4B — Thursday, March 17, 2016
the b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
SINGLE REVIEW
Weddings are often viewed
as a joyous celebration of eternal
monogamy, but for British singer
Natasha
Khan (aka
Bat for
Lashes)
they can be
extremely
harrowing.
This duality
imbued
within marriage acts as the
emotional core of her new song
“In God’s House” from her
upcoming concept album, The
Bride. From just one listen, you
can hear Khan agonizing with
fear as she waits for her groom
to get to the church, only to
discover that he will never show
up.
A bewitching, mystical synth-
pop track, “In God’s House” is
one of Khan’s most ambitious
and emotionally stirring works
to date. Its ethereal synths
glisten and propel Khan’s
masterful, vulnerable vocals,
which swing effortlessly from
a gentle whisper to a shrieking
cry. “Through this veil they
can’t see / The fog of death
unveil me,” Khan sings woefully,
almost as if the world is slowly
closing on her. But the most
heartbreaking moment comes
when Khan realizes that her
lover has been killed by a fire,
repeating the word “fire” until
she can no longer catch her
breath.
In a sense, “In God’s House”
is a tonally opposite counterpart
to last month’s single “I Do,”
which offers a much more
light-hearted narrative on
Khan’s hapless bride through
a swooping harp instrumental
and lyrics that reflect her giddy
optimism on her wedding day.
Both songs are like two sides of
the same playing card: “I Do”
saw Khan ruminating anxiously
and excitedly over nuptial
commitment, whereas “In God’s
House” found her searching
for answers on the verge of
an emotional breakdown.
Entrenched within the nuances
of marriage, Khan understands
that where there’s happiness,
there’s also darkness. If “I Do”
is the sweet, rosy prologue to a
wedding, then “In God’s House”
is the nightmarish climax
with an uneasy, ambiguous
resolution.
- SAM ROSENBERG
A-
In God’s
House
Bat for Lashes
By HARRY KRINSKY
For the Daily
I can only imagine what the
conversation
between
Kanye
West and 19-year-old rapper
Desiigner sounded like where
Kanye told Desiigner he was
sampling Desiigner’s viral hit,
“Panda,” on The Life of Pablo.
’Ye also signed Desiigner to his
record label GOOD Music — an
impressive endorsement and a
sign that Desiigner is here to stay,
at least for a little while. However,
before we throw Desiigner into
the growing pool of innovative
new-school rappers, it’s important
to take a long look at his musical
roots.
Probably the most quotable
line in “Panda” is the first one.
Desiigner raps, “I got broads in
Atlanta / Twisting dope, lean, and
the Fanta.” Desiigner references
Atlanta in his lyric, but more
palpable is the iconic Atlanta
sound Desiigner emulates. He
raps with timely Young Thug-
esque adlibs sprinkled in and a
low, almost apathetic, drawl that
is so much more Future’s than it
is Desiigner’s. (Desiigner’s sound
is so similar to that of Future’s
that when Desiigner’s chorus
comes onto Kanye’s “Freestyle 4,”
even after the hundredth listen I
can’t help but think, “Are we sure
that isn’t Future?”). The bitter
irony, and maybe a microcosm of
Desiigner’s problem, is that he has
never been to Atlanta. The rapper
so easily compared to Atlanta’s
heaviest rap hitters has lived his
entire life in Bed Stuy Brooklyn (A
neighborhood graced with its own
set of rap legacies).
Rap music has always tiptoed
the fine line between inspiration
and theft. (Just throw on Guerilla
Black’s “Compton,” close your eyes
and try to convince yourself you’re
not listening to an unreleased
Biggie track.) But Desiigner seems
like an extreme example. “Panda”
sounds like a focus group tested
version of a Future mixtape track.
“Future, mumble a little less, let’s
make the snare clap a little harder,
and while we’re at it, MORE
ADLIBS.” Regardless, “Panda”
is a great song. It’s Future, subtly
contorted and twisted for a more
pleasing pop sound. It replaces
the doldrums of codeine addiction
and
depression
with
simple
lyrics about cars and money (and
pandas). It’s also plagiarism.
