The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, April 7, 2021 — 7
What first comes to mind when
you hear the term SoundCloud rap?
Perhaps you envision an immature
group of teens with colorfully-dyed
hair and face tattoos, rapping about
prescription drugs. Maybe the term
connotes a sense of rebelliousness that
brings to mind exciting, unfiltered
discoveries found on the internet.
It could remind you of your own
blunders and self-produced lo-fi beats
you wish will never see the light of day.
Regardless of your relationship to the
genre, it seems that this simple two-
word phrase elicits strong reactions
from every Gen Z, tech-savvy music
listener.
However, though mentions of the
genre are a staple in music discourse,
defining the short-lived moment of
SoundCloud rap (often derogatorily
referred to as mumble rap) is a task
ranging from arduous to impossible.
During the last decade, the
audience for the music streaming
service SoundCloud exploded into the
hundreds of millions. With a utopian
vision of accessible music creation
for the people, SoundCloud became
a champion for any up-and-coming
artist. New musicians, without ever
having to leave their bedroom, gained
stratospheric stardom, circumventing
the conventional methods of going to
professional studios and working with
record labels. SoundCloud’s design
is more aligned with social media
websites than streaming services,
which lowers the barrier between
artist and audience. This gave a
massive advantage to musicians who
interacted with their fans online.
Behind the scenes, SoundCloud’s
unprecedented success shook the
music industry to its core.
What we think of as SoundCloud
rap is emblematic of the platform
it spawned from. With harsh, raw
instrumentals,
SoundCloud
rap
embodies the DIY nature of its
platform. Songs like XXXTentacion’s
“Look at Me” (which currently has
over 189 million plays on SoundCloud)
contain blown-out vocals and very
minimal mixing. Lil Pump’s “Gucci
Gang” (which peaked at number
three on Billboard’s Hot 100) trades
songwriting for the repetition of the
phrase “Gucci gang” 53 times. For
outsiders of the genre, this style of
production may make SoundCloud
rappers seem lazy and their music
seem inaccessible, but for fans, this
amateur aesthetic only heightens the
listening experience.
These
rappers,
boasting
ostentatious
personalities,
mind-
numbing music and underground
origins may elicit strong parallels to
the punk movement of the late ’70s
and early ’80s. Rather ironically, most
SoundCloud rappers have ditched the
platform of their namesake and got
snatched up by large record labels,
leaving SoundCloud rap to embody the
spirit of the early punk scene. Where
punk was a stripped-down, aggressive
and often nihilistic response to the
maximalism of mainstream rock,
SoundCloud rap responded similarly to
the excess of mainstream hip-hop with
hostile, anti-authoritarian attitudes.
SoundCloud rappers are much
more likely to write songs about
taking drugs than dealing them,
and the content of their songs is
centered around depression and self-
destruction, unlike mainstream rap’s
obsession with ego inflation.
Similar to punk, SoundCloud
rappers are overwhelmingly young.
Many SoundCloud rappers, such as
Tekashi69, Lil Peep and Ski Mask the
Slump God, all gained tremendous
fame before their 18th birthdays.
I have this one memory that I’m
not sure is even real. I can vividly see
my infant self gazing up at our green
marble countertop, struggling and
struggling to reach some Flintstones
vitamins my mom left out. My
chubby little hands barely reach the
wood beneath the stone, and then
suddenly I morph into a bigger (but
still quite little) four-year-old. Taller
and smarter, I rise up on my tippy-
toes, swipe up Fred and Barney and
chomp.
As ridiculous as it sounds, I feel
like that actually happened, and
this has often led me to question the
true nature of our relationship with
memory. How much of what we go
through is real, especially as children?
What if what we think we remember
is simply an illusion, a mirage, a false
memory planted by our malleable
young minds? For something to truly
stick, you’d think it would have to be
important or jarring or memorable.
That said, Dontnod Entertainment’s
2020 narrative adventure game “Tell
Me Why” argues that our pasts are
much less certain than we have been
led to believe.
