6A— Monday, November 2, 2015
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

ALBUM REVIEW
EL VY is really fake

By AMELIA ZAK

Daily Music Editor

Indie music is dead, or at 

least, whatever we once vaguely 
referred to as “indie music” 
doesn’t 
really 
exist 

anymore. 
Modern 
musicians 
that 
could 

once 
be 

associated 
with 
this 

now-obsolete 
breed 
have 

to 
turn 
into 
themselves, 

hiding away from the fake 
genuineness of the industry 
that the Millennials seem to 
enjoy so much and thriving on 
the genuine fakeness that they 
have to adopt. The genuine 
fakeness 
sells 
the 
records, 

builds the image of the (again, 
obsolete) indie rock king or 
queen and revitalizes that last 
tiny shred of what was was once 
interesting in the “indie” sense.

The 
National 
is 
one 
of 

those 
last 
bands 
of 
this 

dying 
music 
genus. 
Their 

highly 
layered, 
intensely 

thoughtful 
instrumentation 

and production matches with 
Berninger’s 
solemn 
musings 

about some sad story of the past. 
Or he’s drowning the listener in 
nostalgia. Or he’s mumbling in 
his monotone speech about his 
spiked lemonade. Eccentricity 
is relatable, and it’s interesting. 
In that small differentiator, 
The 
National 
collected 
its 

vehement 
fan 
base. 
Annie 

Clark (also known by her stage 
name, St. Vincent) has likewise 
weaved herself strangely into 
this 
disintegrating 
musical 

fabric. Clark holds similar 
lyrical and musical themes: 
extreme musical talent and 
disparaging experiences beat 
against 
an 
obsession 
with 

the sonically unexpected and 
abstract.

The collaboration of Brett 

Knopf, formerly of Menomena 
and current surveyor of Ramona 
Falls, 
and 
Matt 
Berninger 

of The National and their 
longtime artistic project, EL 
VY, successfully followed suit 
in this strange categorization. 
They’re fighting off the chains 
that bind and engaging in a 
display of fake genuinity to sell 
their art. They’re harnessing 
their mutually mild amounts 
of fame to broker just a bit 
of 
artistic 
expression 
and 

understanding in the duo’s 
brainchild, Return to the Moon. 
In what Berninger confidently 
calls a “rock opera,” the album 
holds only a few constants: a girl 
named DiDi, nostalgia, enigma, 
doubt and an oddly relatable 
struggle with masculinity.

These 
two 
old 
friends, 

Berninger 
and 
Knopf, 

clearly 
demonstrate 
how 

unintimidated they are by the 
constructs that are supposed 
to bind them: Knopf, a lesser 
known 
artist, 
holds 
fewer 

expectations than Berninger, 
a man aptly associated with 
solemnity 
and 
strangeness. 

A master of vocal monotony 
and skillful wordsmith, the 
man is an enigma who adds 
his aura of sadness to the 
usually 
crescendoing 
hymns 

of The National. Knopf saves 
Berninger from returning to this 
prescribed identity by replacing 
the detailed musicality of The 
National with simpler sounds of 
a greater variety. Ranging from 
weird upbeat pop songs to bass-
laden rock ‘n’ roll tracks, Knopf 
created a landscape on which 
the strange imagination of Mr. 
Berninger paints.

The album opens with the 

notably joyful track, “Return 
to the Moon (Political Song 
for Didi Bloome to Sing, with 
Crescendo).” 
With 
quirky 

beats and random ascensions 
in musical tone and spirit, 
Berninger uses the song as an 
opportunity to make fun of 
himself. Lacing some of his 
most intensely strange lyrics, 
“bought a saltwater fish from 
a color-blind witch ’cause she 
said she loved it,” Berninger 
gives the judging listener an 
opposite version what they 
would classically expect from 
him: crescendos and enigmas.

Juxtaposing 
the 
pretty 

beginning banger is the sexiest 
track on the album, “I’m the 
Man to Be.” A grungy, pinched 
electric guitar sounds fill in the 
sonic background as Berninger’s 
monologue reveals the struggles 
of masculinity for a rockstar of 
his popularity. He’s confused, 
because on stage — where his 
“dick’s in sunlight, held up by 
kites” — but back in the hotel 
room he’s “crying to room 
service, drinkin’ Malin and 
Goetz under the bed.” It’s all 
very depressing, of course, and 
yet haunting. There we are, 
standing with Berninger in a 
hotel lobby, donning a “come-
and-fuck-me shirt, the green 
one.” Building themes of the 
very strange and specific, the 
rock opera continues.

