. Cyrus then unexpectedly introduces her pop side into the song’s chorus at 0:45 with multi-tracked vocals and an electronic music-inspired backing beat. She teeters back and forth between the two moods throughout the song, eventually ending fading away on the latter. It’s a curious and unexpected opening to the album; the majority of the EP (minus the penultimate song, “Wonder Years,”) forgoes pop fusion, instead opting for full country-inspired soft acoustic ballads.

Nestled snugly in the middle of the album, “Young and Sad” highlights Cyrus’s struggles with feeling worthless. A voicemail memo from her famous country-star father starts the song. “Hey bud, this is ol’ dad, just wanted you to know, you ain’t alone, keep a smile on your face, everything’s gonna be fine. I love you.” His words exude familiarity and warmth, giving a direct glimpse into Cyrus’s personal life. We rarely see such personal touches on songs; here, it’s like reading into her diary. Cyrus creates a deep sense of intimacy in the production of the song: It’s as much about her voice’s relationship with the guitar as it is her relationship with her family. She quietly enters after the voice memo with a plucked-guitar melody and vocals drenched in sadness. With poignant, raw lyrics, Cyrus questions her integrity and place in the world, especially growing up in the shadows of her country-pop sensation sister, Miley. While life in a multi-superstar family isn’t an experience that many can relate to, most of us understand the fear of not living up to familiar or societal expectations. The repeated lyric, “Don’t wanna be young and sad another day longer,” resonates with young people around the world: Why are we living our young adulthood, the so-called best days of our lives, pining over people who don’t even care? It’s a question so many grapple with; a question that Cyrus herself may not be able to answer. Instead, her lyrics offer kind emotional consolation to anyone who may be hurting.

Standing in stark juxtaposition to the EP’s flow of lyrically-rich songs, the dreamy “Wonder Years” yet again highlights Cyrus’s musical versatility and stylistic breadth. Her solo voice with which we’ve fallen in love so far on the album has been replaced by a buttery smooth amalgamation of nearly incoherent words. Sung in a sort of Sprechstimme/pseudo-rap/soft folk style, lyrics that were so important on other tracks no longer matter here. Rather, both the ambience and collaboration with singer-songwriter-rapper Ant Clemons tie the song together. Cyrus’s sweet airy mezzo voice dances around Clemons’s smooth digitally-tuned tenor voice, building up into a zenith of swirling vocal sounds, jazzy accompaniment, and powerful cries of repetitious lyrics. The texture builds until it breaks. Suddenly, we’re freed from the encapsulating moment and brought back into the reality of slow, peaceful country roads with nothing but the sounds of an approaching car on a dirt road and the happy whistling of her melody. Out of place in a normal pop song, maybe. But for Noah Cyrus, she’s constantly reminding us of her roots. This is her story to tell.

Cyrus paints an intricate picture of love and loss, self-love and self-hate, joy and sadness, pride and humility. That’s what makes The End of Everything so heartbreaking: you can’t help but cry as you listen to her pain. It’s like sitting around a bonfire with a friend on a cool autumn evening, crying over tea about the boys you once loved or the memories you mourn. The ritual is tragic and cathartic; a coping mechanism. Sometimes recognizing your sadness and allowing yourself to wallow is all you need, something Cyrus already covered in 2018 on her debut EP, Good Cry. But this is more mature, an homage to the end of her teenage years, and not, for this incandescent talent, The End of Everything.

Posted on

Klezmer at Cornell: A Peek into Music as a Religious Vessel

Religion has long inspired music composition, just as music has shaped faith practices since the beginning of organized religion. The most prominent religious works of music are Christian, as almost every major classical composer has been Christian and written music about his relationship with God. In this age of diversified religious backgrounds and increased accessibility to a wide variety of musical genres, there is no excuse for the predominance of Christian music in classical domains.

At Cornell University, Chabad – a facet of the larger Hasidic Jewish organization – strives to provide its members the opportunity to experience spiritually and culturally Jewish traditions. Their virtual Klezmer concert on Thursday, October 8, was a wonderful example of how musical experiences are being preserved during the age of COVID-19. The concert, which was held over zoom, beautifully shared the stunning and spiritual music of Eastern European Jews with members of the Chabad community. Jennifer Levine’s clarinet-playing was energetic and exciting – her notes bouncing off one another as she moved her instrument along with its swells – while David Zakalik’s accordion kept the music steady and added a sweet heartiness to the melodies. Eventually, Rabbi Eli Silberstein joined the duo, his mahogany voice floating above the instruments.

