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By Craig Stowe
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
04/02/19

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

04/02/19

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Tuesday, April 2, 2019

ACROSS
1 “I’m clever” 
chuckle
4 Take a broom to
9 Rapscallion
14 Pretty __ picture
15 Main artery
16 __ roll: student’s 
achievement
17 Hawk, in the 
military sense
19 Get the best of
20 In the buff
21 Local residents, 
to local college 
students
23 Draw sap from, 
as a maple
25 “I haven’t the 
foggiest”
27 Grooming 
process
30 Formula __: auto 
racing class
31 Casino 
convenience
32 Cacophonous
34 Prescription items
38 Canapé garnish
39 Competition
41 Snap or split 
veggie
42 “Casino” co-star 
Joe
44 Ease up
45 Toy with, cat-style
46 Microbrewery 
product
48 Studios for artists
50 Materials for 
babies’ rugs
54 Paper size: Abbr.
55 Consumed 
amounts
56 Reverb in a 
chamber
59 Centipede game 
company
60 Drambuie and 
Scotch cocktail
65 Closer to being 
harvested
66 Month before 
febrero
67 Get it
68 “Alien” director 
Ridley __
69 Eggs purchase
70 Juan’s “that”

DOWN
1 Goldie with a 
Golden Globe

2 Founder of 
Edom
3 *Tough period 
in life
4 Brazilian map 
word
5 Hit the jackpot
6 Bit of energy
7 Strasbourg 
summer
8 Second section
9 *Grade school 
presentation
10 Come back (with)
11 Naysayers
12 Web surfing tool
13 Narrative writing
18 Event with 
courses
22 War on Poverty 
org.
24 *Slim-fitting Dior 
creation
25 Singer Turner’s 
memoir
26 *Nuclear treaty 
subject
27 Camper’s cover
28 Plains native
29 Excessively
33 Irish poet who 
wrote “Easter, 
1916”

35 Caps, and a hint 
to the answers to 
starred clues
36 Drive or reverse
37 Toothed tools
40 Fr. holy woman
43 Moulin Rouge, 
notably
47 Squeeze (out)
49 Cross-country 
southern hwy.
50 Some are 
compulsive

51 Shenanigan
52 Philippines peak: 
Abbr.
53 Looks flushed
57 Hurries, 
old-style
58 Bread spread
61 2018 National 
Toy Hall of Fame 
inductee
62 “__ who?”
63 Antonio’s three
64 That, old-style

FOR RENT

Ty Segall’s new album begins 
with four words, so soft and 
so 
quickly 
interrupted 
that 
they’re easy to miss: “Ladies and 
gentlemen, the—”
That’s it. Then, there are the 
guitars.
It’s quite the hook, and “Warm 
Hands” is an almost impossible 
song to turn off, once you’re 
sucked into it. The lyrics tell an 
enthralling story — “He said he 
wanted to talk to me / ‘Come here, 
let me take you home’ / My hands, 
they feel warm / My car 
can run” — and the guitars 
are so pressing, they evoke 
the feeling of, yes, getting 
into a car with somebody 
else driving, and then 
realizing too late what 
you’ve signed on for once 
you’re hurtling down the 
freeway at 100 miles an hour.
It’s hard to know what to expect 
from an artist like Segall. In a little 
over a decade of music-making, the 
California multi-instrumentalist 
has flexed his muscles in several 
entirely different directions, from 
the early lo-fi garage rock of early 
albums like the first Ty Segall and 
Goodbye Bread to the intentionally 
freeform explorations of his most 
recent record-length effort, last 
year’s Freedom’s Goblin. He’s 
proven himself to be among the 
most prolific artists currently 
making 
music, 
putting 
out 
practically an album a year, and 
occasionally even more.

His newest record, Deforming 
Lobes, is a live album recorded last 
year at the Teragram Ballroom 
in Los Angeles. It features songs 
plucked from all corners of 
Segall’s musical repertoire, from 
2010’s Melted to his second self-
titled album, released in 2017. 
Segall’s approach to the live album 
seems to focus on one aspect while 
discarding any elements he deems 
unnecessary, including the fuzzy 
applause and cheering that artists 
usually leave in at the end of each 
track (to the effect of feeling like 
you’re at the concert), as well 
as any songs that wouldn’t have 
benefited the record.

