Classifieds
Call: #734-418-4115
Email: dailydisplay@gmail.com
ACROSS
1 Two of its
members wrote
the music for
“Chess”
5 Angling trophy
9 Not sour
14 Chillax
15 Horn accessory
16 Kitchen feature
17 Headgear not for
amateurs?
19 Qualifying words
20 Bunk
21 License-issuing
org.
22 They’re not
optional
23 Weak
25 Career grand
slam leader
27 Headgear for a
certain batting
champ?
33 Princess friend of
Dorothy
37 Gibbon, for one
38 Dr. Howser of
’80s-’90s TV
39 Done __
40 Sierra follower, in
the NATO
alphabet
42 Stiff
43 Facilitate
45 Torque symbol,
in mechanics
46 Utah state flower
47 Headgear for
some skaters?
50 Bologna bone
51 Work together
56 Spy plane
acronym
59 Tolkien race
member
62 Poor treatment
63 Breadcrumbs
used in Asian
cuisine
64 Headgear for
contract
negotiations?
66 A lot
67 Camera that
uses 70mm film
68 Junk, say
69 Shows signs of
life
70 A mullet covers it
71 Xperia
manufacturer
DOWN
1 __-Bits
2 Element between
beryllium and
carbon on the
periodic table
3 Chap
4 “Help!” is one
5 German import
6 Word sung in
early January
7 Watch part
8 Spotted wildcat
9 River under the
Angostura
Bridge
10 Tries to impress,
in a way
11 Dummy’s place
12 “Good heavens!”
13 Hankerings
18 Insult in an Oscar
acceptance
speech, perhaps
24 Significant
depressions
26 Defensive
fortification
28 Bar brew, briefly
29 Board game
using stones
30 Fiend
31 “SNL” alum with
Hader and
Samberg
32 Fictional captain
33 River through
Frankfurt
34 Philosopher
known for his
“Achilles and the
Tortoise”
paradox
35 Ground grain
36 Pop-up prevention
41 Sharp-toothed
fish
44 Course
components
48 Rubs out
49 Oenophile’s
concern
52 Deep space
53 Oodles of, in
slang
54 Bolt like
lightning?
55 Raring to go
56 Mil. mail drops
57 Drift, as smoke
58 Fighting
60 Dharma
teacher
61 Door in the
woods
65 Tin Man’s tool
By Kristian House
©2015 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
12/11/15
12/11/15
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
RELEASE DATE– Friday, December 11, 2015
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
xwordeditor@aol.com
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CAROLINE
FILIPS
Despite my various off-putting
qualities — forgetfulness, a trash
attention span and the tragic
inheritance of the weird gene that
makes me think cilantro tastes
like
dish
soap — I give
great advice.
Despite
my
title as a style
columnist,
I’m incapable
of
giving
style advice,
at least the
kind
most
people crave.
When
friends and family consult me for
the general principles of style,
I have nothing to say. Sure, I’d
love to outline the rules, but to
me, there aren’t any. Fashion first
and foremost is an extension of
self-expression; so who am I to
tell you how to present yourself
to the world? That’s not to say
I encourage you to rock your
tattered jean jacket at a black
tie event (looking at you, Adam
DePollo), but I do support you
in your search of cultivating an
individual sense of style.
I’ll let you in on a little secret,
dear readers. Trends are not, in
any way, shape, or form, a part of
the elusive concept of personal
style. And I get it, it’s hard not
to buy into the trend-centric
culture of our world where three
out of every five headlines are
dominated by which fashion
label the Kardashian family is
currently lusting over, but please,
by all means, resist.
Though I concede that I’m
quite young and probably more
naïve than I’d like to think I am,
I too, albeit guiltily, indulge in the
latest celebrity style endorsements
and collaborations just as much as
the next internet-poisoned youth.
Even as I write this, I glance down
at my Olivia Palermo for BaubleBar
ring and scoff at my past self for
attempting to justify the purchase.
I convinced myself that the small
piece of jewelry aligned with my
personal style … but as I scan the
various fits and washes of denim
strewn about my floor, and the
blouses
haphazardly
cluttering
my closet, I can’t even commit to
a stark definition of my personal
style. So alas, here I am, in my
quarter-life personal style crisis.
Frankly, I believe it to be a
generational crisis. We’ve given
up on the notion of personal style.
