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Arts
Friday, February 19, 2016 — 5
In praise of SWMRS
By DANIELLE IMMERMAN
Daily Arts Writer
On the rare occasion that I
actually did the reading for my
Women’s Studies class, I read
something interesting about punk.
In the context of feminism, punk
is more significant than you might
think. According to Milestone and
Meyer (or to anyone capable of
observation), before punk, the only
involvement girls had in music
was as members of the audience.
If women ever did make it in the
music industry, they made it in
wholesome pop, never provocative
rock. Once punk came along, how-
ever, gender relations in the music
industry
completely
changed.
Punk disrupted all preconceived
stereotypes — it inspired youth
cultures, it lacked the manufac-
tured nature of the music industry
— its origins were underground.
As a result of this organic music,
according to my Women’s Stud-
ies reading, women were able to
express anger. Yay.
Now, obviously it’s hard for us,
in 2016, to really see the profound
effects of punk, but they’re there.
The problem is the lack of OG punk
bands existing today, which led
me to wonder if any modern band
could really reflect the same sound
and eventual change as past music.
The issue I encountered as I
pondered is that no band is real-
ly pure punk. Green Day’s Billie
Joe Armstrong has expressed
frustration in this dilemma —
most modern bands are slapped
with
the
label
“pop-punk”
which, even if this label isn’t
necessarily accurate, constricts
bands to a certain image, effec-
tively diluting their potential
punk persona.
I’m sure there are bonafide punk
bands out there, but there’s really
only one new-age punk band that
came to mind: SWMRS. Originally
known as Emily’s Army, SWMRS
is a four-piece garage-rock/punk
band from Oakland, CA. I first
stumbled upon the band a year ago
when I saw Green Day perform at
the House of Blues Cleveland —
my position pressed against the
barricade to the stage enabled me
to have an excellent view of Bil-
lie Joe’s son, Joey, standing back-
stage. Now here’s the thing — Joey
is quite attractive, so after the
show I was like, yeah, let’s google
Joey. When I googled Joey, I found
his band. The problem was that
SWMRS had no music under its
current name until now. With the
album set to be released on Febru-
ary 12th, Rolling Stone released the
single “Drive North” early and it’s
fucking incredible.
The entire album is clearly
garage-rock, but there are com-
plex and flagrant punk under-
tones that give SWMRS a unique
edge. They aren’t just any old rock
band — they’re young, they’re bold
and they encapsulate a new sound
— a new punk sound. Describ-
ing their genre as “Hawaiianage”
and showing a Facebook interest
in feminism, their album reflects
everything they claim to be.
“Uncool,” the same name of
their self-run record label, is the
epitome of SWMRS. The song
is angsty, punk, Californian and
accessible, despite being so dif-
ferent from any other music out
there. All of these elements shine
through on each of the 12 tracks
on the record, but in entirely dif-
ferent ways. For example, “Miley”
is angsty yet simple to let the lyrics
stand-out. An ode to Miley Cyrus,
SWMRS sing their praise for the
“punk-rock queen.” While songs
like “Drive North” and “Harry
Dean” are the most traditional
punk on the album, “Silver Bul-
let” and “Hannah” are more mel-
low, “I’m going to drive from LA to
San Francisco in my convertible”
tunes. Personally, my favorites are
“Miss Yer Kiss” and “Turn Up,”
but truthfully that’s not saying
much because I love every song on
this album. “Miss Yer Kiss” is great
though because the solid beat and
unique rhythm counter most of the
fast-paced songs comprising the
album — “Turn Up” is just a jam.
I feel as if I could go on for end-
less paragraphs about how incredi-
ble SWMRS and their debut album
is, but for your sake and mine, I’ll
quit my digression. Essentially,
SWMRS is about to blow up. Their
massive headlining US tour kicks
off on February 12th, they just put
on a music festival (“Uncool Fest”)
and their record label is still a thing.
This, in addition to appearances in
magazines like Rolling Stone and
Alternative Press, is foretelling
of what’s to come, especially con-
sidering their debut album hasn’t
even been officially released.
My message to you: listen to
SWMRS. Love SWMRS or at
the very least pretend to love
SWMRS, because at the rate
they’re going they could very
easily be the next Nirvana meets
Green Day meets something more
tropical and you’re going to want
to say you knew them when they
were rookies.
ALBUM REVIEW
‘Pablo’ illustrates
the life of Kanye
Yeezy’s career-
defining latest
shows us exactly
why we need him
By SHAYAN SHAFII
Daily Arts Writer
In 2002, Kanye West totaled
his Lexus and almost died in a
car accident. Fortunately for
all of us, he
survived, had
his
mouth
sewn up and
continued
to
work through
the wire. The
accident is an
often-over-
looked catalyst
for his career,
and there’s no guarantee that
we would be hearing the same
Kanye West today had he not
almost died at 25.
