The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, March 15, 2017 — 5A

‘Cries From Syria’ gives
crisis needed humanity

New HBO documentary a laudably sobering look at Syria’s plight

You’ve seen the pictures.

Two of them, specifically.
You’ve seen the image of
three-year-old
Alan
Kurdi,

face down, dead, on the shores
of a Turkish beach, lifeless
in a bright red shirt and blue
shorts. You’ve also seen five-
year-old
Omran
Daqneesh,

painted
grey

in
rubble
and

caked with blood
against the stark
orange backdrop
of his chair. It’s
quite
startling,

then, when these images begin
to move — when the waves
keep crashing into and passing
over
Kurdi’s
body,
when

Daqneesh
absent-mindedly

picks at the blood on his face
and examines his arms and
feet.

“Cries From Syria,” Evgeny

Afineevsky’s (“Winter on Fire:
Ukraine’s Fight for Freedom”)
new HBO documentary about
the ongoing Syrian Civil War,
is bookended by the footage
from these two viral moments.
It’s fitting. The youth — and, by
extension, Syria’s increasingly
uncertain future — are the
focal point of Afineevsky’s
unsparing film, the prism
through
which
he
frames

each chapter and political
development. Children, the
movie argues, are the ones
who have lost the most in this
abhorrent humanitarian crisis
(one of the world’s largest and
most urgent), and it’s they
who stand to gain the most
if peace is to be achieved.
In
the
documentary’s

most disturbing scene, the
aftermath of the sarin gas
attack in Ghouta is laid bare
for the audience to witness:
Teenagers, toddlers, infants
choking and unable to breathe,
piles of convulsing bodies
strewn about a chaotic hospital
floor, children whose pupils
have rolled back into their
heads as their mouths foam
viciously.
It’s
unwatchable,

horrific, utterly depressing —
and, at the risk of sounding too
cliché, morally necessary.

Indeed, “Cries From Syria”

is, at its most basic level, a
profoundly
graphic
visual

document of the atrocities
of war. It is not a political
film, insofar as its producers

do not posit a critique of the
Syrian opposition’s treatment
of
religious
minorities
or

suggest the refugee crisis as
an indirect result of American
foreign
policy.
The
movie

is obviously positioned on
the side of the Syrian Free
Army, but its point of view is
purely ground-level; the only
voices heard in interviews
are Syrian activists, refugees
and defected army members.

Outside
of
a

particularly
scathing
segment
critical of Putin
and
Russian

airstrikes,
the

film doesn’t aim to persuade
viewers
on
one
political

ideology over the other.

Rather, “Cries From Syria”

subjects its audience to two
hours of relentless carnage
and bloodshed, focusing on the
war as, objectively, a sickening
global crisis. It sounds brutal
to watch — and it is — but as
the film makes clear, there is
no other option. You have the
luxury to gripe about having
to endure two hours of misery
on your TV screen — imagine
that as your everyday, lived-in
reality.

In
fact,
what’s
most

remarkable about Afineevsky’s
documentary is that, well, it’s
not really his. The footage is
almost entirely amateur video
from activists and citizen
journalists as the events took
place, and consequently, the
film doesn’t pretend to be
concerned with artful camera
angles or an overproduced
score. Save for what one
assumes
was
a
grievously

difficult editing assignment,
the documentarians recede
into the background, silent,
instead letting the cruelty of
war and those who suffered
— and still suffer — speak for
themselves.

And as the film is structured

chronologically,
the
final

chapter ends, elegantly, with
an honest look at the refugee
crisis in our current political
context. Each chapter, from
Al-Assad’s appalling cruelty
in Ghouta to ISIS’ barbaric
takeover
of
Raqqah,
has

constituted a broad, forceful
argument
to
bolster
this

declaration:
A
piercing

portrait of families stranded,
separated,
displaced
and

utterly, completely abandoned.

There are no easy answers, but
it’s clear compassion is the only
way forward. Yet as thousands
of women and children are
rejected, rounded up, or forced
on to the streets by supposedly
developed countries, we hear
testimonials from a number of
young orphans. Their families
ripped apart, these children
have no other outlet with
which to air their titular cries.

