Wednesday, March 24, 2020 — 6
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

I decided to write about my love for The 

Blind Pig long before I knew I would have 

to say goodbye to Ann Arbor and its many 

strange institutions that I love. As such, 

this piece feels entirely bittersweet, tinted 

with more longing than a simple ode to 

my favorite concert hall in town would 

normally be. 

The Blind Pig is certainly a spot worthy 

of nostalgia. Within this dive, eager and 

passionate 

college 
kids 

come 
together 

with 
local 

hippies 
night 

after night to 

experience 

music 
ranging 

from 
college 

bands 
to 

respected indie 

acts to groups 

that 
are 
now 

insanely famous 

(even 
hosting 

Nirvana 
way 

back 
then). 

Searching 

pictures of the 

venue 
online 

brings 
images 

of 
performers 

like the Flaming 

Lips, 
Kim 

Gordon, Darren 

Criss and Theo 

Katzman.

Upon entry, you can feel the proud 

grittiness that exists not only within 

the mirrors and framed photographs on 

the sides of the performance venue, but 

even the popcorn machine near the bar. 

The disco ball overhead always casts the 

perfect amount of sparks for each concert 

goer, romanticizing the dark, cramped 

space. Red and blue lights saturate the 

walls and the faces of those around you, 

and the checkered floor beneath your feet 

only sticks slightly. The bar serves as an 

oasis of cooling drinks and (if you’re lucky) 

provides occasional free water that allows 

you a breather from the intense mess 

of the dance floor. The shared sweat of 

carefree dancers makes it a place certainly 

not immune to infectious natures of any 

kind. It’s absolutely wonderful.

The stage is quite small, allowing 

artists to connect with the crowd more 

intimately, 
sometimes 
even 
thrusting 

themselves forward into the crowd when 

fits of passion overtake their performance. 

The small size of the venue permits crowds 

to fill the room with their presence. You’re 

close enough to see the way the lead 

singer shifts from foot to foot nervously, 

to observe the shared glance between the 

keyboard player and bassist, to hear the 

drummers exhaled laugh as he hits that 

groove just right. This place isn’t the kind 

of “alternative” where you have to style 

yourself to look like you’re protesting 

fashion’s mainstream ways; people are 

there for the music and the good time, 

not 
to 
show 

off. 
It’s 
hard 

to 
imagine 
a 

more informal, 

welcoming 

place. 
At 
one 

show, I watched 

as the drummer 

jogged off stage 

to the back of 

the room to grab 

a beer from the 

bar, and then 

made 
it 
back 

onstage before 

the band’s vamp 

had gone on too 

long.

I’ve seen the 

room 
packed 

to capacity for 

Cory Wong (the 

guitarist 
from 

popular 
funk 

band Vulfpeck) 

and his band. 

The crowd frothed and surged, navigating 

their way around the pillar in the middle 

of the room. You had to fight with your 

elbows in a way that made it all the more 

rewarding when you finally got halfway 

through the room. 

I’ve seen the room with maybe 40 

people in it for a college band show. People 

reveled in the open space, throwing their 

bodies with abandon, imitating what 

might loosely be called “dance moves.” 

The passion of the performers was not 

diminished. It was worth my eight dollars.

I’m not sure if it’s the classic bathroom 

graffiti, the vending machine that sells 

cigarettes or the warm buzz of neon 

lighting inside, but The Blind Pig has its 

own brand of dirt-covered charm that 

goes beyond your typical dive. It is filled 

with history in the least pretentious way 

possible, and carves out a space for all. Its 

faded light-up sign provides a welcoming 

torch to a true Ann Arbor institution. And 

personally, I can’t wait to be back.

The Blind Pig: An ode to the 
temple of sweat and music

ROSA SOFIA KAMINSI

Daily Arts Writer

AMELIA CACCHIONE/DAILY

“Self-Made: Inspired by the Life of 

Madam C.J. Walker” is a historical 

retelling of the life of Sarah Walker, 

(Octavia 
Spencer, 
“Hidden 
Figures”) 

a washerwoman who became the first 

female self-made millionaire during the 

Gilded Age. The story follows Sarah as 

she escapes the condescending glare of 

the light-skinned, beautiful Addie Munroe 

(Carmen Ejogo, “Selma”) and begins to 

sell her own hair-growth product made 

specifically for Black women.Working 

against the patriarchy, Eurocentric beauty 

standards and blunt racism, Walker single-

handedly turns her spite into a massive 

enterprise. 

