The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Monday, October 7, 2019 — 5A
“You can never publish my love,” Rogue Wave chants, in the
song that the title of this series riffs on. Maybe that’s true, and we
can never quite account for our love on paper or in print, but we
sure can try. That’s what this series is devoted to: publishing our
love. Us, the Arts section of The Michigan Daily, talking
about artists and their work, some of the people and things
we love the most. Perhaps these are futile approximations
of love for the poet who told us we deserve to be heard, the
director who changed the way we see the world, the movie
with the script we’ve memorized. But who ever said futile
can’t still be beautiful?
In maybe the most vulnerable stage of my life, I had
clear, simple mantras. Sometimes I embraced the simple
truth: “I’ve got some issues that nobody can see / And
all of these emotions are pouring out of me.” When I was
hopeful, “One day / This will be my world.” When I was
hopeless, “All along / I guess I’m meant to be alone.”
My pursuit of happiness was spent in the Cudi zone.
Few artists have had a footprint so large on our current
era of hip hop, or an influence so quick to manifest —
other sad rappers began following in his footsteps just
as soon as he’d paved the path. Kanye West’s 808s &
Heartbreak is often credited with ushering in an era of
melancholic songwriting over glamorous production.
However, A Kid Named Cudi came first — and just as
it began making waves, West brought in Cudi to give
creative input on the upcoming 808s. The superstardom
of artists like Drake and Travis Scott were to follow.
The reason I give Kid Cudi the title “Man On The Moon” is
to make it clear for whom my love is published. Not the 2013
Cudi releasing the middling Indicud and disappointing my
14-year-old self when he put on an appalling performance at my
first-ever concert. Not the 2015 Cudi tweeting “Poopé Fiasco”
is a dweeb. Not even the 2018 Kid Cudi co-creating KIDS SEE
GHOSTS with Kanye West, although I do have unpublished love
for that collaboration. This is about Cudi of A Kid Named Cudi
mixtape and Man On The Moon album series fame, hip hop’s
heartfelt superstar in ’08, ’09 and ’10. Kid Cudi, lord of the sad
and lonely.
When I was in eighth grade, all was doom and gloom. My
main schtick was bad posture and having no friends. Instead of
other people, I made eye contact with my sneakers as I walked
through school, shoulders hunched, memorizing every crease
and stain. I look back on that time the same way I look at an
episode of “South Park”: funny to watch and talk about, but
alarming when you start to think about it. I’m happy now, all
smiles and surrounded by good people. Still, there was a time
when Cudi was the only voice I let in.
As a lover of clever rhymes and writing, I am all about the
roundabout: I could dissect the dual meaning in lyrics from MF
DOOM or Del the Funky Homosapien forever. I wasn’t always
like that, though. Being a troubled teenager struggling to make
sense of the puzzling social dynamics at play, I wished so badly
for a presence I could understand, someone to understand me.
Only Kid Cudi could capture my despair and lay it bare on the
mic. People confused me. Cudi didn’t. I found comfort in his
clarity. “They all couldn’t see / The little bit of sadness in me”
spoke to me so lucidly.
Man On The Moon: The End Of Day and Man On The Moon II:
The Legend Of Mr. Rager were not critically hailed on release,
and some of the writing has not aged well. “Dudes who
critique your clothes are most gay” and “I want to kiss
you on your space below your navel at / The place that
you keep neat, so moist, like a towelette” were always
terrible lines. Even so, much of the lyricism on Man On
The Moon will remain iconic. The direct lyrics envelop
an intrinsic loneliness. For me, “I’m trapped in my mind,
baby / I don’t think I’ll ever get out” resonated with my
sustained sadness. But “They gon’ judge me anyway /
So whatever” can also touch someone that’s just going
through a low moment.
Raw lyrics alone are not the key to Cudi’s charm.
It’s also the work of the production talent surrounding
him: Emile, Plain Pat and of course Kanye West (among
others). The glitzy beats backing his voice are a key
component in conjuring Cudi’s musical mood. But if
there were a standout element of his sound to credit for
becoming hip hop’s hero of sadness, it’s Cudi’s voice.
His humming has been featured on every Kanye project
since 808s for good reason: Cudi’s voice is an instrument
no less powerful than a drum or a synth.
