Wednesday, June 8, 2022 — 3
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Take a tour through ‘Harry’s
House’, song by song
The long-awaited third studio
album
from
Harry
Styles
is
finally here, and it is exceeding all
expectations. Harry’s House is an
intimate portrait of love and fun
that will guide you through every
emotion. His crooning vocals and
epic instrumentals (hello, steel
guitar, I love you) make the album
a cinematic experience, and no two
songs sound the same. Combine
that with his incredible lyricism
(“Somehow you’ve become some
paranoia / A wet dream just
dangling” … come on) and we’ve
got a certified banger on our hands
— one that you can sob, dance,
drive and eat sushi to.
“Music
for
a
Sushi
Restaurant”
Moving past its similarities to
the “A.N.T. Farm” theme song,
“Music for a Sushi Restaurant”
is the kind of opener that lets you
know you have no idea what’s
in store. There’s an interesting
contrast at the beginning between
the loud production and Styles’s
soft vocals, as if he’s nervous to
show us what he’s been working
on. All the different elements of the
song, like the vocal harmonies, the
catchy horns and Styles repeatedly
yelling “you know I love you,
babe” don’t seem like they all work
together initially, but the more
you listen, the more they do (and
the more you’ll want to dance).
The only question worth asking is,
what exactly does Styles define as
“music for a sushi restaurant?” He
sings that it’s “music for whatever
you want” — a definition that’s
fitting for Harry’s House as a
whole.
“Late Night Talking”
One of the best parts of a
new relationship is the late-
night talks — when you stay up
into the early morning getting
to know each other. You know
you’ll be exhausted tomorrow,
but it’s worth it. Styles manages
to perfectly capture the feelings
of the honeymoon phase in “Late
Night Talking.” Styles debuted
this song along with “Boyfriends”
at Coachella earlier this year, and
it isn’t hard to see why it’s already
one of the album’s top songs. For
such a catchy and exciting song,
lyrics like “I’ve never been a fan
of change / but I’d follow you to
any place” provide a glance into
the more intimate side of growing
closer to someone new.
“Grapejuice”
I’m slightly embarrassed to
admit how long it took me to
realize that Styles is singing about
wine … Yet this song perfectly
captures the tipsy sadness that
he calls “the grapejuice blues.”
Taking on a more intimate and
“chill” vibe than the first two
tracks, “Grapejuice” opens with
Styles counting in a whisper, and
he sings most of the song in his
falsetto (which, as usual, sounds
amazing). Lyrically, Styles could
be going in two different directions
— when he sings, “There’s just no
getting through / without you / a
bottle of rouge,” is he in a happy
relationship, enjoying a bottle of
wine with the person he loves? Or
is he mourning a past relationship
and using wine to cope? That kind
of analysis should probably be left
up to the listener, but you’re in for a
good time either way.
The Home B-Side
It’s so difficult to sum up “home”
in a simple paragraph. Its definitions
are an enigma, albeit a beautiful and
contradictory one. People can share it, or it
can be vastly different for different people.
It can be transitory. It can be permanent.
It can be a place. A person. A feeling.
An object. A memory. A song. Home, in
all cases, though, is synonymous with
comfort and a degree of vulnerability.
Each of these writers has bared their souls
in sharing with you what home means to
them, and I couldn’t be more proud of
them. They each have shared a piece of
themselves, allowing themselves to be
known by others. What is perhaps most
compelling about what they have written
is that it shows us how, in sharing your
“home” with someone, you can extend a
bit of that comfort that your home brings
you to others. From them, I learned that
home, in addition to all of these other
things, is a gift you can give to someone
else. In reading their pieces, you also, for
however long it lasts, can feel that you are
“home.”
Searching for my ‘Sunshine State’
by Daily Arts Writer Annabel Curran
In a collection of essays titled
“Sunshine State,” Sarah Gerard weaves
a provocative narrative, relating a
connected series of events from her past
with the drive and inquisitive nature
of an investigative journalist, but with
the subtle nostalgia that is so often
evoked when retelling tales of home
and childhood. At the root of each essay
in “Sunshine State” is Gerard’s home
state of Florida, or the Sunshine State,
which shaped her formative years and
memories in an idiosyncratic assortment
of experiences that Gerard recounts so
candidly.
