Friday, April 17, 2020 — 5
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

MUSIC BOX FILMS 

MUSIC REVIEW

Given the current circumstances, the 

future for small music scenes like hardcore 

is uncertain. Gigs can’t be played and bands 

can’t be paid, so what are bands to do? 

Recorded releases give a band an audience, 

but records are expensive and don’t pay the 

bills; performances pay the bills, and now 

bands can’t perform, leaving them with 

outstanding invoices, recording fees and 

unsold merchandise. Bands are making no 

money and their livelihoods may be at risk. 

A good way to support your favorite artists 

during these times is to purchase their work 

or merchandise on Bandcamp, until they can 

finally start touring again. 

***

Sunshine has always been associated 

with good times and good moods. It’s 

a universal feeling, eagerly waiting for 

spring to come after a long, cold winter. 

It’s impossible to have a bad day if it’s 

sunny, so we always look forward to the 

next day of sunshine. This isn’t exactly 

the case in places with continuous sun, 

like Santa Cruz, California. A sunny day 

is just another day, with no guarantees 

of a pleasant charm. Go-go vocalist Sam 

Ciaramitaro and the rest of his fun-loving 

wrecking crew, the hardcore punk band 

Drain, know that better than just about 

anyone.

The 
Santa 
Cruz-based 
band 
plays 

a brand of hardcore that’s distinctly 

them; their music is fast, aggressive and 

constantly on the verge of losing control, 

but most importantly, it’s an absolute blast 

to listen to. They’re heavily influenced 

by ’80s thrash metal and incorporate that 

sound seamlessly with the typically slower 

paced leanings of hardcore. However, 

Drain sets itself apart from the fray with 

leadman Ciaramitaro, the band’s neon-

shorts-wearing fire-starter. In hardcore, 

many lyricists tend to focus on how the 

band isn’t like anything in ordered society 

and if you’re against anything they say, 

get the fuck out because you don’t get it 

and you never will. While Ciaramitaro’s 

lyrics have plenty of that, they have many 

heart-wrenching moments as well. Drain’s 

newest release, California Cursed, leans 

fully into these moments, simultaneously 

opening eyes and cracking skulls.

California Cursed plays out more as 

a confessional than a hardcore record. 

Ciaramitaro wears his heart on his sleeve 

from the get-go, even though it’s difficult 

to hear when he’s shredding his vocal 

chords and bouncing off the walls at a 

million miles an hour. On lead single and 

early standout “Army of One,” a redux of 

a 2018 demo track, he talks about all the 

undesirable work he’s had to do just to 

scrounge up enough money to buy some 

groceries, and if you look down on him 

for it, you don’t understand what it’s like 

to struggle. “You weren’t broke with me / 

You weren’t naked with me / I had to wait 

for that sleazy man to give me my fuckin’ 

money,” he screams as the rest of the band 

lays down filthy bass lines, blazing guitar 

solos and thoracic cavity-crushing drum 

blasts, recounting the times he posed nude 

for a community college art class run by a 

perverted old man. 

Album opener “Feel the Pressure,” on the 

other hand, starts on a much calmer note. 

After hearing seagulls cackle for a few 

moments, someone crashes into the ocean 

and gasps for air as the band slowly comes 

into focus. Guitarist Cody Chavez chugs 

by himself for a bit, only for the rest of the 

band to join him and rip down the walls. 

It’s a song made to be played live because 

it gives pit members just enough time to 

acquaint themselves with the atmosphere 

before the carnage begins. After a quick 

breakdown 
about 
halfway 
through, 

Ciaramitaro disapprovingly shrieks at 

his detractors, “I feel the pressure of a 

thousand eyes / Staring at me / They want 

to see me fall / HA-HA / Yeah right man! 

You won’t see me at all,” in a moment made 

for two-stepping.

Drain only takes a brief mid-album 

break with the foreboding “Hollister 

Daydreamer,” meant to serve as both a relief 

from the carnage and a warning of what’s 

to come. The next three songs, particularly 

“White Coat Syndrome,” are all absolute 

shitrippers as the band kicks things into 

overdrive. Ciaramitaro touches on topics 

like mental health, self-corruption and 

the urge to do your family right even when 

the going gets tough. During a particularly 

powerful segment of “The Process of 

Weeding Out,” he tugs on the heart strings 

by exclaiming, “I can’t let down / The 

ones I love / I can’t let the ones I hate / Be 

right / I’ve got the strength / I’ve got the 

light.” The entirety of California Cursed 

serves as a build up to the album closer, the 

eponymous “California Cursed.”

“California Cursed” is a love letter to 

Santa Cruz, even though at times it has 

been a source of such anguish for the band. 

The project is Drain’s brand of hardcore 

executed to perfection as every member 

reaches deep into their bag to pull out all 

the stops, but it’s Ciaramitaro who steals 

the show. “I’m a slave to the curse and 

it’s getting worse / California Cursed / 

I was born here and I’ll die here / Until 

that day, this is where I’ll be / This state 

has swallowed me whole / Suck me down 

and set me free.” Ciaramitaro and the rest 

of Drain all know that, more often than 

not, sunshine does not equal good times, 

but they wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They’re all cursed, but it’s the only way 

they’ll ever set themselves free.

Drain opens eyes with new album ‘California Cursed’

JIM WILSON
Daily Arts Writer

FILM REVIEW
‘And Then We Danced’ is simple, yet heartbreaking

EMMA CHANG
Daily Arts Writer

The world of professional dance is 

ruthless — the beauty we see as an 

audience is often the result of years of both 

psychological and physical damage. To 

become a principal dancer in any kind of 

dance company requires a certain amount 

of discipline that the average person doesn’t 

have. Every dancer, whether they’re just 

starting out or are at the peak of their 

career, has questioned not only whether 

they’re technically good enough, but also if 

they have the “look.” For ballet, this means 

long, sinewy limbs that can gracefully 

hold impressive positions. Meanwhile, in 

other styles of dance, 

this 
might 
mean 

impossibly fast feet 

or sharp movements 

that look effortless. 

In 
“And 
Then 

We 
Danced,” 
the 

audience is exposed 

to 
the 
Georgian 

tradition of dance, a 

strong 
conservative 

style 
that 
values 

masculinity 
and 

confidence. 
It’s 
a 

style that leaves no room for someone 

unsure of the choreography, let alone their 

own identity.

Dance films have a very set formula 

— think along the lines of “Save the Last 

Dance” with Julia Stiles. They begin by 

introducing the main protagonist, a person 

who has dedicated their entire life to 

perfecting their technique, yet something 

is either missing from their performance 

or their career is derailed. Enter the 

rebellious newcomer; naturally talented 

with seemingly little care for the amount of 

work that others may have put in to gain a 

spot in the company, this character always 

turns the world upside-down. Whether it’s 

their unorthodox style or simply the fact 

that they are somehow effortlessly better 

than the entire dance corps, there is always 

something intriguing, and off-limits, about 

this new person. 

Though “And Then We Danced” follows 

this classic narrative with little flexibility, 

there 
are 
small 
moments 
sprinkled 

throughout the film that set it apart from 

the generic movies that often come out of 

powerhouses like Netflix. The opening ten 

minutes are efficient 

— 
they 
introduce 

the intensity of a 

Georgian 
dance 

rehearsal and both 

the 
mental 
and 

physical toll it takes 

with barely a word 

from 
any 
of 
the 

characters. In barely 

two 
scenes, 
“And 

Then 
We 
Danced” 

establishes a base for 

its story that takes 

some films thirty minutes. 

Not only are we introduced to Merab’s 

(Levan Gelbakhiani, debut) current world, 

we also watch the moment everything 

changes with the unexpected entrance 

of Irakli (Bachli Valishvili, “Until 1 

PM”). Silence cuts through the scene 

and the studio floor becomes divided; 

it is no longer an internal struggle 

between company dancers vying for duet 

opportunities. Now, the question lies in 

how this newcomer is going to affect the 

already delicate balance of the company. 

The story unfolds predictably — Irakli is 

a talented dancer, better than most, and 

his carefree attitude upsets the status quo. 

Little else is said, but as the scene comes to 

a close the audience watches Merab gaze 

at Irakli, prompting a sense of fascination 

with this new character. 

The next step in most dance films is to 

address the tension between our two new 

protagonists. Will they train together? 

Will they compete? Potentially both? 

Whatever way a film chooses to bring 

them together, the chemistry between 

the two characters must be clear. “And 

Then We Danced” takes little stock in 

conversation. Instead, the connection 

between Irakli and Merab is highlighted 

with a dance. The first time we see the 

two dance together is also the first time 

Merab is shown actually enjoying himself 

at rehearsal — his movements become 

more fluid, his performance imbued with 

a healthier sense of self in relation to 

Georgian dance. It’s the first time we see 

him at ease on the studio floor, and it’s 

beautiful to watch. 

“And Then We Danced” is a typical 

coming-of-age dance story. It highlights 

the sacrifices that people make when they 

try to monetize their art, and the effect 

that emotion can have on the way art is 

seen in the world. The minute someone 

puts their creative ventures on display, 

they risk facing the kind of debilitating 

rejection that can take away all of the 

passion needed to create art well. At 

the same time, though, if an artist has 

found a certain level of confidence, an 

understanding of both themselves and 

their art, this passion is untouchable. 

Throughout “And Then We Danced,” the 

audience watches as Merab struggles with 

this understanding, eventually finding it 

in heartbreak. 

“
And Then We Danced”

Dir. Levan Akin

Feb. 7, 2020

California Cursed

Drain

Revelation Records