A few years ago Drake was
forced to pay rapper Rappin’ 4
Tay $100,000 for stealing the Bay
Area legend’s verse, tinkering
with it slightly and putting it on
YG’s “Who Do You Love.” Rappin’
4 Tay rapped “I got a ho named
Reel-to Reel. She got a buddy
named SP 12, now you know the
deal. We gets freaky in the studio
late night, that’s why the beats that
you hear coming real tight.” While
a red-handed Drizzy rapped “I got
a shorty name Texas Syn. She got
a buddy named Young JB and now
you know the deal. We turnt up in
the studio late night. That’s why
the songs that you hear are comin’
real tight.” That is, and will always
be, plagiarism.
How different is Rappin’ 4
Tay’s case compared to Future’s
though? Sure, I can’t as plainly
put in words the plagiarism of
Desiigner’s work, but listen to any
Future song and any Desiigner
song and the similarities are
undeniable. What makes a lyric
any more integral to the song than
the tone or the style? Why can
anybody and their mother hop on
a Metro Boomin’ beat and mumble
like Future, but if they steal a lyric
they’re a hack?
There’s probably no definitive
answer for why Desiigner hasn’t
caught too much flack for his
subtle plagiarism. It might be
because the GOOD Music moniker
gives
Desiigner
temporary
immunity from rap criticism. It
might be that I have jumped the
gun, and once “Panda” moves
from “popular” to “overplayed”
the criticism will come. My guess,
though, is that people just don’t
care about plagiarism in rap that
doesn’t have to do with lyrics.
Just look at Kanye, who’s made an
entire career out of coordinated
rap curation.
I love “Panda,” but I’m skeptical
about how far Desiigner can go
riding on the coattails of a city he’s
never been to.
Desiigner’s theft of
Atlanta trap music
S
poilers for ‘The Room’ fol-
low.
This weekend, scores
of moviegoers, myself included,
will line up at the State Theatre for
the annual
midnight
showing of
the
2003
film
“The
Room.”
We will be
treated to
100
min-
utes of a
cinemati-
cally incon-
gruous,
confused
anomaly of a film. During this
spectacle — which features plot
points that arise only to be dropped
immediately following their men-
tion, several anatomically ignorant
sex scenes in the first 30 minutes
and a medley of football-tossing
shenanigans — we will laugh, we
will hurl both insults and plastic
spoons at the screen and we will
toss footballs. This is all a ritual
honoring the cult classic film that
many regard as the king of worst
films ever.
I’ve never seen “The Room” in
a theater, and so I look forward to
partaking in the shared experience
of mocking and interacting with
director-producer-writer-star
Tommy Wiseau’s widely regarded
fiasco of a film. And it’s very, very
easy to mock. “The Room” very
deliberately breaks all of the
rules of cinema at every angle: a
script that defies the bounds of
the English language, camera
movements
that
ignore
the
established setting (for example
an effortless swipe left through
what should be a wall), a complete
lack of character direction so that
characters appear and vanish
at
Wiseau’s
will,
overdubbed
dialogue that doesn’t quite match
up the movements of the mouth,
etc. “The Room” doesn’t do
just most things badly — it does
everything badly.
But to dissect every single
problem the film has is best
reserved for actually viewing
the film. After all, that’s where
much of the fun is. I’d rather try
something more interesting and
take a stab at analyzing Wiseau’s
vision, if he even has one. No
director, even if they’re the insane,
probably stranded extraterrestrial
that is Tommy Wiseau, sets out to
deliberately destroy every accepted
convention in film and achieve
that destruction so successfully.
“The Room” had a point, and it is
perhaps worth examining what
that point is.
An appropriate one-sentence
summary I found for the film
reads, “A happy-go-lucky banker
sees his world fall apart when
his friends begin to betray him
one by one.” The banker, Johnny,
is friendly, caring and honest
and treats his fiancée, Lisa, to
expensive gifts and frequent sex
in what appears to be Lisa’s navel.
This apparently solid relationship
begins to unravel when Lisa
decides she no longer loves Johnny
and begins a passionate affair
with Johnny’s best friend Mark.
Ultimately the love triangle leads
to a series of confrontations that
result in tragedy.
