Chance the Rapper's "Best New Artist" win was one of a few bright spots in an almost ominous 59th Grammy Awards.
He nailed performance as well. Bruno Mars was another highlight, both in his performance of his own material and his breathtaking, spot-on salute to the late, great, Prince (the purple suit, the outrageous guitar solo, the DANCING). Lady Gaga was also one of my favorites--she was so unbelievably badass and she owned that stage. I didn't catch Beyoncé's performance but heard rave reviews.
The Bee Gees tribute was, to me, underwhelming. Maren Morris and Alicia Keys felt like two simultaneous performances that were at odds with each other, and in my opinion, sharing the stage with Keys is a move that few artists should endeavor to make. I was stoked to hear Morris mention GRAMMY Camp in her acceptance speech for Best Country Solo Performance, but her lack of enthusiasm, both at her win and at her performance opportunity with Keys, turned me off.
And Adele. Her rendition of her own song, "Hello," felt half-hearted, and while her flub during the George Michael tribute was endearing, the performance wound up feeling out-of-touch and almost selfish when compared to Mars' pitch-perfect Prince homage. Then there's her sweep of awards. Adele is a talented artist. Her first two albums, 19 and 21, are triumphs--they are sonically cohesive, vocally bold, and emotionally raw. She's charming and authentic in interviews and has built up a reputation for consummate professionalism in her live performances. But 25 isn't even the best Adele album, let alone the best album of this past eligibility season. I appreciated her comments about how Lemonade was HER album of the year, but she still walked away with the Big Three at the end of the night.
Adele was the safe, predictable (W-H-I-T-E) choice. The Academy would rather hand Beyoncé a nod for Best Urban Contemporary Album than admit that an album by a black woman--with themes that refuse to ignore the realities of blackness and womanhood and the intersection therein--defined a calendar year for everyone, including the whitewashed mainstream. While I'm not a Beyoncé apologist, and I think that Beyoncé herself has done better work (at least musically and lyrically speaking) than the content on her most recent release, I think Lemonade beats 25 across the board. Without even addressing the work that was overlooked in this category and others (looking at you, RiRi), it becomes clear that there is a systemic problem with the infrastructure of the Grammy Awards.
So what of Chance? What of the indie artist who had to petition the Academy to be nominated, the black hip-hop wunderkind (he's only 4 years older than me, which I'm trying not to think about) who triumphed in a way that reassures us, despite all the times that Kanye and Kendrick and Frank were snubbed?
There's hope for the future.
In all likelihood, me and my classmates in the pop program will be shaping the Grammys in a few years' time. Many of us will be the instrumentalists that tour, play award shows, and do session work tirelessly. Some of us will be writing the music that gets honored with tributes and shiny hardware. A few of us may even clinch nominations. And Chance the Rapper, however elevated his current status, is part of our generation. We're all just '90s babies with a love of the craft and the talent to communicate our stories. My classmates are some of the most diverse and gifted musicians I've ever heard. Some of us are ethnic or religious minorities. Some of us are queer. Some of us are immigrants or first-generation college students. We come from a wide range of socioeconomic backgrounds. And we represent an even wider range of musical identities. Adele is great. But the future of music not a homogeneous landscape peopled with white balladeers. Based on just the few dozen pop majors currently enrolled at Thornton, the future of music is a loud, bright, proud outburst of color and sound.
We are all Chance the Rapper, the unsigned underdog who is so good that they can't be ignored for long.
Chance's life matters.
Monday, February 13, 2017
Sunday, February 5, 2017
FOOTBALL IS A METAPHOR (Or Is It?)
Hi there. I don't normally do posts like this. This blog has sort of devolved into me posting whenever I feel like it with whatever's on my mind, with a few posts about the pop program thrown in for good measure, but I thought I would whip this one up real quick, post Super Bowl.
I'm already seeing a lot of people online talking about how this game felt like a metaphor for the 2016 election. The diverse metropolis in the South that's being lovingly sent up by Donald Glover in a hit show about music and race and humanity is battling it out against a controversial but widely loved team from the cold, white North. I don't know a lot about football, but I've heard the word "deflategate" a lot, and I know that the Pats have won a lot of Bowls. Also, Gaga is a metaphor for Bernie. Somehow. I think.
I have never once in my life cared about football. But as I watched the game wind to a close with Atlanta in the lead, I got excited. It felt like if the Falcons won, then maybe there was hope for this fractured, deeply wounded nation in 2017. And then somehow it got tied up. And then somehow the Patriots won. And it was over, and I don't know any of the players' names besides Tom Brady, and life continues as normal, I guess.
It's not a perfect metaphor. The Patriots are a talented team, a proven winner with the experience and the skill to take the ring. I don't actually know anything about the Falcons. But I couldn't help but feel like overtime was the brief, final window of hope. The minutes before they called Pennsylvania and I went home from my friends' would-be celebration party, crying in my Uber.
In the wake of this particularly nail-biting Super Bowl and an even more nail-biting presidency, I'd like to give everyone some Sunday night, crunch time motivation to get through this week, and the next one, and the next one.
1. Work out. I hate me, too. But I started working out on New Year's Day, at least 5 days a week every week, and it has helped me a lot. Exercise is by no means a cure for your afflictions, but it is an effective treatment that can lessen whatever symptoms ail you. Would recommend giving it a go, even if it's just walking around your neighborhood (or on a treadmill) for 20 minutes a day.
