The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Tuesday, February 14, 2017 — 5
For 59th time, Grammy
Awards ignore Black art
Exploring the ceremony’s history of racial underrepresentation
On Sunday night, after almost
twenty
years
of
consistently
committing mortal sins against
the gods of hip-hop, the Recording
Academy attempted to repent with
the culture at the 59th Grammy
Awards by decorating Chance
the Rapper and his latest project,
Coloring
Book,
which
wasn’t
distributed by a major record label,
with golden trophies intended to
symbolize a new understanding of,
and appreciation for, underground
music.
Having
spent
months
campaigning to make his freely-
distributed
music
eligible
for
awards, Chance seemed to have
all his wishes granted, professing
unswerving
thankfulness
to
the Lord before blessing the
stage himself with a soulful
performance. But for hip-hop at
large, this meager victory is not
enough: Iconic figures are still not
being invited into the room.
In 1989, DJ Jazzy Jeff &
the Fresh Prince won the first
Grammy for rap music, but they,
like all other nominees in the
category, refused to attend the
ceremony, as they felt overlooked
by programmers’ decision not to air
the award’s reception. Five years
later, Tony Bennett took home the
trophy for best album in the same
year that revolutionary hip-hop
classics illmatic, Ready to Die and
Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik
had been released.
In the early 2000s, breakout
sensation 50 Cent lost Best New
Artist to Evanescence and the
Black Eyed Peas won best Rap Duo/
Group two-years running. Finally,
most painfully, Lil Wayne’s Tha
Carter III lost Album of the Year
to a Robert Plant/Allison Krauss
collaboration, a tough triumph that
any reasonable person who owned
a radio in 2007 should be willing to
admit was a mistake.
Sure,
the
Grammy’s
took
some
relevant
steps
towards
taste-making
this
year,
such
as enlisting Anderson .Paak to
perform alongside A Tribe Called
Quest, as well as including De La
Soul and ScHoolboy Q in its rap
nominees. But still, Drake’s Views,
an articulately-marketed package
of music that’s been largely deemed
stale by rap fans, was the genre’s
only representation in the top
category, and its singsong single,
“Hotline Bling,” which is now
eighteen-months-old, won best rap
song.
Sure, Lil Yachty was on scene,
having snuck himself into the
commercial realm through a four-
times-platinum guest-feature on
D.R.A.M.’s hit single, “Broccoli.”
But Young Thug, Travis Scott,
Gucci Mane, Lil Uzi Vert, 21
Savage, Migos and Metro Boomin’,
all populist champions who have
indefinitely defined the most recent
era in hip-hop, both sonically and
aesthetically, don’t seem to have
received their invitations to the
ceremony, which still, despite all
its shortcomings, labels itself with
the notoriously cringe-worthy title:
“Music’s Biggest Night.”
Two weeks ago, TMZ reported
that neither Kanye West, Justin
Bieber
nor
Drake
would
be
attending the Grammy’s ceremony,
following the leadership of cult-
icon Frank Ocean, who didn’t
even submit his platinum-selling,
critically-acclaimed LP Blonde for
nominations.
“That
institution
certainly
has nostalgic importance. It just
doesn’t seem to be representing
very well for people who come
from where I come from, and hold
down what I hold down,” Ocean
said in a statement.
The news was particularly
noteworthy as West, Bieber and
Drake combined were nominated
for twenty awards and, honestly,
carry half of the internet’s attention
around the world with them. But
these male, pop figureheads don’t
think the Grammys are getting
things right, a complaint that’s
too common to ignore, even after
the Academy’s 59th attempt at
awarding great art.
Last February, Kanye West sent
out a string of tweets that trolled
the Academy for its blatant lack of
appreciation for Black culture.
“I think the Grammys are
super important!!!” he began,
diving deeper into his frustrations
by noting, “I know so many cool
artists whose hearts have been
broken by the politics including
mine,” before finally speaking on
behalf of almost four decades of
misunderstood rap brilliance.
“You like your Black people a
certain way also. You wouldn’t
have Future perform and that man
owned the clubs last summer,”
Kanye tweeted, going on to use the
Atlanta-raised trap-rap sensation
as a symbolic marty for the culture.
“Has anyone at the Grammys
ever heard “March Madness”???
Yes I have a problem with the
Grammys,” he wrote, before finally
proposing a perfectly reasonable,
tangible solution: “We need to see
Young Thug at the Grammys. Not
just me and Jay in a suit.”
***
“All us artists here, we fucking
adore you. You are our light, and
the way you make me and my
friends feel, the way you make my
Black friends feel, is empowering,
and you make them stand up for
themselves,” Adele confessed to
her apparent idol, Beyoncé, in the
final moments of the 59th Grammy
Awards on Sunday night.
This was during her acceptance,
or, more accurately, denial speech
for Album of the Year, an award
that her 25 won over Beyonce’s
Lemonade in what will surely be
remembered as another time the
Grammy’s
chose
conventional
excellence
over
difficult,
breathtaking, truly trailblazing
Black art. Adele’s praise also came
just moments before she snapped
her trophy in half, seemingly to
give part of it to Beyoncé.