Near-death experiences have
a funny way of realigning pri-
orities; you exit the other side
more conscious of your privi-
lege of just being here. You
take your pursuits more seri-
ously, because you know you
almost had the opportunity
taken from you. You fight your
oppressors more aggressively,
because the force that almost
took your life is the great equal-
izer. You express yourself to the
fullest extent, because there’s
a heightened awareness that
the same force will inevitably
return, and next time it won’t
miss.
Records about self-actual-
ization are always difficult,
because no one wants to be set
on their ass. No one wants to
be reminded how much work is
left, or hear a Black man from
the Southside of Chicago bridge
the gap between actual self
and ideal self. The Kanye West
Experience
inherently
pres-
ents a challenge, and though
the packages have varied over
the course of his sprawling
seven-solo-album discography,
the message has remained the
same.
On Late Registration’s “Gone”
he rapped “They say you don’t
know what you got ’til it’s gone
/ I know I got it, I don’t know
what y’all on.” Fast-forward
eleven years, and on “Freestyle
4” he drunkenly snarls “Y’all
motherfuckers only live like
half of ya level, half of ya life.”
He considers the prospect of
“fucking right now in the mid-
dle of this dinner table” and
whether or not everyone else
would follow suit. Kanye is con-
fident that they would, and he’s
right. Where most are hesitant
to act on impulse, what Pastor
’Ye ultimately preaches on this
“gospel album” is to live fear-
lessly. When someone address-
es the elephant in the room, it
opens the floodgates.
The biblical tone of the
album seems a natural develop-
ment for an aging West. We’ve
seen so many artists grow more
reflective as they get older and
produce
increasingly
auto-
biographical works; much of
Pablo juxtaposes a return to
traditional
Midwest
values
with the Blackness of South-
side ’Ye. We get gospel, but we
also get a reminder he’s “from
a tribe called ‘Check-A-Hoe.’ ”
Beware of the culture vultures
who laugh along when he jokes
as “ghetto Oprah” at the end of
“Feedback,” but call him crazy
when he wilds out at the end of
an SNL performance.
Pablo is as Black and unapol-
ogetic as West himself — divine
album
opener
“Ultralight
Beam” makes way for a sermon
from a Black toddler. Even gos-
pel singer and choir director
Kirk Franklin makes an appear-
ance on the intro. Clunky,
mechanical drums pound away
at growling synths while Kelly
Price howls a melody as soulful
as anything else you’ll find in
Kanye’s discography. And then,
there’s that Chance feature.
Two years ago I was in the
crowd with Chance at Kanye’s
2014 Bonnaroo performance,
and I remember watching him
spaz to every cut from The Col-
lege Dropout. The intro to his
breakout mixtape, Acid Rap,
even samples a soulful trumpet
melody from an early Kanye
tape. Point being, Chance is
a “real soulful dude,” and his
fingerprints are all over the
feel-good soul of “Ultralight
Beam.” He drops an absolutely
show-stopping verse (arguably
the best of the album), where
he even intertwines his narra-
tive with Big Brother: “I made
‘Sunday Candy,’ I’m never going
to Hell / I met Kanye West, I’m
never going to fail.” You can
practically hear how giddy he
is to share the stage with ’Ye,
and it’s great to see “Lil Channo
from 79th” make the most of
the occasion.
The
intro
segues
direct-
ly into two-part whirlwind,
“Father Stretch My Hands.”
The song moves at breakneck
speeds,
transitioning
from
stretched-out soul samples, to
Metro Boomin tags, to lyrics
about “bleached assholes.” By
the time it doubles in tempo for
“Pt. 2,” Kanye frantically drops
pixelated raps about his 2002
accident, his mother’s death
and his father’s financial losses
in the market. Oh, and the song
completely
transforms
into
Brooklyn-emcee
Desiigner’s
“Panda.” Yes, a totally different
song, which ’Ye had no affili-
ation with until now (though
it should be noted that Desii-
gner has just signed to G.O.O.D.
Music). No rules. In the first
10 minutes of the album we’re
completely sucked into the
schizophrenia that’s driven so
much of West’s most dynamic
and troubling work.
While Kanye has a lengthy
repertoire of music that raises
red flags for mental health con-
cerns, there’s something about
his recent public behavior that
has an element of genuine,
bona fide craziness. In just one
week he’s publicly defended Bill
Cosby, begged the founder of
Facebook for funding via Twit-
ter and turned his Madison
Square Garden album listening
session into a Kanye & Friends
Show and Tell.