2. Sit by a window if you can't go inside. I know in most of the country, the weather is too abysmal to contemplate going outside more than is necessary. Even LA is going to be hit by some more rain this week. So, if going outside and soaking up the fresh air and sunlight isn't an option, sit by windows. It sounds crazy, but while you're going about your daily tasks, if you can move closer to a window and stare out at nature, it might just lift your spirits a bit. Especially if it's raining or snowing--ya can't beat the view of Mother Nature giving it all she's got while you're inside, hopefully a bit warmer and drier.
3. Stop procrastinating that thing you've been procrastinating. If possible, do it right now. If it's not possible, do it first thing tomorrow. Seriously. Just do the thing. Do it fast and then if you didn't do a good job, set it down and go back and fix it later. Just make a really strong first attempt so you can feel less like a human pile of garbage.
4. Go to bed before midnight tonight. Regardless of when you need to be up tomorrow, try to get in bed by 11 or 11:30pm at the latest. Burning the midnight oil isn't always the most effective strategy, especially if you've made a habit of it recently.
5. Drink some tea. Your favorite kind. Maybe add a little lemon and/or honey if you're feeling particularly adventurous. Hell, it's still the weekend, have a cookie with your warm drink! NOW you're getting it!
6. Write in a journal. Even if you're not a big diarist, find a notebook, journal, or even some blank copy paper and write down your thoughts. Write for 20-30 minutes about whatever comes to mind. If possible, work through some of the personal and/or professional problems that have been nagging at you for a while. Don't worry about grammar or spelling or cohesion of thought, just write stream-of-consciousness about what's bothering you. If, afterward, you'd like to throw it out or set it on fire, go for it (but be safe!). Or, better yet, pick it up as a hobby that you return to every week, or even every day.
7. Watch one (1) funny YouTube video. Don't fall down the rabbit hole. But watch one video clip that you know is gonna make you laugh--might I recommend the official SNL channel, perhaps with the clip of Melissa McCarthy as White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer--and then tackle your next challenge.
8. Clean something. Even if it's just washing a couple of dishes or taking out the trash, the sense of accomplishment you'll feel will motivate you to do something a bit bigger (or maybe stopping for the day because hey, you got something done).
9. Text/call someone you miss right now. Let 'em know you're thinking of them. You'll both be glad you did.
10. Get excited for this week. Go over your schedule, look at what you have to do, what you get to do, and just get amped! Yeah, you've got work, deadlines to meet, emails to send, papers to write, but every day you're getting closer to the life you want to lead. And yes, our country is more politically and socially turbulent than it's been in years, but it's also more politically and socially engaged than it's been in years. When was the last time you had this many conversations about politics--thoughtful or otherwise--with friends, family, AND strangers? I can't recall it. Yes, we're coming together to work through hard topics because we have an unpopular and possibly dangerous leader, but hey. We're coming together.
To real, diehard Atlanta fans: I'm sorry. To the Patriots: you won. But we don't have to like it.
#BernieGaga2020
I'm already seeing a lot of people online talking about how this game felt like a metaphor for the 2016 election. The diverse metropolis in the South that's being lovingly sent up by Donald Glover in a hit show about music and race and humanity is battling it out against a controversial but widely loved team from the cold, white North. I don't know a lot about football, but I've heard the word "deflategate" a lot, and I know that the Pats have won a lot of Bowls. Also, Gaga is a metaphor for Bernie. Somehow. I think.
I have never once in my life cared about football. But as I watched the game wind to a close with Atlanta in the lead, I got excited. It felt like if the Falcons won, then maybe there was hope for this fractured, deeply wounded nation in 2017. And then somehow it got tied up. And then somehow the Patriots won. And it was over, and I don't know any of the players' names besides Tom Brady, and life continues as normal, I guess.
It's not a perfect metaphor. The Patriots are a talented team, a proven winner with the experience and the skill to take the ring. I don't actually know anything about the Falcons. But I couldn't help but feel like overtime was the brief, final window of hope. The minutes before they called Pennsylvania and I went home from my friends' would-be celebration party, crying in my Uber.
In the wake of this particularly nail-biting Super Bowl and an even more nail-biting presidency, I'd like to give everyone some Sunday night, crunch time motivation to get through this week, and the next one, and the next one.
1. Work out. I hate me, too. But I started working out on New Year's Day, at least 5 days a week every week, and it has helped me a lot. Exercise is by no means a cure for your afflictions, but it is an effective treatment that can lessen whatever symptoms ail you. Would recommend giving it a go, even if it's just walking around your neighborhood (or on a treadmill) for 20 minutes a day.
2. Sit by a window if you can't go inside. I know in most of the country, the weather is too abysmal to contemplate going outside more than is necessary. Even LA is going to be hit by some more rain this week. So, if going outside and soaking up the fresh air and sunlight isn't an option, sit by windows. It sounds crazy, but while you're going about your daily tasks, if you can move closer to a window and stare out at nature, it might just lift your spirits a bit. Especially if it's raining or snowing--ya can't beat the view of Mother Nature giving it all she's got while you're inside, hopefully a bit warmer and drier.
3. Stop procrastinating that thing you've been procrastinating. If possible, do it right now. If it's not possible, do it first thing tomorrow. Seriously. Just do the thing. Do it fast and then if you didn't do a good job, set it down and go back and fix it later. Just make a really strong first attempt so you can feel less like a human pile of garbage.
