6A — Monday, January 11, 2016 Arts The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com By NOAH COHEN Daily Arts Writer J. J. Abrams, Disney whisper- ing in his ear, calls Star Wars back from the brink of irrelevance. “The Force Awak- ens” is respect- ful to the point of pandering. This fran- chise took a lesson from failure, read the manual, and followed it to a T. We’re not frustrated with the lack of novelty. Rather, we’re all breathing a sigh of relief. Abrams takes us back to the rak- ish golden era in terms of plot and mood. The Force is with this reboot, if tentatively. The Empire has been struck a grave blow, but threatens revival in the form of The First Order, knock- off Nazis with a bigger, badder Death Star. The Resistance can’t fight back without the last Jedi, but Luke Skywalker is nowhere to be found. Our only clue to finding him is a piece of a map secreted away in another adorably booping droid who’s been abandoned on a remote desert planet to be discovered by a plucky, disenfranchised youth bur- dened with glorious destiny. The coming years will be a trial of our loyalty, but less fright- ening than the Christenson-era, given we have such a personable roster of named players. Starting with our fresh faces: Daisy Rid- ley (“Scrawl”), as Rey, unites the casual, barely-an-actress vibe of Jennifer Lawrence with the self- possessed screen dominance of Anna Kendrick. She’s Luke, except with verve. Playing off her straight- man poise is the comedically out of place John Boyega (“Half of a Yellow Sun”), playing our traitor- stormtrooper and beloved knuck- lehead, Finn. The cherry on top is Oscar Isaac (“Ex Machina”), as Poe, whose brash charisma lays down the framework for Finn and Rey’s friendship, if not the opti- mistic emotional undercurrent of the entire flick. We ship Poe with everyone. Ridley is the Disney princess of popular demand. Relentlessly competent, Rey rides obstinacy and coincidence to the apex of her galaxy’s needs, sheathed in resplendent plot armor and that ambiguous weather-hardened late youth that screams “violent back- story.” Her plasticity in the up- tempo plot is so extraordinary that her character arc feels superficial at times, as though her life were taking the backseat to her heroism. But isn’t it always that way, with heroes? And if you think Star Wars owed you novelty or introspec- tion, you’re barking up the wrong Wookiee. Ridley has space to grow in the next films. “The Force Awakens” only sets the pace, and that pace is meant to keep us out of breath. We come hurtling out of the gate with a plot whose velocity defends us from our own overthinking. There are so many potential throwbacks in Star Wars, it would be garish to dwell; Abrams, Lord of the Pas- tiche, picks the right ones. Espe- cially satisfying Easter eggs include the titillating wobble of a light- saber being summoned, Rey’s cry “Stop taking my hand!” (for those of us who remember how dopey Han looked running with Leia in “Empire Strikes Back”), Maz’s (Lupita Nyong’o, “Non-Stop”) iconic cantina, ripped from “A New Hope”, a dramatic confronta- tion on a narrow bridge (here there be spoilers), and our favorite, Han Solo telling us to respect the Force and the Jedi while standing in the exact same spot on the Millennium Falcon that he was standing when he told Luke that “hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid.” Han Solo (Harrison Ford, “Indi- ana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull”) and General Leia Organa (Carrie Fisher, “Maps to the Stars”) are the wind in this movie’s sails. There’s a note of self- aware absurdity in all sci-fi sto- ries, and the best ones have a voice capable of lampshading on the right frequency to keep the world in check without breaking charac- ter. That has always been Han Solo for Star Wars, with that shrugging smile that dresses down an entire universe. Ford is old guard, and his his- tory shines though his one-liners (“Escape now. Hug later!”); his wily leadership recalls Indiana Jones and reminds us just how much baggage this movie inherits. When Ford asks Fisher, “Wasn’t all bad, was it?” he’s more than just Han, he’s the mouthpiece for the audience, a living elegy for late 20th century geek childhoods, unpretentious and organic, shep- herding the new cast into the fold of cultural staples. But the joy of “The Force Awak- ens” is majority elegiac. It feels like celebrating something that was, rather than something that is. We thrill in our seats when we see General Leia, not because it’s Leia, but because we’re excited to see Fisher reprising Leia, grateful that, so many years later, she’s still there for us and nothing has been for- gotten. The promise of “The Force Awakens”is strong, but the script is often weak. You leave the theater lighter than air, but with nothing substantial to savor. This trial of loyalty isn’t over, but “The Force Awakens” is so thick with the energy that made us fall in love with IV, V and VI, a twenty- something geek can’t help but have a little faith. And mercifully, there’s no fucking Jar Jar Binks this time. ‘Force Awakens’ is a new hope for fans B+ Star Wars: The Force Awakens 20th Century Fox Quality 16 20TH CENTURY FOX Pew pew pew! MOVIE REVIEW “What is this remix of ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun?’ ” I know. The first time I heard it play, I was an idiot. Bright synths and drum machines were blasting over speakers in the Michigan League at a school-sanctioned East Quad social event, and when I tried to figure out this unfamiliar song, my friend gave me this glare she delights in giving me, one that makes me question how I’m even smart enough to dress myself in the morning, before she decided to enlighten my world. “This is Whitney Houston.” I don’t know how I went so far in my life without hearing “I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me),” but in the year since I’ve heard it, I’ve been converted. I’m ready to say that it’s at least Top 5, if not the greatest song of all time. It may not seem so obvious at first. In fact, you might think this whole column is a joke. I don’t blame you — Whitney Houston’s big hit sounds a little bit derivative, not just of her own work (“How Will I Know”) , but of other iconic ’80s artists like Cyndi Lauper or even Madonna. Its sound, with its funky artificial bassline and perky keyboard fanfares, is the kind of music that defined the whole era, and it’s not your fault if you think of it as just one of many old ’80s hits. But the genius of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” is how perfectly it combines the best of both ballads and pop hits. Pretty much all of your standard “greatest song of all time” picks have an enormous crescendo — something like “Stairway to Heaven,” “All My Friends” or “Hey Jude.” “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” has that huge build-up, but it sees no need to start slow. It’s a fiery, irresistible pop song from start to finish. It starts with a mere 10 seconds of warm-up. Someone turns on the drum machines, the bass enters and Houston tests out her voice with a few breathy yeahs. Then, already satisfied, Houston opens the door of our old farmhouse world and reveals her own personal Oz, colored attractively with the best production that money can buy. While every other artist is shooting off Roman candles, “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” is a big city fireworks display. Like the work of idolized queens like Beyoncé or Rihanna today, Houston is entirely unattainable on this song. We can’t sing like her; we can’t get our hands on her producers or songwriters. We have no access whatsoever to the talent she’s working with, but she deigns to let us in by singing about what we’re all feeling. Then Houston takes us down, just for a moment, in the first verse. Not enough that anybody stops dancing, but she pulls it back just for a little bit. Importantly, there’s never a dull moment in this song, but it still needs an ounce of ebb and flow, lest its listeners burn to a crisp right on the dancefloor. But she quickly lights it up again, giving voice to all our passions as she sings the chorus, overwhelming our bodies and our brains with her search for someone special — “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.” And every time she goes back to the chorus it just gets more and more powerful, like Houston finds renewed energy and focus whenever she reminds herself of her goal — “Somebody Who Loves Me.” The key, though, is right after the bridge — that moment of confusion and uncertainty when the roller coaster slows to a crawl as it tips over its highest point. The final chorus hits and it’s one of the most ecstatic highs in the history of pop music. Her voice gets even higher, more frantic, like Houston’s going to break herself down and collapse on this dance floor as she pushes herself to the finale or else she’s not going to finish the song at all. The music starts to wind down, but the singer’s not done yet. You hear Houston’s gospel roots as she hysterically shouts “Don’t you wanna dance!? Say you wanna dance! Don’t you wanna dance!?” because she sees the truth in her mind and knows it to be undeniably true: all that matters as she performs on this night is finding someone to connect with, someone who truly understands her. “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” is a universal epic that somehow runs under five minutes. It’s