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Thursday, June 10, 2021
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
The existence of black midi as a band
should be used as primary evidence
that reality is simply a simulation
whose source code has been written
by either Kurt Vonnegut or David
Mitchell. This is not because of how
strange its aesthetic is, although there
aren’t many acts out there that can
claim to rival it, but because of how
it’s managed to captivate such a large
portion of music fandom with their
undefinable variation of rock.
For the most part, it doesn’t seem
like audiences or the critical sphere
knows what to make of them, aside
from the fact that they are undeniably
exciting. This whiplash is probably why
so many were quick to place them in
the same haphazardly conceived “UK
experimental post-punk” movement
as other bizarre rock groups from the
scene. However, even on their debut
record, black midi sounded slightly
removed from such categorization. As
if to prove that this wasn’t a fluke, their
freshly released sophomore project
feels like a band actively pruning itself
from the musical zeitgeist.
Schlagenheim challenged all of the
conventions of noise and experimental
rock while maintaining the youthful
spirit and lack of self-importance that
gave those genres their potency in the
first place. It certainly has the energy of
a debut. Cavalcade, on the other hand,
feels like an entirely different beast
altogether. Putting aside the vast and
numerous sonic departures, there is
a definitive atmosphere on Cavalcade
that is completely removed from its
predecessor. It seems as though black
midi have approached the project with
a heightened seriousness, as if to say
“Well, we had our fun, now it’s time to
really dive into the trenches.” Of course,
there is a fine line to walk between
seriousness
and
pretentiousness,
especially with a band of their technical
prowess, but their apparent lack of any
overarching mantra naturally voids
any potential pretense.
Our discussion begins with the
opener “John L.” If there was any
resistance to the idea that black midi
isn’t out to be a crowd-pleaser, this
track instantly quells it. Horns and
guitars and drums are all layered
precisely on top of each other often
with total silence taking refuge in the
space between. Every note feels like a
blunted dagger being thrust through
the chest. It’s one thing to take on this
Frippian psychosis by itself; if one were
going to do so, the Jodorowsky-meets-
Teletubbies-styled music video is the
way to go.
But
the
choice
to
follow
it
immediately with easily the most
relaxed and pleasant song they’ve ever
done is somehow more shocking than
anything that happened on “John L.”
The band ventures into late 60’s era
prog on “Marlene Dietrich.” This is
where it becomes clear that Geordie
Greep has been developing his singing
from Schlagenheim to Cavalcade. It
reveals a softer nuance to his voice that
was previously unexplored.
The middle portion of Cavalcade
arguably works as one large suite
that consists of several different
pieces. There is a greater emphasis on
transitions between songs, with the
effortless glide between the dreamy
soundscape of “Diamond Stuff” and
the groovy punk rock of “Dethroned”
being
a
particularly
spectacular
example of this. The album then
finishes out with the nearly ten-minute
avant prog epic “Ascending Forth”,
which sees the band stretching their
pathos as far as they can. Much like the
title suggests, it certainly reaches the
highest peak on Cavalcade, with the
final moments reminiscent of the end
credit curtain roll of a 1930s musical
drama (perhaps the Marlene Dietrich
reference was not as innocuous as
previously thought). It’s the perfect
closer to a project that feels so confident
in its ambition.
Lyrically speaking, a first glance
would suggest that black midi are
working with the same cryptic and
absurd messaging that defined much
of their early work. But much like the
first project, we would be ignoring
the details that lie under the surface.
Cavalcade goes even deeper, as it seems
to be tying in a larger theme across its
seemingly disparate track ideas. Each
song presents the concept of a fall
from grace in some manner. “John L.’’
tells the story of a cult leader whose
members turn on him. “Slow” lays out
the existential quandary that our only
interaction with time is the process of
it leaving us.
Unsurprisingly,
the
track
that
brings this all together is “Ascending
Forth,” which, aside from the clever
double meaning (ascending fourths),
really gets at the heart of why the
band decided to focus on such a dour
subject. On the track, we are told the
story of Markus, an artist living among
orthodox monks who is struggling to
create.