4. Go to bed before midnight tonight. Regardless of when you need to be up tomorrow, try to get in bed by 11 or 11:30pm at the latest. Burning the midnight oil isn't always the most effective strategy, especially if you've made a habit of it recently.
5. Drink some tea. Your favorite kind. Maybe add a little lemon and/or honey if you're feeling particularly adventurous. Hell, it's still the weekend, have a cookie with your warm drink! NOW you're getting it!
6. Write in a journal. Even if you're not a big diarist, find a notebook, journal, or even some blank copy paper and write down your thoughts. Write for 20-30 minutes about whatever comes to mind. If possible, work through some of the personal and/or professional problems that have been nagging at you for a while. Don't worry about grammar or spelling or cohesion of thought, just write stream-of-consciousness about what's bothering you. If, afterward, you'd like to throw it out or set it on fire, go for it (but be safe!). Or, better yet, pick it up as a hobby that you return to every week, or even every day.
7. Watch one (1) funny YouTube video. Don't fall down the rabbit hole. But watch one video clip that you know is gonna make you laugh--might I recommend the official SNL channel, perhaps with the clip of Melissa McCarthy as White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer--and then tackle your next challenge.
8. Clean something. Even if it's just washing a couple of dishes or taking out the trash, the sense of accomplishment you'll feel will motivate you to do something a bit bigger (or maybe stopping for the day because hey, you got something done).
9. Text/call someone you miss right now. Let 'em know you're thinking of them. You'll both be glad you did.
10. Get excited for this week. Go over your schedule, look at what you have to do, what you get to do, and just get amped! Yeah, you've got work, deadlines to meet, emails to send, papers to write, but every day you're getting closer to the life you want to lead. And yes, our country is more politically and socially turbulent than it's been in years, but it's also more politically and socially engaged than it's been in years. When was the last time you had this many conversations about politics--thoughtful or otherwise--with friends, family, AND strangers? I can't recall it. Yes, we're coming together to work through hard topics because we have an unpopular and possibly dangerous leader, but hey. We're coming together.
To real, diehard Atlanta fans: I'm sorry. To the Patriots: you won. But we don't have to like it.
#BernieGaga2020
Sunday, January 22, 2017
Love The People Who Love You & Don't Worry About The Rest
Recently, I've been feeling a bit alone.
A friend I've had since childhood has all but disappeared from my life. Neither of us did anything wrong, he just stopped answering my messages and I stopped trying to salvage a relationship he didn't want to keep. He's not a bad person. Nobody knows how to gracefully end a friendship. I'm sure he just couldn't see a way out of what he thought what was a dead end without hurting me.
(I was hurt anyway. So it goes.)
A friend I made last year that I thought was going to be one of the most important people in my life never wants to hang out anymore. I haven't fully let go of it yet, but I'm less adamant about us hanging out. I text less, come around less. He never texts or comes around at all. I suppose he, too, saw that the friendship had run its course before I did. Not once did he speak badly of me or try to hurt me.
(I was hurt anyway. So it goes.)
A boy I briefly and painfully liked sent me perhaps the most brief and painful of all mixed signals, then abruptly dropped off the face of my earth. He gave me a lot of reasons why we wouldn't work. He stopped acting like my friend and treated me like a jilted lover though we never even really got close. He got back together with his ex. He stopped answering my messages. He never spread rumors about me, never said anything cruel to my face, went about excising me from his life in the kindest way possible.
(I was hurt anyway. So it...you get the point.)
These kinds of personal inconveniences are, I'm sure, the kinds of things that every human being goes through on a regular basis. Especially in college, where relationships are forged and forgotten quicker than any other time in our lives, it's normal for love or companionship to flare out just as suddenly as it first sparked. But to be honest, it's not just personal rejection that I've been experiencing.
Professionally speaking, while I've been having some really cool opportunities lately as a writer, I've not been having the same luck as a performer. I'm coming to terms with the fact that making money as a performer may not be in the cards for me. Hell, I don't even know if I'll make money as a writer, but as of right now it seems possible. I know I'm only 19, and that I can't close the book on myself yet, but symbols and signs from the universe seem to be coming out of the woodwork to tell me to get offstage. And while performing gives me anxiety, it's more than a little disheartening to feel like I'm not good at something I always thought I was good at. To feel like I am surrounded by people who are better than me, to feel like I don't have the intangible "it" factor that my friends and classmates seem to have in spades. It's probably for the best--I'm more comfortable in the studio cowriting songs, at my desk drafting blog posts and poetry and scripts and novels, sending my work out into the world from the comfort of my bedroom and not having to face anyone in the immediate aftermath. But it still hurts to feel shut out, to feel like I'm not good enough, to feel like people would rather Irish goodbye out of my life than to stay or at least give me a reason why they're going.
This all paints a grim picture. But I have experienced great comfort almost simultaneously with these grievances. A few close friends have pulled me in closer, held me tighter, made me feel like a real girl. They've let me be myself wholeheartedly. They've let me cry and they've let me make awful jokes and they've started the conversation and they've invited me over. They answer my texts. They keep coming around.
