Classifieds

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

ACROSS
1 Traditional
Islamic garment
6 Big fish
10 Literary group?
14 On the bad side
(of)
15 Brazos River city
16 Skin malady
17 Primus or
Helena, in a
classic play
18 Tan relative
19 Cord for Ford,
perhaps
20 One keeping
tabs on the best
man?
23 Preserve, in a
way
26 Strict
27 Feed, but not
food
28 Ready to pick
32 Court period:
Abbr.
33 Abbr. in a
footnote
34 Of a battery
terminal
36 Portrait artist at
a gym?
41 Tank type
42 Optimist’s words
44 Frequent fliers
47 Where to see
decorative nails
48 Defense choice
49 Biblical prophet
51 Roma’s home
53 Coach for a
newspaper
employee?
57 Jamaican fruit
58 Bucks’ pursuits
59 Augment
63 Off
64 Impedes, with
“up”
65 Haunted house
sound
66 Start of a run,
maybe
67 Big show
68 Sources of shots

DOWN
1 Shut out
2 Mars rover?

3 Fleece
4 Like Twain and
Wilde, e.g.
5 Chorus section
6 Is short
7 Agreement
8 One of 640 in a
square mile
9 Quite a while
10 Prone to heavy
market trading
11 Poet’s stock-in-
trade
12 Narrows
13 Fern seed
21 Gas up?
22 Palo Alto-based
automotive
company
23 First lady?
24 Has left to spend
25 Dad or fish
preceder
29 Clumsy
30 City south of
Lisboa
31 Murphy who
voices Donkey in
“Shrek”
35 Inverse trig
function
37 Plus

38 Potter’s
specialty
39 Earth sci.
40 Indian royal
43 “Great Public
Schools for
Every Student”
gp.
44 Tongue
45 Victim of Iago
46 What some forks
are used for

49 Taters
50 Overhang
52 Show
54 Béchamel base
55 Sub
56 Bone, to 
Benito
60 Bank statement
abbr.
61 Lao Tzu
principle
62 Sanctions

By Jascha Smilack
©2015 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
11/20/15

11/20/15

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

RELEASE DATE– Friday, November 20, 2015

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

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PARKING

6 — Friday, November 20, 2015
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

ALBUM REVIEW
‘Aquaria’ lacking

Talented BOOTS 

can’t produce a great 
standalone album

By MATT GALLATIN

For The Daily

BOOTS knows a thing or two 

about sex — his handle of synths 
and bass could make nearly any-
thing arousing. 
That is, except 
his voice.

Entering the 

public eye by 
thrilling listen-
ers 
with 
his 

contributions to 
Beyoncé’s 
viv-

idly sensual self-
titled album, BOOTS’s hedonistic 
style has made him The Weeknd 
of producers. His work on Beyon-
cé’s “Haunted,” in particular, 
acts as a climatic core for the 
BOOTS’s aesthetic, a captivating 
track which pulsates its way into 
the blood. Since then, he’s had a 
busy schedule lending his hand 
to standout releases from artists 
du jour FKA Twigs and Run the 
Jewels.

Production-wise, 
AQUARIA 

still sees BOOTS casting his 
hypnotic sound. Opening track 
“Brooklyn Gamma” leads in with 
a spinning whirl. But the first 
verse is far from enthralling, and 
the best moments come when 
BOOTS’s voice is least recogniz-
able. This pattern is all too preva-
lent throughout AQUARIA. The 
spell of BOOTS-the-producer is 
too often broken by BOOTS-the-
singer/rapper. Nowhere is this 
dichotomy more evident than 
“I Run Roulette,” an especially 
abrasive track, not because of the 
shredding bass line, but because 
his hook is nearly unbearable. At 
times you can’t help but wonder 
if he’s intentionally irritating his 
listeners. He works hard to keep 
himself “under the radar,” and he 
has a habit of putting up music on 
SoundCloud just to take it down a 
few hours later. While at first this 
seemed like a marketing ploy, the 
emergence of AQUARIA could 
signal that BOOTS actually holds 
mild disdain for his fans.

