ACROSS
1 Have a sudden 
inspiration?
5 Embryonic 
membranes
10 “Good going!”
14 Ancient Andean
15 Fully committed
16 Cries at the 
Home Run 
Derby
17 Norwegian 
coastal horse?
19 Agitated state
20 Ring leader?
21 Parenthesis, e.g.
22 Dún Laoghaire’s 
land
23 Largest division 
of Islam
24 Excellent joke?
26 Alpine transport
28 2010 sci-fi 
sequel subtitled 
“Legacy”
29 Grassy stretches
32 Map line
35 “A Doll’s House” 
playwright
38 “The Martian” 
has none
39 Where a sensei 
teaches how to 
slalom?
41 Stat for Chris 
Sale
42 Pronunciation 
symbol
44 PBS science 
series
45 Small racer
46 Barbershop part
48 McGregor who 
plays two roles 
on TV’s “Fargo”
50 “We sure fell for 
that one, Jack,” 
e.g.?
54 Jungle vine
58 Big star
59 Lincoln Ctr. site
60 PBS science 
series
61 Brit’s floor 
covering
62 Was yanked 
offstage ... or 
what four puzzle 
answers did, in 
a way
64 Fuss
65 Dvorák’s 
“Rusalka,” for 
one
66 Instead

67 Scandinavian 
name meaning 
“cliff”
68 Block
69 Sunflower edible

DOWN
1 They’re kept 
under wraps
2 Pear variety
3 Contempt
4 Raises
5 Guitarist’s gadget
6 “Aladdin” prince
7 __ nerve
8 Petrol unit
9 Vehicle with 
caterpillar treads
10 Often-cosmetic 
procedure
11 View from Corfu
12 Sound from a tree
13 Competitor of 
Helena
18 Small amount
24 Abdomen 
neighbor
25 Chamber music 
group
27 Storied craft
29 “__ Miz”
30 “You get the 
idea” letters
31 Light hair color

33 Brouhaha
34 Matthew Arnold’s 
“__ Beach”
36 Be off
37 Bryce Harper, for 
now
39 Ornamental band
40 Talk
43 Belgian language 
related to French
45 Deli snacks
47 Ra, in ancient 
Egypt

49 Cosmetic 
additive
50 Rejects suddenly
51 Jerk
52 Mr. Magoo, for 
one
53 Santa’s reindeer, 
e.g.
55 Whac-__
56 Rope loop
57 FAQ part
60 Scorch
63 Amount past due?

By Paul Coulter
©2018 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
09/20/18

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

09/20/18

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Thursday, September 20, 2018

I don’t remember when I began 

stanning Nicki Minaj. However, 
I do remember memorizing her 
verse off Trey Songz’s “Bottoms 
Up” in middle school. Not far 
from when I ran on the treadmill 
in my parents’ basement with 
“Superbass” 
coming 
through 

my headphones — the girl I had 
a crush on at the time loved it so 
I wanted to seem with it. I can 
picture an old high school friend 
running, jumping and singing to 
“Starships” at a student council 
conference. 
After 
getting 
my 

license sophomore year, I would 
visit my sister at Grand Valley State 
(about a two-hour drive from my 
parents’) and on one trip I came 
across “Va Va Voom” — another 
Pink Friday: Reloaded-era song — 
which has a flow to its booming 
chorus that gives the impression it 
has been heard before. Not that it 
is unoriginal, but that its emotive, 
infectious sound is one that we 
shouldn’t be without. In my head, 
it’s the B-side to “Pound the Alarm,” 
which I recall playing at my junior-
year homecoming. I asked my date, 
“What song is this?” and she was 
appalled that I didn’t know. Either 
way we had our first kiss that night 
on the sweaty, stanky public school 
cafeteria 
dancefloor. 
“Roman’s 

Revenge” left me comfortable 
using the word “cunt,” to my 
mother’s dissatisfaction.

But it was in 2014, with 

“Anaconda” and The Pinkprint, that 
my relationship to Minaj’s music 
became less perfunctory and more 
proactive. Everyone remembers 
the music video so I don’t need to 
go into detail, but the combination 
of the verses’ sharp and slick 
delivery and the unapologetic love 
for having a fat ass was a pivotal 
moment in pop culture and hip hop. 
It’s an era that feels both historical 
and present, as Nicki Minaj has 
ridden The Pinkprint’s success (in 
terms of critical response, sales 
and singles) for nearly four years, 
having released her follow-up 
album Queen last month, if you 
hadn’t heard.