We’re lazy. We just follow the
celebrity, the trend, the tragedy!
We salivate over fast fashion
collaborations
(*cough,
cough*
Balmain for H&M), we buy out
Kylie’s entire stock of lip kits in
30 seconds and some of us even
contribute to the skyrocketing
sales of Drake’s Moncler Maya coat
from the “Hotline Bling” music
video. It’s likely that just as I added
an Olivia Palermo-designed ring
to my shopping cart a month ago,
someone somewhere was probably
gyrating in their candy apple red
puffer under technicolor lights.
So Kylie, Drake and this shiny
gold circle around my ring finger
leave me perplexed. At the risk of
sounding like Carrie Bradshaw, “I
(can’t) help but wonder,” has our
generation discarded the concept
of personal style?
Though it nauseates me, the
horrific trend cycle — wear it,
abuse it, forget about it for a few
decades, refresh it, return to it
— of fashion invariably reigns.
Take bell-bottoms, for example.
They
dominated
the
’70s,
resurfaced in the early 2000s in
a less-voluminous boot-cut style,
returned in 2014 in the flared
varieties and everyone forgot about
them in between. Trends dominate
the times, but I can’t understand
why we sit back, let it happen and
buy into them. We’re the Gatsbys of
our own sartorial stories.
Why
are
we
hopelessly
infatuated with things that only
turn up when they demand our
attention?
@Everyone,
stop
playing Gatsby and stop letting
the dominant fads play Daisy!
At the very least give your selves
some character weight — be Nick
— be a mere observer of the trendy
chaos. At the very least be a Jordan
Baker — respect yourself despite
the missteps and, above all, have
character.
I’m not saying life’s always
going to be a party on West Egg
at some rich dude’s house, but
each day is a chance to ignore the
not-so-trendy trendiness and find
your personal style. And despite
my title as a style columnist,
I don’t believe in style advice.
That’s my advice. the not-so-
trendy trendiness and find your
personal style. And despite my
title as a style columnist, I don’t
believe in style advice. That’s my
advice.
STYLE COLUMN
Being your own
style icon
By MATT GALLATIN
Daily Arts Writer
What is a genre? A collection of
similar sounding music? A name
for a specific artistic movement?
The
exact
definition can
be tricky, and
often the term
boxes artists
and confuses
listeners. The
“Pop”
genre
on
iTunes,
for example,
encompasses
Frank Ocean,
Fall Out Boy
and John Lennon, all of whom
have a markedly different sound.
Because
of
the
strange
confinements the concept of
genres lead to, the phrase “genre
blurring” has gained a largely
positive connotation. It’s seen
as a validation of an artist’s skill
if they can be effective beyond
the
formula
they’re
usually
known for. Radiohead did this
to a hugely successful effect,
shifting from guitar driven rock
to experimental electronic to
their dark and seductive release
In
Rainbows.
Each
change
highlighted a diverse skillset and
rebelled against the idea of what
typical “rock” should be.
Sometimes the result is much
less successful. Kid Cudi is a prime
example of this. His debut release
Man on the Moon: The End of Day
blended R&B, hip hop and rock to
a moderately interesting effect.
It was far from perfect, but there
was enough catchy production to
counteract Cudi’s lack of lyrical
prowess.
He
skyrocketed
to
popularly on the sheer listenability
of his music and the hordes of
faux-philosophical “nice guys”
who hailed him as their leader,
relating to his irksome “nice guy”
complaints (“maybe if I was a jerk
to girls, instead of being nice and
speaking kind words”). His most
popular tracks, like “Soundtrack
2 My Life” and “Day n’ Night,” are
simply enjoyable songs, no more
and no less. This would explain
why Cudi found his greatest
success in the high school party
scene,
becoming
practically
synonymous with it after the
teen film “Project X” propelled
“Pursuit of Happiness” to anthem
status.
But the constant mix of
self-aggrandizing,
screams
of
“I’m different!” and adolescent
confessionals could only go so far.