This
series
of
unfortunate
events ignites 10 minutes into the
film when Lisa’s mother Claudette
comes to visit her daughter. Lisa
tells her mother about her change
of heart about Johnny, that he is
“so … boring.” Claudette responds
with an argument that switches
between reminders of Johnny’s
love and acknowledgements of
Johnny’s wealth. Johnny, she says,
“supports you, provides for you,
and, darling, you can’t support
yourself,” and “his position is very
secure. And he told me he plans to
buy you a house.” Lisa responds
to her mother with reluctant
acceptance, her face smoldering
with disappointment.
With this telling first encounter,
we come to realize that Lisa has
been pigeonholed into the position
of housewife. Her mother clearly
views her as inept and incapable of
fulfilling any role that is not as a sex
object. And it is clear this is the role
Johnny desires for his fiancée; that
the very first meeting we see of this
couple is their navel coitus, ended
only by Johnny’s leaving for work,
establishes Johnny as breadwinner
and Lisa as concubine.
Compounding this relationship,
which is reminiscent of 1950s
values, with the obvious age
difference between Johnny and
Lisa (Johnny’s face bears the
marks of a grizzled, hardened
Vietnam vet and contrasts with
Lisa’s sprightly 23 year-old visage),
we come to understand that
Johnny and Claudette represent
the old world while Lisa embodies
the generation that came of age
either just before or just after
September 11.
Yes, “The Room” is a study of
the expectations and limitations
of two warring generations, vying
for dominance in this post-9/11
America. Johnny and Claudette
embody the Old World, and adhere
to the old order with which they
grew up and have lived for some
time. Lisa, by contrast, personifies
the new generation that sees how
the Old World has failed to nurture
its citizens and has repressed the
young to elevate the established.
Now the new generation, as Lisa
says, “wants it all” and looks to
upend the old — in cheating on
Johnny, Lisa rebels against the Old
World. Every scheme she concocts
— creating a fake pregnancy and
claiming Johnny has become
abusive,
while
simultaneously
defending and even glorifying
him — mocks the old system and
furthers her utter dismantling of it.
And it seems others too are
shifting
away
from
the
Old
World, as evidenced by Johnny’s
encounter at the flower shop. “Oh
hi Johnny, I didn’t know it was
you,” the store owner says, despite
the fact that 1) Johnny is evidently
her favorite customer and 2) it is
impossible not recognize a face
that looks like Wormtongue from
“Lord of the Rings” but was left
just a little too long in the kiln.
Indeed, society is leaving Johnny
behind.
At the heart of this struggle
between Old and New is Mark,
torn
by
his
friendship
with
Johnny and his equally powerful
attraction to Lisa. Mark writhes
under the weight of his actions,
reaching his peak frustration
when he very deliberately attempts
to throw one of his friends off a
building, only to schizophrenically
and immediately revert back to
his normal, amiable self. Each
encounter between Mark and
these two other indomitable forces
draws him further into the fray,
tugging at his loyalties whether
through games of catch in the park
with Johnny or sex with Lisa; it
is the battle for Mark’s soul that
provides the beating heart of this
story.
The
final
confrontation
between Johnny and Mark, a
fistfight at a surprise birthday
party for Johnny, solidifies Mark’s
rejection of Johnny and the Old
World. Johnny, despondent and
tortured by remembrances of all
he has lost, destroys his apartment
and everything in it — the physical
markers of his broken, capitalist
system.
“Why?
Why
is
this
happening to me?” he beckons,
only to realize, “It’s over.” He puts
a loaded gun in his mouth and
pulls the trigger.
And so the two symbols of the
Old World, Johnny and Claudette,
are destroyed — Johnny by his
own hand and Claudette by her
inevitable demise due to the
breast cancer that she mentioned
in passing at one point. His body
positioned cross-like, recalling
the Christ, Johnny must die for
the building of a new world. What
that world brings is uncertain.
Perhaps Mark and Lisa will
build a life together — despite his
insisting she “drop off the Earth,
that’s
a
promise”
(whatever
that means), Mark stays with
Lisa to comfort her and Denny,
Johnny’s creepy ward — perhaps
they won’t. Perhaps Denny will
learn from Johnny’s mistakes,
or perhaps he’ll embrace the
murderer inside him that is
clearly seeping from just below
the surface. The aftermath simply
cannot be known.
What is known is almost every
scene in “The Room” begins with
someone entering a space, and ends
with someone leaving it, and if that
is not symbolism then I do not
know what is: our time in a space,
in a room, is finite, just as a ruling
system begins and will eventually
break under its own weight. How
we perceive usurper and usurped
depends on our positions within
that system, but the system will
certainly, one day, fall.