“Tell Me Why” follows Alyson
and Tyler Ronan as they attempt to
sell their childhood house 10 years
after their mother attempted to kill
them there. By confronting their
past, they learn everything is not as
they remember and must dig into
the mystery behind why Mary-Ann
Ronan wanted to kill her kids.
The Ronan siblings possess a
telekinetic bond that allows them to
wordlessly communicate with one
another and replay ancient memories
in an effort to learn more about
their tragedy. Over the course of the
game’s three chapters, the siblings
will remember an event in two
very different ways, forcing players
to decide which events actually
occurred. Maybe you will trust
Tyler, a transgender youth sent off
to Fireweed Residential Center after
stabbing his “deranged” mother out
of self-defense. Or maybe you will
pick Alyson, who grew up under the
protective eye of the town sheriff and
was branded “murder house girl” for
her entire childhood.
Since Tyler is a member of the
LGBTQ+ community, the question of
memory becomes doubly important.
Can he trace back the memories to
when he first began to feel dysphoric?
What about the memories of when
he realized he was gay? Which
came first: the gender or the sexual
orientation?
In my personal experience, the
arduous process of self-identification
began without any build-up, yet
after accepting my truth, I found
hints scattered throughout my
childhood. Old memories that once
passed by without a second glance
transformed into small windows
gazing directly at something within
me that I had no words to express.
Where once stood an arid desert
of
disconnected
repression,
a
newfound flowing river of memory
ran freely.
When examined, these hints make
it intensely clear how inevitable and
natural my current identity is — I was
just remembering things wrong. I
was always meant to find myself and
live this truth; it simply took 20 years
of experience for me to realize it.
For
those
in
the
LGBTQ+
community, the issue becomes not
only trusting but identifying with the
past versions of ourselves — someone
who feels miles away from who we
are now, but we know at one point
we stood there, in their shoes, living
their “normal” experience. Tyler
faces this dilemma constantly: He is
not the same person he was 10 years
ago, yet he must unearth the causes
of what happened in order to finally
let go.
In the end, it doesn’t matter which
memories you choose in a particular
playthrough of “Tell Me Why.” Sure
it will impact Alyson and Tyler, but
each playthrough acts as our own
memory of the game; each person’s
journey will be different and personal
with distinctly hard to recall details.
What “Tell Me Why” wants players to
understand is that the past is the past,
and that “the second you walk away
from something, that’s it.” The past is
what we want it to be right now.
Where once stood Ollie Ronan
— an earlier assumed name, the
game thankfully never deadnames
Tyler — the sister who felt more like
a brother, now stands Tyler Ronan,
all bearded out and confident in
his masculinity. We cannot change
what happened in the past, just
as we cannot stop ourselves from
remembering a certain way. So,
unless your version of events will
harm someone, it’s okay to pick
something as truth.
Even if it didn’t happen, I choose
to believe that I had a sudden growth
spurt and aged a few years, and
that’s my first memory. It’s weird
and stupid and makes zero sense,
so it’s absolutely perfect for me to
identify with. I’m sure that years
from now, I’ll look back at my time
here at the University of Michigan
and my writing for The Daily and see
things that are different from how I
remember them. And that’s okay.
The important things right now
may fade into the background to
make room for something smaller
and more personal, something that
means more to me in the future. I
look forward to understanding what
that is.
Directed by Paulette Phillips
(“The
Directed
Lie”),
“The
Quoddy Fold” first feels like an
adaptation of a Mary Oliver poem.
The film, showcased in this year’s
Ann Arbor Film Festival, takes a
“Koyaanisqatsi”-esque
approach
to documentary filmmaking; the
director films herself over the
course of the year as she tears down
a 19th-century home — that she
bought for this specific purpose —
in rural Nova Scotia, Canada. The
only dialogue heard is from quiet
eavesdropping of the director’s
phone conversations or a moment
when she reads the title of a book
to herself, there is no musical score
or soundtrack at all. Early on in the
film, it felt like a thoughtful ode to
the nature of decay.
