The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Friday, November 17, 2017 — 5
At some point over the
past few months, I tweeted
something
about
being
supremely
uninterested
in
any
feminist
discourse
surrounding Disney princesses
until there was one with the
personality of Jessica Jones.
This
was
probably
partly
because I had fallen down a
rabbit hole of reading angry
blog
posts
about
Disney
princesses
while
reading
about the social implications
of every Halloween costume
ever invented.
While
I’m
still
waiting
for
that
Jessica
Jones-
esque
princess
(though
not as impatiently as I am
awaiting the sequel to “The
Incredibles,”)
I’ve
changed
my mind about the feminist
discourse part, because I’ve
finally been able to figure
something out that has been
puzzling me for a while.
Why I balk — and have
always balked — when people
assume I want kids is due
to a number of reasons that
don’t need to be aired on a
public platform, and it’s such
an exhausting, complicated
conversation to have that I
usually don’t. The number of
times any attempt at a joke
involving not wanting kids
has resulted in: “Oh, you’ll
change your mind,” “oh, but
you have such good hips for
kids” (that is the worst) or
any number of increasingly
rude or invasive comments is
material for another article.
Yet I realized that there might
be
a
correlation
between
my knee-jerk reaction about
assumptions
of
my
future
parental status and the Disney
heroines I grew up relating to.
Sometimes it feels like the
tendency to sort ourselves
into random curations of pop
culture references is universal;
I remember sitting around
doing it at sleepovers, way
before we reached the golden
age of Buzzfeed quizzes. When
I was very young, one of the
most popular sorting games
was with Disney heroines.
There were a couple that were
close to my heart — like Ariel
from “The Little Mermaid”
and Wendy from “Peter Pan.”
I
spent
a
couple
years
relating very strongly to Ariel
and Wendy both; they both
wanted something more than
what they had, a different kind
of magic in their lives. They
both decided to take chances
on the adventures of a lifetime,
even when they were scared. I
wanted to be just like them; in
some ways, I thought I was, or
could be.
But then I watched the
sequels
to
both
of
those
movies,
and,
not
to
be
melodramatic, but my heart
was torn. For a long time, I
couldn’t decide if I loved or
hated Jane and Melody, the
daughters of Wendy and Ariel
respectively. Unable to parse
it out for myself, I chalked up
my overreaction to the sequels
as a kind of “they’re never as
good as the original” snobbery.
But
I’ve
realized
the
problem I had for years with
those sequels, was not that I
had a love hate relationship to
the heroines; it’s that I loved
Jane and Melody and hated
that I related to them. It felt
like a kind of betrayal to their
mothers. I resented the movies
for making me align myself
with Ariel and Wendy, and
then just a few years later, still
pre-pubescence, do the same
with their daughters. That
put me in the uneasy position
of watching someone I had
related to as a girl, become a
mother, while I was still a girl
myself — before I had had the
chance (or the desire) to grow
up.
I resented the fact that once
Wendy and Ariel were both
adults, they were basically
barred from the magic and
adventure they had had as
kids and teenagers. I felt like
I understood the frustration
Wendy and Ariel felt with
their
parents
(like
every
other angsty kid) — and then
understood it, again, once that
frustration was directed at
them through their children.
It was a bizarre feeling when
I was a kid; it’s still bizarre
now. What I internalized from
all of that was: Growing up for
girls meant becoming mothers,
and becoming mothers meant
losing out on the magic that I
held dear to my heart.
And this isn’t something I
ever saw in movies with boy
protagonists, even when they
grew up. Within the world of
“Peter Pan,” even Peter gets
to go back and have magic
once an adult, in the critically
acclaimed (by me, I’m the
critic)
“Hook.”
This,
too,
seemed fundamentally unfair
to me as a child.
Was I reading too much
into the relatability politics
of Disney movies and their
sequels as a pre-teen? Yes.
Am
I
still
overthinking
those
implicit
assumptions
now?
Probably.
Thinking
about the ending to “Return
to Neverland,” when Peter
can’t believe seeing the calm,
grown-up Wendy in front of
his eyes, still leaves me with
a bittersweet ache that I don’t
think I’ve been able to do
justice to here (and the book
is even more heartbreaking).
Chances are I still need some
time to think about what all
of it means, before I can write
about it with the eloquence I
want.
(Until
then,
I’ll
keep
counting
down
the
days
until
the
sequel
to
“The
Incredibles.” And woe betide
any small child who thinks
that I am too old to be sitting
right next to them in that
theatre).
How Disney movies made
me not want kids
GENDER & MEDIA COLUMN
SOPHIA
KAUFMAN
BIG MACHINE
‘reputation,’ and the many
heads of Taylor Swift
Looking at Taylor Swift’s
career, each of her previous
five albums come with extreme
calculation.
