Classifieds

Call: #734-418-4115
Email: dailydisplay@gmail.com

ACROSS
1 Better protected
6 “Poppycock!”
10 Badlands Natl.
Park site
14 Coarse
15 Suspicious of
16 Pup follower?
17 Up for grabs, in a
way
18 Lit. intro
19 “Willard”
antagonists
20 The joke at the
audiologists’
convention __
23 Solo, say
24 Indian author
Santha Rama __
25 Century-starting
year
26 The joke at the
chemists’
convention __
32 Not treat lightly
34 Normandy river
35 “Defending Our
Nation. Securing
The Future” org.
36 __ swings
37 “POV” airer
38 Extreme degrees
39 “The Trumpet of
the Swan”
monogram
40 Boxed dozen
42 Vail topper
44 The joke at the
firefighters’
convention __
47 Part of a
friskiness
metaphor
48 Jersey’s chew
49 “The Simpsons”
leisure suit
wearer
52 The joke at the
cashiers’
convention __
56 Not even close
57 Lightest meson
58 Ex-TV host
Stewart
59 Kick back
60 Required bet
61 “R.U.R.” writer
Capek
62 Language that
gave us “bard”
63 Old Royale 8’s
64 Gambling aids:
Abbr.

DOWN
1 Shining target
2 Journey frontman
Pineda
3 Mature
4 Henry James
biographer
5 Backtalk
6 The Carpenters,
e.g.
7 Regarding
8 Mississippi
travelers
9 “Meet the
Fockers” co-star
10 Channel relative
11 Word John
doesn’t want to
see?
12 They’re seen in
columns
13 Lapidary’s meas.
21 Some flatbreads
22 Nero’s “Behold!”
27 Ref. shelf filler
28 Singer Rihanna’s
first name
29 Where a love
story may be
written
30 Workers’ rights
org.
31 Tweed
lampooner
32 Drake, maybe

33 Start of a
dramatic
question
37 Like new snow
38 End to peace?
40 Evita’s man
41 As expected
42 Complacent
43 Grizzly
Alaskans?
45 Walk wearing
Luvs
46 Dramatic units

50 Principle
51 Dividing range
52 When one __
closes ...
53 Hardly blessed
events
54 Till opener
55 Crack up
56 NFL team with a
home field
bleachers section
called the Dawg
Pound

By Amy Johnson
©2015 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
09/25/15

09/25/15

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

RELEASE DATE– Friday, September 25, 2015

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

xwordeditor@aol.com

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6A — Friday, September 25, 2015
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

Ryan Adams covers 
Taylor Swift’s ‘1989’

PAX AM

Does my hair look like Taylor Swift?

By CHLOE GILKE

Managing Arts Editor

Ryan Adams really takes Taylor 

Swift seriously.

Swift’s 
infectious, 
critically 

beloved 1989 is 
a pop triumph, 
so 
Adams’s 

choice to cover 
the album in its 
entirety seems 
a little baffling 
at first. But then 
again, 
this 
is 

Ryan 
Adams. 

He has recorded 
15 albums in as many years, not 
including many unreleased ones 
(a track-by-track cover of The 
Strokes’s Is This It among them). 
This is Ryan Adams, recently 
divorced and newly heartbroken, 
who wants to shed some teardrops 
on his guitar and reach out to Tay-
lor Swift for inspiration as so many 
of us do.

1989, then, is a logical choice for 

Adams’s cathartic breakup album. 
It’s Swift’s most cheerful album by 
a long shot, but even in her “Shake 
It Off” bubblegum, Swift shows 
echoes of the heartache and regret 
that led her to the dancefloor in the 
first place. In retreading her emo-
tional steps and appropriating her 
words to fit his own voice, Adams 
is recording the ultimate love let-
ter to Swift and the power of her 
lyricism.

