A young student-intern at NPR wrote a blog post, suggesting that there should be a comprehensive “Spotify-like catalog,” offering the “ability to listen to what I want, when I want and how I want it. Is that too much to ask?”  In the article she admits to paying for 15 CD’s worth of her mostly-not-paid-for 11,000-song music catalog.

David Lowery is a musician formerly of the bands Camper Van Beethoven and Cracker, and currently a UGA professor.  He recently wrote an open letter in response to the blog post, challenging the student’s ideas about fairness, compensation, and asking many larger questions of a generation of pirates.

I am a Social Worker, writer, and sort-of musician.  I see myself in a unique position to speak to some of these issues. 

Tonight I read Mr. Lowery’s open letter and I thought to myself: this is it.  This is the dialog we need.  Mr. Lowery questions the way we value music and art.  I will not summarize his article, because it’s truly worthy of your time and thoughtfulness, but I can’t let some of these points go without introducing some of my own questions.  I will attempt to weave these questions together in the hope of reintroducing an idea that may be dismissed as radical, socialist, or unrealistic.

Yet I feel that, in spite of the potential backlash, someone needs to say it: maybe there shouldn’t be a music “industry” at all. Maybe we should think about Music itself in a different way.  I hope that by asking these questions in earnest people smarter than me will have new answers, and then I will learn something, maybe I’ll change my mind, or maybe we will build something new together.  Most importantly, I hope that this isn’t the end of the dialog.

*****

One of Mr. Lowery’s first key points is that “[f]airly compensating musicians is not a problem that is up to governments and large corporations to solve. It is not up to them to make it ‘convenient’ so you don’t behave unethically.”  Mr. Lowery says that it is incumbent upon “us individually to put pressure on our governments and private corporations to act ethically and fairly when it comes to artists rights. Not the other way around.”  While this phrasing is a little confusing, the idea that the consumers are necessary agents of change surely has validity to it.  But I submit that musicians, being the primary stakeholders, must also change their own behaviors.

To be clear: I’m not saying musicians have to adapt simply because the market has made it easier to steal their music now, an argument I recognize as fatuous.  I’m essentially saying that musicians exist as part of the same society as the rest of us, and together we must disempower corporate culture.   Read on for more details.

Lowery reports that the average income for musicians who file taxes is “something like 35k a year w/o benefits.”  Well, awesome.  I have a master’s degree in Social Work and I make significantly less than that working full-time (although those benefits admittedly are a huge help for a hypochondriac like me).  Yet, I’m not an “average,” social worker.  I graduated from the top school in the country. I’m outstanding at working with people, I’m always on task, and I have an unusually diverse skill-set.  I have a decade of experience behind me.  Jesus, I once taught a hearing-impaired victim of child sexual abuse how to tie her shoes and how to play the xylophone.  Is it fair that I don’t make shit for money?

Oh, I was also a musician.  I self-published an album of music with my friend Jon, and then two more on my own.  Very few people enjoyed my music or bought my records; I didn’t know how to succeed in the music “industry.”  I paid for the experience out of pocket, and made up maybe 20% of the cost I had sunk by getting paid for my records and at shows.  I always told people they could pay whatever they wanted for those records.  I did it because I loved it, even when nobody (including most of the other “local” musicians) gave a rat’s ass. It was a series of stupid financial moves, but like I said, I was young and working and I could afford to do something I loved and believed in even if I wasn’t great at it. Ultimately, I worked really hard, wrote good lyrics and a couple pretty good songs.  Is it fair nobody gave me money to make music?

The point is that in a conversation of “fair” compensation we  need to also discuss what that compensation is for.  When we buy a record, what are we paying for? The experience of enjoying it? The hard work of the musician? And for the terrible musician like myself, do they deserve “fair” compensation for their earnest effort? Are we conceding, then, that making music is simply another business (don’t forget now that half of all new businesses fail within the first five years)? And what of the numerous other underpaid professionals working hard?  The languid social worker, the exhausted schoolteacher, the uninspired writer — they, too, are unfairly compensated.

Musicians aren’t the only people involved in the music industry.  An album of music often features a large, shared effort from many people. What if the janitor at the studio is underpaid, whose responsibility is that to correct? Should we agree pay an extra dollar for every record?  Whether it is true or fair that musicians aren’t compensated adequately, we also cannot ignore that the issue of unfairness spans numerous professions among most classes of people.  Unfairness is an issue that doesn’t simply exist because the industry is married to arcane processes or musicians are being exploited by vampiric technology.  Musicians are no different from that janitor at the studio who can’t afford healthcare either.  Larger systems suckle a global corporate culture, and musicians must be equal partners in the effort against it.

Painting By Will Cullen Hart

*****

When I hear that two of Mr. Lowery’s friends lived in poverty because people were pirating their records instead of fairly compensating them for their music, I of course am mainly saddened.  Although I haven’t personally listened to the music of Sparklehorse or Vic Chestnutt, I know a lot of people loved their music and nobody deserves to feel so bad that they want to take their own lives.  But I don’t believe it’s fair to imply such a strong connection between their suicides and music piracy.