It is sobering, to say the

least, to confront your own
inaction. Once you remove
political
inclinations
and

theorizing from the equation,
you are left with nothing
but a stark portrait of people
less fortunate than you, and
for whom you have done so
shamefully little to help. What
Syrian children, what Syrian
women, what Syrian men,
what all victims of the Syrian
Civil war have endured is, for
the most part, a concept in
the abstract for many of us,
a reality so far removed from
our own that to even consider
the possibility of a government
using chemical weapons on its
own citizens is to entertain
the ludicrous. When the dust
settles, then, when the picture
is clearer and the gasbag
rhetoric deflated: We will be
remembered for a systematic
dehumanization of a people
who have done nothing but
suffer;
we
will
celebrate

whatever supposed progress
the world makes in the coming
years, and it will be irrevocably
tainted by the unequivocal
shame of Executive Order
13769;
we
will
confront,

without pretense, our refusal,
both collective and individual,
to fight for children who could
be our own but, unfortunately,
whose
names
sound
too

different and whose prayer
rugs look too Middle Eastern;
we will be forced to reckon
with the profound idiocy of
categorizing refugees as the
terrorists they so desperately
seek shelter from; we will,
eventually and much, much
too late, come to terms with
the sadistic moral calculus
our leaders feel the need to
compute to determine who
is worthy of safety and who
is deemed a threat to this
ethically
bankrupt
nation.

The children of Syria have
suffered, and we have ignored
them; the cries have fallen
on deaf ears, and indifferent
hearts.

HBO

NABEEL CHOLLAMPAT

Senior Arts Editor

Snarky Puppy to take on Hill

Eclectic,
funk-pop,
jazz

quasi-collective Snarky Puppy
is about to inject some soul into
Ann Arbor.

The band itself was formed

in the college town of Denton,
Texas while members were
attending
the

University
of

North Texas.

“I was writing

music
that
sat

somewhere
between
jazz,

pop,
and
God-

knows-what,
and asked 9 of
my
friends
to

play it with me
every week,” wrote Michael
League, bassist and bandleader
for Snarky Puppy, in an email
interview. “Things really just
snowballed from there.”

Now based in Brooklyn, the

group has evolved to grace the
international landscape with
its innovative sound.

“I
find
inspiration
in

many, many different musical
traditions from around the
world,” League wrote. “Each
one
teaches
me
something

different. Piazzolla tells me to
wear the emotion on my sleeve.
Sufjan Stevens tells me never
to show it. Stravinsky tells me
to explore the entire universe
of harmony. Ali Farke Touré
tells me that two chords is all
you need (if that). The whole
universe of music is constantly
offering you food if you’re
hungry for it.”

With strands of everything,

nothing
and
yet-to-be-

discovered melodies, Snarky
Puppy
rests
in
profound

instances of utter originality,
separating them from other
contemporary
instrumental

groups.

The
band
is
big
(both

literally
and
figuratively),

consisting of instrumentalists
Michael League (bandleader,
composer, bass), Bill Laurance

(keyboards),
Justin
Stanton

(trumpet, keyboards), Shaun
Martin
(keyboards),
Cory

Henry
(keyboards),
Bob

Lanzetti
(guitar),
Mark

Lettieri
(guitar),
Chris

McQueen
(guitar),
Mike

Maher (trumpet), Jay Jennings
(trumpet), Chris Bullock (tenor
saxophone,
flute,
clarinet),

Bob
Reynolds
(saxophone),

Nate
Werth

(percussion),
Marcelo Woloski
(percussion/
drums),
Keita
Ogawa

(percussion/
drums),
Robert

“Sput”
Searight

(drums),
Larnell

Lewis
(drums)

and Jason “JT”

Thomas (drums).

An
eccentric
force
of

sound, Snarky Puppy recently
won their third Grammy in
February, taking home “Best
Contemporary
Instrumental

Album” for their 11th record,
Culcha Vulcha. Their music
has no concrete destination,
yet it hits every dot on the
map. Spontaneous, carefully
practiced, huge and miniscule
all at once, their sound is one
like no other.

“We
never
expect
to

win
awards
because
we

were unknown for so long.
Although it doesn’t make you
a better band, it creates new
possibilities creatively. People
trust and value you more, so the
crazy ideas that we’ve always
had in our heads can actually
become reality. That’s what
I’m most grateful for,” League
wrote.

Propelled by their deserved

recognition, the group isn’t
afraid to take chances. They
use their live performances as
a time to delve into what makes
their music so invigoratingly
distinctive.