The transitions I've experienced have been rough. I don't bond with a lot of people, so to lose someone I have a genuine connection with is painful. It's humiliating to feel unwanted, to feel shunned, to see the doors of another person's mouth closing as they speak. But it happens. People move on from you. Jobs pass you over. You find out that those dreams you had as a kid aren't going to pan out, or they're going to take a different shape. But then you meet different people. And you find another job. And you get a new dream. And you stop panicking that you're not on the path you expected to be on and look out the window for a second and realize that it's raining, it's raining in Los Angeles and we've been in a drought, and your umbrella keeps turning outside out and you can't get a ride and your socks are soaked through but there is a river of floodwater running through campus and you just know if you had a block or board long enough you could sail that thing all the way home.
Love the people who love you. Don't force it but don't you dare stop it. Love is nothing to be ashamed of. If something lets you in, stay awhile. And if it gets quiet and checks its phone and looks anxiously at the door every few minutes, take the hint and leave. Love the people who love you and don't worry about the rest. Put out all the huge, embarrassing, childish love you've got into the universe and reel in everything that bites. Keep getting hurt and keep accepting it. Kiss frogs and frat boys and French horn players. Don't take it too personally when they go back to the swamp.
What I'm trying to say is that it's going to be okay. That it already kind of is.
A friend I've had since childhood has all but disappeared from my life. Neither of us did anything wrong, he just stopped answering my messages and I stopped trying to salvage a relationship he didn't want to keep. He's not a bad person. Nobody knows how to gracefully end a friendship. I'm sure he just couldn't see a way out of what he thought what was a dead end without hurting me.
(I was hurt anyway. So it goes.)
A friend I made last year that I thought was going to be one of the most important people in my life never wants to hang out anymore. I haven't fully let go of it yet, but I'm less adamant about us hanging out. I text less, come around less. He never texts or comes around at all. I suppose he, too, saw that the friendship had run its course before I did. Not once did he speak badly of me or try to hurt me.
(I was hurt anyway. So it goes.)
A boy I briefly and painfully liked sent me perhaps the most brief and painful of all mixed signals, then abruptly dropped off the face of my earth. He gave me a lot of reasons why we wouldn't work. He stopped acting like my friend and treated me like a jilted lover though we never even really got close. He got back together with his ex. He stopped answering my messages. He never spread rumors about me, never said anything cruel to my face, went about excising me from his life in the kindest way possible.
(I was hurt anyway. So it...you get the point.)
These kinds of personal inconveniences are, I'm sure, the kinds of things that every human being goes through on a regular basis. Especially in college, where relationships are forged and forgotten quicker than any other time in our lives, it's normal for love or companionship to flare out just as suddenly as it first sparked. But to be honest, it's not just personal rejection that I've been experiencing.
Professionally speaking, while I've been having some really cool opportunities lately as a writer, I've not been having the same luck as a performer. I'm coming to terms with the fact that making money as a performer may not be in the cards for me. Hell, I don't even know if I'll make money as a writer, but as of right now it seems possible. I know I'm only 19, and that I can't close the book on myself yet, but symbols and signs from the universe seem to be coming out of the woodwork to tell me to get offstage. And while performing gives me anxiety, it's more than a little disheartening to feel like I'm not good at something I always thought I was good at. To feel like I am surrounded by people who are better than me, to feel like I don't have the intangible "it" factor that my friends and classmates seem to have in spades. It's probably for the best--I'm more comfortable in the studio cowriting songs, at my desk drafting blog posts and poetry and scripts and novels, sending my work out into the world from the comfort of my bedroom and not having to face anyone in the immediate aftermath. But it still hurts to feel shut out, to feel like I'm not good enough, to feel like people would rather Irish goodbye out of my life than to stay or at least give me a reason why they're going.
This all paints a grim picture. But I have experienced great comfort almost simultaneously with these grievances. A few close friends have pulled me in closer, held me tighter, made me feel like a real girl. They've let me be myself wholeheartedly. They've let me cry and they've let me make awful jokes and they've started the conversation and they've invited me over. They answer my texts. They keep coming around.
The transitions I've experienced have been rough. I don't bond with a lot of people, so to lose someone I have a genuine connection with is painful. It's humiliating to feel unwanted, to feel shunned, to see the doors of another person's mouth closing as they speak. But it happens. People move on from you. Jobs pass you over. You find out that those dreams you had as a kid aren't going to pan out, or they're going to take a different shape. But then you meet different people. And you find another job. And you get a new dream. And you stop panicking that you're not on the path you expected to be on and look out the window for a second and realize that it's raining, it's raining in Los Angeles and we've been in a drought, and your umbrella keeps turning outside out and you can't get a ride and your socks are soaked through but there is a river of floodwater running through campus and you just know if you had a block or board long enough you could sail that thing all the way home.
Love the people who love you. Don't force it but don't you dare stop it. Love is nothing to be ashamed of. If something lets you in, stay awhile. And if it gets quiet and checks its phone and looks anxiously at the door every few minutes, take the hint and leave. Love the people who love you and don't worry about the rest. Put out all the huge, embarrassing, childish love you've got into the universe and reel in everything that bites. Keep getting hurt and keep accepting it. Kiss frogs and frat boys and French horn players. Don't take it too personally when they go back to the swamp.
What I'm trying to say is that it's going to be okay. That it already kind of is.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Thank You, Barack Obama.
Thank you for being the first black president.
Thank you for serving two consecutive terms, from when I was 11 to now, when I'm 19 -- arguably the most formative years of my life.
Thank you for a presidency free of personal scandal, an almost unheard-of notion in America's political climate, both past and present.
Thank you for showing me what it means to be a good husband and father, reminding me so much of my own father.