Namely, Segall — already no 
stranger to long or unusual track 
lengths — capitalizes on the 
ways in which live tracks can 
expand and grow beyond their 
original span. The closing track, 
“Love Fuzz,” features perhaps 
one of the best examples of this, 
a prolonged section of chiming 
that evokes alien abduction and 
grows sharper and sharper as it 
dwindles, coaxing the listener 
into near-hypnosis before finally 
exploding back into the static 
and intense instrumentation that 
kicked off the meat of the track 
initially.
The crowning element of the 

album’s character has to be the 
Freedom Band, made up of Mikal 
Cronin (bass), Charles Moothart 
(drums), Emmett Kelly (guitar) 
and Ben Boye (piano). Guitars 
don’t sing like this everywhere. 
The album is only eight tracks 
long, making for a very tightly 
packed 35 minutes, so it’s hard to 
pick standouts knowing that we’re 
already experiencing the cream 
of the crop. But “Warm Hands,” 
the opening track and the longest 
one on the album at almost 10 
minutes, 
practically 
demands 
that the listener give the other 
seven songs a listen, too. “Cherry 
Red” features an instrumental 
section that threatens 
to blow its own top off. 
One almost wonders 
whether the applause 
and shouts of the 
audience 
members 
were done away with 
because they simply 
would have added too 
much extreme dimension to an 
album already bursting with it.
The album is all about reining 
in chaos into something distilled 
and singularly creative. Each 
track is a live performance at a 
show, and yet the recordings are 
largely honed back to the music 
itself, to the point that at times the 
album sounds like a more frenetic 
version of a studio effort (in a good 
way). The music itself sounds 
purposeful, yet totally unbridled, 
infused with a sense of prehistoric 
rock that comes back and back to 
us throughout the ages, surfacing 
over and over again in new ways.

Segall pours heart into 
album ‘Deforming Lobes’

LAURA DZUBAY
Daily Arts Writer

DRAG CITY

ALBUM REVIEW

Deforming Lobes

Ty Segall

Drag City

“On My Block,” Netflix’s most 
binge-watched show of 2018, is 
back with its second season, a 
return that can only be described 
as a charming portrayal of 
young-minded teens facing real-
life problems. The show self-
actualizes into the framework 
of the show it was supposed to 
be in the first season — a show 
about 
soul-searching 
high 
school freshmen that struggle 
with childhood trauma, external 
pressures to act a certain way 
and now, how to handle 
all 
that 
Rollerworld 
loot that Jamal (Brett 
Gray, 
“Chicago 
P.D.”) 
discovered in the first 
season.
The 
new 
season 
picks up a few months 
after the aggravatingly nerve-
wracking cliffhanger of the 
first season, and viewers were 
finally given the chance to find 
out the fate of our beloved Ruby 
(Jason Genao, “Logan”) and 
Olivia (Ronni Hawk, “S.W.A.T.”). 
Despite the first season finale’s 
downer ending, the show never 
neglects its lighthearted nature 
and its refreshingly comedic 
view on topics that are not 
always supposed to be funny. It’s 
hilariously relevant, especially 
in the scene where Ruby comes 
back to school and all of his 
peers want to take selfies with 
his 
scarred 
bullet 
wound. 
The show switches smoothly 

between serious political issues 
that come with being stuck in a 
bad neighborhood and ridiculous 
drama that all high schoolers 
inevitably experience at some 
point in their life.
The biggest improvement is 
that the characters find deeper 
realms of dimensionality than 
they had in their first season, 
especially as they go through 
the stages of grief from losing 
their new friend Olivia from 
gang violence. Monse (Sierra 
Capri, debut) interacts with the 
woman who she suspects is her 
biological mother, Cesar (Diego 
Tinoco, “Teen Wolf”) struggles 

through 
rejection 
from 
his 
brother and the constant threat 
of homelessness and Jamal deals 
with the repercussions of having 
a cursed fortune on his hands. 
Although every character sees 
some semblance of development 
in the new season, it is Ruby 
and Jazmine (Jessica Marie 
Garcia, “How to Get Away with 
Murder”) who are able to show 
the most depth. Ruby suffers 
through 
anxiety 
and 
PTSD 
episodes from facing a near-
death experience, and we are 
finally able to see Jazmine’s 
full three-dimensionality when 
Ruby visits her home and sees 
what makes her the way she is. 

We also get to see new 
character dynamics that we 
didn’t get in the first season. 
The most amusing of them all 
was Jamal and Cesar, who are 
forced to stay together when 
Cesar has nowhere else to go. 
Jamal’s energetic nervousness 
contrasted 
against 
Cesar’s 
cool kid attitude makes for an 
entertaining few episodes and 
brings 
the 
ride-or-die 
crew 
closer together than ever before.
While nobody can resist the 
addictive charm of the crew’s 
energy, at times the high school 
drama feels a bit too timely and 
predictable. If the showrunners 
could 
focus 
on 
diversifying 
the 
complexity 
of 
the 
teen drama to match 
the creativity of the 
primary 
storylines, 
then the show has 
a good chance of 
running for at least another 
few seasons. Despite this, it 
is appreciated that this show 
experiments with new kinds 
of twists and turns that don’t 
consist of the typical “small 
quiet town faces big mysterious 
murder” narrative. The second 
season fills in the gaps between 
the 
characters 
and 
their 
struggles 
that 
were 
present 
throughout the first season, 
and viewers can only hope 
that Netflix sees that obvious 
potential that the show offers 
and hits the “renewal” button 
until their hands go numb. After 
the chilling way season one 
ended, we desperately need it.