Anyone struggling with depression and addiction needs to seek the right kind of treatment, and if that isn’t available where they live, it isn’t because of music piracy; it is because the majority of legislators, county commissioners, city councilmembers, and voters in the area believe funds should be directed to areas outside of social services.  It is because there isn’t enough development funding to support the non-profits that provide and supplement those social services.  An impoverished person’s inability to access supportive services is not the fault of the unfeeling consumer; it’s ultimately the fault of voter.  If one were to suggest that personal wealth cures depression and addiction, I would simply disagree; I believe there are innumerable examples within the music community itself that evince my point.

Poverty is a nightmare, but less talented people struggle with the same issues and they have no fans whatsoever to support them.  I see it every day, and am despondent when a person has literally no support.  I hope this doesn’t come off as callous – I would never wish to diminish the tragedy that is suicide.  But I also think it is inaccurate and uncalled for to make as bold a connection here as Mr. Lowery does, and fundamentally misses the point.  Undoubtedly it is sad and unfair when people pirate your music and don’t pay you anything at all.  But these men needed help, and the business and profit of their music would not have been the sole answer.

Answers lie in real help.  Real help comes from systemic change.

*****

When I was in college, I took a class on musicology and it changed the way I thought about music.  In it I discovered a book called Music Grooves by two ethnomusicologists named Charles Keil and Steven Feld.  I’ve read this book many times, but this is the passage that continues to resonate:

“It seems to me like music could be one of the first things to be brought back into the natural world, by taking it away from copyright […] The current technologies are feeding on themselves in such a way that people can shape their own musical samples, put together their own cassettes, dub, record concerts, trade music with each other, and use music in a thousand different ways.  This technology allows people to spread music around; we don’t need the big companies to do it for us anymore.”  – Charles Keil, Music Grooves, p. 314.

The book was published in 1994; you know, when words like iPods, P2P, and MegaUpload would have sounded like neologisms from a Margaret Atwood novel. Keil imagines, a decade before the Internet was entrenched zeitgeist, a world free of music-as-commodity, a world of sharing, of local music, where everyone makes music, and where we value music differently.

When Mr. Lowery asks us to question our values, I think it is a necessary and vital prompt.  But I ask him to question the fundamental assumption that belies his argument: music as a product, a commodity, songs as Windex, musicians as WalMart, music as a business.  Can we imagine something else?

*****

So this brings me back to some of my earlier questions. What if music stopped being a business?   What would that look like?

In my most radical of visions, musicians would need to take matters into their own hands.  I imagine that financial gain would have to stop being the central objective of making music.  The utility of corporate music and the backing that labels provide would diminish.  I don’t say this because I think musicians shouldn’t make a living, but I question how much power is ceded by treating music this way, even on a smaller scale.

There exists a possible world in which all artists are free to distribute music on their own terms, but can musicians imagine, or live with this world?

I myself imagine it would take a tremendous sacrifice: the outrageously lucrative monetary potential that exists when literally millions of people want to pay you for your songs. We would have to create a world where “monetizing” isn’t part of the equation of making music, a world we have been to.

In turn, can we as consumers accept a drastically smaller scale? It would be a world without the same kind of Gaga, Kanye, Radiohead, Arcade Fire, a world where we look to our neighbors and friends, to internet communities, to the small-scale self-distribution of these artists.

*****

I have been asking these questions because I think there exists a middle ground that isn’t as demonstrably Marxist as their point of origin.  I think there exists potential to diminish the distasteful qualities of commodification while maintaining a supportive infrastructure for artists.

The goal, then, would not be to eliminate what we know about the music industry, but to use the distributive advantages of technology to disempower oligarchy.  People of privilege, people with platforms, people like musicians, are in a unique position to assess their own wealth, their own power, and ask what they can do to help people who don’t have the same opportunities as they do.

When we work to actively remind ourselves that systemic ills, those commensurate with globalization and global capitalism, exist everywhere, we are given the opportunity to recognize that issues of fairness are not unique to our own communities of interest.  Maybe musicians like Vic Chestnutt, may he rest peacefully, were treated like shit not only because people pirated his music, but because most people are only given the opportunity to listen to twenty songs (hand-selected by five executives from giant corporations) at any given time.  We live in a world where the marginalized have become increasingly irrelevant in popular conversations.  But God, what if people in all walks of life were given the chance to listen to Black Foliage on free radio?  How many more heads would proverbially explode from listening to that than Chris Brown for the fortieth time in two weeks?  What are we willing to sacrifice to make that happen?