Since I’ve grown older, separated by years from my
eighth-grade affliction, Cudi fell out of rotation for
me. Listening to his music brings back frightfully vivid
memories. Tears staining my pillow every night. Staring at my
phone wishing anyone would text me. The creases and stains
of my sneakers over the ugly tile of my middle school hallway.
The thing about mental illness, though, is that once you’ve
developed one, it becomes a part of you forever — even when
it’s dormant, the looming risk of relapse remains. It wasn’t until
I left for college, and that soul-sucking monolith of depression
began bearing over me once again, that Cudi would return to
regular listening. “All along / I guess I’m meant to be alone” hit
me harder the second time around.
Now, feeling better than ever before but barely a year removed
from my last low phase, listening to Kid Cudi feels like treading in
dangerous waters. The electrifying Cudi connection clicks back
nearly instantaneously when I hear “The Prayer” or “Heaven At
Nite.” I’ll always have love for the Man On The Moon, gratitude
for the years keeping me company when nobody else did. I’ve
just accepted that love might best remain at a healthy distance.
Publish Our Love: To Kid Cudi, the Man On The Moon
DYLAN YONO
Daily Arts Writer
PUBLISH OUR LOVE
The cover of Angel Olsen’s newest record
All Mirrors defines its mythology well: Olsen
stares at the viewer intently, against a hazy
grey background swathed in dark fur. She
looks like she’s about to speak, but is holding
her words. There’s something in her eyes, but
it’s hard to tell quite what it is. It’s like we’re
looking at her through a movie camera, some
blurred glass of emotion and context that isn’t
easy to put a finger on. The music of All Mirrors
is just as pleasantly evasive — cinematic,
even. Each song seems like you’ve heard it
before somewhere, as if it was playing in the
background all along only to be pulled to the
forefront of the listener’s mind. The album is
Olsen at her best, capturing the nostalgia of a
time in the past, all the while looking forward
into the future.
For those familiar with Olsen’s music, it’s
clear she is already a luminary in the indie
music scene, merging the traditions of her
genre with a taste for innovative production
and arrangements. All Mirrors embodies
these traits at their highest function, bringing
everything listeners have always loved about
her to a new level, one that echoes the chaos
and confusion of our time. She somehow
makes the deepest sadness beautiful without
watering down its importance. Olsen is a
master of emotion in the purest sense. She
harnesses the power and vulnerability of
losing a lover, losing your grip and losing
your mind with thoughtful deliberation,
never allowing the listener to bask in their
preoccupations for too long before turning
onto another path.
The two lead singles released ahead of the
record are perfect examples of this attention
to detail and mood. “All Mirrors,” the album’s
title track, is a ballad full of phantasm and
intensity, one that could easily be hummed in
the darkness of a listener’s room or screamed
out of a car on the freeway all the same. That
duality is what makes Olsen’s music so intense
in the first place; the fact that it captures the
power of interiority without bringing it all
the way outside, instead offering that choice
to the listener themselves. It’s a reclamation
of emotion as something more than weakness.
No, emotion isn’t weakness in Olsen’s hands
— it’s a tool to wield the utmost strength. In
her eyes, in her music, feeling is the thing that
makes us powerful, lets us take control of our
lives and narratives in a way that plain logic
never could.
“Lark,” the other single, captures this
reclamation in plain terms. The accompanying
video shows Olsen as she leaves a relationship
only to walk through the night into the sunset,
a metaphor for renewal and loss all at once.
With a hushed tone, the songwriter begins
with an admittance of hope: “To forget you is
to hide, there’s still so much left to recover.”
If only we could start again, pretending we
don’t know each other,” she sings, breaking the
listener’s heart only to build it up again as she
breaks out into a loud and triumphant chorus.
“All we’ve done here is blind one another,”
Olsen offers to a lover no longer there. It’s
impossible to get through All Mirrors without
finding lines like this scattered throughout
each song, to feel her words reach inside you
and twist your heart with careful hands.
Both “Lark” and “All Mirrors” show the
sharp intensity of Olsen’s capabilities, but she
is also adept at the softer side of expression,
as seen in one of the record’s closing tracks,
“Endgame.” This song follows the rest of
the album like a sneak attack on the already
vulnerable listener, soothing them with
Olsen’s soft and classically beautiful voice
after the exertion of earlier tracks. “I needed
more, needed more, from you,” she whispers,
like a lounge singer in an old movie hidden
behind curtains.
You can just imagine her on a stage in a
velvet gown, the strings of her arrangement
playing in the background with a hazy glow.
