The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Friday, September 11, 2015 — 5A
By ADAM THEISEN
Daily Music Columnist
The biggest, loudest gust of
a saxophone you’ve heard since
the ’80s blows through your
speakers over
an anthemic
synth
foundation.
Enter
the
steady
bass
drum, a calm
taking
over
as the singer
quietly
muses
on
running
away, escaping everything with
one special person, until all of
a sudden everything rises into
a firework of ecstatic release.
Like a gunshot she announces
all of her desires, dreams, loves,
goals and glories. “Baby! Take
Me! To The! Feeling!” belts the
singer of “Call Me Maybe.” “I’ll
be your sinner in secret!” shouts
2012’s
viral
sensation,
new
architect of “Run Away With
Me,” 2015’s greatest pop song.
Yes, this was the summer of
Carly Rae Jepsen.
Please, I promise you I’m not
kidding. I swear that Carly Rae
Jepsen’s third studio album
Emotion is a real thing and that
it will absolutely blow your
mind. It’s 12 songs (18 if you
get all the bonus tracks) of the
greatest pop music that will
ever grace your ears. From the
demolishing power of opening
track “Run Away With Me”
through all of its dancefloor
grooves and songs about puppy
love and boy problems and
timeless giddy adventures that
could happen in any city on
Earth.
And yet, nobody seemed to
notice. Lead single “I Really
Like You” scored buzz with
its
Tom-Hanks-starring
music video and sugary sweet
bubble-gum chorus, but that
song feels long dead in popular
consciousness. You’ll find some
true CRJ believers on Tumblr
or on some non-pretentious
music blogs, but Emotion only
hit #16 on the Billboard 200,
and at the time of this writing,
after only two weeks since
its release, the album has
completely fallen off the iTunes
200, placing it behind records
like Linkin Park’s Meteora and
The Essential Billy Joel.
Why the hell did Emotion
not sell? I understand, to some
people, Carly Rae Jepsen trying
to be culturally relevant in 2015
is almost as absurd as if Rebecca
Black were still releasing music,
and Emotion did come out into
a crowded pop landscape still
dominated by Taylor Swift,
Drake, Beyoncé, Nicki Minaj,
One Direction, Ed Sheeran, Dr.
Dre and so many more. But this
still would’ve been the perfect
summer to hear all of Emotion
on the radio. The Weeknd and
Fetty Wap excluded, this was
another terrible summer to be in
a car without an aux cord, with
the buzzkill of “See You Again,”
the
annoying-on-purpose
melodies
of
“Cheerleader”
and the last wheezing gasps of
“Thinking Out Loud” all getting
way too much play.
Any
song
on
Emotion
would’ve been a perfect hit. “I
Really Like You” already came
and went as the lead single —
part novelty with its easy chorus
of “I really really really really
really really like you,” part
extremely true reflection on
the euphoria of a crush. But you
could get 12 people to listen to
this album and each one would
probably name a different key
song. The title track’s effortless
disco groove and jumpy synths
make it a lovely throwback
jam; the Sia assist on “Boy
Problems” helps create a bubbly,
carefree romp of a break-up
song; “Making the Most of
the Night” has giant energetic
percussion and glittery bright-
light synths; and personally, I
just love the way Jepsen seems
to slip two syllables off the title
phrase of the slinky, sassy “LA
Hallucinations.” There’s no filler
on Emotion, and this record is
the rival of Taylor Swift’s 1989 in
every way except sales numbers.
In keeping with the tradition
of
every
tremendously
underappreciated album having
a curious backstory, Jepsen
reportedly wrote over 200 songs
for Emotion, meaning we’ve only
heard, at most, 10 percent of the
greatness she has to offer. She
had sessions with Max Martin,
of all people, and somehow the
king of the charts for the last
15 years couldn’t get a song to
make the final cut. There’s even
gold if you mine Emotion’s bonus
tracks, with “I Didn’t Just Come
Here to Dance” lighting up a
room with its simple-yet-perfect
mix of pure pop and EDM.
I caught wind of some of
the Emotion buzz and found
it online after it came out in
Japan a full two months before
its U.S. release (weird, right?). I
don’t know exactly what I was
expecting, but I found the rare
pop record that holds up beyond
dozens of spins, catchy music
that lasts beyond the next Next
Big Thing. I’ll admit that Carly
Rae Jepsen isn’t exactly my
idea of an artistic visionary, so
I understand why so many are
hesitant to embrace her, but
I want Jepsen to have a large
enough audience that we can
hear everything she writes, and
if I ever see her live, I’d love for
it to be in a 15,000-seat arena,
because that’s what her songs are
built for. I’m worried, though:
does intense, spontaneous fame
for one summer mean that
nobody will pay attention to
her again? Did Jepsen wait too
long to capitalize on her sudden
ubiquity, losing her chance at
superstardom forever?
All I know is that Emotion is
undeniably the pop album of the
year. Listening to it, it’s obvious
how much work and effort
Jepsen put into make a coherent,
valuable collection of music, but
it all feels so natural. I never
hear Jepsen break a sweat as she
swirls through, delivering songs
that should appeal to every age
and demographic. Even if I never
heard it on the radio, everything
on its tracklist is my song of the
summer.
Theisen obviously didn’t hear
“Hotline Bling.” To send him that
fire, e-mail ajtheis@umich.edu.
MUSIC COLUMN
Why do you hate
Carly Rae Jepsen?
‘Key and Peele’ ends
its remarkable run
ADAM
THEISEN
By ALEX INTNER
Daily Arts Writer
2015 has not been a great
year for Comedy Central, which
has faced a major talent exodus
throughout the
year. While we
did know about
the ending of
“Kroll
Show,”
the
sudden
departure
of
Jon
Stewart
from
“The
Daily Show” in
Augustand the
short-notice
announcement
in July about
the
ending
of
their
long-
running sketch comedy “Key &
Peele” came as a surprise to the
industry. While it never had the
highest ratings, “Key & Peele”
was a hugely important show
for Comedy Central, especially
because it was the first in a
series of sketch series that
started a creative renaissance-
of-sorts
at
the
network
(others
that
have
followed
in its footsteps include the
highly-regarded “Inside Amy
Schumer” and “Broad City”).
In losing the show, created and
written by Keegan Michael Key
and Jordan Peele (“MADtv”), it
loses the two voices who helped
the network build its identity
and helped make television a
more diverse place.
What made “Key & Peele”
astounding was the range of
sketches that the show created
during its four-season run.
They varied from fun to dark
and utterly ridiculous to making
serious points about real life
and politics. Probably their
most
well-known
recurring
political sketch involved Peele’s
spot-on
impersonation
of
Barack Obama and Key playing
his “anger translator” Luther.
Throughout the show’s run, the
characters were used to skewer
everyone from Mitt Romney to
the Republican Congress. (Just
to show how far the character
became integrated into pop
culture, Key even appeared
in-character at the White House
Correspondent’s Dinner and did
a bit with President Obama.)
However, some of “Key &
Peele” ’s best sketches were
some of its weirdest, aided by
the show’s darker turn in the
first half of its fourth season.
A great example of this is the
sketch “Aerobics Meltdown,”
where Key and Peele play two
dancers competing in an 80’s
style dance-off when Key’s
character
gets
some
news
that his wife and child are in
the hospital after an accident
via cue card from the stage
manager. Like the brilliant
Urkle Sketch from the same
season, it kept pushing in a more
twisted direction as it goes on,
subverting expectations in a
strangely hilarious way.
However, what really made
“Key & Peele” special was that
it wasn’t afraid to touch on the
subjects of race and deal with
the intolerance which African
Americans face in this country
today. The show tackled these
issues. Take the sketch from the
series finale, “Negrotown,” for
example. In it, Key is arrested
by a white cop and hits his head
on the way into the car. After
the hit, he’s introduced through
song-and-dance
by
Peele’s
homeless man character to a
kind-of paradise where racism
doesn’t exist. At the core of
the sketch is important social
commentary about the state of
racism, and via the unexpected
vehicle of a catchy tune, the
show finds a way to present it in
a new and engaging manner.
This last type of sketch will
probably what will define “Key
& Peele” ’s legacy, which is why
it’s fitting that “Negrotown” was
the show’s last regular sketch in
a finale that, with the exception
of the last few minutes, felt like
a normal episode of the comedy,
with a series of funny sketches
involving Peele as Ray Parker Jr.
(the singer of “Ghostbusters”)
singing
on-the-nose
themes
from other movies and Key
falling in love with a woman on
the who’s passed out sidewalk
while
Peele’s
911
operator
directs
him
though
saving
her life. These sketches are
representative of what the show
did so well: seemingly random,
but always hilarious comedy
bits. The last moments took a
turn in a more retrospective
direction. There was a fun gag
reel which revisited some of the
show’s best sketches, and the
answer to where the two were
driving during their talking
head segments (finding the
right place to scream “I said
bitch!” in a callback to their
first sketch).
As a whole, television is a less
fun place without “Key & Peele,”
and, more crucially, television
is a less diverse place without
“Key & Peele” and its social
commentary. Even though this
isn’t the end of Key and Peele’s
professional relationship (they
have a movie “Keanu” which
releases in April), the world of
Comedy Central, and TV as a
whole, will feel emptier without
new episodes of their show.
COMEDY CENTRAL
“One of us likes football.”
By CAROLINE FILIPS
Daily Style Columnist
As
a
partially
irrational,
wholly self-indulgent 19-year-
old college girl, I know a thing
or two about
omanticizing
people,
places
and
ideas. When
I
stumbled
upon
My
Paris Dream,
Kate
Betts’
enchanting
memoir
of
the
post-
collegiate
Parisian caper that eventually
catapulted her fashion career,
my annual summer malaise went
into overdrive — you can only
watch “Midnight in Paris,” live-
stream haute couture shows and
eat TeaHaus macaroons so many
times before you’re hankering
for
the
real
thing.
Betts’
storied soirée along the Seine
accelerated my own, unoriginal
Paris dreams.
As the winter semester died
down, I opted to spend my
impending
summer
in
Ann
Arbor. I figured I could conquer
my nasty Natural Science credits,
save up (to buy overpriced Fall
footwear, probably) and edit the
collective lovechild that is Daily
Arts. And then, just as I’d felt live
streaming the recent Valentino
haute couture show, the FOMO
ran deep, because deep in the
soul a palm reader once told me
I had, I felt as if I wasn’t where
I was supposed to be. In that
particular case, I needed to be
in Rome’s Piazza Mignanelli,
admiring the label’s extensive
history rendered even richer
by the collection’s Neapolitan
pastels and marine motifs. Yet
in the greater scheme of my
Francophile existence, I was
desperate for the experiences
I’ve never had, the culture I’ve
never explored, the learning
my sartorial psyche has yet to
absorb … I longed for the Champs
Élysées. Sorry, Main Street.
I started alternating my stalk
sessions between Facebook and
Instagram, primarily those of
my
University
acquaintances
who were living out not only my
Paris dream, but also my deep
reveries of Rome, Barcelona and
London during their spring study
abroads.
And by the time I realized the
seasonal wheels were in motion
and I didn’t have enough cash
to swing international travel
(i.e. I spent too many paychecks
on beaucoup de vin et fromage),
I did the next best thing and
bided my time with what I now
refer to as the “non-annoying
“Eat Pray Love”-esque fantasy”;
I picked up Betts’ memoir — a
petite gout de Paris.
As I tore through the pages,
engrossing
myself
in
the
international exposures I’ve yet
to experience, my subconscious
surrendered
to
exhaustive
wanderlust, (Case #1: maybe I
didn’t actually need highlights
and the faintly orange tint of
Jergen’s, I just yearned for the
sun-kissed cascades and bronzed
glow that only a Brittany beach
can
provide).
Betts
painted
the picture of the holiday I’ve
always wanted — one of plenty
of croissants and French lovers,
but primarily a fortuitous string
of events leading to an impressive
fashion resume … and besides,
like her, “I was (am) in love with
fashion and culture, specifically
French culture.”
Her story begins with her
graduation
from
Princeton
in 1985, a time when her
aspirations didn’t match up to
the trite realities of her college
companions. As a history buff,
she toyed with the possibility
of war correspondence, but was
ultimately disconcerted with
her future. She had no desire to
rush into entry-level positions at
advertising firms like J. Walter
Thompson and rather opted
for the extended education
of
a
Français
foray.
The
memoir opens with a wistful
retrospective of her primary
exposure to the city a few years
back — how she was moved in
ways she couldn’t comprehend,
high off of delusions of glamour
STYLE COLUMN
Pining for a
Parisian lifestyle
CAROLINE
FILIPS
and grandeur. She yearns for
that potent je ne sais quois she
knows she can’t find elsewhere.
And so, as I wish I could, she
flees to France.
She spends her days on the
narrow
streets,
surveying
the inherent chicness of the
elusive
Parisiennes,
with
panoptic nightly studies of the
culture’s nuances, slang and
mannerisms through the lens
of her homestay family, the
Deschamps — Bibiane and her
husband Antoine, and their
two enfants — Maxime and
Guillemette. Yet perhaps the
cocktail hour of gossip with
Bibiane’s
girlfriends
is
the
most intriguing segment of her
education.
Aside from the fact that any
mention of careers or ennui of
one’s daily minutia is absolutely
off the table for discussion, the
women possess an intoxicating
allure that Betts’ can’t ignore.
They’re walking hallmarks of
stylish simplicity — fresh faced
with a slash of red lipstick,
dressed in perfectly tailored
separates, sporting un-fussed
coifs and topped off with minimal
to no accessories — France’s
quintessential, effortlessly chic
breed of women.
I so desperately wanted to
find a feminine, Française icon
to guide me in my never-ending
quest of stylish pursuits. But
after a decent hour into the
search, I knew it was far fetched.
And as I dwell on the minute
details of my daily strolls along
Main Street, I can’t help but
recall the otherworldly, yet
shockingly simple fashions I
see each day. Sure I’ll return
home to reread a chapter of
Betts’ tale, transporting myself
into a realm of chicness, class
and champagne I can’t help
but covet; but I take her tokens
of truth and find my dreams of
Paris in the stylish absurdism
of the brazen Ann Arborites.
I may not always have Paris,
but for now, I have my quirky
counterparts.
Filips is desperately searching
for Parisian boys. Hit her up
at carofil@umich.edu..
A
Key &
Peele
Series Finale
Comedy Central
Wednesdays
at 10 p.m.
VINCE VAUGHN’S PEOPLE CALLED US
ONE TIME...
YOU COULD BE THERE WHEN THAT
HOTLINE BLINGS!!!
COME TO A MASS MEETING!!!
JOIN DAILY ARTS!!!
E-mail adepollo@umich.edu and chloeliz@umich.edu for
information on applying.
This was the
summer of CRJ
TV REVIEW