If only Adams had done more 

with the material. I’m not sure 
anyone would point to the lyrics on 
1989 as a pillar of Great American 
Songwriting (“His hands are in my 

hair / His clothes are in my room”), 
but Swift covers a great deal of 
emotional bases with a diverse col-
lection of retro-inspired pop beats. 
Adams keeps his covers simple, 
often using only acoustic guitars 
to accompany his driving voice. 
Sometimes, as in the standout 
“Out of the Woods,” the plainness 
of his arrangements scrubs the 
music of any pretense and allows 
the listener to bathe in his begging, 
crying timbre. Much of the time, 
though, Adams drowns in his 
own sadness and self-pity, losing 
sight of the emotion that makes his 
other tracks so strong. “This Love” 
is a drag of a song, lasting nearly 
five minutes with nothing to offer 
except a few repeating piano notes 
and vocals that sound like Adams 
is doing his best impression of a 
sleepy Bono. The bad and boring 
far outweigh the album’s innova-
tive material, which is a shame, 
because Adams attempts some 
radical style on this record.

While 1989’s simplicity is its 

downfall, the more experimen-
tal tracks are where Adams truly 
shines. “Style” is a messy cluster-
fuck of a song, but upon a second 
listen, his sonic influences become 
more clear. The jabbing energy 
of the guitars is reminiscent of 
’80s-era Sonic Youth (Adams 
also makes a lyrical shout-out to 
that “Daydream Nation look in 
your eye”). Before he released the 
album, Adams noted that he was 
attempting to cover 1989 in the 
style of Bruce Springsteen and The 
Smiths. When he really leans into 
his inspiration, as on the album’s 
opener, “Welcome to New York,” 

Adams’s experimentation pays off 
with some interesting sounds he 
hasn’t utilized in his discography 
to date.

Despite the tributes galore, 

Adams imbues most every song 
with his signature alt-country 
sensibility. Even the sparse and 
depressive “Blank Space” is imme-
diately recognizable as a Ryan 
Adams song; I wouldn’t be sur-
prised if, at this very moment, one 
of Adams’s many cool-dad fans is 
queuing up this album for a drive 
upstate, and doesn’t realize until 
“Bad Blood” that the lyrics are 
actually Taylor Swift. Adams puts 
a lot of faith in those lyrics he’s 
borrowing from Swift — the cover 
album operates on the meaning 
and merit of those words on their 
own, the fact that he can change 
the arrangement and strip down 
the beats to a few guitars and the 
essential Taylor Swift feelings will 
still be there to drive the album to 
its hopeful close.

Adams’s faith in the timeless-

ness of these songs is sometimes 
bizarre. He attempts to pass 
“Shake It Off” as an ode to late-
night desperation and white boy 
sadness, which is absolutely ridic-
ulous considering that the lyrics 
are all about dancing and having 
fun. But some of these songs legiti-
mately work in a weird, raw and 
compelling way. He’s serious, com-
pletely committing to feeling the 
way he does, accepting the imper-
fections of how it all turns out on 
playback. Through its highs and 
lows, 1989 sifts through Adams’s 
broken-up psyche, one acoustic 
guitar and Taylor lyric at a time.

B

1989 PAX 
AM

Ryan Adams

PAX AM

TV REVIEW

‘Rosewood’ brings 
standard cop tropes

By SOPHIA KAUFMAN

Daily Arts Writer

Fox’s new “Rosewood” feels 

like a compilation of plot devices 
and characters and dialogue from 
every other cop 
or crime show 
on 
television 

right now (or, 
really, 
ever) 

and leaves you 
unsure 
even 

after forty min-
utes 
whether 

they’re 
going 

for light com-
edy or drama 
with some depth. It’s not even 
a combination of the two — it’s 
just ambiguous. And though the 
show is funny at times, overall it 
doesn’t really work.

