Friday, March 27, 2020 — 6A
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
When
I
applied
to
write
the
entertainment column three years ago,
my pitch was that most of my articles
would focus on what I considered a
modern day Hollywood concept of the
“never ending story.” Any storyteller
will tell you that the ending of a story is
what gives it its meaning, and I’ve spent
thousands of words over the past few
years talking about what it means for our
collective storytelling consciousness that
nowadays money dictates that stories
cannot end. “Harry Potter,” “Star Wars,”
“Avengers,” none of these stories are
allowed to end. They must continue on in
some fashion or another as long as they’re
still helping the company’s bottom line.
But there’s another type of story I’ve
neglected through all of this. The story
that never gets an ending because it’s cut
short before its time had come. The story
that ends on a cliffhanger, on unanswered
questions,
without
the
catharsis
of
conclusion, and with characters yet to
complete their arcs. But for those of us
who were to graduate in the calendar
year of 2020, this isn’t just a story, it’s
the brutal reality of what our college
experience has become.
Like all seniors, and like the many who
have already written articles in the Daily
on this subject, I’ve struggled to come
to terms with the abrupt cancellation of
senior spring. Friends left before I had a
chance to say goodbye. Club projects and
events were over before they had even
started. Team’s seasons were cut short,
and the idea of celebrating the past four
years faded away into an abyss of news
stories about a terrifying global pandemic.
As I wrote above, I’ve long argued stories
don’t have meanings without endings, so
do the past four years of my life not have
a meaning either? Of course not, and so I
am left to admit what should have been
obvious to me all along. As a wise man
once said, “The world isn’t divided into
good people and death eaters.” Or in other
words, “stories aren’t divided into those
with endings (and therefore meanings)
and those without.”
In the final episode of “Lost”, Jack
Shepherd discovers he’s dead and turns
to his father in the afterlife, asking him
“Did I matter?” His father responds with
one of the thesis statements of the series,
one that people who wanted the finale to
be an all-encompassing source of answers
have struggled with. “You mattered,
everything that’s ever happened to you
has mattered, and the most important
part of your life was the time you spent
with these people.” Jack’s father is
talking about the other characters on the
show, but the same idea can be applied
to any group of people who share a set
of experiences. I know there are many
who walk the graduation stage and
feel an immense sense of achievement
in the courses they have taken, the
journey they’ve gone on, the personal
accomplishment of getting a degree from
this fine University. I totally understand
that. But for me the celebration would
always have been mainly about the
people. A last chance to make the rounds
and celebrate all the wonderful people I
came to know and love during my time at
this school.
There’s something about a global
pandemic that really brings home the fact
that so many of the petty disputes and
simple problems we distract ourselves
with everyday don’t really matter in the
grand scheme of things. When faced with
an existential threat, you’re made aware
with absolute clarity about who the most
important people in your life are and why.
The people you have around you, the ones
you stay in contact with from far away,
the ones you love, the ones who make you
laugh, who share your stories, who are a
part of your stories, and you theirs, those
are the only things that really matter in
this life. Everything else is immaterial
at best, and a distraction from the simple
miracle of human connection at worst.
There’s a quote that some in my family
attribute to my Great Aunt Harriett that
goes like this, “In the end, only three
things matter: how much you loved, how
gently you lived, and how gracefully
you let go of things not meant for you.”
Upon a simple Google search I’ve found
it’s actually a Buddha quote. Go figure.
Members of the class of 2020, graduation
and senior spring were not meant for us.
But that fact shouldn’t make us think any
less of what we achieved during our time
here. We saw a dog almost get elected
CSG president. We saw a buzzer beater to
send the basketball team to the sweet 16
and eventually the final four. Once upon
a time, we still had Michigan Time. And
like Michigan Time, our time at Michigan
has come to a close sooner than we would
have liked, but that will never change the
meaning of the past four years. A thing
isn’t beautiful because it lasts.
Forever and always, go blue.
Entertainment Column:
On a story cut short
IAN HARRIS
Daily Entertainment Columnist
For most people, the stages of quarantine have
gone something along these lines: anger about being
stuck inside all day, acceptance that quarantine is
a necessary measure, militance in making sure
that everyone follows the rules, confusion as to
what to do with all this free time and resignation
that quarantine is going to last a whole lot longer
than anticipated. If your quarantine hasn’t gone
down this way, you haven’t been adhering to social
distancing and isolation measures, which is wack,
and you will therefore be considered a buster. All of
these emotions and feelings culminate in what will
be known as the “quarantine blues” from here on
out. As a way to combat the quarantine blues, I’ve
thrown together a quick playlist composed of songs
that I enjoy and feel embody the process of going
through the quarantine blues.
It all starts with Suicidal Tendencies’
“Institutionalized.” Singer Mike Muir’s palpable
anger is bound to resonate with anyone upset
about the forced quarantine, even though it’s
what’s best for everyone. Next, “Counting Days”
by The Fight and “Army of One” by Drain are
two hardcore shitkickers that take listeners
toward acceptance as they count the days and
slowly begin to understand that the fight against
the virus starts with you, an army of one. Pop
Smoke’s “Get Back” and Lil Uzi Vert’s “You
Better Move” usher in the phase of enforcing
the militant sanitary standards that are needed
to keep every at-risk person healthy. “Don’t
Call Me” by Young Thug carries this militant
attitude toward social distancing, but he does so
in a pensive, conflicted tone. The next two songs,
“Where Do I Go (Bbq Music)” by Max B and “I
Think I’ll Just Stay Here and Drink” by Merle
Haggard, both realize that all we can do is stay
home and stay safe, though all we want to do
is literally anything else. “I’m Not That Lonely
Yet” by Reba McEntire and “A Country Boy
Can Survive” by Hank Williams Jr. transform
the confusion into resignation that we’re stuck
in quarantine and there’s nothing we can do
about it, but we’ll make it through (eventually).