Destruction is the thematic
core of “The Room,” mirrored
in
Wiseau’s
destruction
of
every convention of film. What
I
previously
described
as
problematic bad cinema might
actually be Wiseau dismantling
the old for something new. How we
view “The Room” — as a comedy
of errors or as a critical anti-film
— speaks to an artistic vision, or
megalomaniacal vision. Choosing
which option is a privilege I leave
to you, lest you be otherwise torn
apart.
Bircoll can’t be melted by
jet fuel. To confirm, email
jbircoll@umich.edu.
FILM COLUMN
Entering deeper into
‘The Room’
JAMIE
BIRCOLL
GOOD MUSIC
A spooky handshake.
MUSIC VIDEO REVIEW
Our hearts are broken, his
heart is broken — we’re all
broken.
By leaving
Vampire
Weekend
— one of
the most
essential
millennial
bands to
surface
since Arcade
Fire — Rostam Batmanglij,
the band’s former producer,
ensured that. But he wants to
move on, and we’ll hear him
out. His latest single, whether
deliberate in that association
or not, stays in the field of
separation and heartbreak, as
ROSTAM attempts to make
a name for himself beyond
Vampire Weekend.
The music video for “Gravity
Don’t Pull Me” succeeds
in this far better than its
predecessors. While “EOS,”
“Don’t Let it Get to You” and
“Wood” could all feasibly be
worked into his former band’s
sound, this is ROSTAM’s first
track on which he gives a true
argument that he can flourish
as an individual, not simply
as support for an absorbing
frontman or woman — at least
production-wise. Where his
first solo works each struggled
at times to carry themselves
through the whole track,
giving a sense of unrealized
potential, “Gravity Don’t Pull
Me” turns and spins start to
finish, maintaining the energy.
The tail-end of the track
evolves into a consuming synth
reminiscent of the elusive
electronic artist Jai Paul, and
it features some of ROSTAM’s
most captivating solo work yet.
Lyrically, though, ROSTAM
still lags. His songwriting is
basic and straightforward, a
strong contrast to Vampire
Weekend frontman Ezra
Koenig’s complex witticisms
and intricate tales. “Gravity
Don’t Pull Me” gives itself
away clearly: “And the worst
way I ever felt / Was from
this same boy that I still miss
/ Cause I messed it up / And
it broke my heart.” Still, it’s
a strong enough message to
complete the track and add
some emotion while it’s at it.
The video that accompanies
the track reflects the
lyrics — stripped-down,
straightforward and
occasionally interesting.
ROSTAM enters our view
singing into a mic and spends
the rest of the video doing
just that. The true driving
force behind this video is the
dancers, Jack Grabow and Sam
Asa Pratt. Their compelling
choreography, peaking when
their mirrored movements
become nearly indecipherable
from one another, captures
the pop sensibility of the track
and the longing that its words
divulge. The camerawork and
the visual effects speckled
throughout add traces, making
sure not to interfere too much.
The video, however, suffers
from the same problem his
prior releases did: unrealized
potential. The best moments,
when the song, dance and
effects are most in-sync, are
too often disrupted or tabled
for more scenes of ROSTAM
at the mic. It’s understandable
that he wants the focus on
himself for a change, but it’s
too jarringly generic against
the backdrop of the track and
the dancers. When the video
ends with ROSTAM walking
slowly away from the stand, it’s
difficult to shake off a feeling
of hackneyed millennial
cheesiness.
One commenter aptly notes,
“This is the most New York
thing I’ve ever seen,” and while
for that I would direct readers
to Matt and Kim’s “Daylight”
video, the specter of New
York is clear. The dancers are
dressed in all black, there’s a
grimy white wall, a fashionable
looking rain-jacket and a
general sense that everyone
involved in this video lives in
Brooklyn.
That’s not necessarily a bad
thing. But for an artist trying
his best to establish his own,
ROSTAM risks succumbing
to his affiliations when he
needs to transcend them most.
“Gravity Don’t Pull Me” is a
step in the right direction. It’s
still just a step.
- MATT GALLATIN
B-
Gravity
Don’t
Pull Me
ROSTAM
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