As the director of Cornell Chabad, Rabbi Eli introduced the instrumentalists and briefly explained the significance of music during the holiday of Sukkot – the reason for the performance. While Rosh Hashanah welcomes the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur serves as an introspective time of repentance and forgiveness, Sukkot is a celebration of the hope of a new year. Before Levine and Zakalik lept back into their jubilant playing, Rabbi Eli invited his audience to take this time to be cheerful, saying, “Tonight let’s rejoice…now we embrace a whole new future!” And with that, the clarinet and accordion dove in again, echoing each others’ melodies and beckoning others at the Chabad house to clap and dance.

A week after the concert, I had the opportunity to interview Rabbi Eli about Klezmer and the broader contours of Hasidic music. He started by explaining that he knows more about Hasidic music, since he grew up with it, and less about the more secular Klezmer that evolved out of the traditional music. “Hasidic music is tied to a deep philosophy about life,” he explained, “most of the music was composed by spiritual people, whose music was just an extension of their faith.” For Hasidic Jews, their entire life revolves around Judaism and they spend much time reflecting on their relationship with God. Rabbi Eli shared a memory of his from childhood, when he witnessed a man who had been deeply reflecting and praying for hours, suddenly burst into song, with tears streaming down his face as once-hidden emotions escaped from the confines of his soul.

Rabbi Eli and I spent most of our time talking about the role that music plays in Judaism, and how this differs from music produced for the secular public. To him, “music is a vessel to arouse deep spiritual emotions. It enables you to transcend the stresses and constrains of life.” He explained that this is why very few Hasidic melodies have words. “Words are limited,” he said, “They cannot express an emotion that is deep-seated in the heart and has an intense energy to it.” The tune, the melody, is the only language that can express an emotion in the soul.” The aching notes of Zakalik’s accordion complemented by the fast-moving lines of Levine’s clarinet, reminded me of the fast-paced life that distracts us from reflecting on feelings that are hidden within us. Levine and Zakalik’s emotions could be felt through their instruments, their bodies moving along with the notes that they produced, beckoning me and others in the audience to feel the meaning behind the music being performed.

Jewish music has significantly developed since its origins, but still serves to unite the Jewish community, both in its cultural and spiritual significance. Rabbi Eli explained that initially, music was simply part of Jewish services, with choirs singing so that “the music could be heard all over Jerusalem. The music was meant to inspire within those attending a soulful turmoil and repentance.” Hasidic music aims to arouse spirituality in its listeners, playing the same role that music did in the first synagogues. Klezmer, on the other hand, “is a more cultural experience,” being played mostly during holidays and bar and bat mitzvahs…hence the charming Klezmer performance that Chabad held for Sukkot. The Klezmer style “evolved into the hands of Jews who were not as interested in the religious aspects of life, but wanted to be Jewish, culturally.” Even if Klezmer may be more secular than its Hasidic ancestor, the music is still unequivocally tied to spiritual Judaism and inspires those who listen to think more about their relationship to religion.

As a rarely spiritual person, I didn’t expect to feel particularly introspective when attending the Klezmer concert. To my surprise, the engagement of the audience – though mostly virtual aside from the few people in the Chabad house clapping along – paired with the dynamic songs brought me deep into the performance, enveloping me and igniting my curiosity about faith. I never felt fully comfortable sitting in a service and listening to people read religious texts; the liturgy always seemed so oddly formal. But being beckoned into the warm hospitable atmosphere of the Klezmer concert, with Rabbi Eli singing soulful syllables over the brisk and jovial tunes of the accordion and clarinet, I found solace. While I would love to say that the Klezmer concert was a spiritual awakening for me, that would be an immense exaggeration. The music did, however, evoke a curiosity in me about the role of religion in my life and what it would mean to be more spiritual. If I spent more time reflecting on my relationship to God, would I sing with the vigor that Rabbi Eli does? Is there a meaningful connection between singer and song that can only found in sacred music?

Posted on

Fetch the Bolt Cutters: We’ve All Been in Here Too Long

Fiona Apple performed three songs off of her newest release.