There’s an overall air of
incompleteness
and
sloppi-
ness about the album that just
doesn’t seem to matter. He
answers a goddamn phone call
while recording “30 Hours” and
yet nothing feels out of place.
He stitches together samples
on the latter half of “Pt. 2” with
the seams uncharacteristical-
ly showing. Most interesting,
though, is how he simply decid-
ed that the album rollout is an
indefinite window. The track-
list grew 80% in length the day
after the scheduled release, and
he’s just announced that the
album will never be for sale.
The rollout itself has become a
performance art piece.
The general consensus in
America has been that this
“New Kanye” is crazy, and that
the “Old Kanye” is the one we
all know and love. The Old
Kanye rapped about stealing
khakis from The Gap, called the
president racist and interrupt-
ed Taylor Swift at the VMAs.
The New Kanye just announced
that he still thinks he and Tay-
lor will have sex. He has been
stepping on our toes for over a
decade; there’s nothing “new”
about this Kanye.
If you approach this album
expecting Kanye West to be
your Lord and Savior, and are
disappointed to find elements
of humanity, perhaps you need
a moment of self-reflection.
His
shameless
transparency
has defined the zeitgeist of the
past decade precisely because
of his willingness to broadcast
his flaws. He’s already told us
that everything he’s not makes
him everything he is. He is,
and always has been, the life-
affirming
car
accident
you
never had.
Pablo is cluttered with evi-
dence that his cultural mar-
tyrdom will outlive him. He
looks around and sees “so many
Kanyes,” and some of them are
even recruited for the album.
On “FML,” The Weeknd makes
an appearance to let us know
that all the hate isn’t help-
ing his already self-destruc-
tive lifestyle: “Even though I
always fuck my life up / Only
I can mention me.” Synths jerk
around asymmetrically, making
the song feel like one of those
violent
bathroom-meltdown
scenes; Kanye even recalls a
specific episode he had in Mex-
ico while “off his Lexapro.”
“Highlights”
features
the
premier weirdo-rapper of the
moment:
Young
Thug.
You
can’t help but feel that the post-
verbal rap we’re seeing from
Thugger wouldn’t be so widely
accepted had ’Ye not kicked the
door in with 808s & Heartbreak.
Unsurprisingly, Thug sounds
right at home in the middle of
the orchestral accompaniment,
triumphantly shouting “Tell
my mama that I want my whole
life to only be mine!” Their
public respect for one another
shouldn’t be surprising given
that Thug “goes motherfuckin’
viral” every time he redefines
what a rapper looks like. Ten
years ago that was ’Ye in a pink
polo and backpack.
Away from his fledglings, the
realest moments on the album
have Kanye noticeably shaken
and rattled — like when he con-
fesses to paying his cousin a
quarter of a million dollars to
get his stolen laptop back, on
“Real Friends.” Ty Dolla $ign’s
voice cracks and eventually
breaks under the weight of the
occasion. Kanye pauses to col-
lect his thoughts, and the beat
leaves him behind.
He used to be so proud of
his animalistic work ethic,
shamelessly
boasting
the
months spent locked away in
his room. Yet even after gain-
ing the family he yearned for
on spiritual-prequel “Welcome
to Heartbreak,” the intensity of
his aspirations has left much of
Life still elusive to the “num-
ber one rockstar on the planet.”
Brother Kanye obviously prac-
tices what he preaches, but on
Pablo he comes to terms with
being human.
Even if Kanye never releas-
es another album again, he
can rest easy knowing that his
canon of work will be revis-
ited as the definitive arbiter of
our time. His public obsession
with emulating Michael Jack-
son brings to mind a specific
quote of his that could have just
as easily belonged to Mr. West:
“Music has been my outlet, my
gift to all of the lovers in this
world. Through it — my music, I
know I will live forever.” Root-
ed in the Black Experience of
being denied the human right
to express, the inherent per-
manence of Kanye’s art is more
than enough justification for
him to scream at us.
Kanye’s
screaming
is
as
imperative for us as it is for
him. Just as Kirk Franklin
says on the prayer that closes
“Ultralight Beam”: “Father, this
prayer is for everyone that feels
they’re not good enough. This
prayer’s for everybody that feels
that they’re too messed up. For
everybody that feels they’ve
said ‘I’m sorry’ too many times.
You can never go too far when
you can’t come back home again
… That’s why I need faith!”
We need each other as much
as Kanye West needs God; we
need to listen as long as there
are muffled truths. We need
to love one another like Kanye
loves Kanye.