Beginning
as
a teeny-bop country girl in
2006, Swift took pre-measured
strides away from country and
into pop with each album. With
ruler
in
hand,
Swift
accurately
matured with her
audience,
slowly
introducing
only
slightly suggestive
lyrics
into
her
music as her once
young
audience
grew with her (see Red’s
“Treacherous.”) Even while
committing to pop music with
1989, the “old Taylor” continued
to
embody
girl-next-door
innocence. With reputation,
this old Taylor is dead, but
the identity of this new Taylor
is unclear. reputation excels
in its instrumental cohesion,
but Swift’s three seemingly
disparate selfs — the new,
the old and the real Taylor
that ostensibly exists beneath
them both — create a Hydra-
esque character that left me
disoriented.
Reflecting on “old” Swift,
it’s important to recognize
that
much
of
her
media
criticism comes from a place
of sexism not uncommon in
child
stars’s
careers.
The
difficulty that Miley Cyrus and
Britney
Spears
experienced
parallels that of Swift, both
apotheosized as wholesome
role models for young women
and subsequently scrutinized
for sexual expression. Like
many before, Swift acted as
an asexual representative for
young listeners, referencing
little more than a kiss. Even
as Swift grew up, her image
remained
crystallized
in
purity, and when Swift did
express
herself,
she
was
shamed. At nearly every award
show, Swift’s dancing was
ridiculed, not because it was
necessarily poor form, but
because the concept of Swift
dancing
suggestively
was
deemed laughable. Swift, a
20-something woman, could
not possibly be a sexual being.
On reputation, Swift sheds
the good-girl image, asserting
that she is an adult who can do
adult things. “...Ready For It,”
the album opener and second
single, is a perfect concoction
of sexually mature content
and a self-awareness of her
own deceptive nature. Swift
describes “stealing hearts and
running off and never saying
sorry” and, for once, feels like
she means it. “I
Did Something
Bad” reinforces
this new Swift
who
owns
her
conniving
nature.
This
Swift
is
believable,
painting a picture of a woman
in her 20s who owns her faults
and knows her value. With
heavy electronic synthesizers
and 808s beats, her adult
persona aligns well with the
production; Swift wants you
to picture her in the club —
vengeful
and
sexy,
finally
enjoying her adult self.
However, at times a different,
a more clichéd Swift shows
her face, and the paparazzi
shot of Swift in the club is less
convincing. On “This Is Why
We Can’t Have Nice Things,”
Swift turns up the party girl
image into a patchwork of
sarcasm, drinking references
and clickbait. The song is
distastefully bitter, referencing
the beaten horse of the Kanye
feud in saying, “It was so nice
being friends again / There
I was giving you a second
chance / But you stabbed me
in the back while shaking my
hand.” The track attempts the
same melodramatic technique
that made “Blank Space” so
intriguing,
but
instead
of
self-criticism, Swift plays a
character to draw pity. Her
petty persona surfaces and
the credibility of adult Swift
wavers.
Even while Swift asserts
herself
as
an
adult,
she
continues to make sweeping
generalizations that allude to
the old Swift being very much
alive. This Swift is familiar but
feels uncomfortable over deep
bass and autotune, begging
the
question
of
whether
Swift really matured. “Call
It What You Want” is full of
classic Swift one-liners about
how “she brought a knife to
a gunfight” and “wants to
wear his initial on a chain.”
What made earlier Swift able
to deliver such idyllic naivety
was her innocent image — the
concept that someone young
and
immature
can
believe
in
fairytale
statements.
Unfortunately,
people
grow
up and realize that life (and
especially
relationships)
can’t
be
reduced
to
such
simplification.
The album closer, “New
Year’s Day,” finally finds that
third persona: The real Swift.
She’s somewhere between old
and new — singing over only a
piano and guitar about picking
up after a party. Listeners get a
glimpse behind the reputation
veil at an artist who is lonely
and hurt, fearing that another
lover will become a stranger.
The song is a stark contrast to
the rest of the album, devoid
of any electronic sounds or
percussion but, perhaps for
that reason, feels the most
revealing.
This
Swift
still
parties (“there’s glitter on the
floor after the party”) and
owns her sexuality (“you and
me from the night before”),
but delivers in a vulnerable
manner that doesn’t align with
the album’s aggressive and
vindictive theme, leaving me
wondering if even Swift is sure
of her own identity.
