Arts
Wednesday, December 2, 2020 — 7
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Three weeks ago, Kalie Shorr
released “My Voice,” an anthemic
middle finger to the country radio
system that will “probably never
play me ‘cause I’m not a boy.” As
bold as it is, “My Voice” falls in
line with Shorr’s other aptly-titled
projects — her debut record Open
Book from 2019 and newly-minted
iHeartRadio podcast “Too Much
to Say” both cast Shorr as someone
who speaks her mind.
“I hate the notion of shut up
and sing,” Shorr said in a Zoom
interview with The Michigan
Daily. “Just because I have more
followers than someone else going
off on Facebook doesn’t mean I
don’t have the right to my opinion,”
Shorr continued. “And I have a lot
of them these days.”
Not
only
has
sharing
her
opinions paid off by producing
clever and stinging dollops of
truth in songs like “My Voice,” but
Shorr’s confessional songwriting
and sharp eye for everyday spools
of tension landed Open Book on
New York Times’ Best Albums
of 2019. Open Book compellingly
weaves Shorr’s disclosures into a
cohesive storyline.
“I always wanted to make that
album chronological for sure,”
Shorr said. “‘Alice in Wonderland’
has the literary theme, so does
‘Gatsby.’ But with ‘Too Much to Say’
about halfway through writing it, I
was like, ‘Oh my gosh, this is going
to be the intro track.’ So as soon as
we realized that we were able to
write the rest of the song with that
in mind. And as soon as I wrote that
song and while I was writing it, I
kind of saw everything happen.”
“Too Much to Say,” which
inspired the title of Shorr’s podcast,
warns “Oh honey, I’m not trying
to shock you, I don’t want to freak
you out / I’m just talking about the
things that we don’t talk about” atop
harmonica and rollicking electric
guitar riffs. Across various episodes
of her podcast, Shorr explains the
events that “Too Much to Say” (the
record’s thesis statement) hints
at. Losing people to “heroin and
cheating” is expanded as her (now)
ex-boyfriend’s infidelity and her
sister’s death.
“The reason I did it was because
that year was so crazy and the
album ended up being very topical,
just because of the gravity of the
situations that inspired it,” Shorr
said of the album’s structure. “You
know, there wasn’t a lot else for me
to think about. I wasn’t going to put
a song about like, going out with the
girls, that wasn’t really the nature
of that year.”
Having signed a record deal
with tmwrk records this October,
Shorr has the opportunity to fill
in more details of the story on
Open Book: Unabridged coming
out Dec. 4.
“So what was really cool about
the album is that we put all the
bonus tracks dispersed throughout
it as opposed to just all at the end,
because they really do fit into the
story,” Shorr said of the new record.
“All they’re doing is elaborating on
what was mentioned in other songs
and making a whole song out of it.”
The latest piece of elaboration
“Lying to Myself” came out last
week.
“That
song
is
really
cool
sonically and I had a really great
time producing it. It kind of
feels a little bit like ‘Bitter Sweet
Symphony’ by The Verve, but it’s
also got some really cool country
instruments in it,” Shorr explained.
“I said everything in the song that
I wanted to text to this person, but
I didn’t, and it just came out really
stream of consciousness.”
In the song, she traces the
breakdown of what was always a
fragile relationship. Shorr admits
in the lyrics: “I picked out all my
favorite things you said, then like a
delusional architect / I built you up
like a house of cards.”
“I feel like that’s something that,
you know, we all wonder, especially
at the end of a relationship, you’re
like, did you promise me too much
and then not follow through? Or
did I just literally invent this person
in my head and then try to make
you that person?” she said.
A lot of Shorr’s lyrics are rooted
in disarming honesty and wit.
Take this line from “Gatsby” for
example: “Is that all there is to a
broken heart? Lean Cuisines in my
shopping cart.”
Why I return to ‘Mr. Fox’
every Thanksgiving break
We all know that Thanksgiving
is a sham and that it was really
fucked up that our kindergarten
teachers had us make feather
hats and pick out our spirit
animals. As an education major,
I worry about how I might deal
with Thanksgiving if I’m placed
in a school district that isn’t
super cool with telling kids about
genocide. I don’t want to outright
tell them that “Pocahontas”
was actually twelve years old
when John Smith raped her and
ruin “The Colors of the Wind”
for them, but I also don’t want
to celebrate colonization and
mislead them into believing in
some myth about a peaceful
exchange of maize and turkey.
So instead, I just eat a lot of
food and hug my mom and watch
“Fantastic Mr. Fox.” A lot of
director Wes Anderson’s (“The
Grand Budapest Hotel”) films
could work for the autumnal vibe
because of his love of the color
orange, but “Fantastic Mr. Fox”
has all the gratitude and gluttony
that I need to feel okay when I’m
home for the holidays.
Based on the Roald Dahl novel
of the same name, “Fantastic Mr.