The themes the show purports are 

self-evident and wholly American. With 

hard work and determination, you can 

pull yourself up by the bootstraps. While 

the “American Dream” comprises the 

backbone 
of 

the 
show, 
the 

narrative’s 

inclusion 
of 

other tangential 

themes 
reveal 

barriers to the 

achievement 
of 

the 
“American 

Dream” 
that 

often 
go 

unmentioned. 

In 
fact, 
the 

show 
manages 

to efficiently do 

the 
impossible 

— 
balance 

colorism, racism 

and feminism in 

an efficient and 

nuanced way. 

In “Self-Made,” no “-ism” supersedes 

another. Race doesn’t supersede the 

importance of gender, nor does gender 

supersede color. Instead, the characters’ 

alliances shift to push back against the 

oppressive force of the moment. For 

example, while Addie Munroe and Sarah 

Walker are sworn rivals due to their 

skin color differences, Addie signals 

her support for Walker as she fights for 

a chance to speak at a male-dominated 

convention. Despite their conflict, both 

recognize the need for female solidarity. 

While the show focuses on the fascinating 

intersections of Walker’s gender and race 

struggle, it fails to explore another equally 

important aspect of Walker’s character: 

class.

We live in a peculiar time. On one 

hand, the myth of the American Dream 

is crumbling in front of our eyes. On the 

other hand, society has become more 

receptive to the idea that positions of 

power should be occupied by people who 

aren’t white males. Should we dismantle 

power structures or simply reoccupy 

them with different faces? “Self-Made” 

obviously supports the latter. Central 

aspects to Walker’s life, such as her 

position as a working class washerwoman 

are only mentioned as a tool to juxtapose 

her past with her present. 

Perhaps the most egregious example of 

this dissonance is one of the final scenes 

of the show. In the final chapter of “Self-

Made,” Walker’s employees protest the 

deal she made in the industry that would 

jeopardize their jobs. One might expect 

the show to focus on this dilemma. Perhaps 

Walker would give a passionate speech 

where she would recount her working-

class past, and thus her sympathy towards 

her 
workers. 

Perhaps 
(more 

realistically) 

she would fire 

her 
workers, 

and 
the 
show 

would 
focus 

on 
aspects 
of 

her 
personality 

that were less 

glamorous. 

Instead the show 

does 
neither. 

Walker 
simply 

says she won’t 

go through with 

the deal, despite 

the 
fact 
that 

every aspect of 

her 
character 

shows she will 

break down every barrier to her success. 

This scene speaks for a particular purpose 

of the show. Despite the title, “Self-Made” 

isn’t truly about the life of the human 

being Sarah Walker. It’s about the idea 

of Madam CJ Walker, a larger-than-life 

figure, living proof that all barriers can, 

and should, be shattered. 

Ultimately, 
“Self-Made” 
is 
a 
very 

empowering show. The central character’s 

story is remarkable and worth exploring. 

Like other “empowering” media, it feels 

good to watch. It feels good to watch 

someone overcome overwhelming odds. It 

feels good to beat back racism, sexism and 

colorism. It feels good to be empowered, 

just don’t think about what you can do 

with that power.

Don’t think on it too much, 
and you’ll enjoy ‘Self-Made’

JOSHUA THOMAS

Daily Arts Writer

NETFLIX

COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK

TV REVIEW
TV REVIEW

Self-Made

Netflix

Season One

Streaming Now

 I’m not sure if it’s the 

classic bathroom graffiti, 

the vending machine 
that sells cigarettes or 
the warm buzz of neon 
lighting inside, but The 
Blind Pig has its own 
brand of dirt-covered 

charm that goes beyond 

your typical dive.