Throughout
reputation,
there are points of extreme
bitterness, some valid self-
awareness
and
even
more
laughable
martyrdom,
but
one thing is consistent: Swift
is scattered. For an artist so
committed to brand cohesion
historically, reputation feels
like a battle among Swift’s
many heads. Together with
her
three
producers
(Jack
Antonoff, Max Martin and
Shellback), Swift delivers an
album that excels in conveying
a
sexualized,
independent
woman, but feels disjointed
in its lyricism. reputation is a
cacophonous experiment from
an artist pulled so many ways:
Fans who want her to stay
the same, the media looking
for
controversy
and
Swift
who wants, finally, to express
herself as a 27-year-old.
DANNY MADION
Daily Arts Writer
reputation
Taylor Swift
Big Machine
Records
ALBUM REVIEW
SANCTUARY
Legends King Crimson to
play Michigan Theater
“I don’t think King Crimson
has ever been a band that’s
influenced
by
the
times,
as
in, I think it’s
its own thing. I
don’t think it’s
trying to follow
anybody
else
or trying to do
something
that
fits
in,”
said
Jeremy
Stacey,
one
of
King
Crimson’s three
drummers, in an interview
with The Daily. “It’s its own
beast, as it were.”
Jumping in early on the
progressive rock movement
of the ‘70s, King Crimson was
formed in London in 1968.
Currently
an
eight-piece
lineup, 2017’s King Crimson
includes
founding
member
Robert
Fripp
(guitarist,
composer
and
producer),
Tony
Levin
(bass),
Jakko
Jakszyk
(vocals,
guitar),
Mel Collins (flute,
saxophone),
Gavin
Harrison
(drummer, multi-
instrumentalist),
Pat
Mastelotto
(drummer, multi-
instrumentalist),
Bill Rieflin (drummer, multi-
instrumentalist) and Stacey.
In ‘69, they opened for The
Rolling Stones in London. In
the ‘80s, they toured under a
different name (“Discipline”)
after a brief disbanding. Now,
King Crimson is coming to the
Michigan Theater in the final
leg of their North American
Fall Tour.
King
Crimson
is,
and
always has been, a collection
of
incredibly
impressive
musicians: Fripp played guitar
on David Bowie’s “Heroes,” (a
tune which the group covered
in Berlin in 2016). Bassist
Tony Levin has played with
the likes of Peter Gabriel and
Paul Simon. Stacey, who joined
the group in 2016, has worked
with an unbelievable diversity
of
artists,
including
Noel
Gallagher, Eurythmics and Joe
Cocker.
“[King Crimson is] the most
different thing I’ve ever done,”
ARYA NAIDU
Daily Arts Writer
King Crimson
The Michigan
Theater
Wednesday,
November 22 @
7:30 p.m.
SOLD OUT
Stacey noted, most likening his
experiences with the band to
working with jazz in his 20s.
“I was always doing lots of
things with lots of different
people. I think the thing about
jazz is that you improvise,” he
said. “To improvise, you have
to understand how the form
of the piece goes, otherwise
you get lost. It was very good
for listening, which I think is
the most important thing [as a
musician].”
Unconstrained in his work,
Stacey
is
the
epitome
of
King Crimson’s charm: A bit
nostalgic, a bit novel and just
restless enough to be fearless.
“For me, my whole life
has
been
musical,”
Stacey
explained. “I always feel like
I’m on a journey. I’m very
interested in doing extremely
different
things,
and
the
more
extremely
different,
the better… I don’t want to be
typecast in any way.”
A fan of the simpler tracks,
Stacey’s favorite song to play
live is “Starless,” from the
group’s 1974 album Red.
“It’s one of my favorite
pieces by King Crimson. I also
get to play drums and keyboard
[on it],” Stacey said. “There’s a
freedom to playing whatever I
feel on the night. I think (it’s)
my favorite moment of the gig,
normally.”
This
autonomy
Stacey
mentions is laced throughout
King Crimson’s work: Each
piece
is
malleable
to
the
group’s interpretation.
“I feel that I’m involved in
it more than I’ve been in other
projects,” Stacey said. “It’s not
like doing a job. There is input,
and it’s a very in the moment
form of input on stage … I can’t
compare it to anything.”
The
experiecne
often
transcends description.
“It’s very difficult to explain
what it’s like being in the
band — it’s very difficult. All
the other things I’ve done all
follow a path that’s similar to
other paths that are followed
by other artists — it’s standard.
There’s nothing about this
that’s standard in any way.
There’s nothing about it that’s
straightforward or normal. It
just isn’t,” Stacey said. “It feels
like a very good thing to be
doing.”
King Crimson is set to
play this Wednesday at the
Michigan Theater.
King Crimson is,
and always has
been, a collection
of incredibly
impressive
musicians
King Crimson is
set to play this
Wednesday at the
Michigan Theater
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
COMMUNITY CULTURE PREVIEW