“The Quoddy Fold” also features
some
beautiful
cinematography
juxtaposing the rotten wood of the
house with the lush fields of cattails
and wildflowers. The director
seems to want the viewer to pay
attention: to watch closely and let us
make the story for ourselves rather
than have it explained to us.
In
the
post-screening
Q&A
moderated by Amanda Krugliak,
assistant director of the University
of Michigan’s Institute for the
Humanities, Phillips explained that
she actively exercised restraint in
introducing any sentimentality — or
any narrative at all — into the home.
At times, the film feels incredibly
meditative. Watching these shots
of birds, snails, dogs and insects, I
got the feeling that animals seem
to understand life in a way we
don’t: live, work, eat, multiply, die.
Anything else is simply excess.
Don’t get caught up in the small
stuff.
When Phillips and her two dogs
walk through a field, she layers the
two frames of them walking toward
the house and away from the house
on top of one another, giving the
figures
this
translucent
ghost
effect of walking past one another.
Krugliak observed that it seems
to symbolize a sense of the “past
blurring into the present.” Phillips
agreed that our experience of time
and “what it means to dwell” were
major components of the “story”
during production.
Unfortunately,
creative
intentions and thoughtful sound
bites can’t save a film. I felt myself
getting increasingly bored — not
just because there wasn’t any
dialogue, but because the film didn’t
seem to know what it wanted to say.
It would’ve been fantastic as a short
film, or maybe even a traditional
documentary that included more
exploration of the families behind
the home.
Phillips adamantly rejected this
“typical anthropomorphizing” of
the home, declaring, “I did not want
to make a movie about that family,”
but she doesn’t really explain
why. I understand her inclination
to explore what she calls the
“kinesthetic experience” we have
with material objects — meaning
the way that our sense of touch
influences our attachment to our
possessions — but as a Black woman
watching a white woman tear down
this house with so much history, I
couldn’t help but feel frustrated.
There’s a moment about two-
thirds of the way through the film
when Phillips finds a copy of the
book “The Great War on White
Slavery.” She reads the title aloud
to herself in a whisper before
throwing it into the furnace to
burn. Of course, I understand the
rejection of something hateful,
but from white hands, it felt like
erasure. It was clearly a very old
copy of the book, with authentic
photographs
that
would
have
been useful in a museum rather
than destroyed. Trying to erase
records of colonization and white
supremacy feels cowardly. People
don’t study “Birth of a Nation”
because we think it’s a great or
morally sound film, because it’s
clearly neither; we study it because
it’s a part of history, and the racism
that lived in history lives on today.
I felt the same way about the
house. There were clearly rotted
and moldy portions of the home, but
there also appeared to be healthy
portions of the foundation that
she just tore down. Phillips herself
said that there were times that she
thought, “Maybe I can save (the
house),” admitting that “it would’ve
stayed standing for an awful long
time,” if she had not intervened.
Her intentions then feel rotten.
She clearly shows knowledge of
the land there, explaining the
indigenous meaning of the word
“quoddy” (an excess of fish) and
the image of folding in on the
landscape. She explained this “post-
colonial notion … that the settler
house is the house of the past, we’re
actually on a positive way towards
a new horizon,” and to a better
relationship with the land.
I think Phillips felt that tearing
down a building where some white
supremacist had lived would be a
way of honoring Indigenous people
who had been displaced from that
land, but I couldn’t help but think:
“Someone else could have lived
in that house.” It could’ve been
repurposed or given to Indigenous
people in need, not just torn down
for an art project.
Phillips said she found over
38 diaries in the home when she
acquired it in 2015. The photographs
shown near the climax of the film
as the house is pulled to the ground
are the most intriguing section of
the film. Delving into the lives of
all of the people in the photographs
from the turn of the century might
have seemed cliché to Phillips, but
it would’ve made for a better film.