Dr. Rosewood ( Morris Chest-

nut, “Nurse Jackie”) is confident 
to the point of being cocky, but 
he hasearned the right, as the 
best pathologist in Miami. The 
pilot begins with him running 
— literally — into what looks 
like a grisly murder case. Very 
“CSI Miami,” except Rosewood 
cracks the case within two min-
utes instead of 45, irritating the 
guy who is supposed to be solving 
the crime. We then learn he runs 
his own pathology lab with his 
sister and his sister’s fiance, and 
they do private consultations on 
cases. The plot begins to pick up 
when his mother (Lorraine Tous-
saint (“Orange is the New Black”) 

comes to ask him for a personal 
favor in the form of a second 
opinion on the case of her former 
student. It had been deemed as an 
accidental death, but she feels it 
was something more sinister.

Unfortunately, the writers buy 

into the idea that we wouldn’t 
possibly keep watching their 
show unless there’s a possibil-
ity of a sex scene sometime in 
the not so distant future. Rose-
wood checks into it, discover-
ing that the case is in fact more 
than it looked at first glance, and 
learning that the new homicide 
detective from New York, Annal-
ise Villa (Jaina Lee Ortiz, “The 
After”) isn’t as impressed by 
him as he is. In order to solve the 
case — and obviously, catch the 
bad guy — the two have to work 
together, which is more than fine 
by Rosewood. It doesn’t take too 
long for Villa to warm up to him 
enough to keep him clued in, but 
he still irritates her the majority 
of their time together. “It’s unde-
niable — we make a great team,” 
he smirks, after setting some 
guy’s nose that Villa just broke. 
The sexual tension between 
Rosewood and Villa is stale. It’s 
too obvious and overdone.

“Rosewood” brings the same 

kind of humor to a mystery crime 
that USA’s “Psych” did, which 
makes sense as it is the brain-
child of Todd Harthan, who also 
worked on “Psych.” But Rose-
wood goes a little deeper than 
“Pysch” ever did. It feels like the 

writers are trying to show more 
respect for dead people than 
the usual procedurals that use 
glimpses of mangled bodies in 
the first or last five minutes of a 
show as a plot driver — especially 
with a couple almost teary lines 
delivered seriously by Toussaint, 
who doesn’t get as much screen-
time as she should. This may also 
be because both Rosewood and 
Villa have complicated relation-
ships with the concept and con-
sequences of death — especially 
the kind that you can’t see com-
ing, and can’t solve.

For a show that’s supposed 

to feel like easy viewing, this 
dichotomy between trying to be 
thoughtful about life and hav-
ing every other line be a cute 
little quip doesn’t work. It makes 
you laugh, but only because the 
humor in it is so familiar.

Like 
“Minority 
Report,” 

another new show on Fox, 
“Rosewood”’s main characters 
are people of color, and one 
of them has a lesbian fiance 
(which is worth pointing out 
as there is still a lack of shows 
featuring main characters who 
are anything other than het-
erosexual). So at least there, 
Fox is making some great deci-
sions. Though I do wish these 
shows would stop having even 
their women characters insult 
male criminals by calling them 
“scared little bitches” — but I 
guess Fox thinks we really can’t 
have it all.

B

Rosewood

Series Pilot 
Wednesdays 
at 8 p.m.

FOX

ALBUM REVIEW

T

hey say you’re likely to 
meet “the one” in col-
lege. And by “they” I 

mean my overzealous relatives, 
the ones who spew not-so-sage 
advice at fam-
ily gatherings 
after throwing 
back one-too-
many glasses 
of wine. How-
ever, in my 
case, they were 
absolutely cor-
rect. Though 
I’m confident 
my kin’s defi-
nitions of “the 
one” differs from the clothing 
companion I’ve grown to adore, 
I’m happy and in love.

In short, the undergraduate 

college experience is a wondrous 
four-year experiment. You’re 
able to truly test your limits, push 
some boundaries and, above all, 
step outside of your sartorial 
comfort zone. For me, a distant 
dream once reserved to the truest 
of trendsetters became a reality 
and a staple of my wardrobe. 

The year was 2014, and the 

romper and I endured an extraor-
dinary love affair and never 
looked back.

What truly captured my heart 

about the romper was its ease; 
similarly to the powerful effects 
of a good coat, I could instantly 
transform from a rundown, slop-
pily dressed college student into a 
somewhat-polished pseudo-adult.