An ode to Gilbert, my childhood
goldfish by Daily Arts Writer Hunter
Bishop
Buried in the notes app on my phone,
between shopping lists and reminders I
have since forgotten the meaning of, is
a quote from the author Sarah Dessen:
“(Home is) not a place but a moment,
and then another, building on each other
like bricks.” Growing up, many of my
moments happened in a singular place:
My childhood home, where I was born
and raised for the better part of 18 years.
For me, the idea of home was tied to that
house. With so much of my life spent in
the same place, I couldn’t comprehend it
not being my home.
Your body is your home by Daily
Arts Writer Kaya Ginsky
In college, my body started to feel like
my home. Not in a confident way or just
for the green eyes that were an exact mix
of my father’s blue and mother’s brown,
but for the marks on my skin that form
a map of my hometown. I look in the
mirror and remember my childhood.
Maybe that is enough: not to feel perfectly
comfortable in my skin, but to feel at home
when I look at myself.
Figuring out home with The Front
Bottoms in ‘Vacation Town’ by Daily
Arts Writer Saarthak Johri
After a complicated freshman year
of virtual college, and a slightly less
complicated sophomore year, I’ve found
myself intrigued by the unique nostalgia
folk punk band The Front Bottoms
gives me, especially their song “Vacation
Town.” I killed time and relieved stress
in quarantine by going on drives and
chasing the sunset while listening to The
Front Bottoms’s hits and oldest songs —
ballads of banal, yet painful, parts of life
told via powerful, poetic lines in simple
diction over somber guitar.
Finding home at the piano bench by
Daily Arts Writer Hannah Carapellotti
The piano that sits in my den right now
is almost as old as I am. I still remember
the first time I sat down at its bench — my
little legs swinging in the air, unable to
touch the ground beneath. My parents
saw the musical talent in me before I ever
did, and we bought the piano from a family
friend — a music teacher — just before I
started kindergarten. Its age is starting to
show: The wood stain is fading, a few keys
are chipped and its tune is degrading from
the last time we had it fixed. Despite the
countless years of lessons, playbooks and
recitals, I don’t play it nearly as often as I
should. It’s one of my biggest regrets.
EMMY SNYDER
Daily Arts Writer
Design by Tamara Turner
An ode to Gilbert, my childhood goldfish
Buried in the notes app on my
phone, between shopping lists and
reminders I have since forgotten
the meaning of, is a quote from the
author Sarah Dessen: “(Home is)
not a place but a moment, and then
another, building on each other like
bricks.” Growing up, many of my
moments happened in a singular
place: My childhood home, where
I was born and raised for the better
part of 18 years. For me, the idea of
home was tied to that house. With
so much of my life spent in the same
place, I couldn’t comprehend it not
being my home.
There were several times that
my parents considered moving into
town so that my sister and I would be
closer to our friends and our various
sports and extracurriculars. Each
time the possibility of moving came
up, I would put up a fight to stay
where we were. Moving would mean
saying goodbye to so many details of
my childhood, and I wasn’t ready for
that yet. I had become so entrenched
in our house and our life there that
it would have taken a seismic event
to pull me out of my carefree, naive
little bubble.
Like many kids, I had a revolving
door of pet goldfish. Even though
my parents would warn me that the
fish from the Walmart aquarium
probably
wouldn’t
last
long,
I
would still beg for one and then
be devastated a month later when
I awoke to find it belly up in its
bowl. We would have a ceremonial
flushing of the fish, and my parents
would explain that life was a fragile
thing, that my fish lived a (debatably)
happy life and I should be glad for
the time I got to spend with it.
HUNTER BISHOP
Daily Arts Writer
Design by Madison Grosvenor
Read more at michigandaily.com
Read more at michigandaily.com
EMILIA FERRANTE &
HANNAH CARAPELLOTTI
Senior Arts Editor & Daily Arts Writer