Fox” was released in 2009 to a
semi-modest box office of around
$46 million in comparison to its
$40 million budget. I guess I get
it: It’s one of Dahl’s less popular
books, and American audiences
have this kind of aversion to
stop-motion, to the point where
I’ve had friends tell me they
only enjoyed the film when they
got older because they were
scared by the animation style
when they first saw it. But with
a star-studded cast consisting
of typical Andersonite cronies
like
Bill
Murray
(“Lost
in
Translation”) and Willem Dafoe
(“The Lighthouse”), it deserved
better. It was nominated for
Best Original Score and Best
Animated Feature at the 2010
Academy
Awards,
but
lost
both to “Up,” which I have less
respect for because of the Disney
machine, but Roald Dahl was just
as anti-Semitic as Walt Disney, so
it’s a lose/lose anyway.
The plot follows Mr. Fox
(George
Clooney,
“Ocean’s
Eleven”) as he battles a kind
of middle-aged (in fox years)
suburban ennui — no, really —
by going back to his old ways of
thievery. A group of baddies led
by a man named Bean (Michael
Gambon, “Harry Potter and the
Prisoner of Azkaban”) terrorize
him and the other woodland
creatures for stealing from their
farms. The book actually ends
at around the second act of the
film, when Foxy — as Mr. Fox’s
wife
Felicity
(Meryl
Streep,
“Kramer vs. Kramer”) calls him
— tricks them into waiting at
a manhole for them to appear
from their underground home,
giving them the freedom to steal
from the unattended farms.
The film extends its runtime by
adding a guns-ablazing fight and
having the animals steal from
the farmers’ supermarket chain
instead.
It might not sound a lot like
Thanksgiving so far, but hear
me out. The great feasting that
the animals do after stealing
from their oppressors is really
gratifying to watch over stuffing
and mashed potatoes. My siblings
and I talk over most of the movie
or recite the lines like it’s a
showing of “Rocky Horror,” but
there are a couple of scenes that
we’re always dead silent during.
Early in the movie, Foxy
reflects on his life, and how he
had to stop his adventures once
he had a cub.
“I don’t want to live in a hole
anymore,” he tells his wife. “It
makes me feel poor.”
“We are poor. But, we’re
happy,” she says.
Then, at the end of the day,
he stands at the top of their
new house in the trunk of a tree
with his landlord Kylie (Wallace
Wolodarsky,
“The
Darjeeling
Limited”) — which, by the way, is
so Americana.
Foxy says, “Who am I, Kylie...?
Why a fox? Why not a horse, or a
beetle, or a bald eagle? I’m saying
this more as, like, existentialism,
you know? Who am I? And how
can a fox ever be happy without,
you’ll forgive the expression, a
chicken in its teeth?”
It’s a common trope in kids
movies: undermine the silliness
with some sobering reference
to adult problems. But here, it’s
genuine. It’s not just going for a
chuckle, even though the whole
film makes me laugh out loud
every time I watch it. The thing
is, it’s not really a kids movie, it’s
just a movie. Anderson takes his
audience seriously, no matter
how old they are. We all want
to be free and wild, whether
that means playing in the mud
at recess or unbuttoning our
oxfords at our 9-5. How can we
be happy without a chicken in
our teeth?
Anderson
takes
it
even
further: A running gag is Foxy’s
pathological fear of wolves. When
we finally meet one in the final
act, it’s startlingly emotional. The
wolf isn’t sentient in the same way
that the other characters are, only
communicating nonverbally and
walking on all fours. The group
of animals asks him if he thinks
they’re in for a long winter, and
the wolf “says” he doesn’t know.
They wish him luck and drive on
by on their motorbike.
For
years
and
years,
I
wondered, “Why is Foxy afraid
of wolves? Aren’t they just like
him?” And that’s kind of the
point. We want the chicken in
our teeth, but who are we once
we get it? Foxy puts his family
in danger just so he can get a
rush of adrenaline from his
kleptomania, and then when he
gets it, it’s actually really scary.
An integral part of him hinges on
how he gave up his wild side for
his family, but he doesn’t actually
want to give up his subdued life
with them, even if he thinks
he does. The wilderness seems
pretty fun before you read about
wolves eating their own young.
In the end, though the wolf is
still distant, he reconciles with
it, like I have to reconcile with
the contradicting part of me that
wants to be unrestrained and
angry and mean like a bad dog, and
the other part of me that wants
to be polite when somebody says
something stupid. We have to
choose if we want to be the wolf
or the well-respected man about
town. It’s a complicated message
for a “kids” movie, and maybe I’m
overthinking it, but Anderson
makes it work.
The majority of the movie
deals
with
Foxy’s
identity
crisis, but my personal favorite
dive
into
individuality
is
through Foxy’s son Ash (Jason
Schwartzman,
“Rushmore”).
His b-plot is all about his envy
for his more athletic, popular
cousin Kristofferson (Eric Chase
Anderson, “The Life Aquatic
with Steve Zissou”). As a kind of
ugly ten-year-old with perpetual
middle child syndrome, his story
got me.