As such, I hope to encourage musicians to use their platform as an example.  The internet is practically designed to distribute music.  Let’s do our best to tamp down the stranglehold capitalist culture has on every facet of our lives.  Maybe “major” artists could collaborate on a project that distributes certain albums of their music freely.    Maybe some benevolent musical billionaire (hey wasn’t Bono once an “indie” artist?) could found a non-profit national radio station that just cycled through millions of songs that might never be on the radio. Maybe (very likely) someone smarter than me, someone like David Lowery, who has actually experienced real elements of the industry both professionally and academically, could come up with better ideas than I can to achieve this. Maybe a new model wouldn’t be a business model, but a sharing model. Maybe we, as a whole, would re-evaluate our corporate addiction. Maybe they would have less power to manipulate the larger mechanics of governance.  Maybe this freedom would allow us to protect our most vulnerable a little more effectively.

What kind of example would it set if corporate influence became significantly less important in an industry as popular as Music?

Wouldn’t that be radical?

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

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Briar Rabbit

Phillip Michael Scales is a performer currently living in Chicago, trained at the Berklee School of Music, and raised in Metro Detroit.  Coinciding with Black History Month, Scales has released a record on Bandcamp entitled “The Great Routine,” a concept album exploring some of the personal and political dynamics of a Minstrel performer.  Scales plays under the moniker Briar Rabbit, which is a name steeped in its own history, stretching back from American tales to Akan folklore.  Briar Rabbit’s two records shimmer with a warm Indie Pop influence, but don’t let the inviting feeling fool you; Routine is filled with challenging ideas about what it means to be a performer, to be an African-American performer in particular, and how the past continues to inform our present perceptions of these issues.  Catch him on one of his mid-west live dates before Spring rolls around.  http://www.briarrabbit.net/. You can listen to The Great Routine right here, at the end of this post! 

How is your tour going? 

At the moment I’m not actually on tour. I’ve just been doing weekend shots.  First it was three Iowa dates, then it was Grand Rapids and Madison, and next weekend it’s Lansing.

Wow, hell of a weekend trip from Chi-town to Iowa!

The shows have all gone really well. It’s just been solo and people can hear the lyrics.  It’s a drive but luckily it was all two or three hours away from each other

Does it feel easier to connect to audiences when you’re doing solo gigs?

Absolutely. As the head of the machine there’s so much you’re thinking about with a lot of people on stage and lots more listening. Solo it just comes out and connects, me and them.

Has to be a heavier burden, though. 

Maybe, but I feel like I have more control.  Like being in a kayak as opposed to a rowing crew.  I can sort of feel the crowd out but I really like both.

I think it would offer some useful context if we talked a little bit about your background as a musician, and the Briar Rabbit project itself.  I’m particularly interested in the significance of the band name.   

I’ve always been super into stories and I was really drawn to the character of Br’er Rabbit when I was younger. I liked the idea of having a nick name for a band name much like “Bright Eyes,” so I could add or subtract band members without feeling like they weren’t on par, or we weren’t on a level playing field.  This is skipping ahead a bit but I had The Great Routine written before making Briar Rabbit [the band] so I figured that would be an interesting tie.

It’s like you had to build the band around the idea.

Almost.  It was really something I knew I’d have to live with a while and to throw people back to a tale they’re familiar with.  I mean also Briar Rabbit was a bit of mouthy, wily, smart, loveable character that just kept getting into trouble.  So I sort of felt a bit akin.

I want to know more about that connection you feel to the project — aside from the provocative ideas, it seems really personal to you.

It’s my career and expression. I mean it’s about as personal as it gets. The way I see it is: I write songs because I need them. I need this idea to be expressed this way with these chords super specific. And the connection comes when I write a song someone else needs.  That’s the connection that makes a career and that’s the difference between “I like that song,” “I love this song,” and “This song is MINE.”  Or just that “YES” [feeling].  Making someone feel something requires emotional truth.

What’s cool is that even though Routine is a record of challenging ideas, it doesn’t feel mechanical or over-intellectualized.  That emotional truth pops right out.  Do you feel like bridging that gap so smoothly has represented growth, and if so, where has that come from?

Yes, for sure. I am way too brainy on songs sometimes and they frankly don’t go over as well as they could. So I think that when I wrote The Great Routine which was actually before [Briar Rabbit’s first release] The Company You Keep, I for sure hit a place of growth.  I had also been chipping away at some of those tunes for a while.  The growth came from my last year at Berklee when I was around songwriters and teachers and I was sharing ideas constantly.  Getting feedback and being able to have my weaknesses articulated to me helped me pinpoint my weaknesses

Tell us a bit about your time at Berklee.  That had to have been a huge influence.  

The biggest influence Berklee had was the people it put me in contact with: teachers who were super knowledgeable; resources out the wazoo; a professional environment; and answers to almost every question. The best thing by far was being around people better than me. I mean I was one of three people in my high school who wrote songs, I put out maybe three records before I graduated; then I get to Berklee and those same kids from everywhere went to Berklee so there was a lot of jaw-dropping. Concentrating on anything is going to make you better at it. I was able to craft an education for my career. Business Major, Guitar Principal, Take some songwriting classes.