It seemed as if Phillips was looking
for a creative challenge in removing
the sentimental aspect of the home,
rather than respecting what it
meant to people. Getting rid of that
narrative felt like erasure.
It seemed that Phillips didn’t
want the film to over-explain
itself.
There’s
a
saying
that
explaining a joke, story or symbol
is like dissecting a frog: It helps you
understand it better, but you kill it in
the process.
In “The Quoddy Fold,” she
smashes the frog with a hammer,
turns to the camera, then says,
“What do you think?” Ultimately,
the film looks beautiful, but it’s
shallow. Honestly, she should have
just let the frog live.
‘Tell Me Why’ understands the fickle nature of memory
Ann Arbor Film Festival 2021: ‘The Quoddy Fold’ makes art of erasure
‘Look at me’: The rise and
fall of SoundCloud rap
Read more at
MichiganDaily.com
M. DEITZ
Digital Culture Beat Editor
MARY ELIZABETH JOHNSON
Daily Arts Writer
KAI BARTOL
Daily Arts Writer
This image is from the official website for “Tell Me Why” by Dontnod Entertainment.
Still from “The Quoddy Fold,” Paulette Phillips.
YOUR WEEKLY
ARIES
We start this week in quite a
feel-good, cooperative mood, with a
helpful Venus-Mars sextile on Tuesday
which encourages good personal
interactions and a friendly, sociable
vibe across society.
AQUARIUS
GEMINI
The problem with goals this week is
that they keep shifting, Gemini. Your
priorities are changing, and your
objectives are changing too, so it’s
very tricky for you to know whether
you’re on the right track or not.
SAGITTARIUS
CAPRICORN
SCORPIO
CANCER
Your dreams have a lot to teach you
this week, Cancer. It’s an excellent
time to start a dream journal or to
look into dream imagery. What is
your subconscious trying to tell you?
Synchronicity may play a large part
in your week too, so look
out for odd coincidences.
TAURUS
Friendships could be difficult this
week, Taurus, particularly if there is a
large gap in money or social status
between you. Someone may feel left
out, or as if you are not bothering with
them, despite your best
intentions.
VIRGO
PISCES
LIBRA
LEO
In love, you may be lulled into a false
sense of security early in the week.
Any issues of jealousy or infidelity
have not gone away, despite the
smiles.
Read your weekly horoscopes from astrology.tv
There’s conflict and tension this week
between your working life and
your home life, and in particular your
love life. You may feel upset or taken
for granted if your partner complains
about your work ethic – but
are you really doing all
that you can to create a
better work-life balance?
You’re more prone than most to falling
into this week’s lazy, somewhat
stubborn vibe, Libra, so it may be hard
for you to get up to speed. Friday’s
Mars-Neptune square highlights how
your idealistic goals suffer
when you can’t get the day
to day details right.
Are you sure that you’re telling the
truth, the whole truth and nothing but
the truth? There’s a deceptive vibe
going on this week, particularly
around your closest relationship.
The focus is definitely on your home
and family life this week, although
what starts as a gentle enough vibe
could very well prove more stressful
as the week progresses.
At work, there’s an elusive, vague vibe
that hinders you from getting much
done. Despite your best efforts,
details go astray, deadlines are
missed, and people just don’t seem to
be pulling their weight.
Your stubborn nature is highlighted
this week and it seems that you are
determined to do things your way or
not at all. The influence of Friday’s
Mars-Neptune square pervades the
week, and for you, this is all about
risk-taking versus security,
especially with money and
material matters.
This is not an easy week for getting
much done, which is frustrating – you
had plans, and you have deadlines,
and your self-confidence is riding on
creating a success this week. Hang on
in there. Just do what you can, step
by step.
WHISPER
“Happy April!”
“There are too many bagels in
my kitchen.”
“I am allergic to cats. I want
one more than anything.”