Category: Albums and Videos

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 19^th, 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.

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.

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.

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.