You hear that focus on a record like Routine, and even Company You Keep before it.  Tell us about balancing that kind of focus and incorporating all of your influences. 

Well the deal is that I listen to a lot of different stuff that inspires me for different reasons. It’s a bit like me with meals, it gets messy and I get a bit of everything on my shirt.  I don’t even really see it half the time to be quite honest, people tell me that there are influences from everywhere and they’re all people I listen to I guess it just sort of goes into the concept of you get out what you put in.  I think that for me, battling with being too cerebral, you sort of let it happen by osmosis and just really listen and absorb it.

But you’re also not afraid to go to difficult places, either.  What made you want to confront the racial politics of performance like you do on Routine? 

The record sort of came from a sort of perfect storm.  I was taking a class called “African American History Through Music” which I was very interested in taking because the way I grew up was a bit different from what some might call “stereotypically black.”  I went to a small private school for high school and so for me connecting to “blackness,” was different than what would typically be expected.  Through music, through the greats:  Louis, Dizzy, Ella, Duke, Fats, BB, Muddy, Etta, Otis…   I had a much easier time finding where I fit in.  But at the same time, I am the same color and so I’ve experienced racism just the same.  So that’s where I sort of came into that.

Around the same time I was listening to Neutral Milk Hotel’s Aeroplane Over the Sea and Okkervil River’s Black Sheep Boy, and also had a friend who was way into experimenting with themes.  So I started learning about the minstrels and the earliest forms of black entertainment and about being a black entertainer, and it really hooked me.  For me what drives a song is the feeling and reading about this predicament just created so many feelings inside of me: “How could you…?” “But you’re getting paid” “They called you a wha..?” “It’s kind of funny.”  So that was the jumping off point.  The order of songs went: “The Great Routine,” “Afterward,” “Coon,”  “In my head.”

I don’t know if I can think of another example in performance where passion and shame meet in such a bold way, which you articulate so well in “Coon.”  Was it identification? Trying to empathize? Something else, that drove you?

I just asked myself “how do you make that decision [to become a minstrel performer]?” I couldn’t leave that character alone with a cold narrator, so I made it first person. The thing about that tune is the “self awareness” was ever-present in early black entertainers, as in “I know this isn’t ideal, but here we go,” and the way performers would slip in jokes on the sly that laughed about the whole situation, much like the bridge on “Coon”: not sposed to think but I suppose if I did.

So in inhabiting that voice, is there something specific you want to communicate? Or is that more about the emotional connection on the listener’s side? 

CD Release Party

It’s for the emotional connection and to communicate a more human, intelligent side.  Because it’s easy to look back at those times as a modern person and think “How COULD you?”  So I just wanted to bring in the grey.  The actor who played the notoriously lazy “Step-n-Fetchit” was actually the editor of one of the first underground Chicago newspapers.

I think Routine has this really illuminating aspect to it that forces the listener to be in the performer character’s shoes.  Does that tie in with releasing it during Black History Month? 

I didn’t write it for Black History Month but I definitely wanted to put it out during Black History Month. At a time when people like to take time to brush up on history, I think that this is really interesting.

Yeah, it’s such an abrasive subject that it forces you to engage.  I had to look up Bert Williams, watch videos for reference.  It was fascinating but uncomfortable. 

For sure. And I took a lot of time to think about this all before I released it, had a lot of conversations, because I had to question whether I wanted to release a record and get pegged as “that dude who writes about black stuff.”  I feel like sometimes being uncomfortable, people will shy away from that.  And I’m sure those people are around but for me it just made a good story and that’s why I made the video; to open up discussion and show that I’m not mad, that it’s uncomfortable, and that there’s some beauty and artistry in it.

To me that’s a perfect example of why the subject matter is still so relevant, the self-awareness of it running the risk of typecasting you as “that dude who writes about black stuff.”   Have you ever been boxed in as a result of your race, genre, etc.?

The thought of being pegged as an artist/black is very interesting to me because it’s no secret that the typical Indie sound is associated with a “white hipster.”  So to hear the music before seeing my picture I can only imagine what goes through some people’s heads.  Even on Company there’s a line that goes I’ve got secrets darker than my skin, which is a reminder that that I’m Black. No “Pale Blue Eyes.”

I think since it stems from being uncomfortable, I’m probably the last person people will bring it up to.  I’m not a big enough artist that anyone in would have to review it or be expected to have an opinion on. That being said, I write music for everyone and I like challenging ideas and meaningful discussions. Thought. So if Routine isn’t your cup of tea but you dig on Company that’s cool with me, but I feel like I have more to gain by putting out a piece of work that truly inspires me and presenting it in a tasteful way than to I have to lose.  It’s been a really cool response.  I shied away for just a little during live shows but once I broke it down to a captive audience, said I was inspired by an event in history, people would come up to me and start discussions about race to me afterwards.  It’s definitely a conversation starter and if approached sensitively, can really open up the conversation.