Stanning is time-consuming, 

especially depending on who you 
stan. Stanning a punk-rock band 
like The Wonder Years as my 
friend Dominic has done for years, 
requires time and endurance to 
keep up with constant touring. 
Stanning Britney Spears, as my 
old roommate does, requires the 
exhaustive task of maintaining 
her relevance without falling back 
completely on her 2000-2010 
success. Stanning is continuous, 
evolutionary. 
It 
creates 
a 

community: The Beyhive, The 
Navy, Swifties, Directioners … you 
get the idea. A key distinction to 
be made is the incompatibility of 
stanning a problematic fave, which 
is where my devotion to Minaj 
began to crumble.

I saw her tour in support of 

The Pinkprint the summer of 
2015 and was so disappointed. A 
slew of aspects including flow, 
choreography, vocal performance 
and setlist choices left the show 
with an uneven energy that 
contradicted the woman at its 
center. Still, I teared up as she 
professed personal history in tour 
and album opener “All Things 
Go.” This may have been a case of 
excessive expectation on my part 
and my inner devotion to Minaj 
dwindled slightly, as I figured I 
most likely wouldn’t go see her live 
again. The price-to-payout ratio 
just didn’t seem there.

Fast-forward to Oct. 2016. I 

stan Beyoncé, and because I’m not 
fake, I have a Tidal account. Sorry 
not sorry, but I can’t risk being 
even a minute late to whatever 
the Queen B is up to. Nonetheless, 
Tidal has a handful of other cool 
features, 
including 
artist-made 

playlists, 
exclusive 
interviews, 

album-films and live streams/
recordings of Tidal charity shows 
and Budweiser’s Made in America 
Festival, headlined by Beyoncé in 
2015, Rihanna in 2016 and Nicki 
in 2018. Tidal’s annual charity 
show in Brooklyn offers quick sets 
from a stacked lineup of artists 
and, in 2016, Minaj sold me on 
her performing abilities during 
her 20-some-odd-minute set as 
she barreled through verses from 
“Roman’s Revenge,” “Monster,” 
“Down in the DM,” the “Pinkprint 
Freestyle,” “Chi-Raq” and “Only,” 
among others. With minimal back 

tracks, her MC skills were front-
and-center, delivering her bars 
with equal parts ease and attitude. 
Furthermore, 
the 
transitions 

between tracks kept the energy 
going and the crowd on their toes. 
At this point my stanhood was 
back in full swing, just in time for 
the rapper to litter the following 
year with spotlight-stealing guest 
spots on tracks from Gucci Mane, 
Lil Uzi, A$AP Ferg, Future, Fergie, 
Katy Perry and more.

Following her feature on “Make 

Love” by Gucci (which dropped 
just in time for my Mardi Gras trip 
to New Orleans), Remy Ma released 
“ShEther,” which displayed the 
bars and bravado of Nicki’s TidalX 
performance over the course of six 
minutes, all the while accusing the 
rapper of plastic surgery, signing 
a 360, supporting her pedophile 
brother and doing cocaine. Nicki 
came back with her “Three Pack 
from Paris,” in which “No Frauds” 
was positioned as her response, 
but with time-consuming features 
from Drake and Lil Wayne, it felt 
less like a headshot and more like 
a flex.

As 2017 passed, Remy faded 

again 
and 
Nicki 
remained 

prevalent by way of her features. 
Features that largely distracted 
from the fact we were going on year 
three without a proper Pinkprint 
follow-up. There were rumblings, 
there were teases and with each 
passing season, the stakes seemed 
higher and higher. The sense of 
drag, in my experience, was only 
outmatched by the waiting period 
for Frank Ocean’s Blonde and every 
Beyoncé project ever since 2013’s 
surprise, eponymous album.

Finally, Nicki announces Queen 

via her twitter, slated for a Jun. 
release, which was quickly pushed 
back to Aug. (I assume this was 
due to a tip from Camp Carter that 
Everything is Love was coming 
that week). It was within those 
two months my devotion, amongst 
others, 
started 
to 
dissipate. 

Something I believe Nicki herself 
can feel. I mean, she tweeted about 
#Queen every day between the 
first release date and the actual one 
and still only grabbed the number 
two spot, and we all know how 
she feels about that. This palpable 
sense of insecurity permeates 
through Minaj’s twitter, maybe due 
to natural mid-career crisis tingz, 
or a response to the threat of Cardi 
B, who is one of the few women 
rappers to find lasting popularity 
in a post-Pink Friday rap landscape.