Reviewing “The Anthropocene Reviewed”
I cannot buy a book before I’ve read
it. Questions of limited funds aside,
what if the book just sits on my shelf,
unread until I move again? What if I
hate the ending? The rational answer
to my concern, of course, would be to
return the book; however, returning
a book requires effort and gas money.
Besides, more than anything, buying
a book is about trust — trust that
it will subvert your expectations.
It’s a leap of faith. So when I saw a
signed copy of “The Anthropocene
Reviewed” by John Green for the first
time, I surprised everyone, including
myself, by buying a copy. I wasn’t
prepared to find a new favorite book.
Wherever I move, I will be
taking this book with me. Green’s
collection of personal essays about
the
Anthropocene,
our
current
geologic age of unavoidable human
influence, is easily digestible but
incredibly complex. The book is
composed of essays, or “reviews,” of
different facets of the Anthropocene
— anything from “Penguins of
Madagascar” to “Auld Lang Syne”
and “Sycamore Trees.” The idea was
sparked when beloved brothers John
and Hank Green found amusement in
reviews of national parks on Google,
leading them to come up with “The
Anthropocene Reviewed,” a podcast
in 2018, with episodes like “The
Icelandic Hot Dog Stand and Signing
Your Name 250,000 Times” or “Air
Conditioning and Sycamore Trees.”
Now, “The Anthropocene Reviewed”
exists as a book, with excerpts from
the podcasts, as well as new essays.
Green is known for his wildly
divisive young adult novels but has
most definitely hit his stride in writing
non-fiction. The connection between
his YA fiction and this collection of
essays isn’t overt or noticeable (except
for the parts where he mentions his
books). Many of the dozens of deeply
emotional and philosophical essays
are around four to six pages. Due to
their extraordinary nature, I’ve had
to take multiple breaks reading this
book. Green simultaneously paints
a deeply honest roadmap of his life
and the Anthropocene, focusing
on coping with the condition of
our deeply bizarre, ultra-modern
world and unintentionally creating
an unfinished list of reasons to love
being alive. He writes with such
unconditional love for the world —
it’s no small feat to convince me that
the answer to my problems is to visit
Indianapolis.
As expected, a common theme
is the magnitude of the Earth’s
temporal range or range of existence
in units of time. In an essay titled
“Humanity’s
Temporal
Range,”
Green writes, “We know we are
circling a star that will one day
engulf us. We’re the only species
that knows it has a temporal range.”
Green focuses on questions of relative
temporal ranges by portraying our
short but impactful time on earth and
how he has come to terms with the
inevitable destruction of humanity.
In another essay on the Bonneville
Salt Flats, Green writes, “In the age
of the Anthropocene, humans tend to
believe, despite all available evidence,
that the world is here for our benefit.
So the Bonneville Salt Flats must
have a human use; why else would
they exist? Nothing can grow in that
dry, salty soil, but we find uses for it
anyway.” Within the book, Green
describes how humans manage to
persevere as a species and wreak
havoc upon the Earth. The Earth has
existed for billions of years before
us and will exist after. Humans tend
to believe their impact is the most
beneficial occurrence to ever happen
to the Earth, but Green succeeds
in making humans seem just what
they are: mortal. That’s not to say the
author underplays climate change.
Humans, despite being clueless about
the history before them, are both
creative and destructive.
Green also observes phenomena
surrounding humans that have lasted
for thousands of years. While writing
of the history of the treatment of
Staphylococcus aureus, a bacteria, he
mentions, “[Staphylococcus] doesn’t
know about people. It just wants to
be, like I want to go on, like that ivy
that wants to spread across the wall,
occupying more and more of it.”
Perhaps Staphylococcus is Green’s
apt metaphor in describing humanity;
always evolving into a new form,
but also fundamentally creative,
destructive, parasitic and never-
changing in its identity.
MEERA KUMAR
Daily Arts Writer
“Cavalcade”: black midi’s procession beyond the boundaries
DREW GADBOIS
Daily Arts Writer
Black Midi: Cavalcade album cover
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