Well thanks for breaking some of these things down with us.  Ready for rapid fire?

Ready for rapid fire.

Steely Dan or Thin Lizzy?

Thin Lizzy for sure.

Sub, Hoagie, or Grinder?

Sub for sure. What am I? From Pittsburgh?

Shame at the thought!  Speaking of which: Steelers, or stealers?

Stealers?

Correct!  Finally: Judge, Fudge, or Grudge?

I hold a grudge for being judged for eating fudge.

That might be the slickest answer to a nonsense question I’ve ever heard. 

Boom!

Boom indeed.

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

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Photos "taken" by Ethan Milner

Live music has a way of re-contextualizing its performer.  An example that comes to mind is the “art-metal” outfit Kylesa, who so cunningly convince of their talent by way of excellent recorded production value.  See them once live, however, and marvel at your newfound respect for engineering and production.  Live performance is another beast entirely.

Thus I was apprehensive about what I should expect from a Cass McCombs live show.  McCombs has a strong output of recorded work, including the very complete album Catacombs.  His other records, however, tend to have a few standout tracks but a lot of imbalance, his most recent effort Humor Risk being a prime example.  Would he play a great set incorporating “the hits,” or deliver a recalcitrant one of only new material?  Could McCombs pull off that sneaky falsetto on “County Line?”  Would he play “I Went to the Hospital?”  Would the fireman’s ball in the Crofoot Ballroom spill over and turn the show into a bacchanalian feast of untold ecstasies? So many questions!

Luckily, seeing a show at Pontiac’s Pike Room is rarely a wasted trip, even if the bands aren’t so good.  Nearly every show I’ve seen at the Crofoot complex has sounded stellar, and this one was no exception.  McCombs’ opener was Frank Fairchild, a mustachioed Bluegrass monster who is very talented and worth your attention.  His stomping and bowing even elicited a mild hootenanny out of some old dudes on the periphery of the half-capacity crowd.

Atmosphere was important, and the fact that the room wasn’t packed lent to the casual air; I bought into it.  The band was backlit by soft pixels glistering against several large canvases.  The effect was interesting – I felt both close and distant from the shadowy band– it created a mysterious intimacy.

The to-be-expected high-quality sound added to this pervasive sexiness.  By the third song, Humor’s “Love Thine Enemy,” the tonal beauty really began to shine.  Snare hits shimmered in their pools of warm reverb.  The separation was crisp throughout the set, keyboards hummed, but also screeched when necessary, particularly during a mind-melting solo over “Dreams-Come-True-Girl.”

The only reservation I had was with the pacing of the set.  It really began to lurch at the performance of “To Every Man His Chimera,” sapping the room of its energy.  People became a little restless.  A hootenanny was had, dag nabbit!

But the band was tight, and they rebounded.  They hit incredible highs, no more than during “County Line,” when it was Cass’ turn to shred, or at least deliver his erudite take on shredding. McCombs is known for filling the space of a song in interesting ways, but it was the crowd who intuitively harmonized “County Line’s” standout “Oh-oh-oh-oh-ohs.”  It was a perfect illustration of how connected the audience was, despite the hazy yellow light covering the band in shadow.  And the falsetto? Nailed it!

Of note: McCombs said about three things during the entire set, and there was a fucking fireman’s ball in the Crofoot.  He barely acknowledged it. In front of the venue there were two parked fire trucks facing each other; their articulated booms fully extended so that the aerial platforms touched each other in the heavens.  I have seen this one time in my life: that night. There was a lot to banter about, you see.

My point is that McCombs cut the shit out of the set, sounded great, and played a show conducive to warm feelings. I do wish that he had played “I Went To The Hospital,” but its absence was forgivable.  One special touch I appreciated was the way McCombs closed the set, introducing his band members while they played out “Bobby, King of Boys Town.”  It gave the night a wedding reception-like feel, not to imply that they played like a wedding band.  It was just another way to add to the atmosphere.  We were all putting a cap on a great evening, sending the proverbial married couple off into a warm, hopeful night.  Or in this case, a bunch of drunk fireman into the cold Pontiac night.  Same idea.

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

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Photo by Sandy Kim

Risk, which his press packet claims is ”an attempt at laughter instead of confusion, chaos instead of morality, or, as fellow Northern Californian Jack London said, “I would rather be ashes than dust!”  Sure it is!

What you, reader, must know, is that McCombs is an artist that has continued to grow, to mature musically over the years.  Wit’s End breaks out with a dashing falsetto for Pete’s sake!  Layer beneath that a sense of lyricism clearly influenced by Pop music’s geniuses, from the emotional accuracy of Cohen to the witty beauty of David Berman, and a comfort for experimentation, and you’ll begin to approximate McCombs.  If you think I’m hyperbolizing, check out the lyric video for his outstanding track “I Went To the Hospital.” 

