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.”