The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Monday, March 11, 2019 — 5A
MUSIC REVIEW
RUBYWORKS
Remember
Hozier?
It’s
hard not to. For the past five
years, his has been one of the
names most often brought up
in conversations along the
lines of, When on Earth is that
artist’s next album going to be
here?
Five years isn’t the most
extreme gap in the grand
scheme of things, but the
eponymous debut album of
the Irish singer-songwriter,
formally known as Andrew
Hozier-Byrne,
shook
the
world in a way that few debut
albums are privileged
to do. Hozier’s unique,
seamless, heart-driven
blend of folk, soul, rock
and blues has left an
indelible mark on the
musical world, sparking
many imitators but few
who have risen to meet
his level of talent and
vision.
A
follow-up,
naturally, was and has
always been a tall order.
Luckily,
Wasteland,
Baby! delivers on every
front and then some.
It’s
a
comprehensive
dive (album-cover-pun
intended) into some of the
depths of Hozier’s personality
and values left unexplored on
Hozier. Hozier gave us tender
affection, sardonic accusation,
campy friendship and druggy
poetry. The new sophomore
record
builds
on
these
strengths with its offerings
of well-considered lyricism,
thoughtful tribute, immersive
rock
and
thoughtful,
referential
appreciation
of
music itself.
One of the traits that makes
Wasteland, Baby! shine is the
fact that Hozier knows how
to
compartmentalize.
He’s
aware that he’s borrowing
from the libraries of many
different genres, and although
he doesn’t let this awareness
guide him too strongly or
box him in, he does use it to
concentrate his genre fluencies
in the areas where they’ll
serve him the most effectively.
His penchant for roiling rock
surfaces on “No Plan” and
“Dinner & Diatribes,” while
other tracks like “Shrike,”
“Almost (Sweet Music)” and
“Wasteland,
Baby!”
recall
his
folksy
sensibilities.
A
thread of natural expertise
runs
beneath
everything,
reaffirming Hozier’s position
as a virtual chameleon among
the adjacent and overlapping
worlds of the genres he’s
choosing to explore.
In many ways, the album as
a whole adds up to a love letter
to music. It opens, of course,
with “Nina Cried Power,” the
title track and lead single off
of last September’s EP, the
official mark of Hozier’s first
release since 2014. An earth-
shaking
collaboration
with
Mavis Staples, “Nina Cried
Power” is a tribute to the
anthemic and, yes, powerful
protest work of musicians like
Nina Simone, Billie Holiday,
B.B. King, Bob Dylan and
more. A thank you note turned
up several notches, the opener
shouts
out
Staples
while
benefiting from her inimitable
vocals, and it places Hozier
in a distinct and personable
position: His music has never
been anywhere near meek,
but it can still be modest and
grounded in a way that helps
it locate its place amid a much
vaster expanse of influence,
history and musical mastery.
“Almost (Sweet Music)” is
an apt follow-up, thanking
musical masters like Duke
Ellington and Chet Baker while
providing a suitable segue into
Hozier’s
later
explorations
of his personal relationships
and the ways in which they
intersect
with
music
in
general. This is perhaps one
of the most consistent veins
characterizing
the
rest
of
the album. In addition to
explicitly
illustrating
his
artistic
appreciations
in
songs like the celebratory,
yet moderately low-key, “To
Noise
Making
(Sing),”
he
demonstrates their existence
in tandem with his own more
personal
preoccupations.
His fusion of various
alternative genres with
odes to the past and
present, and lyrics so
good you could read
them without the music
and still fall in love,
is by turns seductive,
introspective,
modern
and
wholly
mythological.
The more personal
elements
of
Hozier’s
characteristics
as
an
artist that made his
debut so successful —
his unapologetic anger,
his ready weirdness and
affinity for careful, unique
lyrics that veer between the
sensitive and the violent —
are all still there on this new
album, just engineered along
different paths, which is the
main crux of what makes
Wasteland, Baby! so fitting and
interesting. These 14 tracks
are the proof we may have
been waiting for, whether
consciously or unconsciously,
that
Hozier
hasn’t
gone
anywhere. He’s been here all
along, thinking and listening
and working and writing, and
waiting, like the shrike, for the
perfect time to pounce. True
to the album cover indeed,
Hozier is ready to submerge us,
to tug us along the depths of a
place fully understood by no
one and illuminate something
for us amid a shipwreck. We
should be so lucky.
Hozier’s sophomore album
proves he’s here to stay
LAURA DZUBAY
Daily Arts Wrtier
Snow
still
blows
over
Michigan
in
March,
but
Detroiters can now enjoy a
day at “The Beach,” an art
installation designed as a ball
pit beach.
“The Beach” is indoors but
thematically emulates a real
beach, with sloping shorelines,
umbrella-shaded
lounge
chairs, a lifeguard and blow-
up beach balls. But instead of
water, “The Beach” is filled
with 400,000 plastic balls.
Located in the heart of
downtown, one can go for a
swim at “The Beach” right
after ice skating across the
street at Campus Martius. It’s
free and open to the public,
accepting both walk-ins and
online reservations.
The exhibit quietly debuted
on Friday, Mar. 1 with pictures
of Detroiters enjoying “The
Beach” hitting Instagram. By
Saturday, reservations for a
swim were booked for the next
two weeks. When I went Sunday
afternoon, the line for walk-ins
wrapped all around the lobby.
Surprisingly,
it
wasn’t
just
kids and their parents. Trendy
young adults were swimming
too, Snapchatting their entire
experience.
The
artists
behind
“The
Beach,” Alex Mustonen, Daniel
Arsham and Ben Porto, are
partners at the New York
design studio Snarkitecture.