McCombs comes to Pontiac’s Pike Room January 28th.  Doors at 8, show is $10.

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

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Chris Bathgate “Salt Year”
The Weeknd “House of Balloons”
Wilco “The Whole Love”
James Blake – “S/T”
Sisters of Your Sunshine Vapor “Spectra Spirit”
Real Estate “Days”
Phantasmagoria “Spirit”
Curren$y “Weekend At Burnie’s”
The War on Drugs “Slave Ambient”

Jeremy Porter

1. Glen Campbell “Ghost On The Canvas”
2. Tom Waits “Bad As Me”
3. Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit “Here We Rest”
4. Sloan “The Double Cross”
5. Steve Earle “I’ll Never Get Out Of This World Alive”
6. Tommy Stinson “One Man Mutiny”
7. Drive-By Truckers “Go-Go Boots”
8. Wanda Jackson “The Party Ain’t Over”
9. Emmylou Harris “Hard Bargain”
10. Bottle Rockets “Not So Loud: An Acoustic Evening with the Bottle Rockets”

Jason Revoir

1. Kurt Vile “Smoke Ring For My Halo”
2. Eleanor Friedberger “Last Summer”
3. M83 “Hurry Up We’re Dreaming”
4. Neon Indian “Era Extraña”
5. Tycho “Dive”
6. Active Child “You Are All I See”
7. Fleet Foxes “Helplessness Blues”
8. Death Cab For Cutie “Codes and Keys”
9. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah “Hysterical”
10. New Villager “New Villager”

Steve Barman

1. Beirut “The Rip Tide”
2. Wild Flag “Wild Flag”
3. Washed Out “Within And Without”
4. Tom Waits “Bad As Me”
5. The Drums “Portamento”
6. Cults “Cults”
7. Neon Indian “Era Extraña”
8. St. Vincent “Strange Mercy”
9. Charlie Slick “A Farout Indian”
10. Smoking Popes “This Is Only A Test”

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

More Posts - Website

Beard Owl Beard

Break out those bells of folly, because it’s that time of year again! You know, the one when you Christians ceaselessly worship the birth of your baby God. And as the holiday season is afoot, we of little faith must all pinch our noses and inhale the sickly green and red vapors of Christmas cheer! As Bart Simpson once said, “Christmas is a time when people of all religions come together to worship Jesus.”

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit of Scrooge. I like trees and lights as much as the next guy. And fortunately some of these yuletide suppositories come with great food, tunes, art, and community spirit. Such is the case with the forthcoming celebration of Noel Night at the historic Scarab Club in Detroit. Don’t know what the Scarab Club is? Well look it up, you’re on the fucking internet already.

Noel night will feature three floors of entertainment, local art and literature, food, a cash bar, and most importantly, fun local indie folk. Western Michigan favorites Breathe Owl Breathe will be playing, an act that features diverse instrumentation, tingle-inducing harmonies, and a bevvy of feelings. Performance schedule below, or you can visit the Noel Night website HERE.

Performances:

5:15 pm DSA “The Achievers” Ladies Ensemble
6:15 pm Lac La Belle
7:15 pm Little Wings
8:00 pm Breathe Owl Breathe

OUTDOORS: The Allen Park High School Marching Band performs at 7:00.

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

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It can be difficult to understand what’s happening in this world. Amid protestors and bigots and wars and revolutions the plight of people just around the corner, hiding in the margins, can so easily become obscured.

There are almost 700,000 homeless / runaway LGBTQ youth in this country; the National Runaway Switchboard estimates that young people who identify as LGBTQ are seven times more likely to be a victim of crime than their straight peers.

Today we all have the opportunity to practice tolerance.  We suggest this way to help:

The Ruth Ellis Center is in the midst of a fundraiser! For those who don’t know, Ruth Ellis Center is an organization in Highland Park that offers various services for LGBTQ youth, including:

• Second Stories, a Street Outreach Program and Drop-Center that serves youth and young adults ages 14 to 24.
• The Ruth’s House has two residential programs, serving LGBTQ youth in need of safe and supportive living conditions. The transitional living program serves young adults 16 to 21; Young people ages 12 to 17 are served through a semi-independent living program

Some other local resources can be found here, a list compiled by Affirmations in Ferndale, an outstanding resource in its own right.

Please consider donating some money or some time to help one of these worthy causes. And please: Be Yourself!

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

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I recently had the misfortune of inhaling the rank fumes of one of these stinky jingles. The series advertises something called Truvia, a sweetener that purports itself a good, natural replacement for sugar. The Truvia commercials feature several versions of a cute song by a musician named Therese Hegler. I don’t know much about Therese Hegler, but I would like to know why she wrote a misogynist song to sell fake sugar. Not only is the song cynical stereotype, it also uses intrinsic style tropes employed by influential, empowered female musicians. A double whammy of cynicism.