It’s the cinematic quality of each song that
makes them so special, like her album cover
and her approach in general. For Olsen, songs
are not just songs — with each word, each
lilting string, each blast of synthesized sound,
she is creating an encapsulated experience for
her listener. She doesn’t need to make a movie
to express what she wants to with her music,
because each track does it for her. Listening
to All Mirrors is like watching a million little
films in your head, as each note, heavy with
meaning, plays on.
Angel O.’s latest dream
CLARA SCOTT
Senior Arts Editor
ALBUM REVIEW
There’s a scene early on in the pilot for “Almost
Family” where Julia Bechley (Brittany Snow,
“Crazy Ex-Girlfriend”) meets up with some
random from a dating app. The date isn’t going so
well. She has to think quick. She just goes for it. She
tells him she wants to have sex. It works and they
do. Later on in the episode, she finds out he might
actually be her brother.
So, she hooks up with him
again. That’s kind of all
you need to know about
how the pilot went.
The
premise
of
“Almost Family” is both
serious
and
unsettling.
Overworked
lawyer
Edie
Palmer
(Megalyn
Echikunwoke, “House of
Lies”) is having marriage
problems. Former child-
athlete
superstar
Roxy
Doyle
(Emily
Osment,
“Young & Hungry”) has anger problems. Julia
is the ignored assistant to her father, the world-
renowned fertility doctor, Dr. Leon Bechley
(Timothy Hutton, “Leverage”). But all of those
problems pale in comparison when it’s discovered
that Dr. Bechley fathered hundreds of children
by secretly using his own sperm to impregnate
patients. At least they should. But somehow they
don’t, which only makes the basis for “Almost
Family” that much more disgusting.
Once
Dr.
Bechley
gets
confronted,
he
conveniently has a heart attack and is put in the
hospital. As her father’s assistant, Julia hands out
hundreds of DNA test kits to calm the scandal
down. Edie and Roxy both come in to get one.
They quickly realize that they’re probably sisters.
What’s strange is that this isn’t explicitly said,
but implied. It’s as if the show forgot to confirm
that the three women are sisters. Which is even
more bizarre, because that’s half the plot of the
show. None of the women really engage with this
information. It isn’t talked about except in one
scene and is bypassed quickly.
What makes “Almost Family” most difficult to
watch is that it seems to want to be a character-
driven show. This is a huge problem because the
premise is so compelling. What Dr. Bechely does is
so heinous and awful that the characters ought to
be more furious. But when the news breaks, Julia
dismisses it as media gossip. Edie is more confused
than angry when she finds out. Roxy’s parents
don’t seem to be too concerned about their familial
situation,
but
instead
hire a lawyer to ensure
they’ll be compensated.
The
characters
aren’t
even
very
interesting.
Despite having a talented
cast, each character feels
archetypal and flat.
The
biggest
problem
the show runs into is that
it’s premise is horribly
revolting. A man violated
the privacy of hundreds
of
women.
He
ruined
families. It’s a very big
deal. But the show doesn’t seem to want to engage
with the problem very much. I can’t tell if it
wants to be a comedy or a drama — or if it’s just
a very poorly executed dramedy — but the show
demonstrates a clear lack of consideration given
the severity of its premise. The way the fertility
scandal takes a backseat to unfulfilled character
development makes me question how dedicated the
show is to its plot. If the show is not committed to
this plot, they probably shouldn’t be trying it at all.
Each step of the way, “Almost Family” is
conventional and predictable. Yet it still manages
to fall short of meeting the most basic expectations.
It can’t even seem to follow through on the promise
of its plot. Ultimately, the show is weighed down
by uninteresting characters and a confused sense
of self. If the show were more self-aware — or
even more organized — there may be something
slavagable here. However, there’s no “almost” about
any of this. “Almost Family” is most definitely off
to a confounding and disappointing start.
‘Almost Family’ is banal and
unfulfilling and also strange
MAXWELL SCHWARZ
Daily Arts Writer
TV REVIEW
FOX
Almost Family
Pilot
Fox
Wednesdays @ 9:00 p.m.
Now, feeling better than ever before
but barely a year removed from my
last low phase, listening to Kid Cudi
feels like treading in dangerous
waters
All Mirrors
Angel Olsen
Jagjaguwar
DESIGN BY ROSEANNE CHAO