Her presence, amplified by 

Queen Radio on Apple Music, 
comes off as someone who is 
yelling the loudest to cover up 
the fact they don’t have much to 
say. She has stated the majority of 
Queen was recorded the week of 
its release and my initial response 
to that was, “Ooff it sounds like 
it.” It’s a dense record at 19 tracks, 
with more than a few skips. It 
hardly sounds as if it has been four 
years in the making, or helmed by 
a lyricist/rapper of Minaj’s caliber. 
It fails to dive as deep as Pinkprint 
cuts, “All Things Go,” “The 
Crying Game” or “Buy a Heart.” 
Nonetheless, while it lacks overall 
quality and substance, Queen does 
have moments of hip-hop gold. 
“Barbie Dreams,” “LLC,” “Good 
Form” and “Miami” represent the 
actualization of Minaj’s constant 
flexing on the record.

But a lot of the time, stanhood 

isn’t solely based on one’s music, 
which 
explains 
the 
existence 

of Britney Spears or Katy Perry 
stans in the year 2018. Stanning 
comes from a sense of connection 
to an artist and their work, and 
it is sustained over time by the 
intra-fandom 
community 
and 

culture. As an artist grows, so 
does their brand, music and space 
in popular culture. Miley Cyrus 
is probably the most clear-cut 
example of artistic transition and 
the subsequent regrouping of a 
fan base to continue the practice 
of stanning, if one chooses to do 
so. Miley’s Bangerz era was fun, 
and I stanned the fuck out of it, 
but that foundation began to crack 
as she tone policed Minaj in an 
interview and continued to show 
ignorance in place of openness 
and understanding. Then she 
went country, and I jumped ship, 
as did many. Can you name a song 
off Younger other than “Malibu”? 
Yeah, me neither.

The unravelling of my “barb” 

status concretely began when 
Minaj shamed sex workers after 
releasing “Rich Sex,” (a bop) on 

which she says, “If you know your 
pussy worth a benz truck.” Such 
comments stem from common 
misunderstandings 
regarding 

agency 
and 
empowerment, 

especially 
in 
regard 
to 
sex 

work. It’s perhaps this same 
misunderstanding that led Minaj 
to collaborate with 6ix9ine, a 
soundcloud rapper and convicted 
sex offender.

Furthermore, she added the 

collab to a deluxe version of Queen 
to increase numbers, released 
a music video for the track and 
bragged about fighting MTV to 
allow him to perform alongside 
her. You know you’re in deep 
when MTV is like, “nah too risky 
for us.” He pleaded guilty to using 
a child (a 13-year-old) in a sexual 
performance 
after 
the 
girl’s 

mother pressed charges following 
his admitted uploading of child 
pornography to social media. 
Contextualized, 
the 
cartoon 

video for the track leaves an even 
more bitter taste in my mouth. He 
has mitigated responsibility by 
claiming he, himself was a “child” 
when the recording took place and 
Minaj evades the serious issues 
at stake, simply vouching for him 
personally and leaving it at that.

He was set to open for the 

U.S. dates of the NickiHndrxxx 
tour, 
which 
has 
now 
been 

cancelled. 
Minaj’s 
camp 
can 

claim “production issues” all they 
want, but simply told, it wasn’t 
selling. I know because I spend a 
bit of freetime on Ticketmaster, 
considering and fantasizing about 
shows I can and can’t afford to go 
to. And if it’s not selling when the 
album comes out, I doubt it will 
sell better next year. I wonder what 
percentage of would-be attendees 
decided to skip as to not support 
a confirmed, confessed abuser. 
Prior to their collaboration and 
announcement of openers, I was 
playing it by ear; you know, seeing 
if I have the money the day of and if 
so, amazing, if not, it’s OK. But once 
she hitched her wagon to his, the 
decision was made for me.

It’s understandable why Nicki 

Minaj is quick with her shield and 
even quicker to return fire: She has 
been in hip hop for over a decade, 
dodging shots of sexism and double 
standards for years all the while 
breaking up the boy’s club to a 
degree her predecessors didn’t. 
Nonetheless, she was able to do so 
because of those who came before 
her: Lil Kim, Remy Ma, Missy 
Elliot, Lauryn Hill, etc. all paved 
the way just as Nicki has carved a 
smoother path for Cardi B.