The Truvia song is a simple melody that features half-spoken / half-sung vocals and an intimate strumming familiar to anyone who’s heard the Moldy Peaches, but apparent in a wide-ranging spectrum from Tegan and Sara to Ani Difranco. These elements of style appear in many permutations, but for the purposes of this argument I’ll label them as “feminist anti-folk,” as they incorporate much of the anti-folk ethos while, in my estimation, being categorically feminist.

The simultaneous intimacy and primacy foregrounds what the singer is saying: the message and the music are equally important. Generally the vocal is less adorned in trills, runs, reverb, and harmony, disrobing the illusory nature of the multi-track production. Since the proliferation of multi-track recording in the mid-twentieth century, many of the most popular female musicians have been lavishly produced to emphasize the beautiful elements of the singer, both sonically and physically (think Madonna, Gaga, Diana Ross). In the type of music I am describing, these elements are de-emphasized in favor of raw truths. Although feminist anti-folk might not be your cup of tea, when executed well these songs can be devastatingly beautiful. A great example of this is Ani Difranco’s “Both Hands” (which is definitively better than any song you ever wrote).

So, why is it bad that Truvia is co-opting a musical style that values oft-disenfranchised populations like women and LGBTQQ? I suppose if it were only co-opting the style, I wouldn’t be throwing an internet tantrum. But let’s take a quick look at some of the choice messages featured within Hegler’s ode to fake sugar.

For starters, these song chunklets all begin with the lyric “I loved your sweetness,” and proceed to describe sugar as if it were an abusive pig of a boyfriend. The chorus then goes on to say “But I found a new love,” describing Truvia as the saving grace, being pure because it’s made from some sort of plant (sugar being in no way made from plants). It doesn’t get off to a great start, but a few of these commercials devolve into a pretty despicable series of predatory body-shaming tangents:

But I found a new love / a zero-calorie true love / that comes from a green leaf / sweet surprise / it’s natural, guilt free / no artificiality / it won’t land on my hips or my thighs

and…

I loved your sweetness / but you’re not sweet, you made my butt fat / you drove me insane / self-control down the drain / …. my skinny jeans zipped in relief

The takeaway is this: in order to save you from a tyrannical boyfriend that plays horrific mind games and flirts with all your friends, you need to stop being fat (via a GREEN LEAF).

By using feminist anti-folk as the backdrop, Truvia draws the listener in. We hear familiar sounds and think, “oh hey, this sounds like feminist music – these fake sugar guys are presenting a new alternative product!” The messaging preys upon familiar, entrenched standards of oppression while employing a style that promotes the opposite message, one of empowerment.

This kind of subversion is so easy to miss because the codes compete. When I finally listened to lyrics I’d probably heard a dozen of times, I found them to be egregious. I assumed they’d be appealing to sisterhood or empowerment in some corny way because of those elements of style. I expected a safe message from a powerful woman, not one telling other women that the only way to escape a shitty boyfriend is to stop being fat.

Obviously, after listening to this commercial a thousand times for the purposes of writing this article, the nuances are more clear to me. Yet I don’t know Hegler, her motivations, nor do I understand the jingle biz; maybe she didn’t even write the lyrics. Maybe she’s just a cuteness robot designed to disarm the ears. It’s just a little ditty, after all. What’s the big deal? I don’t know that I remember. All that I do know is that I just can’t sit in front of a computer like a lump of misshapen tallow anymore. I need to go do some crunches.

Errant Droppings:

• Turns out that with a few simple Googles it’s pretty easy to find out that Truvia isn’t even that natural or good for you. I guess it’s true that plants don’t really come in crystalline, powdery form.
• Next week: hidden Illuminati / Freemason messages in the Budweiser Frog campaign.
• While writing this I thought of an alternative ad campaign for Truvia: the protagonist is a Sweet Young Trick addicted to that good dope her Sugar Daddy (get it?) gives her.  And then a Handsome (white) Cop swoops in and shoots Sugar Daddy’s genitals off and Handsome (white) Cop looks at Sweet Young Trick and tells her: “Sick of the sugar, baby? Scoop this” and then he fires another gun, filled with Truvia, up Sweet Young Trick’s nose.  Immediately a Healthy (white) Baby falls out of her uterus.  Fin.

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

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The opening track “Jackie Oasis,” instantly distinguishes itself as a departure from the acoustic oeuvre Smith has developed over the years. The Redettes are a bass-drums-electric guitar combo with excellent musicianship, but play loosely enough that the classic Sycamore quirk isn’t lost. All of Smith’s music has a way of sticking in your head, and this record is no exception. “Jackie” features a beautifully simple guitar countermelody, an example of the kind of successful compositional touches that make Ed more than just the new Sycamore Smith effort. Importantly, the lyrics remain typically poignant and perverse, a feature that would impoverish the record with its absence. I’m tempted to offer some quotations, but it’s a slippery slope with Smith’s lyrics; you could really pluck any line from any song as evidence that his talent is singular.