As tough of a fact as it is may be
for some to swallow, Kanye West’s
February 2016 Twitter rant about
the Academy bears significant
weight.
“I feel the Grammy awarding
system is way off and completely
out
of
touch,”
West
wrote,
something that even its most
decorated victor of 2017 seems to
agrees with. But of course, that was
before he packed in some signature
Kanye-isms, such as: “If I’m not at
the show next year then there is no
show.”
Yes, the Grammy ceremony
happened,
without
Kanye
West, Justin Bieber or Drake in
attendance;
without
awarding
Beyoncé her hard-earned Album
of the Year trophy; without
accrediting the most important
hip-hop figures of the year; but
once again, we’re unsure if the
Academy’s opinions are relevant
in the first place. Once again, its
disconnection from the culture,
the listeners, those who stay
awake at night awaiting their
favorite artists’ releases and line
up for blocks when those stars’
whereabouts become known, is too
apparent to ignore.
Sure,
Chance
the
Rapper,
underground
champion
and
indie-darling, has been anointed
a figurehead of the mainstream,
having won Best New Artist and
a couple of hip-hop Grammys
without ever selling a single
album. But it’s important that he
had influential online outlets like
Complex, illroots, Fake Shore
Drive and Pitchfork pushing his
music for years, and also had to
reinvent himself into a family-
friendly, colorful rap figure before
ending up on stage.
***
Chance the Rapper absolutely
deserves all the success that he’s
gotten; I don’t think there’s a single
hip-hop head in America who
would say otherwise. But right
now, Chano is one in a million, a
rare mixtape rapper who managed
to maneuver his music onto official
streaming platforms and establish
a network of committed fans to
campaign for his success. Finally,
after every other tastemaker in
the game deemed him an icon,
the Academy did the inevitable
by acknowledging his existence.
They didn’t break down any walls
though, if you think about it.
Chance
the
Rapper’s
2017
decoration is a victory for hip-
hop somewhat like Lauryn Hill’s
in 1999, when she won Album of
the Year with her classic LP The
Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. It was
a remarkable feat for the culture,
but the Academy’s late realization
that Ms. Hill was an iconic talent
becomes less honorable when we
consider that they awarded Celine
Dion’s My Heart Will Go On the
trophy for Album of the Year just
two years prior, when The Fugee’s
masterpiece The Score would’ve
been eligible to claim the prize.
Right now, it’s fine to celebrate
the victories of our favorite
Chicago superhero, Lil Chano from
79th, a.k.a. Chance the Rapper. It’s
also okay to watch his Coloring-
Book-mash-up
performance
on repeat all day, then proceed
to replay the album all week,
constantly realizing you missed
many important details on all of
your former listens. But it’s equally,
if not more, important to mourn
Beyonce’s devastating loss. It’s
equally, if not more, important to
keep hoping that next year will be
different.
Until a ceremony can finally
conclude
without
a
winner
apologizing to the populist-elect,
the Academy has work to do. I
won’t allow them, or the mass
media, or even Chance the Rapper
himself, to claim their recognition
of one, single mixtape rapper as
sufficient
acknowledgement
of
worldwide scene.
Sure, the Academy squeezed
Lee “Q” O’Denat, who founded
the
vital
online
platform
WorldStarHipHip.com and passed
away this month, into its annual
eulogy reel, but they still left out
Shawty Lo. Sure, they’ve now
declared freely-distributed music
eligible for awards, but Chance the
Rapper hardly had time to shout
out “DJ DRAMA for doing it first”
before the music cut his speech off.
What about DJ Esco, DJ Whoo
Kid and the rest of the unawarded
figureheads?
I, much like Kanye West, want
to see Young Thug at the Grammys.
Here’s to hoping next year that
might become a reality.
SALVATORE DIGIOIA
Daily Arts Writer
NYFW Report: Jeremy
Scott’s ‘Cult of Personality’
At Jeremy Scott’s fall-winter
2017 show, heaven and hell rode
in tandem.
Though
the
overflowing
venue space could have doubled
as Satan’s living room, the
presence of Jesus was palpable.
I don’t mean that in a coercive,
Mike Pence’s America type of
way; JC’s face was plastered
across look after look in a style
reminiscent of the romantic
era. His eyes followed you from
the front of Gigi Hadid’s pants.
Juxtaposed against vixen-like
cheetah prints and chunky
dominatrix boots, the angel
and devil had their first shared
moment of glory since their
interactions on the shoulders of
Kronk in “The Emperor’s New
Groove.”
The
good-versus-evil
symbolism became a bit more
nuanced toward the show’s
latter end. A dress in an
overtly innocent, babydoll cut
touted “Sex is Cute” in large,
equally
loopy
lettering.
A
feathered showgirl headdress
was paired alongside a crew-
neck
sweatshirt
fit
for
a
kindergartener.
Supermodel
offspring
Anna
Cleveland
sported
a
fringed
skirt,
reminiscent of the ever-sinful
1920s, juxtaposed against a
pure white cape emblazoned
with angel wings. Soon, the
looks appeared to exclusively
focus on this moral conflict’s
place in the United States.
