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
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