Although Ed features nary a dull moment, I’d point out that there are some production points that could be improved upon. The vocals need to be more prominently featured in the mix. I don’t care if you have Neal Peart and Zakir Hussein on percussion, there’s no way drums should compete with Sycamore Smith’s vocals. Not only is he an incredible performer, but again, his lyrics are worthy of enshrinement. I’d also like the guitar tone to bite a bit more, to be a little sharper. The record features a mild, limp sort of distortion that works on a few songs (“The Undertaker Smiles,” and “Rang-A-Tang,”), but generally doesn’t hit as hard as those rigidly precise acoustic strums Sycamore is known for.

That being said, there isn’t a drop of bad music on this record. In fact, three of the record’s songs are revelatory, among Smith’s best work. In addition to that British Rock feel of “Jackie Oasis,” there’s the reinterpretation of the classic “The Bounce, the Bulge, & The Ball.” “Bounce,” is constructed upon a single, overwhelming melody that demands accompaniment by a Cossack dance, and eventually crescendos into a sandstorm of strings, electric guitar, and blissful mayhem. It marks a height of musical intensity never before reached by Smith throughout his long career.

The record culminates in its ultimate achievement, a sweetly brief track entitled “Rang-A-Tang.” It has all the requisite lyrical brilliance and controlled chaos that Ed hangs its hat on, but the chorus is something truly special. Compacted into a tight melody and a hard-hitting percussive flourish, Smith sings (channeling a Strummer sneer): “the man who put the bomp in the bom-bom-omp is dragging his wife to the edge of the swamp / she drags / she drags / she drowns.” Here Smith turns his lyrical vision inward, ascribing one of his famed, demented characters with the power of the music that he’s singing. The result is a stunningly affecting and catchy song that I’ve not been able to escape for months, no matter how much I claw at the mire.

Well, dammit. I said I wasn’t going to quote the lyrics, and there I went. That’s what a Sycamore-penned record will do to you, though. As hooky and well performed as the songs are, there’s some dark alchemy to those lyrics that elevate. It’s a bizarre effect, and despite wanting to hear those words more clearly, it is felt in full on Ed. You can listen to it on Bandcamp and own it for five dollars, and I recommend you do both in excess.

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

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While the MCR fact checkers are hard at work / losing their jobs, we’ll move on to summarize that Ryan Allen is a prolific songwriter, musician, and overall contributor to the Michigan music scene.  We’d be worse off without his efforts, so it’s good to see a new project featuring his work come together with a cohesive vision.

In the past Allen has either led or had a hand in projects like Thunderbirds Are Now!, Friendly Foes, New Grenada, and his own brainchild Ryan Allen & His Extra Arms.  His newest collaboration, featuring members of MCR darlings Copper Thieves, is Destroy This Place.  Their recent free BandCamp release Resurrect The Mammoth is a straightforward Indie power-pop record that doesn’t stray too far from where Allen-affiliated projects have gone in the past.  It’s hooky, catchy, well composed, and expertly produced.  Mammoth recalls the work of Ted Leo, The New Pornographers, Foo Fighters, and Guided By Voices.

There’s also a bit of heaviness there, evinced by the album’s BandCamp banner, which features a handsome array of heavy heads and cabs.  With the record’s opener, “Safe To Say,” Destroy This Place immediately declare that no riff will obfuscate the record’s central aim: to crush you with pop-rock.  Or maybe to rock you with crush-pop.  Or pop you with – well, you get it.

Destroy This Place are at their best when they are concise.  Impossibly catchy tunes like “All That Glitters,” and “Pioneers,” are hard proof of this band’s ability to edit themselves down to the pure melodic essentials.  The latter track recalls the guitar-driven work of late-90′s / early-2000′s Guided By Voices but manages to have a harder edge, fomenting the urge to crush and destroy (in a positive way).

It’s no coincidence, then, that their weakest efforts are their longest songs.  “Ignore It,” and “Rifled,” tend to meander around their own refrains, with choruses that are not strong enough to redeem the general aimlessness.  ”Ignore It” in particular feels like it is going nowhere and taking its time to not get there.  It doesn’t make you want to destroy anything!  Luckily one is never too far from another successful track, and the reward for sticking it through is the record’s best song.

Ultimately, there are few bold steps on Mammoth.  It’s not going to shake up the scene or make you think about anything.  Destroy This Place can get away with kicking the can forward like that because the songs are strong enough, the vocals are sharp enough, and the riffs riffy enough to sustain the ear’s attention.  It may not have reinvented the wheel, but Destoy This Place’s Mammoth might just crush some cavemen.

Resurrect the Mammoth by Destroy This Place

Ethan Milner

Ethan is a writer and a social worker in ann arbor. Ethan's cat is a drug addict.

More Posts - Website