6A — Monday, April 17, 2017
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
DAILY MUSIC COLUMN
Uncertainty: Isn’t it great?
In her last column, Lo talks about music, pain & dancing through it
“It’s
really
interesting
what
happens when your passion is bigger
than the tools you have to deal with
it. It creates this energy that’s raw.
Isn’t it great?”
— Abbie Porter
That’s how Greta Gerwig’s
character describes early punk
band The Raincoats in Mike Mills’s
“20th Century Women.” They’re
not a pretty-sounding band, and
they’re not talented either, but
they’re not supposed to be. They
want to be raw and passionate and
energetic and always and forever
stay that way.
The narrator says, when Abbie
moved to New York, “She learned
to dance when she got sad.” In
her performance, Greta Gerwig
dances to badass punk songs like
a prototype of Molly Ringwald in
“The Breakfast Club,” swinging
her arms and bouncing off the
ground with a furious yet elegant
energy. I watch and I’m envious.
I don’t recommend trying to copy
her unless you really want to tire
yourself out.
I can say that because I’ve tried
to dance like Abbie, because I’ve
turned my iPod up to full volume
and blasted The Jam and The
Clash and Talking Heads and
other punk bands you can dance
to and tried to let go of my feelings
through their songs. I’ve done this
before and after I’ve come out as
trans. The night a long essay is
due and the day after I turn it in.
After a great night or a terrible
night. It doesn’t matter. I think
I’m always going to be doing this,
turning to music against my better
judgement to solve my problems,
looking to dance my way through
stress. I’ve tried to make Siouxsie
Sioux or David Bowie and Byrne
or The Menzingers or just any
artist with strong enough vocals
coupled with a decent bass line and
aggressive enough guitar be my
therapists.
It doesn’t work. Music never
really heals you. I’ve known that,
at least part of me has, ever since I
tried to ease pubescent heartbreak
in 9th grade with a Dashboard
Confessional CD. I think there’s
a slight loss of loneliness through
the
lyrics
and
vocals,
some
fulfillment in moving your body
until it’s exhausted. But whatever
freaks me out is always still there
when the headphones get quiet
again.
I like to think I’ve actually
gotten mature enough that I
don’t look to music to solve my
problems. I pray, and I breathe
and I try to break a situation
down into manageable pieces.
Sure, maybe I’ll put on The
National, but only as background
music while I work on whatever I
need to. Music can calm me, and it
can make me feel great for three-
to-seven minute at a time, but it
can’t fix anything about me.
But I still need songs in order to
connect with the rest of the world.
The new Father John Misty
record is about me and you. That
new Kendrick you’re hearing?
That’s about us, too. And Abbey
Road. And 1989. Your favorite
record is about me, whatever it
may be. And I hope my favorite
record is about you. The way I
write and think and talk about
these songs, I’m putting in all
the emotions that I feel when I
hear them, trying to show these
artists to you with a piece of me
still inside. It’s still the best way I
know how to communicate.
I put so much of myself into
every song I hear. I’ve changed my
hair, my clothes, even my name
— but I know that my love for my
favorite songs is constant. Even
though I know they can’t love me
back, and that odds are I’ll never
create anything with a fraction of
their power. I know that I’m never
going to write a song like “Town
Called Malice” or “And She Was”
or “Train in Vain.”
So why am I here?
There was a night last summer,
when I was only out to a few
people, and when my burden felt
like it was trying to jump out of
me in a daring escape every single
lonely evening, when I listened
to Against Me’s “Transgender
Dysphoria Blues” (the song) over
and over again. That track has
always fucked me up, has always
captured my pain so acutely that
I can’t handle it, that I basically
fear its power. In listening to it
on repeat, I tried to make myself
numb, trying not to be the kind
of person who feels slashed to
her core every time she hears it.
I wanted to be immune to Laura
Jane Grace’s diagnosis of our
condition. I didn’t want her song
to affect me like it did.
It never worked. I still feel
awful and powerful and present
whenever I hear that song. And
I’m so glad. I’m so glad that
another person’s art can have that
kind of effect on me, because it
must mean that, deep down, we all
have within us the unfathomable
potential to stir the most intense
feelings possible in someone else.
This is ridiculous to admit, but
one of my honest-to-God greatest
fears is getting to a point in my life
where I can’t enjoy new music,
where I’ll be stuck listening to
whatever the equivalent of classic
rock radio is in 2040. I’ll be raving
about how Kendrick Lamar will
always be the greatest rapper of all
time, how no pop star can top Carly
Rae Jepsen and how no punk band
could ever match The Menzingers’
energy and power. I never want to
be stuck like this. I always want to
be able to hear what’s next.
If I get my way, music will
always fuck me up. It will always
push my heart up my throat. It
will always make me smile or
cry, or make my body tremble
with anxiety and joy. It will
always force me to a point beyond
comprehension, and it will always
make my body dance and move in
a way it physically shouldn’t.