After his second album Man on the
Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager,
which was mostly an extension
on the first, Cudi began to move
in different directions. He tried
his hand at an alternative rock/
psychedelic band called WZRD
with producer Dot da Genius, but
the debut was met with largely
negative reviews. His next solo
album Indicud saw Cudi return
to the hip-hop world, and the
new production was unique
but forgettable. The album was
panned because it proved that
Cudi truly had nothing left to say
after the Man on the Moon series
— he actually got worse. Take his
lyrics from “Just What I Am”:
“Let me tell you ‘bout my month
y’all, endless shopping, I had a
ball, I had to ball for therapy,
my shrink don’t think that helps
at all, whatever, that man ain’t
wearing these leather pants.” It’s
the ultimate sad brag, alternating
between “I’m so sensitive” and
“I’m so cool and wealthy.”
Still, Cudi’s last album Satellite
Flight: The Journey to Mother
Moon showed more promise. It’s
his shortest album to date and
was billed as a bridge between
Indicud and a possible Man on
the Moon III. The album had
some of the most interesting
production since his debut, and it
seemed that there was something
different coming.
So what, you ask, happened
after leaving us on that cautiously
hopeful note? Cudi’s worst release
to date: Speedin’ Bullet 2 Heaven.
If we are to believe Cudi’s claim
that this is “100% the purest form
of my artistic self,” then Cudi’s
true artistic self is a mediocre
Nirvana revivalist band.
Cudi has always cited ’90s
punk rock as having a strong
influence on his music. But
where Cudi once claimed some
originality by stepping around
typical genre boxes and adding
his own personality, Speedin’
Bullet
2
Heaven
removes
everything that once made Cudi
unique and popular – ease of
listening, productive strength,
etc. – and replaces it with his best
attempt at replicating the ’90s
grunge movement.
And it’s a poor attempt at
that. Cudi plays bass and guitar
throughout the album, and while
the effort is commendable, the
instrumentation is clearly weak.
This is only exacerbated by Cudi’s
insistence on refraining from
the usual electronic production,
trying to remain as true to
Nirvana as possible. References to
the band, and Cobain specifically,
are plentiful. Cudi moans and
yells, the guitar is distorted
and the lyricism is dark. These
are all superficial aspects. The
artistry
which
set
Nirvana
apart
—
beautifully
cryptic
poetry, perfected instrument
arrangements
and
a
strong
pop sensibility — is blatantly
disrespected.
Where
Cobain
used phrases like “heart-shaped
box” or “meat-eating orchid,”
Cudi blurts out “her vagina is
moist and warm.” Cobain is
rolling in his grave.
Clocking in at over an hour-
and-a-half, Speedin’ Bullet 2
Heaven is a chore to get through.
There are few songs which
warrant more than a single
listen, and the ones that do (the
title track) are still far below
Cudi’s
previous
successes.
The claim of a “double album”
doesn’t produce any kind of
measurable effect, and it seems
like a half-hearted justification
for sprawling over 26 tracks
without any substantive reason
to do so.
But most confusing are the
Beavis
and
Butthead
skits.
Narration has been a recurrent
element in Cudi’s music, and
it’s nearly always ineffectual.
He uses it to repeat points that
need no repetition and to offer
as much self-praise as possible.
The Beavis and Butthead skits
are especially strange because
their irreverent and self-aware
comedy directly conflicts with
the
self-riotousness
Cudi
stands for. At times it seems as
if they’re mocking him without
his realization. At the end of
“Man in the Night” Butthead
states “Hello ladies, we bring
you the greatest album that has
ever been made in the history
of man.” For a second Beavis
can be heard laughing in the
background.
It’s hard to believe the irony
was
purposeful,
especially
when referring to Cudi’s Twitter
account — “The Chosen One.”
The last few months have filled
his feed with discussion on the
album, and none of it has been
humble or modest. Between
tweets like “the complexity of
scott mescudi” and “Im (sic)
strange” Cudi quotes statements
by his fans hailing the work
as
“genius”
or
“completely
revolutionary.” Sure, plenty of
artists call themselves the best.
Some even compare themselves
to god (Kanye). But many of those
artists have the skill to at least
make an argument, something
that has been lacking from
Cudi’s work.
We can only hope that Cudi
once again changes direction.
Perhaps he still has some talent
left.
Cudi loses charm
on ‘Speedin’ Bullet’
REPUBLIC
This is the best ice cream cone ever!
D
Speedin’
Bullet 2
Heaven
Kid Cudi
Republic
ALBUM REVIEW
6 — Friday, December 11, 2015
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com