Nostalgia 
descends 
with 

“Paul 
is 
Alive,” 
the 
third 

single released by EL VY. Soft 
and 
slower 
crescendos 
and 

tangy guitar solos bounce off 
Berninger’s love song for the 
Cincinnati 
rock 
scene 
that, 

from this retrospective point 
of view, reveals the paradoxical 
relationship that can one can 
develop with their childhood: 
how lovely it was, but if given the 
chance we might go back and do 
it all again. Hymnals of wasted, 
faltering love follow, with the 
sarcastic “Need a Friend” and 
spooky 
“Silent 
Ivy 
Hotel.” 

Completed by visceral guitar 
sounds and painstaking one-
liners, these sibling songs round 
off the rock-inspired portion of 
the opera before an air of quiet 
sadness descends.

The rest of the opera reveals 

itself as cartoonishly solemn. 
The descension into anxieties 
and sadness begins with the 
sonically hopeful, piano heavy 
“No Time to Crank the Sun.” 
This track, and the next two 
to follow, ropes the listener 
into the sadder, simpler and 
slightly boring portion of the 
opera. While random musical 
experimentations and oddities 
keep the album’s second half 
interesting, 
it 
all 
flounders 

in comparison to the opera’s 
first movement. “It’s a Game” 
and “Careless,” both lyrically 
dedicated to the story of Didi 
Bloome, aren’t as immersive or 
engaging as the album’s first 
half. Only small bits and pieces 
— an echoing choir or another 
enigmatic 
Berninger 
insight 

(“I don’t want to drag you into 
everything I ain’t no Leonard 
Cohen”) — make the listener 
stick around. The depressive 
listeners will always stay, for 
Berninger’s highly intelligent 
and self-deprecating musings 
are their religious text. An 
unattached listener, or the non-
depressive type, has little left 
for them in the second half of EL 
VY’s opera.

By 
practicing 
in 
fake 

genuineness, 
artists 
are 

recognizing 
that 
the 
media 

and music industry engineers a 
personality, lifestyle and sound 
that a popular but unplaceable 
artist should assume. Artists 
involved in fake genuineness will 
find refuge for their art within 
these 
constructs, 
as 
Annie 

Clark and The National have. 
They bind together, foster one 
another’s originality and unique 
tastes. They’ll write about what 
they actually know rather than 
what they are supposed to know. 
The EL VY project is about this 
kind of art: a collection of odd 
expressions and interpretations 
that rest in genuine feeling or 
experience. Originality saves 
the music industry, and EL VY, 
from where it falters.

B+

Return to 
the Moon

EL VY

4AD Ltd.

KOZM in Kerrytown

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

By DANIEL SAFFRON

Daily Arts Writer

Here at the University, it is 

far too easy to feel swallowed. 
Quite salient is the idea that 
we are at school, at this school, 
on this maize and blue campus, 
still trapped under the same 
fluorescent floods in the same 
claustrophobic Hatcher cubicle 
that looks out upon expanses 
still coddled in the arms of the 
University. 
Sometimes 
when 

trapped in an isolated study box 
the last human contact you’ve 
had is the little prurient note 
on the outlet, or maybe it’s that 
warming feeling you get when 
your fingers match the claw 
marks on the wall and you begin 
to wonder if some other poor 
soulmate out there matches 
your girthsome fingers or if it’s 
just the same claw marks you 
left last week before your EECS 
midterm. 
Sometimes 
when 

this happens you decide on a 
last ditch effort for humanity 
or human connection, so you 
don your warmest wear, wield 
an umbrella and walk toward 
Kerrytown in a night with a 
comfortable chill.

There is an ominous intimacy 

about 
Kerrytown 
Concert 

House. Being such a small venue, 

the art-clad walls support the 
venue’s ambiance very well. Last 
Wednesday, the stage played 
host to KOZM – a duo consisting 
of Javier Orman (violin) and 
Tom Farrell (guitar). Their 
smiles 
wide, 
their 
energy 

infectious, it was obvious that, 
even if no one else was going 
to have fun that night, Orman 
and Farrell were going to. After 
a brief introduction a Latin-
flamenco-folk-fiddle cacophony 
washed over the unsuspecting 
audience. KOZM took over and 
immediately took control.