That’s the second scene that my
siblings and I shut our mouths for:
“Ash,” his mother says. “I know
what it’s like to feel … different.
We’re all different. Especially
him,” she says, pointing to his
father. “But there’s something
kind of fantastic about that, isn’t
there?”
Instant tears.
Sidenote: The scene where Ash
silently bonds with Kristofferson
as they watch his electric train
go round and round his room is
ultimate reconciliation, in a way
the colonists never knew. There’s
nothing that hurts like your lab
partner looking at somebody
else, and there’s nothing harder
than making peace with who
they’re looking at. Nobody is as
empathetic as a 12-year-old who
thinks their dad kind of hates
them.
MARY ELIZABETH JOHNSON
Daily Arts Writer
20TH CENTURY FOX
Anthems for a bedroomed
youth: Benee’s ‘Hey u x’
Benee has had the spotlight
trained on her since the explosion
of her 2019 hit single, “Supalonely”:
a song that appears on her debut
album Hey u x, as well as on TikTok,
where
the
addictive
chorus
soundtracked endless imitations
of a dance popularized by the app’s
megastars. The attention she has
thus received off the coattails of the
natural and slightly coincidental
celebrity that these dance crazes
gift artists is entirely warranted.
Benee, whose real name is Stella
Rose Bennett, has an undeniable
talent for pop music, a seemingly
endless knack for ear-catching
phrases and intensely direct lyrics
which never stop being satisfying.
Hey u x comes straight from the
environment of the teenagers alone
in their bedrooms crafting comedy
sketches,
spewing
out
their
innermost thoughts or just sharing
generally ridiculous moments from
their lives. She sits comfortably
within the classic social media
tradition of reaching out to any
potential audience. The relatability
of the lyrics is turned up to the max.
As a self-proclaimed “weird girl”
without actually being alienating
or unmarketable, anyone who
has ever felt alone, unappreciated
or jealous will find solace in the
songs here. The song “Happen to
Me” details her existential anxiety,
and Bennett morosely sings about
her overthinking. She’s terrified
of death and of growing old. It’s
fitting that this is the first song,
as it sets the stage for what lies in
the back of her mind as she details
the other minutiae of her life. Each
song consequently describes the
petty dramas that distract us from
our eventual end. Woozy, hazy
instrumentation aids in setting the
stage for semi-hornily pining after
someone else. Multiple songs detail
lusting after a man; one who is
inherently disappointing, or where
Bennett blames herself or other
women for his actions.
It’s this lack of self-confidence
that is endemic of social media
culture.
When
you
have
a
medium
that
snatches
away
the most fundamental human
elements of communication, while
simultaneously
gaslighting
the
user that they are more connected
than ever, people are bound to feel
depressed or simply unwanted.
The inhuman aspect of social
media is untraversable. You won’t
see anyone’s facial reactions to
what you post, there’s no smell
or heat from the people you meet
in cyberspace. Sans video games,
there’s no shared experiences you
can have with these people. It’s all
an unfulfilling simulation of actual
life. Like most of our generation,
the so-called “digital natives,”
Benee is chained to the internet.
The other musicians that appear
on Hey u x only further cement
this fact. The feature list is stacked
with artists who’ve also enjoyed
massive success on TikTok (Bakar,
Flo Milli, Kenny Beats, Lily Allen).
Bennett constructs an album of the
most contemporary sounds and
topics possible. It’s clear that her
thoughts are dominated by angst,
anxiety, nervousness, all from the
fear and overwhelming presence of
isolation, but also from the effects
of being young. As a symbol of the
state of Gen Z, her messaging lends
itself to a concerning rise in our
current consciousness.
We’ve
prized
youth
and
shirked a more fulfilling path.
It’s an ill-defined category that is
constructed around the goodwill
and customs of our culture. The
danger in not accepting adulthood
is of denying reality, and never fully
growing. Of course, adulthood is
fraught with depressive visions
of responsibility and a lack of self
autonomy. There’s the possibility
your life will be subjugated by
endless work and obligations. But
this does not mean that we should
retreat into a fantasy of comfort
that exists through the goodwill of
those who came before us. There
is beauty in adulthood and all the
relationships that can blossom in
this condition. Arguably, it’s where
the most complex and varied ones
arise. So it is just with a cautious
mind that we should grow, and
prioritize the people around us,
and the joy that comes from them
as we age together. Benee is a voice
for the bedroomed youth; those
who feel that there is no future, so
cling to a comforting innocence
that they’ve always known. People
who self-infantilize until their
physical reality no longer matches
their mental condition, and until
we stop viewing the internet as
our primary place, we may never
escape.
Daily Arts Writer Vivian Istomin
can be reached at vivaust@umich.edu.
VIVIAN ISTOMIN
Daily Arts Writer
AUGUSTO LTD.
COURTESY OF KALIE SHORR
A conversation with rising
country star Kalie Shorr
KATIE BEEKMAN
Daily Arts Writer
Read more online at
michigandaily.com
Read more online at
michigandaily.com