Fetch the Bolt Cutters Album Art (2020)

“This world is bulls**t; go with yourself,” Fiona Apple famously said during her 1997 Video Music Awards acceptance speech. In just a few dense sentences she established herself as willfully honest. The world from that moment on thought of her as a diva, insulted by receiving the award. She dissolved the pragmatic cleanness that the average popstar held. A year after her critically acclaimed debut Tidal, the American singer-songwriter and pianist, Fiona Apple shattered the fantasy of the pop machine. She implored everyone to do what they individually find cool, not what one would think that a celebrity would find cool. Pompous in 1997, revelatory in 2020. Fetch the Bolt Cutters arrived nearly a month into the strange in-between world that we call quarantine. Through cyberspace I experienced this album; in my bedroom, in my car, on walks, with my one friend down the block. My Spotify social tab for the entire month following the release was full of friends listening to Fetch the Bolt Cutters. This album was made in a reclusive swirl of creativity, all of the sounds and lyrics coming from the confines of her California home. Her five dogs are credited on the album for their barks at the end of the title track. This domestic atmosphere, however, is a limitless well of emotion and lyricism. The poignance Fiona Apple brings to the musical world is unprecedented; she writes with an acute vulnerability where her unadulterated thoughts and poetry coincide. There is no holding back from what should be said on any Fiona Apple album. For a woman who is known for her open and loud mouth, she sings with conviction and precision.

Apple performed three tracks on Fetch the Bolt Cutters live for the first time for the New Yorker Festival which was broadcasted online. She opens with Shameika. She begins by nodding her head, a knowing smile on her face, ready to enter the portal of her art. The song kicks off with a heavy drum beat then immediately rushes into the avalanche of melody played by Fiona on the piano. The notes rock back and forth on a scale that is tonally jazzy and dark. Each movement has purpose, as she dances her hands across the piano. Her voice joins in, enunciating each lyric as each line feeds into the poetry. She shouts “Hurricane Gloria in excelsis deo / that’s my bird in my tree / my dog and my man and my music is my holy trinity,” all whilst pounding rhythm and melody out of the piano. Her visage is strong; eyes shut, jawline taught, voice sharp. In several interviews she has described Shameika as a list of the things she likes about herself, finally. Compared to Fast as You Can, a single from her sophomore album, instead of calling herself crazy, she’s “pissed off, funny, and warm,” and “a good man in a storm.” There is sureness of self in a world where she has cultivated strength instead of weakness. There is less questioning; she takes an event that occurred in sixth grade in which a girl who was not her friend, Shameika, said that Fiona had potential. She sings the hook with unrelenting passion, and when her piano part fades out, she puts her hands to her hips and says it again. The message got through to her, and even though it’s over twenty years later, Fiona Apple knows she has potential. She faces her piano the entire performance, her band jamming behind her. She’s in her own dreamworld of art, closed eyes with intuitive hands nailing every note. The songs are so threaded within her, it feels as if she is performing alone at home similar to how she recorded the album.

Shameika fades out in a funky, bassy trudge and we cut to a black screen. “FETCH THE BOLT CUTTERS” flashes on the screen, and Fiona is now sitting at a small drum set. She plays the opening beat of the title track, a stern look on her face. One can see when she is passionate about a particular line, slamming the drum harder, wincing in artistic truth. The talk-sing cadence of this song combined with the intimate close-ups of Fiona at the drum set feel like a conversation one could have with her. Remarking on a friendship with candid lyrics of what tumult happened, she launches into the titular chorus: “Fetch the bolt cutters, I’ve been in here too long / Fetch the  bolt cutters /whatever happens, whatever happens.” It’s a freeing motif; knowing when to let go, and finally doing it. She jovially talks about how judgments and comparisons affected her in the past, now embedded and understood. The comparisons were shallow and those judging her truly never knew her. She even references Kate Bush’s “Running Up That Hill,” as the freedom from the searing douleur of judgment: “I grew up in the shoes they told me I could fill / shoes that were not made for running up that hill / but I need to run up that hill / I will, I will, i will…” She shouts the last line, knowing her goals now and the distorted mess of the past.The shuffling rhythm of the drums melds gently with her voice, the xylophone shining in the background. She continues to shout “Whatever happens / I will” with wild power. She is a woman who knows where to go, her decisions informed by the splendid chaos that is living.

The last track we are presented with is the opening track of the album “I Want You to Love Me.” Fiona plays the opening melody on the piano, a glistening, wistful line. The piano receives the camera’s close attention, each key and peg firing off into musical bliss. Fiona leans into the mic, prophesying her life, wishing for love. The second verse is the most potent lyrically; it’s almost naturalistic. She describes time as elastic, and that when she goes “all my particles disband and disperse and I’ll be back in the pulse.” She flows through life in a verse, at the end yearning for love. She knows that during the short span we all have, it’s critical to create the indelible connections that make the incessant questioning of existence worthwhile. We see her band sway in the background, taking in the heavy poetry of the song, dominated by her sweet, meandering piano. She holds out the “You” for several bars, breath-draining to most singers, capturing the longing for somebody in the line “I want you / to love me.” She adds vibrato not present on the album making for an even more visceral experience. The next verse is a drum-filled passage where Fiona amplifies her voice, belting her love and strength to this person. She peels back into the last chorus that waltzes into a falsetto and then into absurdity. She reaches the top, making hysterical high pitched sounds as the drums crescendo, one hand furiously tapping out a chord. Then it ends with a single “ah.” The performance is a whirlwind of yearning, power, sureness, and musical ingenuity. Fetch the Bolt Cutters is an album of honest precision by one of the most outspoken women in music. The lyrics are complex yet resonate immediately. This performance may not have been live but the emotion conveyed to the viewers is ethereal.