‘On My Block’ charms all 
throughout season two

NETFLIX

TV REVIEW

On My Block

Season 2

Netflix

SOPHIA YOON
For The Daily

Throughout my time at college, 
my perception of what “good” 
writing is has changed immensely. 
Before college, writing was a hobby. 
I enjoyed the simple act of writing; it 
was natural to me. I wasn’t holding 
myself to any standard or abiding 
by any rules. My writing was a full 
expression of myself, uninfluenced 
by “great” literature or renowned 
writers or publication guidelines. 
I was sometimes praised for my 
writing and encouraged to formally 
pursue writing in my education.
I eventually did decide to formally 
pursue writing, and have been 
doing so for the past three years. I’ve 
taken many workshop classes at the 
University of Michigan as well as 
New York University. I’ve attended 
countless 
writing 
conferences, 
readings and events. I’ve written a 
number of essay collections that I 
still can’t believe I finished. I’ve won 
some awards and have come close 
to winning others.
Somehow, though, I feel like less 
of a writer than I was at 17.
My experience with writing 
sometimes 
feels 
surreal, 
even 
though I haven’t, by any terms, 
“made it” as a writer. I began as a 
girl with a journal in her nightstand 
drawer, and now, somehow, I’m 
here. I’ve heard accomplished 
writers speak and I have worked 
closely with many of them. I’ve 
learned what to write and when, 
how to get published and where. 
I’ve 
written 
and 
edited 
and 
re-written and re-edited pieces. 
I’ve completed this cycle so many 
times that some of my work doesn’t 
even feel like mine. I’ve learned so 
much about writing that sometimes 

I forget how to write; I’m paralyzed 
by the thought of flow and tone and 
recognition, which I’ve internalized 
as the singular pillar of artistic 
accomplishment.
I’ve lost touch with myself 
as an artist in the pressure to be 
a “good” writer by the implicit 
standards of literary achievement 
— standards that, after many 
nights of frustration, agony and 
subsequent 
soul-searching, 
I’ve 
decided are illusory on the premise 
of their elitism. Literary knowledge, 
allusions and inclusion in high-
brow social groups — Fitzgerald, 
Capote, Didion – have played a 
role in shaping these standards, 
while living in complete isolation 
and selling your soul to the craft of 
writing (in conjunction with illicit 
substances) has, too — Hemingway, 
Salinger, Thoreau.
In other words, the road to 
literary success has been defined, 
and, to most, is unavailable.
***
On Thursdays, I go to Cotton 
Correctional Facility in Jackson. 
I facilitate a creative writing 
workshop 
with 
three 
other 
members of the Prison Creative 
Arts Project for incarcerated men. 
We push the tables in the classroom 
together and sit in a circle. We play 
games, do writing exercises and 
share our pieces with each other. 
For every piece shared comes a 
round of poetry snapping and warm 
smiles, compassionate head shakes 
or intelligent feedback, regardless 
of whether it’s positive or negative.
Before I’d gone to Cotton, when 
I’d told my friends and family about 
the workshop I’d be facilitating, 
they’d assured me that I’d teach the 
men a lot. They knew that I knew 
how to write — I’d been doing it 
forever, and I’d studied the craft 

extensively. But I was never under 
the impression that I had anything 
to teach these men. In fact, I knew 
I’d be the one learning.
I was right in knowing that I 
didn’t have anything to offer the 
men, aside from giving them the 
space to express themselves. What 
I didn’t anticipate, though, was the 
amount of wisdom and passion and 
knowledge that they have shown 
me. It’s one thing to learn from 
something, but it’s another to have 
it change you — which is what the 
men at Cotton did.
In 
that 
classroom, 
I’ve 
encountered the most powerful 
writing I’ve read. These men have 
faced 
nearly 
insurmountable 
adversity. 
They’ve 
experienced 
enough pain for 10 lifetimes. 
They’ve been robbed of resources 
that I, and many of my peers, have 
had access to our whole lives. And 
they’re the best artists I’ve ever met.
The men at Cotton have stripped 
the art of writing down to its 
essence. Its essence is not elite — it’s 
not knowledge or culture or even 
recognition. It’s genuineness. Their 
writing is magnetic, organic.
Through their authenticity, these 
men have inspired me to become 
who I am, both as a writer and as a 
person. Because of them, what I’ve 
been taught about what writing is 
supposed to be is unraveling. The 
best writers are the ones who are 
fully themselves.
Because of them, I’ve decided 
to forget what I know and become 
the writer I was at 17. Because of 
them, I’ve realized that the best art 
is often not celebrated, because it’s 
raw, messy and imperfect. The best 
writing doesn’t adhere to a standard 
or yearn for recognition — it only 
exists in its purest form, despite 
whether or not it’s loved.

Deconstructing writing

JENNA BARLAGE
Daily Arts Writer

COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK

6 —Tuesday, April 2, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com