It’s this legacy, though, that 

Minaj seems least interested in 
as she tears down women around 
her in order to maintain a sense 
or 
appearance 
of 
legitimate 

superiority. She did so recently by 

recalling Lady Gaga’s collaboration 
with confirmed abuser R. Kelly 
in order to mute criticism over 
her 6ix9ine feature; however, 
she failed to recognize how Gaga 
axed the song’s video and released 
another version with Christina 
Aguilera instead of Kelly to pull 
attention. This isn’t to say Gaga is 
blameless, but she recognized a 
mistake and took actions to remove 
an abuser from the spotlight. 
All of this occured prior to the 
mainstreaming of the #MeToo 
and #TimesUp movements, so one 
might expect Nicki to have a more 
enlightened response instead of 
bringing the abuser on stage at 
Made In America festival and then 
stepping off the stage to give him a 
solo song.

Made in America was the final 

straw that broke this barbz’s back. 
The set lacked the energy and 
presence of TidalX 2016, and it 
included solo songs from Ferg and 
Uzi in addition to the abuser all 
in under an hour (short as hell for 
a headlining slot). Hardly Queen 
tingz, if you ask me.

Finally, her response to Cardi’s 

shoe toss was equally disappointing. 
On Queen Radio, she complains of 
her embarrassment in front of the 
“upper echelon” (read: Cardi is 
hood, if you didn’t know), but even 
worse than the classist rhetoric she 
has engaged in is her invocation of 
postpartum depression as reason 
for the scuffle. Cardi has been open 
about post-birth struggles, which 
led her to cancel her opening spot 
on Bruno Mars’s 24k Magic Tour, 
even going as far to share a meme 
video with the caption, “This is 
how postpartum got me.”

Nicki went off about how 

hard and common postpartum 
depression is, even giving out the 
phone number for a helpline, but 
the entire monologue was less so 
a PSA than it is a shielded shot, 
using Cardi’s honesty and post-
birth experience to discount her 
feelings, reducing them to one 
instance. Effectively Minaj negates 
any wrongdoing by offering PPD 
as a scapegoat to engaging in a real 
conversation about herself, all the 
while discounting the experiences, 
emotions and actions of any new 
mothers, especially those suffering 
from postpartum depression. They 
can speak for themselves, as can 
Cardi, as can sex workers; I want 
to hear Nicki talk about Nicki. But 
just as with survivors of sexual 
abuse and critics, Minaj has shut 
out much of her public, only getting 
a #2 and a cancelled tour in the 
process.

One day, I hope to stan again, 

but until I feel connection rather 
than confusion toward Minaj, I’ll 
be streaming the skipless Invasion 
of Privacy. Oh, and “Good Form,” a 
problematic favorite.

The unstanning of Nicki Minaj

CHRISTIAN KENNEDY

Daily Arts Writer

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

This summer, I attended a 

summer composition program 
with a friend. When we first got 
our private lessons schedules, 
I texted my friend to ask if she 
was excited to study with the 
guest faculty in attendance that 
summer. I was not intimately 
familiar with all their work but 
some quick Wikipedia research 
had shown me that they were all 
quite accomplished.

My friend texted me to say 

that she was concerned. The 
world of student composers is 
small and the world of female 
composers significantly smaller 
— my friend had heard that one of 
the faculty members is “bad with 
female students,” making them 
feel uncomfortable. “Be careful 
around him,” my friend had been 
warned.

I wish I could say this fear 

was unfounded, that my friend 
was being overly cautious. I wish 
I could say that this behavior 
wouldn’t have been noticeable 
in 
my 
extremely 
limited 

interactions with the faculty 
member.

But this behavior was apparent 

throughout the program, as 
the 
faculty 
member 
treated 

the 
female 
composers 
and 

performers with sudden bouts 
of condescension and thinly-
veiled contempt. To me, at 
least, this faculty member was 
obviously incredibly prejudiced. 
To the other students, however, 
“something 
was 
amiss,” 

something that was probably 
linked to the faculty member’s 
eccentric, creative personality 
type. My friend, too, was not 
particularly disturbed by the 
issue, at least not to the degree 
that I was. She heard these 
rumors second-hand, and even 
then she had not heard of any 
specific instance of inappropriate 
behaviour. While I was obsessed 
with these rumors, I could not 
prove that this particular faculty 
member was part of this problem.

Ever since this experience, 

I have become obsessed with 
the prejudice that seems to be 
inherent to classical music. I 
grew up in New York, studying 
composition in New York City and 
participating in what I thought 
was a progressive and open-
minded cultural scene. I’d worked 
with many female composition 
teachers in my life, unfortunately 
a rarity even in today’s world. I 
had always considered myself to 
be aware of the diversity problem 
in classical music. I believed 
in the diversification of the 
canon. I believed in anonymous 
applications and diversity and 
inclusion 
initiatives. 
But 
in 

hindsight, I had never done 
anything 
to 
challenge 
the 

larger culture that made these 
initiatives 
necessary. 
In 
my 

blindness, I had contributed to 
the problem even as I told myself 
that I believed in the solution.