Thank you for being funny when we needed it, for being serious when we needed it, for always, always, ALWAYS being articulate and compassionate.
Thank you for proving to the world that wisdom does not preclude sincerity, that kindness does not preclude pragmatism, that blackness does not preclude greatness.
Thank you for teaching us that it is often more important to be good than to be right.
Thank you for Obamacare.
Thank you for all you have done to slow climate change.
Thank you for all you have done to close the wage gap.
Thank you for openly identifying as a feminist.
Thank you for all you did to make gay marriage a right at the federal level.
Thank you for going on so many late-night talk shows and reminding us that you are a real, flesh-and-blood human being and not some collective hallucination of the Democratic Party.
Thank you for loving your family.
Thank you for letting us glimpse your friendship with Joe Biden, the greatest executive bromance in all of human history.
Thank you for weeping through mass shootings, through police brutality, through hate -- for showing us that it is okay to cry.
Thank you for taking the vitriol that our current President-elect spewed at you for so many years in stride.
Thank you for campaigning so tirelessly for Hillary.
Thank you for peacefully handing off power despite the knowledge that your successor is unfit to rule.
Thank you for having an imperfect presidency and proving imperfection does not preclude progress.
Thank you for making it seem like we had finally made it to the right side of history.
Thank you for standing by us when we realized we had not.
Thank you for loving us.
Thank you for being the role model to every black child in this nation, and quite possibly in the world.
Thank you for being everyone's president.
Thank you for being my president.
Thank you for serving two consecutive terms, from when I was 11 to now, when I'm 19 -- arguably the most formative years of my life.
Thank you for a presidency free of personal scandal, an almost unheard-of notion in America's political climate, both past and present.
Thank you for showing me what it means to be a good husband and father, reminding me so much of my own father.
Thank you for being funny when we needed it, for being serious when we needed it, for always, always, ALWAYS being articulate and compassionate.
Thank you for proving to the world that wisdom does not preclude sincerity, that kindness does not preclude pragmatism, that blackness does not preclude greatness.
Thank you for teaching us that it is often more important to be good than to be right.
Thank you for Obamacare.
Thank you for all you have done to slow climate change.
Thank you for all you have done to close the wage gap.
Thank you for openly identifying as a feminist.
Thank you for all you did to make gay marriage a right at the federal level.
Thank you for going on so many late-night talk shows and reminding us that you are a real, flesh-and-blood human being and not some collective hallucination of the Democratic Party.
Thank you for loving your family.
Thank you for letting us glimpse your friendship with Joe Biden, the greatest executive bromance in all of human history.
Thank you for weeping through mass shootings, through police brutality, through hate -- for showing us that it is okay to cry.
Thank you for taking the vitriol that our current President-elect spewed at you for so many years in stride.
Thank you for campaigning so tirelessly for Hillary.
Thank you for peacefully handing off power despite the knowledge that your successor is unfit to rule.
Thank you for having an imperfect presidency and proving imperfection does not preclude progress.
Thank you for making it seem like we had finally made it to the right side of history.
Thank you for standing by us when we realized we had not.
Thank you for loving us.
Thank you for being the role model to every black child in this nation, and quite possibly in the world.
Thank you for being everyone's president.
Thank you for being my president.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
One-Man Show
During the first week of school this year, I went to a couple welcome back shows at Tommy's Place to support my friends. A few different bands and solo artists I love were playing shows, and I figured--hey, it's the first week, I'm not busy, and it's right on campus.
As usual, my fellow pop kids blew me away with their covers and originals. Multiple-piece bands were tight and grooving, and solo singer-songwriters rocked out with poignant simplicity. They performed covers as well or better than the original artists, and they sang their own songs like they were already classics.
But almost no one heard it.
I'm no saint. I don't go to every gig I get invited to on Facebook. Sometimes it's because I legitimately can't--I'm under 21, I have another gig or rehearsal--but sometimes it's because I'm just tired and don't feel up to it. And I always feel bad when I miss one, because I know that most of the time, the coffee shop or bar or little venue could really use another body.
The students in the popular music program at Thornton are not just "good." They're great. Maybe I'm biased, but every time I DO go to a gig, I run to the keyboard or guitar right after to write. I feel massively inspired by the talent I see in the other pop kids. They are vulnerable and brave and skilled and silly. They are humble. They are versatile. They are wise beyond their years. I can only hope that my classmates feel the same way about me--to be counted among their musical and emotional equals would be an honor. My point in providing this onslaught of compliments is to affirm how much it shatters my heart to hear this groundbreaking music and realizing that not many people are listening.
It's bittersweet, really. One day, we will be making a larger impact on the music industry, whether that's through performing, writing, education, business, journalism, or some combination of the above. One day, "the time we performed for an audience of just our mom and the bartender" will be another funny story. And honestly, there's something tremendously fun about those little, seemingly inconsequential shows. There's camaraderie in knowing that none of us are selling out arenas, or even the back rooms of pubs. This is where we become our real artistic selves. It's where we test drive new material, experiment with banter and song arrangements, and learn to commit to a performance regardless of the number of people watching.
But that doesn't stop me from feeling frustrated when I see my best friends pouring their hearts out on stage, sweating under the lights, letting tears roll during particularly emotional moments, and knowing that I'm the only one who will congratulate them after the show.