Leather and velvet pieces in
bright, childlike hues served
both as an emblem of American
excess and an appreciation of
the genuine liberty to which the
USA lays claim. Old western-
style music (banjos, deep male
drawl and the like) blared
through the speakers, followed
by Depeche Mode’s “Personal
Jesus”
on
full
blast.
The
production’s final moments,
including the shimmering “As
Seen on TV” tank, felt nearly
satirical.
Perhaps
the
paradox
presented in Scott’s “Cult of
Personality” mimics that of
our country. Since our very
beginnings, we have claimed
to support the honest and
good over all else. And yet
here we are, with a hateful
businessman at the helm of a
ship built by those he hopes to
eject. It comes as no surprise,
then, that members of Scott’s
show staff were asked to wear
custom tee shirts that read
“Our Voice is the Only Thing
that Will Protect Us” on the
front, and listed the names and
phone numbers of each state’s
Senators on the back.
Sure, the metaphor of the
up and the down is a bit more
simple than what’s going on
in our nation, but there is
something to be said about a
man who can say this much
through his clothes. Hats off to
you, Jeremy, and to the angels
and devils living on all of our
shoulders.
TESS GARCIA
Senior Arts Editor
STYLE REVIEW
CBS
Beyoncé performing at the 2017 Grammy Awards
JEREMY SCOTT
Scott’s New York Fashion Week collection
‘Wick’ turns action to art
SUMMIT ENTERTAINMENT
Keanu Reeves as John Wick
Sequel delivers and shows potential to expand the franchise
“John Wick: Chapter Two” does
almost everything a good sequel
should. It quickly differentiates
itself from the first chapter, yet
still recalls what made the original
film such an exhilarating ride.
It’s darker and more complex
than its predecessor, and it uses
the larger budget granted to it by
the previous film’s box office and
critical success to expand its story
and bring it to new locales that,
of course, make for spectacular
stages for the bread and butter of
the film: the action.
And on that account, “John
Wick: Chapter Two” delivers.
Oh, does it deliver. Each action
scene, from beginning to end, is
distinct and memorable all on its
own — though they are still better
viewed in sequence, the better to
appreciate the sense of escalation
from one to the next both in terms
of scale and the sheer luridness of
it all. It’s hard to choose a favorite
simply because they’re all made to
the same breathtaking degree of
excellence, though the many fights
between Wick (Keanu Reeves,
“The Matrix”) and bodyguard
Cassian (Common, “Selma”) earn
points for brutality, creativity and
perfectly displayed dry wit.
As he did with the original “John
Wick,” stuntman-turned-director
Chad Stahelski uses his training to
turn action into an art form. Again
utilizing the “Gun-Fu” approach
to shootouts that the original
pioneered, each action scene is
a
meticulously
choreographed
marvel that keeps the level of
excitement high for the entire film.
They are cut and shot so perfectly
that it would be shocking if the
film as a whole isn’t remembered
as one of the best action films of
the year.
Of course, even
when bullets aren’t
being traded by the
dozen, “John Wick:
Chapter Two” is
engaging due to
the simple pleasure
of time spent in
this
cinematic
world. The original
constructed a world
of respectable assassins bound by a
strange set of bylaws and manners,
and proved that nothing beats two
men in immaculate suits buying
each other drinks and talking
about how they’ll kill each other.
Here, audiences are given more
of a look into how this world is
governed with a trip to Rome that
dominates much of the first half.
The wider scale that results makes
“Chapter Two” more enjoyable
than its predecessor, even as it
occasionally loses track of its plot.
Within
the
geopolitical
thrills and networks of homeless
assassins, the script from Derek
Kolstad (“The Package”) never
loses sight of its characters. John’s
struggle to move beyond his past
and prove to himself he can be
more than a killer is familiar, but
Reeves’ alternatingly desperate
and dead-eyed performance — as
well as the character’s humanizing
love of dogs — conveys it in a unique
and relatable way. Ian McShane
(“Pirates of the Caribbean: On
Stranger Tides”) returns as one of
the most spinoff-able characters
in
modern
action films, the
delightfully genteel
manager of a ritzy
hotel for assassins,
and he is thankfully
given
more
to
do than in the
original, including
a part in the most
emotionally intense
scene of the film.
There’s a sense while watching
both “John Wick” films, that
the character has a franchise
future waiting for him — that
Wick could hypothetically live
on through the years and even
outstay Reeves in the role, like
an American James Bond raised
to the power of Jason Bourne.
Every corner of the neon-tinged,
testosterone-fueled world feels
as if it conceals more stories
to tell, more characters to
unfurl, more action set pieces
to unleash. A third film has
already been announced, with
more potentially to follow, and if
they are to the standard the first
two films have set, we should all
consider ourselves very lucky.
JEREMIAH VANDERHELM
Daily Arts Writer
“John Wick:
Chapter Two”
Ann Arbor 20 +
IMAX, Quality 16
Summit
Entertainment
FILM REVIEW
MUSIC NOTEBOOK