Posted on

Rocktober: Songs We’re Fall-ing For

“Wrath” – The Smashing Pumpkins

Autumn’s here, at last. Foliage, cute sweaters, and apple cider donuts fill my Instagram feed. But not only do we have carving pumpkins to look forward to, we also have The Smashing Pumpkins. The band is back, having recently dropped four singles from their upcoming double album, Cyr,  set for release on November 27. “Wrath,” released on September 25, showcases the band’s departure from guitar-saturated grunge into an equally heavy but electronic direction, which they hinted on their 2014 album, Moments to an Elegy. Billy Corgan’s wailing nasal voice dances around the empty sound of a synth with no guitar — a bold stylistic move for a band known for their quintessential 90s rock anthems. —EMILY HURWITZ

 

“Dear Mr. President” – Kiana Ledé

We are currently living through one of the worst pandemics recorded in history and mass civil rights protests unlike any other; two issues that can be attributed to the actions taken by the current sitting president. All the heartbreak and suffering we have seen this year gave re-birth to P!nk’s single ‘Dear Mr. President’ originally released on March 28th, 2011. Kiana Ledé released a beautiful rendition of the piece as a piano ballad single on the June 12th, 2020. The piece opens with chants from a protest where people are proclaiming ‘No Peace, No Justice’, directly referring to the protests we have been seeing recently. This is proceeded by the entrance of Ledés euphonious vocals accompanied by heavenly harmonies, making this piece a must listen to. Ledé asks the questions, directed towards the president, that everyone wants to know the answers to such as ‘How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?’. It is very disappointing to think that 11 years after the original release, this song could still be so relevant. —AARIK IBANEZ

 

“That’s on You (Japanese Remix)” – Joyce Wrice, UM

This collaboration breaks all barriers, combining different languages, R&B and neo-soul, and two half-Japanese, half-Black female icons. Rising artist Joyce Wrice released her single “That’s on You” back in May, but UMI joined her for the October 6th release of this powerful Japanese remix. The song still keeps the original storyline of an uncertain and hopeless love, but this time, the two artists’ voices melt together into a buttery, soulful blend of harmonies. The smooth bass-line coupled with the swaying rhythm of the guitar will bring on the sweet groove that everybody needs. —MIA GLASS

 

“Gwendolyn” – Jeff Tweedy

This week, Jeff Tweedy released “Gwendolyn,” a new song to preface the release of his upcoming solo album Love Is the King. Tweedy’s gentle, detached voice, became a cornerstone of his esteemed alternative rock band, Wilco. Once again, his rustling voice is featured prominently, yet the steady groove of the guitar and bass keep it from roaming too far from the melody. The result is a soft, yet infectiously toe-tapping tune.—JONAH LEVINE

 

“We Are Golden” – MIKA

Cornell’s pressure-filled climate makes it is so easy to get caught up in becoming a cookie-cutter graduate with a job lined up. And in doing so, many find themselves relinquishing the time and effort that should duly be put into exploring their interests and curiosities. With that said, as we are entering prelim season, or as I see it, the period of time where priorities get skewed and life perspectives are warped, MIKA’s “We Are Golden” is a tried-and-true reset button. The song’s uplifting beat and instrumentals backing up MIKA’s stern chants of this seemingly repetitive chorus will not fail to shake us out of this trance we’re in.—PATRICIA KU

 

“Little Dreamer” – Van Halen

After the death of the most influential rock guitarist, Eddie Van Halen, it would be remiss to exclude one of the band’s invigorating tunes in this month’s playlist. “Little Dreamer” is a neglected gem from Van Halen’s debut record in 1978, being overpowered by the mighty “Eruption” and radio hit “Runnin’ with the Devil.” This mid-tempo masterpiece formed an integral part of the Van Halen setlist even before they hit the studio, and it resultantly became its own force of nature by the time the red record button was pushed. Eddie’s signature tapping style makes a brief but ferocious appearance mid-song, but “Little Dreamer” proves that groove beats speed. Eddie Van Halen inspired a generation of guitarists and air-guitarists alike that continue to look up to him as the ultimate guitar god. —SPENCER NACHMAN

 