I write all this to say: if you're a musician playing for single-digit audiences, you are not alone. It will all be worth it. Treasure these little shows, because one day you'll be grown and working in the music industry and missing the purity of coffee house open mics. Sing every original song and rearranged cover like you're on stage at the Staples Center, even if the only person watching is cleaning shot glasses and checking the clock. And if you're a friend of a musician: go to their shows. Buy their merch and stream their tracks on Soundcloud. Be one of the people who knew them when. Sometimes it's inconvenient. But I promise that you won't regret it.
As usual, my fellow pop kids blew me away with their covers and originals. Multiple-piece bands were tight and grooving, and solo singer-songwriters rocked out with poignant simplicity. They performed covers as well or better than the original artists, and they sang their own songs like they were already classics.
But almost no one heard it.
I'm no saint. I don't go to every gig I get invited to on Facebook. Sometimes it's because I legitimately can't--I'm under 21, I have another gig or rehearsal--but sometimes it's because I'm just tired and don't feel up to it. And I always feel bad when I miss one, because I know that most of the time, the coffee shop or bar or little venue could really use another body.
The students in the popular music program at Thornton are not just "good." They're great. Maybe I'm biased, but every time I DO go to a gig, I run to the keyboard or guitar right after to write. I feel massively inspired by the talent I see in the other pop kids. They are vulnerable and brave and skilled and silly. They are humble. They are versatile. They are wise beyond their years. I can only hope that my classmates feel the same way about me--to be counted among their musical and emotional equals would be an honor. My point in providing this onslaught of compliments is to affirm how much it shatters my heart to hear this groundbreaking music and realizing that not many people are listening.
It's bittersweet, really. One day, we will be making a larger impact on the music industry, whether that's through performing, writing, education, business, journalism, or some combination of the above. One day, "the time we performed for an audience of just our mom and the bartender" will be another funny story. And honestly, there's something tremendously fun about those little, seemingly inconsequential shows. There's camaraderie in knowing that none of us are selling out arenas, or even the back rooms of pubs. This is where we become our real artistic selves. It's where we test drive new material, experiment with banter and song arrangements, and learn to commit to a performance regardless of the number of people watching.
But that doesn't stop me from feeling frustrated when I see my best friends pouring their hearts out on stage, sweating under the lights, letting tears roll during particularly emotional moments, and knowing that I'm the only one who will congratulate them after the show.
I write all this to say: if you're a musician playing for single-digit audiences, you are not alone. It will all be worth it. Treasure these little shows, because one day you'll be grown and working in the music industry and missing the purity of coffee house open mics. Sing every original song and rearranged cover like you're on stage at the Staples Center, even if the only person watching is cleaning shot glasses and checking the clock. And if you're a friend of a musician: go to their shows. Buy their merch and stream their tracks on Soundcloud. Be one of the people who knew them when. Sometimes it's inconvenient. But I promise that you won't regret it.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Last Night, I Wept. Today, I Apply War Paint.
I've always fancied myself a revolutionary.
In history class, when we talked about the civil rights movement or women's suffrage, I envisioned myself as the type of person who would have been on the right side of history. Maybe I wouldn't have been staging sit-ins, but certainly I would have given speeches at my university. Written pieces of incendiary journalism. Bigoted white men would roll their eyes when I came up in conversation. It would've been great.
But I was born in 1997, to a two-parent household of economic affluence in a liberal city in a liberal state. Yes, I am a mixed-race, Jewish black woman. But I'm also economically privileged, have attended private academic institutions my whole life, and have had the unconditional emotional support of two wonderful parents. So yes, people have made offensive comments to me and tried to undermine my achievements. But I have been shielded from much of the oppression that might have impeded my development had I come up in the mid-twentieth century, or in a conservative part of the country, or both. To top it all off, the bulk of my childhood was spent under the first black president of the United States. I coasted into last night, thinking that the bulk of my young adulthood would be spent under the first female president. Honestly, the thought of Hillary's victory was bittersweet to me. Where was my glass ceiling to break? Sure, police brutality is still an issue, the wage gap won't go away for another 100+ years even by optimistic estimates, and in many parts of the country, the LGBTQIA+ community is actively discriminated against, but before last night, it felt very much like we were on our way. Like I would simply be buoyed by the progress that was already taking place. Like all I had to do was exist as a socially conscious millennial, and the world would unfold before me as it always had. But then a funny thing happened.
A bigoted, incompetent, sexual predator won the presidency.
And I cried. Hard.
Last night, I lost my innocence. I watched as the America I'd built up in my mind, the America that still had a lot of work to do but was at least on the path to excellence, disintegrated before my very eyes. I read the New York Times article declaring that a reality TV-show host who will be going to trial for fraud and sexual assault will take the oath of our nation's highest office on January 20. My Uber driver asked me why I was crying. I said many things in response to that, but the crux of it is this sound bite: Trump did not invent hatred. Obama's presidency simply concealed it. Trump's campaign exposed it. The bigotry was already there. It was just less socially acceptable to show it with Obama at the helm. Now, as his time in office dwindles all too quickly to a close, the so-called "silent majority" is silent no more. Their champion has won. They have been vindicated. And last night, that felt like rock bottom. Hopeless.
But I wake up today far from hopeless. Because here's the thing, my fellow women and PoC. My LGBTQIA+, Latinx, Muslim, and disabled siblings:
NOW, more than ever, is our time.