Lack of vocal talent is often 

forgivable if the artist can say 
something profound. Many rock 
band singers, if put on a scale, 
fall closer to William Hung than 
Adele. Yet most of BOOTS’s lyr-
ics are inconsequential or simply 
unnecessary, and lines like “but 
a teacher can’t teach us how to 
give a fuck” come across like an 
angsty 13-year-old’s Tumblr feed. 
 

For the most part, BOOTS’s hooks 
and ballads far outshine his “rap” 
verses. When he recognizes this, 
the result is largely successful. 
“Only,” a tender ballad that evokes 
those he produced on Beyoncé 
(“Heaven,” “Blue”), is a high point 
of the album, and signals hope for 
BOOTS’s future releases.

BOOTS’s true genius lies in his 

ability to support strong female 
voices, a niche which is applied far 
too sparsely on AQUARIA. Dera-
doorian, the sole feature, croons 
delicately on the title track in 
what is probably the best perfor-
mance you’ll find throughout all 
eleven songs. Perhaps BOOTS’s 
apprehension for guest appear-
ances comes from how ingrained 
his previous success has been 
in those collaborations. BOOTS 
would be nothing without Beyon-
cé, and he is keenly aware of this 
fact.

But in trying to break away 

from this dependence, he ignores 
his strengths. His most recent 
Beyoncé collaboration, the “Crazy 
in Love (Remix)” for the “Fifty 
Shades of Grey” soundtrack, is 
infinitely more evocative of the 
“BOOTS” aesthetic than BOOTS’s 
own release. The hallmarks of his 
production soak through: a slow 
building piano base, subtle back-
ground clicks, and an explosive, 
aching chorus. Whereas BOOTS’s 

vocals diminish his tracks, Beyon-
cé’s gorgeous, breathy singing 
can tackle the production and 
demands attention. His collabo-
ration with FKA Twigs followed 
a 
similar 
formula. 
“Mother-

creep” fluttered and lurched with 
Twig’s high-pitched vocals, and 
the desirous atmosphere mate-
rialized clearly. These are tracks 
that you can feel. There is little 
on AQUARIA which has the same 
power. The songs are holding 
back, perhaps to accommodate 
the limitations of BOOTS singing, 
and the result is a rather detached 
album.

Still, AQUARIA is an improve-

ment from BOOTS’s first solo 
release. 
WinterSpringSummer-

Fall was far more cluttered and 
included lyrical gems like “pussy 
tastes like apple juice, baby that’s 
a juice box.” While AQUARIA 
is by no means poetry, it avoids 
confusing lyricism and manages 
to focus itself, a cautious sign that 
BOOTS can learn from his own 
shortcomings. You can’t help but 
wish, though, that BOOTS would 
follow the lead of producers like 
Arca, Burial and Jamie xx, all of 
whom have demonstrated the 
power that electronic tracks can 
hold without reliance on vocals.

AQUARIA is better as a remind-

er of BOOTS’s relevance rather 
than as a stand-alone album. He 
doesn’t yet have a handle on the 
solo album, but that doesn’t mean 
that his skill behind the boards is 
in any way diminished. There are 
plenty of artists that are itching 
to use this enormously popular 
sound, and a single, well-calcu-
lated collaboration could be much 
more effective than the entirety of 
AQUARIA. 

C

AQUARIA

BOOTS

Columbia

COLUMBIA

The artist, not the anthropomorphic monkey.

STYLE COLUMN

In defense of 

pampering yourself
L

ast week I found myself 
in a bad bout of anxiety 
and took an uncharac-

teristic course of action when I 
consulted my mom. Mind you, 
my mother 
is an inde-
cipherable, 
partially 
detached 
proponent 
of tough 
love. Case 
in point: she 
has spent 
the entirety 
of my 
19.5 years 
attempting to convince me 
that “true love is a ruse” and 
if I don’t believe her I can “try 
and find it” only after I “get 
my degree.” So, naturally, 
with an irrepressible case of 
uneasiness, I took a chance 
and attempted a heart-to-heart 
with my mom via text.