“Why Are Sundays So Depressing” – The Strokes

In the blur of the months, an album that shines through is The New Abnormal by the Strokes. It is their first full-length release since 2013 and produced by the industrious Rick Rubin. I chose the arbitrarily titled “Why Are Sundays So Depressing.” It blends early Strokes guitars with more eccentric vocals from Julian Casablancas, redolent of his experimental band The Voidz. The sugary guitar melodies and vocoder-based chorus feel like a new atmosphere of joy, far away from the current strangeness. This song is a fresh alternative cut in a collection of rock oddities. If you love The Strokes and haven’t yet heard this, get ready for your next true love. —ANDIE CHAPMAN

 

“Mustang” – Bartees Strange

Though Bartees Strange’s impressive, genre-hopping debut Live Forever was filled with wonderful tracks, the album’s highlight, “Mustang”, an indie-rock banger replete with distorted riffs an infectious synth line, demonstrates Strange’s powerful voice and emotional range, along with his ability to craft a song that begs to be screamed and replayed until your voice gives out. —MILES GREENBLATT

 

“Atoll” – Nail Palm

Accompanied by a single electric guitar, Nai Palm croons a promise of healing on “Atoll,” singing “When the damn thing breaks/ I’ll be there to take you home”. Also known also as the frontman of the futuristic jazz-funk quartet Haitus Kaiyote, Nai Palm sings spring-loaded with intention, purring the melody in her husky lower register before curling into her airy falsetto. The song blooms into harmony in the verse, the hum of voices swelling and overflowing from the ends of each line, rich but never cloying. Ending in an exuberant chorus, Nai Palm ensconces the listener in this momentary atoll. —LYNN HONG

 

“Good Job” – Alicia Keys

Self doubt is something that effects college students in the best of times. In 2020, there isn’t a college student who hasn’t doubted themselves, or been discouraged by the pandemic and its alterations on normal life. Alicia Keys’ soothing voice in her single “Good Job” brings memories of Robin Williams famously telling Matt Damon that “its not your fault.” Keys wrote the tune before the pandemic, but its message to regular people and workers is especially inspiring. She sings, “You’re doing a good job / A good job.” A message we all need to hear right now, only made better by her charisma and talent. A great addition to this playlist.—JON DONVILLE

 

“You Sad” – Tkay Maidza

As the weather grows colder and the sky becomes darker, it is easy to forget about the joyful parts of life. Tkay Maidza’s “You Sad” encourages listeners to take life less seriously, with a kooky music video and a catchy chorus. The song is an amalgamation of quirky little sounds – from shakers and bongos to whistles that echo throughout. Maidza’s music video is scattered with vibrant colors and butterflies, emulating the magical energy that her song exudes. Released on August 7, “You Sad” has the carefree energy of the summer and is the perfect listen for anyone missing the sun. —GRACE STASOLLA

Posted on

Trommer Sextet: Channeling Socially Distanced Vibrations

Cornell’s Trommer Sextet jazz combo rehearses to develop as a group and prepare videos for the new JazzDesk Youtube series.

The Trommer Sextet gathers in Lincoln Hall after a productive rehearsal.

Six Cornell musicians, instruments in hand; four separate rooms scattered throughout Lincoln Hall; one professor, steering the ship; the Trommer Sextet is ready to play its first notes, and none of the musicians can hear one another in their headphones. After a tweak of the controls, Professor Paul Merrill, director of jazz studies, counts in the first tune and the musicians’ fingers are at work. In any other year, technology used in jazz combo rehearsals plays a minor role in connecting the musicians, but in the age of COVID-19, dozens of black coiled black wires flowing from room to room are an important ingredient to making the magical musical sounds come alive.

Long before the fall semester of 2020 began, Professor Merrill was resolved to make the 2020-2021 Cornell jazz combo program a success. As a result of his careful planning and a determination to simply make the best music possible, the Trommer Sextet had five rehearsals in the books just by the end of September, as well as a recording of Clifford Brown’s “Tiny Capers” on the Cornell Jazz Youtube channel as part of the new JazzDesk series. Before I get too excited about what is to come for the Trommer Sextet, first take a seat in the isolation guitar pod during our second combo rehearsal.

I unpack my Ibanez jazz guitar (the same brand used by jazz guitar greats George Benson and John Schofield), review the chord changes of “Alone Together,” and ensure that my camera, the visual passageway from the main room into my guitar pod, is at the right height. Guitar amp on, levels set, and Evan Kravitz (drums) counts in the tune. “Alone Together” by famed mid-century song-writing partnership Dietz and Schwartz was originally played as a slow ballad, but over time has morphed into an upbeat must-know for all jazz players.