For all the times you've wondered who you might have been during slavery, during World War II, during the Civil Rights Movement - this is when you find out. Sure, laws and amendments have been passed that are meant to protect our civil liberties, and social conditions aren't as bleak as they were 50, 100, 200 years ago. But I assure you that this is a turning point in history. I assure you that our children will be asking us about last night, and the last year, and the coming ones. I assure you that we will be confronted by hatred, and, even more frequently, indifference to our rights under a Republican president, a Republican senate, and a Republican house.
I refuse to be hopeless. I refuse to be complacent. I refuse to spend anymore time weeping. I also refuse to pretend that we are not a nation divided. I wish I could love our president-elect and his constituency unconditionally, because I truly believe that love can triumph over hate. But now is not the time for love. Not yet. In order to love, I first require mutual respect.
I don't have all the answers. I don't have any of the answers. I don't know what this movement will look like, what shape it will take. I don't know what I personally need to do, or what we need to do as a collective. So I'll do what I know to do: I will write.
And tomorrow morning, and all the mornings after that, I'll do what I did this morning.
Apply war paint.
In history class, when we talked about the civil rights movement or women's suffrage, I envisioned myself as the type of person who would have been on the right side of history. Maybe I wouldn't have been staging sit-ins, but certainly I would have given speeches at my university. Written pieces of incendiary journalism. Bigoted white men would roll their eyes when I came up in conversation. It would've been great.
But I was born in 1997, to a two-parent household of economic affluence in a liberal city in a liberal state. Yes, I am a mixed-race, Jewish black woman. But I'm also economically privileged, have attended private academic institutions my whole life, and have had the unconditional emotional support of two wonderful parents. So yes, people have made offensive comments to me and tried to undermine my achievements. But I have been shielded from much of the oppression that might have impeded my development had I come up in the mid-twentieth century, or in a conservative part of the country, or both. To top it all off, the bulk of my childhood was spent under the first black president of the United States. I coasted into last night, thinking that the bulk of my young adulthood would be spent under the first female president. Honestly, the thought of Hillary's victory was bittersweet to me. Where was my glass ceiling to break? Sure, police brutality is still an issue, the wage gap won't go away for another 100+ years even by optimistic estimates, and in many parts of the country, the LGBTQIA+ community is actively discriminated against, but before last night, it felt very much like we were on our way. Like I would simply be buoyed by the progress that was already taking place. Like all I had to do was exist as a socially conscious millennial, and the world would unfold before me as it always had. But then a funny thing happened.
A bigoted, incompetent, sexual predator won the presidency.
And I cried. Hard.
Last night, I lost my innocence. I watched as the America I'd built up in my mind, the America that still had a lot of work to do but was at least on the path to excellence, disintegrated before my very eyes. I read the New York Times article declaring that a reality TV-show host who will be going to trial for fraud and sexual assault will take the oath of our nation's highest office on January 20. My Uber driver asked me why I was crying. I said many things in response to that, but the crux of it is this sound bite: Trump did not invent hatred. Obama's presidency simply concealed it. Trump's campaign exposed it. The bigotry was already there. It was just less socially acceptable to show it with Obama at the helm. Now, as his time in office dwindles all too quickly to a close, the so-called "silent majority" is silent no more. Their champion has won. They have been vindicated. And last night, that felt like rock bottom. Hopeless.
But I wake up today far from hopeless. Because here's the thing, my fellow women and PoC. My LGBTQIA+, Latinx, Muslim, and disabled siblings:
NOW, more than ever, is our time.
For all the times you've wondered who you might have been during slavery, during World War II, during the Civil Rights Movement - this is when you find out. Sure, laws and amendments have been passed that are meant to protect our civil liberties, and social conditions aren't as bleak as they were 50, 100, 200 years ago. But I assure you that this is a turning point in history. I assure you that our children will be asking us about last night, and the last year, and the coming ones. I assure you that we will be confronted by hatred, and, even more frequently, indifference to our rights under a Republican president, a Republican senate, and a Republican house.
I refuse to be hopeless. I refuse to be complacent. I refuse to spend anymore time weeping. I also refuse to pretend that we are not a nation divided. I wish I could love our president-elect and his constituency unconditionally, because I truly believe that love can triumph over hate. But now is not the time for love. Not yet. In order to love, I first require mutual respect.
I don't have all the answers. I don't have any of the answers. I don't know what this movement will look like, what shape it will take. I don't know what I personally need to do, or what we need to do as a collective. So I'll do what I know to do: I will write.
And tomorrow morning, and all the mornings after that, I'll do what I did this morning.
Apply war paint.
Sunday, October 30, 2016
October Playlist
October Playlist
Hey, all, and happy almost Halloween. This Halloweekend has been pretty crazy. Honestly, all of October--heck, this whole year--has been pretty crazy. Being 19 in Los Angeles in 2016 is beautiful and funny and overwhelming and terrifying and being in college is never what you expected it would be, and neither are you.
Here are the songs I've been listening to lately.
https://open.spotify.com/user/12149039602/playlist/0d3eKbQBMa3yFLUQA5HLpK
1. "Worth It" - 3:05
ALBUM: Lamentations
ARTIST: Moses Sumney
2. "Come Together - Remastered" - 4:20
ALBUM: Abbey Road - Remastered
ARTIST: The Beatles
3. "You And I" - 2:31
ALBUM: Emotions And Math
ARTIST: Margaret Glaspy
4. "October Song" - 3:25
ALBUM: Frank
ARTIST: Amy Winehouse
5. "So. Good." - 3:47
ALBUM: So. Good.