I don’t remember the specif-

ics of my rant, but imagine it 
was something melodramatic 
and existential along the lines 
of: “What am I doing with my 
life? Why am I here? How’s the 
dog?”

Though I can’t say I found the 

answers I craved in a moment 
of desperation, my mother 
replied as follows (convenient-
ly, I did screenshot and save 
her exact response):

“Is there a salon where you 

could get a blow dry, mani-
cure/pedicure ... It’s nice to 
always have your grooming! - 
Mom”

In that moment I learned 

an unequivocal fact of life — 
sometimes when all you need 
is a validating “pish posh, 
Caro, you’re smart, funny, 
stylish and beautiful,” you get 
an unexpected “It’s nice to 
always have your grooming!”

At face value, her advice 

seemed superficial and insen-
sitive, 
but 
after 
consider-

ing 
my 
youth-through-teen 

years punctuated by beauty 

rituals that always lifted my 
spirits and soothed my soul, I 
knew she was onto something 
between the curt lines. Invest-
ing in oneself was, and always 
had been a tenet of her unorth-
odox parenting that I believed 
in (though I’ve yet to yield to 
her case against true love). 
Moreover, it wasn’t merely her 
unfettered belief in self-pam-
pering, but her championing 
of taking breaks — alternating 
increments of hard work with 
something enjoyable — a wise 
morsel of advice that’s easier 
said than done in college when 
the funds and low and the 
work is all-consuming.

For some, it’s the sporadic 

jaunt 
to 
BuzzFeed 
during 

lecture to find themselves via 
trash quizzes, or my friend and 
her weekly splurge on high tea 
at TeaHaus. For me, it tends 
to oscillate between sprucing 
up the integumentary — a 
blow out or a mani/pedi — a 
kneading of the lumbar or 
a cosmetic application. But 
alas, after a indulging in my 
own 
brand 
of 
fulfillment, 

there’s bound to be flack from 
third-party naysayers. Some 
version of “your lifestyle is too 
particular, Caro” or “you’re 
horribly self-indulgent, Caro” 
inevitably arises.

I can see the case for 

frivolity, 
or 
the 
disgust 

for perceivably giving into 
beauty standards, but neither 
argument is valid. Sure, I love 
the high of getting made up, 
but it’s never for vanity, nor 
intended to impress the male 
population — it’s always about 
looking and feeling good for 
myself. In the most reductive 
sense, I aim to carve out time 
each week for a refrain from 
the draining minutia, and who 
doesn’t need that?

Whether on a fixed sched-

ule or executed impulsively, I 
have and always will believe 
in the necessary retreat from 
the 
day-to-day. 
Since 
my 

youth (read: when I had fewer 
problems and more outlets), I 
quickly recognized the reme-
dial and restorative qualities 
of my mom’s case for occa-
sional self-indulgence; I saw it 
as the cure-all for everything 
from melancholia to mild dis-
satisfaction.

After considering mother’s 

text 
message 
that 
day, 
I 

instantly reflected on the rare 
moments of clarity in salon 
chairs, or the mental repose 
only available post-massage. 
Suddenly, my freak-out made 
sense. I realized my self-care 
had fallen to the wayside, lost 
in a pile of study guides and 
history readings. I craved the 
endorphins and heightened 
spirit that only my particular 
religious methods could bring.

The 
next 
morning, 
in 

efforts to restore my long-lost 
rationale, I opted for a dual-
focused day of indulgence and 
scheduled a pedicure followed 
by 
a 
deep-tissue 
massage. 

Walking back to my apartment 
in a happy post-pleasure haze 
without a single callus, kink or 
knot, I was absolutely certain 
it was the best decision for my 
physical and mental health.

Despite 
my 
moment 
of 

weakness, I do indeed enjoy 
living. Ideally, I strive for 
balance; I strive to maximize 
my 
human 
experience 
by 

alternating 
responsibilities 

with 
pleasure 
— 
so 
the 

utterly 
blissful 
moments 

hold 
some 
well-deserved 

weight. 
Apparently, 
some 

find inspiration in my simple 
philosophy and its noticeable 
benefits — a family friend even 
regards me as a “zen ideal.” 
However, I can only maintain 
personal equilibrium if I follow 
mom’s 
infallible 
lead 
and 

prioritize pampering.