This tune has an AABA form, which allows Samantha Rubin (alto) and Reed Landry (tenor) to split up the melody, and Edward George (piano) and myself on guitar to have equal opportunities to “comp,” or play chords behind the horn player’s melody or solo. As a result, the first and second halves of the song have vastly different types of feel; the tune begins with my lighter comping on Rubin’s softer sound and then quickly transitions to George’s forceful block chords in the spaces of Landry’s staccato-style playing. Throughout the whole piece, Teddy Rashkover (bass) keeps the rhythm locked and steady, which allows Kravitz to punctuate sections with creative fills and hits.

The time comes for Professor Merrill’s feedback, a critical and constructive part of this rehearsal. He challenges the horn players to diversify the punctuation in the melody with a mix of long and short notes, and for Kravitz to outline the sections of the form more distinctly. He also inspires George and me to not restrict ourselves to our predetermined comping organization and to listen to the soloist to know when to add a new color or accent a particular chord. While challenging at first, George and I begin to develop the feel of when to act upon an invitation to contribute rather than play every chord change. After a few takes, Professor Merrill’s advice begins to sink in, and the group loses its rigidity.

With the trio of drums, bass, and piano in one room, and guitar, alto, and tenor each in separate pods, listening to one another far outweighs what one musician plays at a given moment. As six selfless players, the Trommer Sextet is able to sound its best. At every rehearsal, our group continues to make progress musically both individually and collectively, despite the restrictions COVID-19 placed upon us.

Under the diligent instruction of Professor Merrill and our continued dedication to the music, the Trommer Sextet has the potential to develop into a force of nature. JazzDesk, filled with eclectic recordings from all four jazz combo groups, will serve as a hub for the fresh and exciting jazz music Cornell students create this year. Check it out, and you will feel the socially distanced vibrations.

Trommer Sextet:

  • Samantha Rubin, alto
  • Reed Landry, tenor
  • Spencer Nachman, guitar
  • Edward George, piano
  • Teddy Rashkover, bass
  • Evan Kravitz, drums
  • Professor Paul Merrill, instructor
Posted on

Joe Bonamassa Reemerges to the Stage in Royal Fashion

Blues-rock titan returns to the Ryman Auditorium with his world-class band to preview his new album Royal Tea.

Joe Bonamassa and band prepared for their first show after six months.

Outfitted in an elegant custom-made suit and black shades typical of his buttoned-up on-stage attire, blues-rock titan Joe Bonamassa dug into his first hard-hitting tune at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee after six long months off the road. For twenty years straight since his debut album, Bonamassa has been touring and recording nonstop, averaging more than 100 shows per year, and releasing 13 studio records and 17 live albums. He had his tour operation down to a science, but when the greater power of COVID-19 forced him to shut down the blues-rock machine in March, he began planning to adapt.

Bonamassa lives for the stage, for his fans, for the music, and most of all – for his guitars. Bonamassa owns about 450 guitars and 400 amps, a testament to his life’s dedication to the instrument. So one can only imagine how this self-proclaimed guitar geek felt when he had to put a halt to his US Spring 2020 tour. Just two months before, Bonamassa and his band of Hall of Fame inductees and highest in-demand session players recorded his new album Royal Tea at Abbey Road Studios in London, and it is set to come out on October 23, 2020. With this recording session completed just before the world changed, Bonamassa had a fresh batch of new material to serve up for fans at his virtual livestream on September 20, 2020.

With the exception of one song and some rearranging, Bonamssa played Royal Tea in full, giving fans more than a glimpse into what the album will sound and feel like. Bonamssa’s vision for Royal Tea was to pay tribute to British guitarists such as Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, and Paul Kossoff, who inspired him to take up the instrument as a budding musician. This new record’s sound is entrenched in late 60s early 70s British music, which is even more apparent upon knowing that Bonamassa co-wrote many of the songs with blues-rock guitarist Bernie Marsden from the band Whitesnake. Eight months later, with cardboard cutouts of fans aligned in the benches, guitar amps turned up to 11, and a setlist waiting to come alive, the blues-rock was ready to commence.

The virtual extravaganza opened with “When One Door Opens,” a heavy tune that awakened Bonamassa fans after a six-month live music drought. Bonamassa is known for playing Les Paul guitars, following in the footsteps of Jimmy Page, Paul Kossoff, and Peter Green, but in this opening song he used a B-bender telecaster, a guitar commonly used by country-style players. This axe gave Bonamassa a unique tonal ability that formed an integral part of the main riff, and the high energy song proved to be the perfect way to start off the album and concert. At many virtual shows, artists have their crew members applauding throughout to mimic the audience’s reactions, but Bonamassa decided to have absolute silence between songs to reflect the current state of the world.

Bonamssa plays his new album Royal Tea at The Ryman Auditorium.

Loosened up from their opening song, the band jumped into “Royal Tea,” the title track of the album. This bluesy song featured backup singers Jade MacRae and Dannielle De Andrea on the verses with the repeated line “royal tea,” as they alternated with Bonamassa’s vocals. “Royal Tea” felt royal and rooted in British culture as the main pulse of the song was very similar to a British marching band prodding down a street. At the breakdown, the song escalated from a riff identical to the intro to Jeff Beck’s “I Ain’t Superstitious,” reaching a climax, and then returned to its original feel to close out the song.

Each musician in Bonamassa’s hand-crafted band is regarded as of the highest caliber on their instrument. On stage left was Reece Wynans, Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductee and keyboard player from Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble; on bass was Musician’s Hall of Fame inductee Michael Rhodes; and filling in for his usual drummer Anton Fig from the David Letterman Show house band, was Academy of Country Music Award for Drummer of the Year winner, Greg Morrow. For this gig, Bonamassa also added Rob McNelley as backup guitarist, who filled out the band’s sound with a unique blend of colors, as well as Jimmy Hall, who guested on harmonica for a few songs.

After playing through Royal Tea, the brief intermission gave the band a break before ripping through the powerful encore, which consisted of material from A New Day Now (20th Anniversary Edition), a reissue album of Bonamssa’s first record A New Day Yesterday (2000), as well as a track from his Redemption (2018) album titled “Evil Mama.” Each of the four songs in the encore were more vivacious and jaw-dropping than the previous. The finale, a combination of Jethro Tull’s “A New Day Yesterday” and Yes’s “Starship Trooper: Würm,” ended the concert in royal fashion. For avid Bonamassa fans, this song was particularly exciting to watch as he has not performed this arrangement since 2008. The three chord sequence of “Würm” was the perfect platform for Bonamassa to end this virtual livestream with a melodic and energetic solo, leaving viewers hungry for more.

Bonamassa was mentored by many guitar greats like B.B. King, so he too has given back by helping budding musicians, even more so now that many have been affected by COVID-19. Last spring, Bonamassa launched the Fueling Musicians Program through the Keeping the Blues Alive organization, which provides financial support to artists. A portion of each ticket bought for the virtual concert went towards this worthy cause. What’s more, following the lively Bonamassa show, the After Party Showcase featured performances from a variety of other artists including The Cold Stares, Jared James Nichols, and Tyler Bryant.

Music fans all over the world suffered several long months without live events, but September 20 was a reminder that loud blues-rock is a necessity. Bonamssa’s tour machine lays dormant for now, but when the time comes for fans to experience his mesmerizing live shows in person again, it will be a religious ceremony and a punch in the face all at once.

Setlist:

  1. When One Door Opens
  2. Royal Tea
  3. High Class Girl
  4. Lookout Man!
  5. Why Does it Take So Long to Say Goodbye
  6. A Conversation with Alice
  7. I Didn’t Think She Would Do It
  8. Beyond the Silence
  9. Lonely Boy
  10. Cradle Rock (Rory Gallagher)
  11. Walk in My Shadow (Free)
  12. Evil Mama
  13. A New Day Yesterday / Starship Trooper: Würm (Jethro Tull / Yes)
Posted on

Taking Flight

No observer gets higher above Cayuga’s waters then I— except maybe the turkey vulture, red-tailed hawk, jet plane or Reaper drone visiting our lake from its Syracuse aerie. None of these is friend to the Warbler.  My outsized avian cousins would just as soon have me for a bit-sized, grab-and-go snack, and those civil and military flying machines would blithely shred me with their engines and spit me out as feathered confetti, tiny dots of red and white floating down in final descent to the place I love: Cornell!

Even if I now and again venture up to the heights (though never to Cayuga Heights) for the view—look in on the chimes of McGraw Tower, flit over to the twin towers of Ithaca College, or check the progress of the high-rise construction in what our alma mater hopefully calls the “busy humming of the bustling town”—my favored destinations are the trees, bushes and flowers of our glorious campus, the lapidary steps and benches, the sills and eaves of its edifying edifices. Rather than assuming the bird’s-eye-view, I prefer to be quad-level peering out from an oak or maple branch, listening and watching.

It is not only planes that have been absent of late. The university’s quadrangles, paths, and bridges do not see the continual rush of humanity coursing from its buildings every hour or so.  The place appears largely vacant, the humans having apparently taken up the habit of hibernating as if in emulation of the university’s mascot, the bear, but doing so, oxymoronically, even during the summer and autumn.