The passion I have for the
greatest artists will always exceed
my capacity to describe them.
And whatever name I attach to
the art that builds me up, whether
when I plug my now-discontinued
iPod classic into a computer it
says “Adam’s ancient iPod” or
“Lauren’s life-sustaining music
device,” I look at those songs and
I feel ready and OK and at least
somewhat prepared for my life
ahead of me, even if I can’t even
begin to picture it. Isn’t that great?
LAUREN THEISEN
Daily Music Columnist
HBO
Silicon Valley returns Sunday, April 23
‘Silicon Valley’ remains
both intelligent and witty
HBO’s hit series returns with fresh wit and disaster for the crew
Throughout its third season,
“Silicon
Valley”
sharpened
its comedic wit and honed its
storytelling abilities to produce a
hilarious comedy replete with a
compelling and sound plot. There
were no missteps or questionable
decisions. It became a show that
viewers could enjoy purely for how
well-rounded it was. Now entering
its fourth season, “Silicon Valley”
not only maintains its momentum,
but advances it. A fitting follow-up
to its impeccable third season, the
outstanding latest season reveals
that series visionary Mike Judge
(“Office Space”) is not content
to rest on his laurels, despite
the show’s plethora of Emmy
nominations.
Picking up several weeks after
the events of the end of season
three, the fourth season premiere
wastes no time in resuming Pied
Piper’s meandering journey in the
tech capital of the world. The series
immediately drops audiences into
the action as Richard Hendricks
(Thomas Middleditch, “The Final
Girls”) attempts to put his fraud
allegations behind him. “Silicon
Valley” doesn’t shy away from
diving back into its plot, and
audiences
are
rewarded
with
updates on each of the show’s
central characters.
A hallmark of the series’s first
three seasons is the constant barbs
between Gilfoyle (Martin Starr,
“Operator”)
and
Dinesh
(Kumail
Nanjiani, “Franklin
&
Bash”).
Their
frequent trade-off of
insults consistently
produces some of
the most hilarious
moments of “Silicon
Valley.” The show
evidently has no
intention of robbing
audiences
of
these
fantastic
scenes, featuring a verbal spar in
which Dinesh brags, “I’ll never
underestimate my talents again,”
before Gilfoyle replies: “Don’t
worry — I’ll continue to do it for
you.”
Another strength of “Silicon
Valley” ’s new season is its
commitment to developing diverse
and charismatic characters. With
a large cast, the series has at times
struggled to give equal weight to its
various, competing narratives.
In this latest season, however, the
show strikes an effective balance
among its different storylines. The
result is more screen-time for some
of “Silicon Valley” ’s most likeable —
yet underrepresented — characters.
More scenes with the eccentric
Gavin Belson (Matt Ross, “Turn
the River”) and his naïve security
chief Hoover (Chris Williams,
“Dodgeball: A True Underdog
Story”) are always welcome.
One of the best results of these
multiple
plotlines
in
“Silicon
Valley” is the return of venture
capitalist Russ Hanneman (Chris
Diamantopoulos, “The Art of
the Steal”), in all his absurd, calf-
implant glory. After featuring in
only one episode of season three,
Hanneman has re-entered the
show and seems poised for a
prominent role in the new season.
Despite the time off, Hanneman
hasn’t lost sight of the important
things in life, telling Hendricks
during a meeting at his child’s
school: “My fucking nanny got
another DUI and lost her license, so
now I’m stuck picking up my own
kid like an asshole.”
Throughout this most recent
season’s first two episodes, “Silicon
Valley”
maintains
its brand of smart
yet ridiculously fun
humor. The show
separated
itself
during its initial
seasons
through
employing
witty,
thoughtful
jokes.
This latest season
continues to depend
on this style to
produce hilarious scenes, and
viewers should appreciate “Silicon
Valley” ’s type of thoughtful — but
not overly sophisticated — humor.
That’s not to say that the series
doesn’t boast its share of more
juvenile humor — it most certainly
does. This quality is especially clear
in the show’s most recent season,
which includes several hilarious,
low-brow scenes. Nowhere in
“Silicon Valley” ’s new season is
this more apparent than in the
season premiere, which contains
a running gag of employees at
prominent Silicon Valley firms
being relocated to offices directly
across from bathrooms that make
for
incredibly
awkward
and
frequent eye-contact.
In its first three seasons, “Silicon
Valley” established a high comedic
and entertainment standard for
itself that appeared difficult to top.
Still, this latest season manages
to do just that, and provides both
excitement and laughs in equal
doses from start to finish.
CONNOR GRADY
Daily Arts Writer
TV REVIEW
“Silicon
Valley”
HBO
Season 4 premiere
Sundays at 10 PM