Filips is getting a manicure. 

To remind her that it’s nice 

to have her grooming, e-mail 

carofil@umich.edu.

CAROLINE 

FILIPS

MY FIRST FAVORITE ALBUM
My true ‘Love’

By CHRISTIAN KENNEDY

Daily Arts Writer

Over the course of my nearly 20 

years as a music listener (my dad 
consistently played music through-
out mine and my sister’s infancies), 
I have experienced a blossom-
ing love for Alecia Moore, better 
known as her stage name P!NK.

Our flirtation began when she 

taught me my first swear word: 
“ass.” I was in kindergarten and 
my sister had been doing that typi-
cal older sibling “you’re too young 
for this” bullshit while listening to 
P!NK’s sophomore record Missun-
daztood.

“There’s a bad word you can’t 

hear. It’s another word for butt,” 
she said. Hm. Another word for butt. 
My five-year-old brain couldn’t 
come up with any possibilities — I 
couldn’t guess the word “ass” with-
out actually knowing it. Obviously, 
I took the typical younger sibling 
response and went downstairs as 
her and her friends elementary-
school jammed to “Get the Party 
Started,” and the instant I heard 
the lyric “I’ll be burnin’ rubber, 
you’ll be kissin’ my ass” I knew my 
first swear word. I had certainly 
heard the word before seeing that 
my parents couldn’t conceivably 
go five years without saying the 
A-word in front of me.

Our next significant encounter 

was Dec. 25, 2003. I was in second 
grade and P!NK’s third album Try 
This dropped the month prior and 
“Trouble” was my jam. On that 
white, shimmery morning in BFE, 
Ohio I popped the CD into my por-
table player and went off. Admit-
tedly, I did only listen to the first 
three songs up until a few years 
ago, but in my defense I loved those 
three songs so much, my thought 
was “Why bother with the rest of 
it when I already know I like these 
songs?” Yes, I realize that is musi-
cal terrorism and I deeply regret it 
because the rest of the album is just 
as much fun.

Despite my affection for her 

work up until my 17th year of life, 
my devotion to P!NK’s work mul-
tiplied endlessly with the release 
of her sixth album, my first (and 
all-time) favorite album, The Truth 
About Love.

Up until its release I didn’t con-

sider myself one to listen to entire 
albums. I liked songs, I liked art-
ists. Typically, I would just pluck 
a few tracks from my favorite art-
ists across the board, rarely diving 
deep into a record or any particu-
lar discography, a far cry from my 
musical self today — someone who 
listens almost entirely to complete 
albums, through and through. 
I have The Truth About Love to 
thank for that. I went from buying 
a single song, “Blow Me (One Last 
Kiss)” to taking the leap and pre-
ordering the entire album based on 
my liking of the tracklist. What fol-
lowed was 20 songs, bonus tracks 
included that changed my relation-
ship with music. Know that I’m not 
exaggerating when I say The Truth 
About Love was my go-to listen for 
upwards of a year (and I still listen 
to it at least once a week). 

Like any album about love, it’s 

an album about life. My life. Maybe 
your life. I’ve screamed the lyrics 
of “Slut Like You” and “Walk of 
Shame” in an empty house, many 
times. “Blow Me (One Last Kiss)” 
serves as a fuck you anthem when 
needed. “Are We All We Are” and 
“How Come You’re Not Here” are 
as fun as they are therapeutic. On 
love’s flipside, ‘Beam Me Up” and 
“The Great Escape” are minimally 
and beautifully showcasing not 
only P!NK’s vocal prowess, but also 
the seriousness of her artistry. Col-
labs with Eminem, Lily Rose Coo-
per (formerly Lily Allen) and Nate 
Ruess take the album’s talent over 
the top, leaving seven equally spec-
tacular bonus tracks to cover any 
overlooked truths about love.

The Truth About Love is one to 

lose your voice to. It’s the one I lose 
my voice to.