ARTIST: Johnny Stimson
6. "Beautiful Girl" - 4:03
ALBUM: Beautiful Girl
ARTIST: Sara Bareilles
7. "I Love How You Love Me" - 3:27
ALBUM: Live at Jittery Joe's
ARTIST: Jeff Mangum
8. "Milk & Honey" - 3:59
ALBUM: Milk & Honey
ARTIST: Billie Marten
9. "Cassidy" - 4:28
ALBUM: Por Favor
ARTIST: Brett Dennen
10. "Cough Drop" - 3:20
ALBUM: A Humble Masterpiece
ARTIST: The O'My's
11. "22 (OVER S∞∞N)" - 2:48
ALBUM: 22, A Million
ARTIST: Bon Iver
12. "Gibraltar" - 3:42
ALBUM: No No No
ARTIST: Beirut
13. "The Middle of Ohio" - 2:54
ALBUM: Song of a Dead Man
ARTIST: Taylor John Williams
14. "Gold In The Air" - 3:21
ALBUM: Get Your Burdens Lifted
ARTIST: Jesse Woods
15. "Above The Clouds of Pompeii" - 4:39
ALBUM: Islands
ARTIST: Bear's Den
16. "Mona Lisa" - 3:23
ALBUM: Chasing Waves
ARTIST: Vista Kicks
17. "Comfortable - Live In Birmingham" - 7:37
ALBUM: Any Given Thursday
ARTIST: John Mayer
18. "Hourglass" - 2:18
ALBUM: The Balcony
ARTIST: Catfish and the Bottlemen
19. "You Don't Know My Name" - 6:07
ALBUM: The Diary of Alicia Keys
ARTIST: Alicia Keys
20. "Trouble Sleeping" - 3:27
ALBUM: Corinne Bailey Rae
ARTIST: Corinne Bailey Rae
That's what I've been bumping. I don't know what to expect for the last two months of 2016, or the rest of college, or the rest of my life. I can't help but think about the macro because of how much my life is changing, how quickly and drastically and without warning. I read somewhere, in a piece about songwriting, that by the time an artist is 25, they have experienced everything necessary to make great art. I can't help but feel like it might be true.
Talk soon. xo
Hey, all, and happy almost Halloween. This Halloweekend has been pretty crazy. Honestly, all of October--heck, this whole year--has been pretty crazy. Being 19 in Los Angeles in 2016 is beautiful and funny and overwhelming and terrifying and being in college is never what you expected it would be, and neither are you.
Here are the songs I've been listening to lately.
https://open.spotify.com/user/12149039602/playlist/0d3eKbQBMa3yFLUQA5HLpK
1. "Worth It" - 3:05
ALBUM: Lamentations
ARTIST: Moses Sumney
2. "Come Together - Remastered" - 4:20
ALBUM: Abbey Road - Remastered
ARTIST: The Beatles
3. "You And I" - 2:31
ALBUM: Emotions And Math
ARTIST: Margaret Glaspy
4. "October Song" - 3:25
ALBUM: Frank
ARTIST: Amy Winehouse
5. "So. Good." - 3:47
ALBUM: So. Good.
ARTIST: Johnny Stimson
6. "Beautiful Girl" - 4:03
ALBUM: Beautiful Girl
ARTIST: Sara Bareilles
7. "I Love How You Love Me" - 3:27
ALBUM: Live at Jittery Joe's
ARTIST: Jeff Mangum
8. "Milk & Honey" - 3:59
ALBUM: Milk & Honey
ARTIST: Billie Marten
9. "Cassidy" - 4:28
ALBUM: Por Favor
ARTIST: Brett Dennen
10. "Cough Drop" - 3:20
ALBUM: A Humble Masterpiece
ARTIST: The O'My's
11. "22 (OVER S∞∞N)" - 2:48
ALBUM: 22, A Million
ARTIST: Bon Iver
12. "Gibraltar" - 3:42
ALBUM: No No No
ARTIST: Beirut
13. "The Middle of Ohio" - 2:54
ALBUM: Song of a Dead Man
ARTIST: Taylor John Williams
14. "Gold In The Air" - 3:21
ALBUM: Get Your Burdens Lifted
ARTIST: Jesse Woods
15. "Above The Clouds of Pompeii" - 4:39
ALBUM: Islands
ARTIST: Bear's Den
16. "Mona Lisa" - 3:23
ALBUM: Chasing Waves
ARTIST: Vista Kicks
17. "Comfortable - Live In Birmingham" - 7:37
ALBUM: Any Given Thursday
ARTIST: John Mayer
18. "Hourglass" - 2:18
ALBUM: The Balcony
ARTIST: Catfish and the Bottlemen
19. "You Don't Know My Name" - 6:07
ALBUM: The Diary of Alicia Keys
ARTIST: Alicia Keys
20. "Trouble Sleeping" - 3:27
ALBUM: Corinne Bailey Rae
ARTIST: Corinne Bailey Rae
That's what I've been bumping. I don't know what to expect for the last two months of 2016, or the rest of college, or the rest of my life. I can't help but think about the macro because of how much my life is changing, how quickly and drastically and without warning. I read somewhere, in a piece about songwriting, that by the time an artist is 25, they have experienced everything necessary to make great art. I can't help but feel like it might be true.
Talk soon. xo
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