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. 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