The last song, “Good Times” by Eric Burdon,
serves as a bonus track of sorts, something of
a final reminder to everyone to use their time
wisely in quarantine. That is to say, make sure
you’re doing exactly what you want to be doing,
whether it’s being productive, chatting on the
phone, reading a book or drinking a couple beers
while watching TV.
— Jim Wilson, Daily Arts Writer
Most notable to me during this quarantine:
the building blocks of my conversations have
vastly changed. I’ve been asking my pals for one
word to describe how they’re feeling (a support
group tactic, perhaps) and I’ve been leaning on
metaphors heavily. My pals and I metaphorize
the waves of quarantine: We talk of feeling like
sedimentary rocks, losing their sediments (ha),
of how the days feel like getting on a roller coaster
(when “I’m okay” suddenly turns to “get me the
fuck out,” then you’re off the ride, feeling all bad-
tempered, until you grab some carnival food and
the cold-sweat is gone). I told another friend of
the candle-girl-metaphor I’ve been utilizing. I
see how much progress the candle makes, as a
way to keep track of the time. Like tallies on the
wall. Like watching paint dry, but better.
To me, that’s the primary component of
playlists: making metaphors. These quarantine
playlists feel like a ton of metaphors to try out,
trying to find enough representations of and
deep dives into the moods you’ve lost or the
moods you think you need.
And so in my metaphor campaign, I keep
coming back to “Aquemini” by Outkast, the intro
of my quarantine playlist:
“Even the sun goes down, heroes eventually
die / Horoscopes often lie and sometimes “y” /
Nothin’ is for sure, nothin’ is for certain, nothin’
lasts forever / But until they close the curtain /
It’s him and I Aquemini”
No one was expecting this. Josh Peck’s
armpits are sweaty because the forecasts have
lied; quarantine is not an A, E, I, O, or U situation,
it’s a sometimes Y, it’s maybes and uncertainties.
But through it all, there’s a team effort. It’s Andre
and Big Boi till the end, and it’s me and my pals
til the end, because who else would we share our
metaphors with, and send our playlists to?
— Sam Cantie, Music Beat Editor
This playlist is not full of cheesy tunes like
“Don’t Stand So Close to Me,” but rather the
songs that creep up on you when you’re alone,
when the Netflix show you’ve been binging
fades out at 3 a.m. and your half-awake face
shines back in the darkened computer screen.
Yeah, these are the isolation blues, baby. Stuck
inside our houses, things can get a little bit
foggy, so let this mix guide you through the blur
as easily as a thumping bass line or a synthy
undertone seems to weave its way through good
music. With a sprinkling of psychedelia, folk,
jazz, soft rock and everything in between, the
same atmosphere of vibey lethargy is present in
each song on this playlist. It’s good for throwing
on at the end of the night, while you attempt to
bake bread for the twentieth time or even dance
by yourself trying to shake away some of that
social distancing delirium. Let it play on … this is
not the time for shuffling.
— Clara Scott, Daily Arts Writer
“It’s a reference to — ”
“‘The Lighthouse.’ I know. I looked it up,” I
said, cutting him off, knowing he would laugh.
I was on the phone with a friend whose
parents had whisked him off campus with little
notice earlier that week (not an uncommon
practice these days, but everything has this way
of feeling both blindsiding and maddeningly
feasible). He had proposed we do weekly phone
calls, and I was grateful; this was our first one.
We were talking about our quarantine playlists,
his most recent quoting a line from Willem
Dafoe, as I learned by googling the title of his
playlist.
I could decrypt almost anyone’s Spotify
playlist like this (routinely, I scroll through
the Friend Activity sidebar, especially when
I try to feel less alone), but he’s one of few I’m
open about that with. He knows it’s an odd
but well-intentioned display of attention and
camaraderie, but also a game. I think we both
need it right now, to say I’m still me, you’re still
you — not everything has to come to a screeching
halt.
In the same phone call, I mentioned something
I’d been trying lately: bookending playlists with
disparate tracks by the same artist. One such
post-quarantine playlist of mine, called “Wake
up in this comic book, plant forsythias,” is an
example. It starts with Rodriguez’s melancholy
but relevant “Cause” (the final line of which
inspired the title), and concludes with the more
lilting, sarcastic but varying “Jane S. Piddy.” In
between, you’ll find hopeful peaks — like The
Monkees’ “Me & Magdalena” — and dips — like
Damien Jurado’s “Everything Trying.” Much
like my days, my moods, under this quarantine.
“One of these days I’m going to make a playlist
you can’t decode.”
I smile, say yes, welcoming the challenge, our
game, the continuity, the comfort of knowing
someone and being known.
— Julianna Morano, Managing Arts Editor
Quarantine cuts: 7 playlists
for your social distancing
DAILY MUSIC WRITERS
The Michigan Daily Arts Section
DAILY ENTERTAINMENT COLUMN
Read more online at
michigandaily.com
MUSIC NOTEBOOK
And like Michigan Time,
our time at Michigan has
come to a close sooner
than we would have
liked, but that will never
change the meaning of
the past four years
There’s something about
a global pandemic that
really brings home the
fact that so many of the
petty disputes and simple
problems we distract
ourselves with everyday
don’t really matter in the
grand scheme of things