The firm is best known for
designing unique brick and
mortar stores for KITH,
a high-end footwear and
clothing retailer. Many of
their art installations and
architecture
projects
are
collaborative,
immersive
designs,
often
built
within existing spaces or
architecture.
“The Beach” debuted in
Washington D.C. in 2015 and
has since been installed in
cities all across the world,
including
Paris,
Sydney
and
Bangkok.
Detroit’s
installment was produced
in collaboration with Library
Street Collective, a Detroit art
gallery. The local contemporary
art gallery is behind many
art installations in Detroit,
including the Rainbow City
Roller Rink that previously
occupied “The Beach”’s space
at 1001 Woodward.
A ball pit may conjure up
memories of a colorful Chuck
E.
Cheese
nightmare,
but
“The Beach” is sleek, cool and
inviting. A wide open space
with mirrors along all the walls
make it feel even bigger. It’s
lively, but by no means crowded.
The plastic balls are recyclable
and antimicrobial, so it’s both
environmentally friendly and
sanitary (as sanitary as a ball
pit can be, anyway). Like many
of
Snarkitecture’s
projects,
“The
Beach”
is
all-white,
including the “shore” and the
sea of balls. The only pops of
color come from blow-up toys
such as a pink flamingo or a
striped inner-tube.
Two piers reach out into the
pit where swimmers can jump
into the pit, and there’s an island
in the middle that visitors can
swim to. Moving around in the
pit is surprisingly difficult. It’s
very relaxing to lay immersed
in the balls — perhaps even
more so than being in the water
at a real beach. My 45-minute
swim session was mostly spent
lounging in the ball pit. Partly
because it was so comfortable,
partly because I ran out of
breath every time I tried to
get off my back. Both visually
cool and physically soothing,
“The Beach” is a unique, fun
exhibition.
For modern art appreciators
that enjoy an immersive and
interactive experience, “The
Beach” Detroit will remain
open Wednesday to Sunday
each week through Apr. 14th —
so get your swim in while you
can.
There’s
an
art
to
trash
television. The idiosyncrasies,
the poorly veiled intervention
by producers and the staged
emotional
outbursts
are
a
delicate formula. Its raw and
repugnant power comes with
great responsibility that only few
can weild. “Mexican Dynasties”
appears to have all the makings
of the new best-worst
show on television —
come on, it’s produced
by
Bravo.
Somehow,
though,
this
show
no one wanted falls
triumphantly
flat
of
being
anything
noteworthy.
“Mexican Dynasties”
follows three families
of
self-proclaimed
Mexican royalty living
it up to the fullest
in Mexico City. The
three families are the
Allendes, the Bessudos
and
the
Madrazos.
They each made their
fortunes in different ways: luxury
cars, soft drinks and just being
handsome, respectively. While
they’re each different, I really
couldn’t tell you which is which.
The plot is simple: Rich people
are weird. The Allendes have
zero boundaries. Their son Adán
is 27, still lives with them and
spends each morning in their bed
for “cuddles.” He had a beloved
parrot who died, so they stuck
it in the freezer for two weeks
until the rest of the family got
back from vacation in Istanbul.
Again, rich people being weird.
Occasionally, a well-placed crack
about Trump’s tweets or the
wall sneaks its way into their
conversation, which is fun.
One of the best parts of the
show is the help. Maids, cooks
and the like are featured in the
“interview” segments of the
show to dish on the strangeness
of the families. When I say “best,”
it’s really telling because the
servants don’t really dish all that
much. Their comments amount
mostly to saying the families are
weird. Which we knew and could
see.
There are lots of really great
bad television shows. “Little
Women: LA” is not only bad,
but hilarious and borderline
fetishized. It at least presents a
moral quandary to ponder and
forget about when the women
start fighting. Likewise, “90
Day Fiancé” is a smorgasbord of
awkwardness and cringe in the
most wonderful and alarming
ways. “Dance Moms” is a travesty
of pure genius. The cutthroat
“Lord of the Files” atmosphere
that surrounds these moms, as
their kids flail about to terrible
music is simply a thing of beauty.
But that is not “Mexican
Dynasties.” This is a show
whose only aim seems to present
the
strangeness
or
general
ordinariness of rich Mexicans. It’s
not really exciting or
fun. It’s not so strange
that it makes its viewers
uncomfortable,
with
the flair and stumbling
of “Married at First
Sight.” No, “Mexican
Dynasties” simply is. It
just exists. Not a whole
lot happens in this
show, which is fine. As
the families announce
in the opening of the
show,
“Americans
don’t know shit about
Mexico.”
Which
is
fair. I certainly don’t.
I also don’t know who
this show is meant
for. Are we supposed to see rich
Mexicans just existing or being
odd? Because if that was the
aim, they’ve done it. I see these
rich Mexicans. They are pretty
normal,
with
idiosyncrasies
here and there. It plays out more
like “The Truman Show” than
a reality show. It doesn’t make
good television, but it does make
a point. Mexicans and rich people
are pretty normal. Nothing to see
here.
‘Mexican Dynasties’ is
poorly crafted trash TV
MAXWELL SCHWARZ
Daily Arts Wrtier
‘Wasteland,
Baby!’
Hozier
Rubyworks Records
TV REVIEW
BRAVO
‘Mexican
Dynasties’
Series Premiere
Bravo
Tuesdays, 10 p.m.
COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW
DETROIT FREE PRESS
‘The Beach’ installation
unveiled over in Detroit
DYLAN YONO
Daily Arts Wrtier
One can go for a
swim at “The Beach”
right after ice skating
across the street