“One of my favorite things

about Snarky Puppy is the
way in which we improvise
as a group,” League wrote.
“The same song can be almost

unrecognizably
different

from night to night based on a
single thing that a single player
contributes in a single moment.
Everyone’s
ears
are
open,

receptive
to
the
subtleties

floating
around
the
stage

from each individual player,
but
without
disrespecting

the essential content of the
composition itself. This allows
us to consistently deliver the
emotional content of the songs
each night while allowing the
music to grow and breathe,
creating
a
unique
musical

experience
each
night
(for

better or worse!).”

League’s
personal
favorite

songs
to
perform
live
are,

“the
ones
that
have
the

strongest melodies,” he wrote.
“‘Shofukan,’ ‘Thing of Gold,’
‘Sleeper,’ ‘Flood’–– tunes like
that. I feel that a good melody
never gets old.”

Deeply
passionate
about

their work, the group has an
undeniably
genuine
nature.

They understand their roots and
challenge themselves out of a
pure love for what they do.

“The band started much more

acoustic, much jazzier. We were
white college students from the
suburbs who had grown up in
garage rock bands and got swept
away by jazz,” League wrote. “I
think this is evident in our first
few albums. But when we started
playing on the predominantly
black gospel/R&B scene in Dallas
(and when people like Bernard
Wright, Robert ‘Sput’ Searight,
Shaun Martin and Bobby Sparks
joined the band), the sound of the
band changed dramatically. It
got funkier. We started focusing
more on groove and melody
rather than complex harmony.
But I think the most important
change was that we became
more
communicative,
and

consequently, more accessible to
audiences.”

Fearlessly
exploring
the

limitlessness
of
their
own

abilities, Snarky Puppy is set to
share their passion with Ann
Arbor tomorrow, March 16, at
Hill Auditorium.

FILM REVIEW

“Cries From Syria”

Documentary

HBO

INTERESTED IN WRITING FOR ARTS?

Email arts@michigdandaily.com for an application.

GROUNDUP MUSIC

ARYA NAIDU

For the Daily

COMMUNITY CULTURE PREVIEW

UMS presents
“Snarky Puppy”

Hill Auditorium

Thursday March 16

@ 7:30 PM

$12 - $20 Students,
$30 - $50 Adults

SINGLE REVIEW

Frank Ocean has made it. If you
didn’t believe that after Channel
Orange, you do now after Blonde
took over the world, sound-track-
ing that last hour of every party
you’ve been to in the last seven
months. He’s created a niche that
few knew we needed, a mellow,
brooding croon that fits better on
midnight drives than the dance-
floor. Ocean has become a pop
titan with only one true radio hit,
now bigger than most straight-
edge pop artists. He is the new
commercial.
You can recognize this on “Cha-
nel,” his first solo single since
Blonde. The track is immediately
recognizable as Ocean’s, the pen-
sive piano coupled with a mov-
ing, rhythmic syncopation that
he mastered so well on Channel
Orange. Though he left that pair-
ing behind a bit on Blonde in favor
of more guitar and synth, it still

sat beneath the surface of each of
those tracks, and “Chanel” offers
the perfect bridge to easily under-
stand how Orange and Blonde are
two sides of the same coin. It’s

also one of his most assured vers-
es in a while, more reminiscent
of his verse on Earl Sweatshirt’s
“Sunday” — “I mean he called me
a faggot / I was just calling his
bluff / I mean how anal am I gon’
be when I’m aiming my gun” —
than most of the poetic muses on
Blonde, which ruminated on love
and loss.
On “Chanel” he dives into the
theme of duality that he devel-
oped on Blonde, asserting that he

“sees both sides like Chanel,” a
reference to the two-sided Cha-
nel logo. He paints a beautifully
jagged and seemingly contradic-
tory portrait of images that never
stop to reassess, only to march
on. Many have made the over-
simplified connection that this
refers specifically to bisexuality,
even though Ocean has publicly
shirked that term. That ignores
the dynamism that Ocean has
long discussed, the power of
ambiguity. He has always refused
to be placed into a category.
“Chanel” is no different, and like
all of his tracks, exists on a plane
of its own. It, like Ocean himself,
resists easy classification, clear
only in the power to mesmerize —
the power of perfection.

- MATT GALLATIN

“Chanel”

Frank Ocean

Blonded

BLONDED