The sound the duo manages 

to create is impressive. Each 
instrument plays an integral 
role in creating a bed of sound, 
and some extended technique 
is used to create an occasional 
percussive 
presence. 
Both 

of these men can play their 
instruments like the best of 
them. 
Orman’s 
lickety-split 

fingers bolted across the neck, 
and Farrell’s guitar playing can 
only be described as athletic 
— their performance was a 
virtuosic display of stamina.

Despite 
the 
high-energy 

playing 
and 
fluttering 

dissonance, the group’s songs 
are elegant, delicate, cross-
genre amalgamations. At times 
the violin’s lines were Latin 

inspired, at others they were 
folk-derived 
and, 
in 
some 

songs, they sounded like a hair 
metal guitar solo. Nevertheless, 
KOZM wonderfully managed 
to put all these jagged puzzle 
pieces in the correct spot to 
create something unique and 
interesting.

The music was excellent, but 

the charisma of the performers 
set the night over the top. The 
two were unafraid to engage 
the audience, talking to them, 
asking questions and sharing 
anecdotes 
between 
songs. 

After 
the 
show 
was 
over, 

KOZM left the stage directly 
into the audience, introducing 
themselves personally to each 
member. Orman explained that 
the show was the group’s first 
in Ann Arbor and that it was his 
first time back in this city since 
receiving his Master’s here in 
2009.

In early October, the group 

released the live album Panic 
That Way and back in 2013 
released hello Kaleidoscope, a 
full length album. Halloweek 
is over — we’re all tired of 
hearing overplayed pop songs 
and “Hotline Bling” for the 12th 
time. Add something spicy to 
your mix, and go give KOZM a 
listen.

EL VY 

resurrects the 
dying indie rock 

genre.

MUSIC COLUMN

The future is up to 

Chance

C

hance the Rapper’s new 
single is the first song that 
has ever made me yearn 

to be from another part of the 
country. Chance debuted the song 
“Angels” on Stephen Colbert’s 
show last 
week, and his 
performance 
is the most 
Chicago thing 
I’ve ever seen. 
Chance and 
Saba (who 
does the 
hook) are 
both wearing 
Chicago 
radio station hoodies, dancing 
to footwork beats with gospel 
synths and horns courtesy of 
Donnie Trumpet and the Social 
Experiment. In the lyrics, 
Chance contemplates touring 
with Chief Keef, champions his 
independence from major labels 
and honors his Windy City loved 
ones who have passed away (the 
“angels” that he’s got all around 
him). It’s the quintessential lead 
single — it’s exciting because it’s 
undeniably the familiar Chance 
we all love, but it’s also catching 
us up on everything that’s new in 
his life (namely, fatherhood).

As universal as so many of 

Chance’s sentiments are, I’m 
still a little jealous that he’s not 
from my hometown. Not only 
is he pushing himself so hard 
to be better and better with 
every single new project, but 
he’s doing it while staying truer 
to himself and his city than 
anyone else, helping contribute 
to the intensely communal, 
unconditionally loyal scene that 
is current Chicago hip hop and 
R&B.

The combined creative force 

of SAVEMONEY, the entire 
Social Experiment collective 
and everyone one else working 
together to create beautiful 
music in Chicago has to be the 
greatest regional music trend of 
its generation. Though it’s far 
from the beginning of Chicago 
hip hop, the release of Kanye 
West’s The College Dropout 
might be the starting point for 
this community, with Kanye’s 

brilliant refusal to compromise 
himself or twist himself into old 
rap tropes likely hitting so many 
of these artists right when they 
were becoming really passionate 
about music. Since these artists 
were in high school, they’ve 
been creating nationally relevant 
music. Kids These Days was 
an early band that featured Vic 
Mensa and Donnie Trumpet, 
among others, making genre-
bending jazzy rock hip hop when 
they were teenagers. Chief Keef’s 
“I Don’t Like” went viral when 
Keef was just 17, and Chance’s 
origin story finds him making 
his 10 Day mixtape when he was 
suspended from school.