TV NOTEBOOK
‘House’ of nostalgia
By MEGAN MITCHELL
For the Daily
When I was in the fourth
grade, there were two things
that assured your status in the
“it” crowd. One: You had to own
a remarkable collection of Bobby
Jack apparel with accompany-
ing flare capri yoga pants. Two:
You had to be well versed in all
of the current happenings of
“Full House.” And let me tell you,
fourth grade Megan was very,
very in the “it” crowd.
If you’re a millennial, chances
are this all sounds vaguely famil-
iar. The original “Full House”
came and went before most of us
were born, yet it’s a staple of the
later millennial generation due
to the daily reruns during our
more pivotal years. Personally, my
childhood revolved around “Full
House,” crowding the television
with friends at sleepovers and
clutching our bowls of macaroni
during elementary school days
when we went home for lunch.
Keep in mind that this exposure
to “Full House” occurred during
a pre-Netflix era, when our par-
ents had to tape the episodes on
the VCR for us to enjoy later, or we
had to plan to watch the show live.
There was no binge-watching or
hitting the “rewind” button if we
missed the punch line, so much
like “Friends,” every episode was
unique in its own right. Between
the years 1987 to 1995, the Tanner
family was America’s family.
This past week, the first full-
length trailer for Netflix’s original
series “Fuller House” premiered.
And let me tell you, pre-recorded
laughter never sounded oh so
good.
The sequel follows eldest sis-
ter DJ Tanner-Fuller (Candace
Cameron-Bure, “The View”) as
she struggles to raise her three
sons after her husband passes
away. Reminiscent of the original
sitcom, younger sister Stephanie
Tanner (Jodie Sweetin, “Walt
Before
Mickey”)
and
child-
hood best friend Kimmy Gibbler
(Andrea Barber, “The Skateboard
Kid 2”) move into the San Fran-
cisco home to lend a hand and
add to the overstuffed craziness
that was “Full House.” But that’s
exactly the dynamic that made
the show work.
The Tanner family was a
diverse family that lived under
one very small roof. The playboy
and rocker brother-in-law Uncle
Jesse (John Stamos, “Grandfa-
thered”) and comedian friend
Joey (Dave Coulier, “Muppet
Babies”) kept the laughs rolling in
through domestic circumstances,
usually with a ridiculous twist.
(Can we also just mention the fact
that John Stamos hasn’t aged like,
a single day??) Changing baby
diapers turned into a fiasco that
took two grown men and a roll of
paper towels to complete while
bath time called for a “Love Me
Tender” rendition in the bath-
tub. Overall, Jesse and Joey kept
Danny Tanner (Bob Saget, “How
I Met Your Mother”) sane and
kept the series light and airy in
a role I can only assume Kimmy
and Steph will later play into in
the sequel. Given what is featured
in the trailer, Stamos and Coulier
aren’t likely to reprise their roles
as the caretakers, but rather as
background leads while Kimmy
and Steph take the reins and fulfill
their roles as the obligatory aunts.
In 2013, Pixar Studios released
their first ever prequel, “Mon-
sters University,” as an accom-
paniment
to
the
childhood
favorite “Monsters Inc.” The
release dates between the movies
were 12 years apart, which unin-
tentionally lined up with the age
of the original audience. When
Mike Wazowski went to college,
so did we.
Now, Netflix producers are tak-
ing a page out of Pixar Studios’s
playbook with their reboot of
“Full House”. In fact, I wouldn’t
go as far as to call “Fuller House”
a reboot, but rather a continuation
of the original series. Whereas
reboots are strikingly different
and compete for the popular opin-
ion of battling fanbases, this mini-
series will continue the story of
the Tanner family almost 21 years
after we left them. By bringing the
original cast back, they’re speak-
ing directly to the original audi-
ence and relating to the struggles
that life may have handed some
of us over the past twenty years.
They could have chosen to reboot
the entire series for a new audi-
ence, but they’re providing a
sequel for our generation and the
next to equally enjoy. We grew up
with the Tanners, so it’s only fair
that they’ve grown up with us.
All I can say for now is that I
hope “Fuller House” stays true to
the original. Without the grainy
picture of the 1990s to revive the
ambiance of the original, we have
to rely on the cast to bring us back
to the Lower Pacific Heights of
the Tanner residence. As far as
the trailer has us covered, I think
we’re all in for a major flashback.
“Fuller House” will be available
on Netflix starting Feb. 26, 2016.
A+
The Life
of Pablo
Kanye West
GOOD Music
UNCOOL RECORDS
More like STTRS
MUSIC NOTEBOOK
West’s canon
will be the
definitve arbiter
of our time.