In the Arts Quad a large tent with open sides was set up. I liked to perch atop its apex or duck inside if a sight or strain caught my fancy. Mostly the temporary pavillon remained empty, though occasionally during the day I spied parents snatching a nap while their toddlers roamed the temporary floorboards. Now and again I spotted an instrumental duo inside or under a nearby tree, and flew down to do what I do best: observe. Sometimes individual lessons were underway, the musicians looking a bit stranded, their music not reaching far beyond the tent stakes. Once I sang my colorful song to encourage a fledgling clarinetist, but my improvised duet elicited only an annoyed glance.  I flew away.

This weekend the wind ensemble came outdoors to present an afternoon concert.  A black grand piano was even schlepped out of Lincoln Hall for the festivities. People roused themselves from their slumbers and emerged from their lairs to assemble for the music, standing well apart from each other, as I’ve noticed they are wont to do nowadays.

The highpoint (like I said, I do like occasionally get high, even if I mostly stay low), was Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, a rousing keyboard concerto that has always set my wings to flapping.  Its symphonic blasts raced across the lawns and echoed off the vacant buildings, while the pianist ripped off his solo part with the brashness of the blue jay and the nimbleness of the chickadee.  The fall afternoon glowed red and resounded in blue—an optimistic, American blue.  The people swayed like trees in a jaunty breeze.  The straps of their masks flexed. Their ears were cocked. They were smiling as they listened.

 

Posted on

Trey Anastasio Exhibits Unparalleled Creativity

Trey Anastasio surprises fans during quarantine with the release of his new eclectic album Lonely Trip.

Trey Anastasio yearns for the stage and a concert atmosphere.

Ignore Trey Anastasio at your peril. Widely known for his work as the guitarist/ vocalist of the band Phish, Anastasio has built himself the following to launch a solo career his loyal fans never hesitate to support. COVID-19 has had an extreme impact on people’s work and lives, but Anastasio was able to channel his deep feelings over the last year into a creative and eclectic album titled Lonely Trip. Anastasio recorded and produced this record from his apartment in New York City during the lockdown, and his fans were able to see this project come to fruition as he documented his process and rough versions of tracks on social media.

Lonely Trip’s opening track “Shaking Someone’s Outstretched Hand” commences the album with the feeling of an already ongoing song. The eerie overdubbed guitar and vocals panned right and left leaves the listener unsettled, not quite at ease despite the rock solid drum beat. With a segue into “A Wave of Hope,” Anastasio does a complete 180 between these two tracks in terms of feel, as this next tune is funky and upbeat. The repeated lyric “this too shall pass” appears to be a direct response to the COVID-19 pandemic, and the listener can feel the light of optimism Anastasio expresses about the future. In “Lost in the Pack,” Anastasio strips down to just an acoustic guitar and sings about his feelings of loneliness. His raw folk-style singing voice cuts through the mix of strummed and arpeggiated chords on the guitar, a performance one could find on the porch step of rural country.

While the first seven tracks of Lonely Trip are in the two to three minute range, “Lotus” is Phish-esque in its longer length of 10 minutes and less conventional form with various unexpected twists and turns. The song starts out as what seems like an ordinary soft rock tune, very much in the vein of The Grateful Dead but with a modern twist. Suddenly, the drums cut out and then come back, fooling the listener into thinking that there will be a “part two” of the first segment of the song. Anastasio uses his creativity to catch the listener off guard, and he dives into a sparse section that takes this piece in a whole new direction. Later in the song, Anastasio starts a short-lived hard-hitting groove, but he again deceives the listener as he closes the song with a mellow mood similar to the beginning. The shifts in pace and volume in “Lotus” mirror the very familiar ups and downs of emotion we experience during COVID-19.

Many artists put their title track at the beginning or middle of the record, but Anastasio keeps his audience itching to hear the song “Lonely Trip.” This tune, much like “Lost in the Pack” and “When the Words Go Away,” has just acoustic guitar and vocals. Anastasio brings the song and album to a close with the repeated lyric “perhaps we’ll finally meet at last,” an ambiguous ending with a glimpse of hope for the future.

Track Listing:

  1. Shaking Someone’s Outstretched Hand
  2. A Wave of Hope
  3. I Never Left Home
  4. Lost in the Pack
  5. If I Could See the World
  6. The Greater Good
  7. When the Words Go Away
  8. Lotus
  9. I Never Needed You Like This Before
  10. The Silver Light
  11. Are You There Colleen
  12. …And Flew Away
  13. Till We Meet Again
  14. Evolve
  15. Lonely Trip