This experience brought past 

issues that I had dismissed back 
to the surface. What about the 
allegations 
of 
a 
relationship 

between 
a 
student 
and 
a 

composition teacher that I had 
heard about? What about the 
multiple allegations involving 
another 
composition 
teacher 

that I knew to be credible and 
that I knew had not resulted 
in any substantial action? And 
perhaps most frighteningly, what 
about the lack of diversity that 
surrounds me every day as I head 
to class or attend a concert? Why 
was I only now rethinking my 
responses to these incidents?

Though I may be particularly 

ignorant, I would like to think 
that my failure to recognize the 
privileges I benefit from is quite 
common. Classical music, after 
all, is one of America’s least 
diverse art forms. Approximately 
80 
percent 
of 
American 

orchestras are conducted by men. 
Only one woman (Marin Alsop) 
conducts one of America’s top 
professional 
orchestras. 
And 

only 1.8 percent of orchestral 

musicians are Black.

The more that I researched, 

the more that I learned that I 
was participating in an art form 
that had spent hundreds of years 
systemically oppressing women 
and people of color. It is an art 
form that those in power have 
referred to as “high art,” a term 
seeped in condescension and 
hierarchical dominance. It’s an 
artificial standard that has been 
used by the powerful to dismiss 
all other forms of music as 
“lesser” music, “popular” music 
(as though this was somehow a 
bad thing), “vernacular” music.

Had I been participating in the 

perpetuation of this culturally 
repressive system? By consuming 
classical music, had I been aiding 
in this continued system of 
dominance? Was my attendance 
at a concert a part of this problem? 
Should I stop attending concerts 
or listening to classical music?

I’ve been thinking about this 

for a month and yet I am still 
no closer to finding the answer 
to these questions. I can say 
that I have started obsessively 
researching 
organizations’ 

previous programming before 
attending concerts. I have been 
attending 
more 
concerts 
by 

and listening to more works by 
women and people of color.

Though many of these rumors 

will probably never affect me 
directly, I’ve learned to consider 
them anyway. If I find them to be 
credible or at least believable, I’ve 
realized that I have to share them 
with others — not only because 
it is important for the good of 
others but because I cannot live 
with myself if I truly believed 
that I hadn’t done anything to 
stop people such as the faculty 
member I met over summer.

But as I’ve done this, I’ve 

learned to be realistic in my 
understanding of my own role 
in the classical music world. Just 
as no one person is the source of 
these problems, no one person 
can be the solution. Despite my 
desires to speak of myself as part 
of the solution, I’ve learned to be 
realistic and honest. Yes, I am 
aware of these problems. And 
yes, I believe that I am doing 
something to fix them. But I 
cannot deny that I was unaware 
of the severity of these problems 
until this summer. And I cannot 
claim that I have done anything 
particularly 
noteworthy 
to 

address these problems in the 
classical 
music 
community. 

While I would like to think of 
myself as part of the solution, I’ve 
learned that I cannot do so — that 
I must avoid the complacency 
that this would afford me.

Lastly, I’ve been thinking a lot 

about the question of separating 
the art from the artist. This is 
a debate that I am sure that we 
are all familiar with. A more 
interesting question, in my view, 
is the separation between the 
artists and the artform. Should 
classical music be dismissed for 
its resistance to the increasing 
diversity we see throughout 
virtually all other facets of 
American 
art? 
Critics 
have 

spoken for years of classical 
music as a dying art form 
becoming less and less relevant to 
contemporary American culture 
— should we let it die?

Ultimately, I believe that we 

can separate the artists and the 
artform. I am reminded of Missy 
Mazzioli’s quote recently in her 
interview with The New York 
Times.

“This 
music 
belongs 
to 

everybody,” 
she 
said, 
“and 

everybody has their own way in.”

Rather 
than 
changing 
an 

artform from the outside, it’s 
important to change it from the 
inside — to actively challenge 
those individuals and practices 
that discriminate. It is time for 
those of us that have benefited 
from or been indifferent to 
classical music’s discriminatory 
practices to note and challenge 
these practices. We must do all 
we can to ensure that this music 
does belong to everybody and 
that everybody can find their way 
in.

Separating the 
artists and the 

artform

SAMMY SUSSMAN

Community Culture Columnist

COMMUNITY CULTURE COLUMN

6 — Thursday, September 20, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

