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