a world-shaking, breathtaking display of force, both vocally and emotionally. This song is the greatest because it gives everybody everything that we need, focusing on nothing more than human connections and the love we find through music. If the biggest songs ever peak at a 10 out of 10, “I Wanna Dance” starts at 11 and somehow finds a way to turn it up to 99. Look, I know that from “How Will I Know” to “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” to “Vogue” to “Drunk in Love,” you can draw all sorts of comparisons to this song. It’s not groundbreaking. It doesn’t have the mind-expanding poetry of Dylan or the constant striving for something greater that you hear in Springsteen or the political awareness of Kendrick Lamar, but nine nights out of 10 Whitney Houston still reigns supreme with this single. I’m not trying to diss any of those other artists — they’ve all made complex, world-changing music and frankly, their work as a whole is much more impressive than Houston’s. But “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” so simply cuts to the core of everything that we need as music fans. It’s not the social commentary of political protest, but Houston can see into the hearts of all its listeners, and she uses her voice to immortalize our collective burning passion — we all wanna dance with someone who loves us. Theisen just realized “Ice Ice Baby” and “Under Pressure” are two different songs. To confirm this, email ajtheis@umich.edu. MUSIC COLUMN An argument for the greatest song ever ADAM THEISEN The legacy of an icon By DAYTON HARE Daily Arts Writer Pierre Boulez died last week. I wrote this. Last Tuesday, the French composer and conductor, Pierre Boulez, passed away at the age of 90. In the days since, I have been struggling to figure out what to say about the man — what could I pos- sibly contribute to the conversation among the outpouring of emotion and collective grief expressed by the musical community? What could I, a young and inexperienced composer, have to say about one of the greatest musical minds of the 20th century? Over the past few days obituaries have been printed in most major news outlets across the globe, YouTube comment sec- tions have been filled with sym- pathetic R.I.P.s and the world’s leading orchestras have resolved to dedicate concerts to Boulez’s mem- ory. Compared to what has already been said by those who knew and loved him, I fear that whatever I can contribute about Boulez will be inadequate — and yet I also feel that I must do my best to express what Boulez meant for me and my respect for the memory of such a legendary figure. I did not grow up listening to Boulez — not even close — but I distinctly recall the first I heard of him. It was during the summer of 2013, and I was reading a book called “The Rest is Noise” (a title delightfully derived from Prince Hamlet’s dying words) by Alex Ross, The New Yorker’s music crit- ic. The book was recommended to me by my first composition teacher, and I devoured it with an eager enthusiasm that continued to grow the further I read. Ross’s book was a history of 20th century classical music which was both entertain- ing and filled with well construct- ed prose — and about three fifths of the way through, in a chapter aptly entitled “Brave New World,” a young and dashing Boulez burst onto the scene. I can’t say that my first impres- sion of Boulez was altogether favorable. I found the take-no-pris- oners attitude of the young radical who showed up at Olivier Mes- siaen’s door in 1944 to be some- what disconcerting, his extreme aesthetic pronouncements and condemnations of all music he deemed regressive to be off-put- ting. Given infamous statements such as “[A]ny musician who has not experienced — I do not say understood, but truly experienced — the necessity of dodecaphonic music is USELESS,” I came to con- sider Boulez to be a bully (a view aided by the misconception that his name was properly pronounced “Bou-lay”), and his sonic creations seemed to me to be abrasive and cacophonous. And yet, I could not help but admire his passion, his single-mindedness of purpose and the purity of his artistic motives. Boulez was an extremely purpose- ful person, rushing forward into the no-man’s-land of unexplored sonic possibilities and daring oth- ers to follow him. And they did — Boulez soon became the leader of the avant-garde, his confidence in the veracity of his aesthetic ideas a comforting beacon of light in the post-war age of anxiety that was born in the looming shadow of the atomic bomb. Boulez’s complex compositions and pointed polemics served him well in his youth, but as he grew as a musician, the tone of his philip- pics began to soften, and he began to