Though the romper is subject 

to endlessly endearing qualities, 
what truly stole my heart was the 
uncanny semblance it bears to my 
pajamas of choice, the infant sta-
ple, the one-piece-wonder that is 
the onesie. Rompers changed the 
game by being a sort of socially 
acceptable pajama-esque garment 
for all occasions other than sleep. 
It was genius. It was everything I 
didn’t know I needed. The hybrid 
of a top and cropped trouser had 
a seductive simplicity. You lit-
erally just slide it on and you’re 
dressed in a full ensemble. That 
right there easily saves you seven 
minutes of dreaded morning out-

fit indecisiveness.

While I’m aware the romper 

reemerged around spring 2011 
after its metallic triteness and 
extended legs of the ’70s, along 
with countless identity crises (i.e. 
often resurfacing during festival 
season as its somewhat washed 
up cousin, overalls), I was ini-
tially a skeptic. As with most 
bourgeoning trends, I assumed it 
would eventually fizzle out, and 
my inherent aversion drew me to 
avoidance. I was naïve, uneasy 
with the concept of abandon-
ing my beloved closet of endless 
separates that structured suffi-
cient portmanteaus. As bloggers 
and trend-forecasters badgered 
us hopeless wannabe style-icon/
internet-trolls with the news, I 
resisted. In my defense, I was a 
long, lanky, clueless high-school 
freshman 
when 
the 
romper 

reemerged — too under-confident 
to rock anything other than my 
trusty, extra-long (thanks be to 
Lulu’s special order) yoga pants.

Yet, 
the 
romper 
persisted 

with a strong social media pres-
ence, immaculate appearances 
on the runway and rave reviews 
of esteemed fashion critics; but I 
regrettably fell victim to the spell 
only as of late. Forgive me, romper, 
for not realizing your true poten-
tial until I fully trusted you. But 
now, here we are, two kindred 
spirits who just needed to mature 
apart before we could grow 
together. 

As with any great love, the 

search wasn’t easy. It was a pains-
taking pursuit.

For starters, rompers are sized 

stranger than any garment I have 
ever come across. You’d think 

they’d be cut similar to the stan-
dard dress size — bust, hips, waist, 
boom — the whole awful, humiliat-
ing, as-if-I-needed-to-be-reduced-
to-yet-another-number shebang. 
But no, it’s absolutely nonsensical 
and against all cloth-cutting logic.

Yet, these offsetting qualities 

seemed a necessary roadblock in 
the attainment of a quasi-nirvana 
level of satisfaction. I knew “the 
one” would never be wholly, one-
hundred-percent perfect. I had 
to assess my options, not merely 
settle for what was there. I knew 
true love was all about the chase 
and the challenge.

My first rendezvous with the 

romper was flawed, awkward 
and uncomfortable. Essential-
ly, it didn’t fit. It didn’t com-
pliment my body, it didn’t play 
off my prominent features and 
again, it was a downright bore.

Like a tragically awful first 

date, it was all wrong. What’s 
worse was that I tried to like 
it. I searched endlessly for its 
redeeming qualities, and by 
the time I counted seven off-
setting attributes, I knew the 
end wasn’t near, it was there.

Though I don’t doubt the 

first romper prompted me to 
test my limits, it was suffocat-
ing in ways I knew would hurt 
us in the long term. But even-
tually, one day when the sun 
shines overhead, or in my case 
the April showers quickly esca-
late into a torrential downpour; 
sometimes, when you least 
expect it, you’re seeking shel-
ter in a department store. You 
glance to your left and there, 
on a mannequin, waiting to be 
ripped off, is the one.

Filips’s arm is stuck in te neck 

hole of her romper. To offer your 

assistance, email carofil@umich.edu.

STYLE COLUMN

Ode on an 

Undergrad Romper

CAROLINE 

FILIPS

The romper and 

I endured an 
extraordinary 

love affair.

Against all cloth-

cutting logic.