Any passionate young artist 

has ambition and the intense 
desire to do something uniquely 
amazing, but somehow, these 
young Chicago artists have 
actually been able to do that, 
finding success in all different 
styles and paths. Vic Mensa is 
getting ready for his major-label 
debut, making Kanye-approved, 
rough, dark, experimental hip 
hop. Jeremiah, too, has spent the 
past few years reinventing his 
R&B singing to be more Miguel 
and less Chris Brown, and now 
he’s riding the huge hit “Planes” 
and should be coming out with 
Late Nights any day now. (He 
also just released another great 
single, “Oui,” this past week.) 
And there’s also artists like 
Towkio and Noname Gypsy, who 
made not have a signature hit yet 
but are always compelling when 
they’re collaborating with bigger 
names and find the spotlight 
shining on them.

But it’s Chance who’s already 

king of Chicago, playing to 
overflowing festival crowds to 
fans who scream every lyric back 
to him. I’ve been lucky enough 
to see him live four times, and 
especially recently, now that he’s 
gotten the hang of performing, 
he’s one of the best at connecting 
with the crowd, at talking to 
them and letting people know 
how much he cares and how 
much it means to him that his 
fans are so wild for him. (It helps, 
too, to have a live band as hot as 
The Social Experiment, making 

your live tracks dynamic and 
incredibly fun.)

But any great artist can have a 

lot of fans. What makes Chance 
special is his approach to the 
business side of music. I’ve never 
paid for a Chance the Rapper 
song, and I’ve never stolen one 
either — he gives away all of his 
stuff for free. If you’ve taken even 
just one Econ class, you probably 
think that’s a terrible idea, but 
walk through Chicago and you’ll 
see at least a few kids in Social 
Experiment merch, or better yet, 
go to his concerts and see how a 
guy who has never been on the 
radio, who hasn’t even released a 
proper album, can play multiple 
shows a year in Michigan and 
attract thousands of fans every 
time. Chance and co. has given 
themselves to everyone, trusting 
the public and being rewarded 
when everyone gives back. 
“Staying grounded” might be 
a bit of an overrated trait for 
an artist to have (greats like 
Kanye have been able to become 
legends precisely because of their 
otherworldly confidence), but 
even if Chance buys into his hype, 
it’s impossible to imagine him 
ever abandoning Chicago.

I really, really hate to put 

this very weighty label on any 
artist, with all its seriousness 
and high, sometimes narrow-
minded expectations, but if I 
was to call anyone “the voice 
of this generation,” it would be 
Chance the Rapper. I was so 
starved for new Chance that 
these past few days I’ve been 
listening to “Angels” practically 
non-stop, sometimes on repeat 
for literally a dozen times in a 
row. It’s beautiful in its love and 
care for his city and his friends 
and family and powerful in its 
fiery production, and it’s not an 
anomaly. Chance is the dude 
who on Acid Rap put “Paranoia,” 
a dark, meditative track on 
violence in Chicago, right 
between huge bangers “Pusha 
Man” and “Cocoa Butter Kisses.” 
He’s the guy who can sing about 
love, who can look people right 
in the eye at shows and say “I 
love you” or make a whole song 
about going to church with his 
grandma and have it sound 
pure and gorgeous and not 
cheesy. He combines a brilliant 
sense for what people want to 
hear musically with lyrics that 
feature his own natural thoughts 
and emotions, giving us all that 
rare kind of dance music that’s 
also filled with raw hope, love, 
sadness and family.

Chance isn’t a superstar 

groomed from childhood to 
sing pop songs to arenas — he’s 
a guy whose massive success 
grew organically out of his own 
community. He’s universally 
welcoming to everyone, but 
everyone from outside Chicago 
knows exactly what his first and 
most important love and loyalty 
is. It’s easy to doubt someone who 
just wants to keep making music 
with his friends while the major 
players in music want him to 
move away and join them, but if 
Chance and the rest of Chicago’s 
young artists have proven 
anything, it’s that maybe it’s the 
powerful musicians that should 
be trying to move to Chicago.

Theisen wishes he was from 

Chicago. To commiserate on 

youe in-state tuition, e-mail 

ajtheis@umich.edu.

ADAM 

THEISEN

WHY DO YOU WRITE LIKE 

YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME?

WRITE DAY AND NIGHT LIKE

YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME?

WE DON’T CARE WHY YOU DO IT.

JUST WRITE FOR US.

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