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Calling all fangirls, the stage is yours.

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

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

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

For every girl who has ever had an obsession.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Oh, To Be a Fish Adored By Harry Styles

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

Art by Katherine Ku

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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It Only Takes a Taste

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

Art by Katherine Ku

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

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

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

“Deep shit blueberry bacon.”

“Deep shit??”

“O-oh dish! Sorry Cal!”

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

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

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

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

Shoshana Bean and Jeremy Jordan pose for the Waitress playbill

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

Dear baby

I hope someday

Somebody wants to hold you for twenty minutes straight

All they do is wrap you in your arms

Without an ounce of selfishness to it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vogue.com (yes, she can also model)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Socially-Distanced Octet

Chamber music during COVID: a logistical challenge with spontaneous rewards

6 feet apart please

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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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A Rekindled Musical Appreciation

The first time I could successfully say, “Practicing violin isn’t that bad!”

Art by Katherine Ku

Aided with social distancing due to the pandemic, I had ample time this summer to brush up on my scales and arpeggios, relearn Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in e minor, and learn Lalo’s Sinfonia Española. Even more valuable, however, this summer had allowed me to form a new bond with my childhood violin teacher, one with a refreshing and intellectually stimulating space of musical discussions.

This summer, I freed myself from making excuses: no interviews to stress about, no schoolwork binding me to my computer, no late-night social activities I was obligated to attend – just me and my violin. For the first time in my life, I was able to devote full energy and attention to my instrument.

I reconnected with my childhood piano teacher and became a temporary music theory tutor for her students. For the first time since elementary school, I felt enlivened walking into her house knowing exactly (more or less) what I was doing and what I had prepared to bring to the piano and to her students.

How ironic is it that in high school, I absolutely dreaded preparing a piece on my violin for our annual concerts? That when I took piano lessons, I absolutely loathed learning and practicing music theory? That now, as an adult, when there seem to be so many other life events that could spark joy for me, it is these very “childhood tasks” that make me smile? I will forever be grateful for this summer for helping me rediscover this appreciation for my instruments and musical mentors.