contribute in different ways to the musical discourse. Gradu- ally he began to conduct, becoming known as a director of great skill, notable for his eschewing the use of a baton. Before too long he was in demand as a conductor on both sides of the Atlantic, eventually equally as famous for his conduct- ing as for his compositions. In the 70s he served as music director of the New York Philharmonic, an appointment which musical progressives hoped might drag the conservative orchestra into 20th century repertoire. Further- more, Boulez founded numerous institutions of musical education and research, the most famous of which was the Institut de Recher- che et Coordination Acoustique/ Musique, founded to study the sci- ence of music and sound, as well as to facilitate the composition of elec- troacoustic music. In the intervening time between my reading of “The Rest is Noise” and now, my view of Boulez has gradually become far less harsh. While I still feel that many of his criticisms of other composers and particular aesthetics were unnec- essarily scathing, I have come to value his unique contribution to the great debate of ideas in a way that I did not in the past. And while I am still not as well acquainted with his music as I think I should be, I have begun to listen to it much more — what I once found strident and strange I now hear as beauti- ful, nuanced and interesting (a shift in aesthetic preference which is mirrored by a gradual modernist encroachment into my own music). Part of the reason that my view of Boulez has shifted so much is because I have observed his fin- gerprints everywhere. I recently became interested in the composer Kaija Saariaho; as a young woman she studied at IRCAM. Two months ago, for this publication, I inter- viewed the composer Tod Macho- ver about his “Symphony in D”; Machover served as the first direc- tor of musical research at IRCAM, and thus worked intimately with Boulez. The two were close enough that Machover published an obitu- ary for Boulez in The Washington Post. I have heard from some of my instrumentalist friends that on Tuesday Kenneth Kiesler, the conductor of the University Sym- phony Orchestra, briefly stopped rehearsal, saying “I’m sorry, today has been a hard day for me — my teacher died.” This past summer, I studied composition at the Tanglewood Institute in Massachusetts. Three of my fellow student composers there idolized Boulez with a rever- ence that stopped just short of con- structing an altar, a fact which was easily recognizable in their music. All of us hoped that we might one day have the opportunity to meet the master. But we realized this would have to happen quickly, tell- ing each other — only half in jest — that “he is likely to die any day now.” This expectation didn’t do much to stifle the surprise, however, when the prophecy was fulfilled. It was an odd feeling to know that a figure like Boulez was a part of the same world which I inhabit — however distant from me that he was — and that then he wasn’t. A few weeks ago I was reading about Boulez in “A Concise History of Modern Music” by Paul Griffiths — and then a few mornings past I was reading Paul Griffiths’s Boulez obituary in The New York Times. Scrolling through the list of other articles of his — which bear titles like “Karlheinz Stockhausen, Influential Composer, Dies at 79” and “Gyorgy Ligeti, Central-Euro- pean Composer of Bleakness and Humor, Dies at 83” — I think I have discovered what is most affecting about Boulez’s death for me. Boulez was a remnant of an age of stunning musical innovation, a member of a rapidly diminishing group of 20th century greats who still walk the Earth. To Griffiths’s list of deceased composers I could add Gunther Schuller, Robert Ward, Elliott Carter, Lukas Foss, Luciano Berio, Lou Harrison and William Albright — all of whom died within my lifetime — and such giants as Aaron Copland, Leonard Bernstein, Olivier Messiaen and John Cage just a few years before I was born. I have no doubt that this age too will produce its share of greats, but my reverence for the accomplishments of past is such that I feel melancholy when the living links to them begin to wear away. When figures from the past begin their eternal residency in the past, succumbing to the inexo- rable march of time and age, I can’t help but reflect upon the transitory nature of all that we are and do, that our acts that will live on only in the memories of others — and so with reverence we consign Boulez, like so many others, to memory and to the all encompassing arms of his- tory. She sees the truth in her mind and knows it. Every time she goes back to the chorus it gets more powerful. COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK