When I heard Quinn XCII’s single “Stacy” 
this past winter, I thought his upcom-
ing album would be similar to his previous 
album, From Michigan With Love. “Stacy,” a 
playful depiction of a rebellious relationship 
between a high school freshman and a senior, 
possesses the same contradictions we’ve seen 
in his previous albums where the upbeat 
nature of the music sharply contrasts with 
the heavy and often complicated subject mat-
ter of the lyrics. But that’s what Quinn XCII 
does best — he loves to pull difficult subjects 
and make them lightheartedly digestible.
Despite the cheerful singles he dropped in 
anticipation of the album’s release, A Letter 
To My Younger Self showcases Quinn XCII’s 
maturity and the amount of growth he’s expe-
rienced since his last album release. While 
this album grapples with many of the themes 
we’ve seen on his previous albums — mental 
illness, love and heartbreak — A Letter To 
My Younger Self takes these ideas and dis-
cusses them more honestly than they’ve been 
depicted before. 
One of the best examples of Quinn XCII’s 
growth is the most reflective tune on the 
album, “Second Time Around.” A pre-
released single just a few weeks before he 
dropped the album, this song was described 
by Quinn XCII as “the most powerful song 
I’ve ever made” on his Instagram. The tune 
is softer than anything we’ve heard from him 
before, with delicate piano riffs and a raw cut 
of his voice crooning about his regret for the 
mistakes he’s made in the past and his vow to 
be better in the future. The song also unveils 
Quinn XCII’s spiritual beliefs, something 
he’s kept out of his music in the past, as he 
addresses his concerns to God and expresses 
how he doesn’t believe he deserves a spot in 
heaven after what he’s done in the past. This 

reflective approach to songwriting contrasts 
starkly with his previous songs dealing with 
heavy subjects. While Quinn XCII has always 
been open about his battle with depression, 
he’s often glossed over the seriousness of 
the illness by playfully presenting the hard 
things he’s been through. “Sad Still,” a tune 
off his 2017 album The Story of Us, discusses 
depression in a simple way, as Quinn XCII 
chants “we take this red pill, green pill, black 
pill / I know deep down we’re sad still” over 
poppy drum beats and bubbly synths. “Sec-
ond Time Around” takes a completely dif-
ferent approach with Quinn XCII getting 
serious about how mental illness has impact-
ed him, and doesn’t shy away from honestly 
opening up about the hard things: “Been 
at war with myself / Makin’ my friends the 
enemy / I let all of them down.”
It’s no surprise Quinn XCII’s become more 
serious with his music. Since the release of 
From Michigan With Love he’s married and 
settled down with his new wife, spending his 
time away from music cooking or attending 
their friends’ weddings. While he’s still the 
goofy, open artist who earned him so many 
loyal fans, it’s clear he’s gotten a better grip 
on his life and career, and is now ready to 
open up about where he went wrong in the 
past. 
Despite its reflective nature, A Letter To 
My Younger Self isn’t completely somber. 
Songs like “Stacy,” “Coffee” and “Two 10s” 
embody Quinn XCII’s signature, unsystemat-
ic sound that incorporates unique drum beats 
and lighthearted electric guitar riffs that can 
only be characterized as the rap-reggae style 
of Quinn XCII. He also incorporated collabo-
rations with artists like Black Bear, Ashe and 
Logic in “Am I High Rn,” “Sleep While I Die” 
and the album’s title track.

6

Thursday, July 16, 2020
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
ARTS

SUMMER SERIES
SUMMER SERIES
Houston Ballet and 
the pain of distance

Much of ballet has to do with precision 
— exact placement is the gateway to physi-
cal strength and artistic allure. This dream 
of absolute clarity of movement is thus the 
founding goal of ballet training: toes that 
point but do not curl, ankles that rotate but 
do not roll, legs that turn out but only from 
the hips and never from the knees, ribs that 
lift off of the stomach and shoulders that 
remain relaxed and level below and long, lift-
ed neck. These rigid requirements, though 
necessary and impressive, are not physically 
natural. It takes years to sculpt a professional 
dancer’s body, and much of that time must 
take place in childhood alongside developing 
bones and muscles. The result is a physique 
that is strong and supple enough to enjoy 
the adventure of ballet’s art. Even still, that 
end product of adulthood is never actually 
finished: Rigorous daily classes must con-
tinuously remind one’s muscles about the 
distinct requirements of balletic anatomy. 
Stop practicing and the body will inevitably 
spring backward into its natural position. 
This, of course, is not easy. To maintain 
such well-oiled bodily machinery at the pro-
fessional level requires a substantial mix of 
blood, sweat and the occasional tear. This 
level of physical dedication is part of what 
makes ballet so otherworldly — there is mys-
tery in the difficulty of the steps performed 
— and it also makes ballet dancers some of 
the strongest psychological warriors of our 
time. They will work with the same inten-
sity and drive as a football player without the 
appealing draws of money or even fame. To 
keep going requires intense vision, usually 
with the constant inspiration of a moment 
onstage under the burning beauty of indus-
trial stage lights. 
These two facets of ballet’s world — a 
stage and a studio — tend to coexist out of 
their reliance on each other. Good perfor-
mance cannot happen without hard work in 
the studio; Hard work in the studio is diffi-
cult to motivate without good performance.
For years and generations this coexis-
tence worked seamlessly and productively 
in the creation of ballet. Dancers worked 
and learned with each other in the confines 
of humid dance studios, exchanging lessons 
and providing inspiration for each other to 
keep fighting for their shot on stage. Now, 
like many other previously accepted norms 
of society, COVID-19 halts the opportunity 
for such exchanges. Cancelled shows are 
of course heartbreaking events for dancers 
to bear, yet closed studios leave artists with 
little place to process such loss. Neither situ-

ation makes it any easier to maintain one’s 
well-sculpted technique, a level of fitness 
that begins to atrophy after a week, let alone 
a few months. Left to maintain their physi-
cality alone and handle the mental stress of 
an art world in shambles, dancers continue 
to make do with living room floors and 
kitchen-counter barres. In an interview with 
her co-worker last week, New York City Bal-
let principal dancer Megan Fairchild said it 
best: “I’m miserable!” 
Enter Houston Ballet: Suddenly a ray of 
sunshine in the sea of gray clouds, the com-
pany gracefully disrupted the depression 
of ballet’s 2020 existence. Last week, they 
released a new short film aimed at main-
taining audience engagement and hopefully 
salvaging their hemorrhaging finances. The 
seven-minute extravaganza features all 61 
company artists as they bounce, jiggle and 
jive in an elation-inducing interpretation of 
Billy Idol’s 1980 “Dancing by Myself,” a song 
so perfectly crafted for quarantine that it’s 
hard to believe it’s 40 years old.
In the film, the dancers start out comically 
downtrodden — highlights include one man 
dragging his bathrobe through the kitchen 
while cradling a pint of ice cream and anoth-
er, also in pajamas, with his feet in the dryer. 
When the music starts, the loungewear-
covered artists start to bounce. One of the 
women has a bright green face peel. Then, 
they twist, jump and twirl. As the energy 
builds, their outfits change. Suddenly they’re 
outside: The world is bright, their clothes 
are even brighter. They’re swaying and spin-
ning and throwing their arms. They’re happy 
to move, excited to dance. The whole thing is 
masterfully edited and joyfully acted — and, 
it includes barely any ballet technique. 
Each of these dancers is classically 
trained. They know all the rules — they’re 
just not following them. Their shoulders 
can move and their knees can bend. Their 
toes don’t have to point and their legs need 
not turn out. At the same time, they are still 
wholeheartedly ballet dancers. Even in their 
pajamas, they move with a grace that’s quite 
impossible to acquire unless you’ve spent 
your entire childhood in a ballet studio. 
Their fingers don’t forget the distinct mold 
of a ballet dancer’s hand and their knees 
swivel without the joltiness of a layman. 
Even slouched, turned in and ready-to-roll, 
they do not shed the inherent liftedness of 
ballet’s mold. In this vein, they become 
strung across two existences, flying above us 
and walking among us in the same count of 
eight. 

ZOE PHILLIPS 
Daily Arts Writer

Quinn XCII reflects 
in his new album

Read more at michigandaily.com

KAITLYN FOX
Daily Arts Writer

Read more at michigandaily.com

MUSIC REVIEW
MUSIC REVIEW