Blog Post #4

To a random person living in the US, country and punk probably don’t seem to have anything in common. They are associated with two drastically different scenes: country is often placed on the far right of the political spectrum, a reflection of “true” American ideals (AKA white nationalism), while punk is categorized as protest music, an outcry at the state of our society. What do they have in common then? These scenes revolve around a false narrative placing white males at the forefront of these genres, both as content creators and consumers. As Ludwig Hurtado puts it, “we take for granted that country music sounds white, looks white, and in many ways, is white”. But take a moment to venture into reality, and you’ll find that Latinos not only account for a huge portion of the listeners in each of these genres, but much of the sonic and societal influencers as well.

When exploring Home Alive, a Seattle-based self-defense group, Leah Michaels noted the cloudy narrative surrounding the organization’s creation, which was a reaction to the rape and murder of Mia Zapata of punk rock band The Gits. Despite being heavily into the underground scene in Seattle, Michaels was shocked to find she didn’t know about the organization before hearing about it in class, noting, “We found that it was really weird, like there was this lack of history talked about that no one of our generation knew about” (Dawes). This incredibly important and empowering organization was not included in the narrative of punk in Seattle, and neither was the murder of a prominent latina artist in punk. Once again, history continues the vile erasure of Latinos in American music.

In the typical love and theft fashion, Latino contributions to punk and country have been written out of the narrative. Just as Alice Bag pioneered punk with her ranchera inspired estilo bravío, early country music (circa 1930) is built upon Spanish banda, borrowing “sounds that are common in mariachi music: stylized violin or fiddle elements, various string instruments, and lots of horns” (Hurtado). In today’s country scene, The Last Bandoleros are unifying Latino and right wing white country fans through their music, diminishing the rift between these two groups by creating a musical common ground. But this isn’t being talked about in mainstream media! Like Michaels and Home Alive, I (and most of my classmates) had never heard of The Last Bandoleros before our introduction to the band in class. I struggle to find what, if anything, has changed in our country’s cultural narrative.

When will Latinos be credited for their pivotal influences in American culture?

References:
Dawes, Laina. “Finally, Filmmakers Tell the Forgotten History of Seattle DIY Self-Defense Group Home Alive.” Bitch Media, Bitch Media, 5 Dec. 2013, 2:33pm, http://www.bitchmedia.org/post/finally-filmmakers-tell-the-forgotten-history-of-seattle-diy-self-defense-group-home-alive.

Hurtado, Ludwig. “Country Music Is Also Mexican Music.” The Nation, The Nation Company LLC, 3 Jan. 2019, http://www.thenation.com/article/country-mexico-ice-nationalism/.

DJ Selections:

Below, I have selected This Land Is Your Land by Chicano Batman and Levitating by Xenia Rubinos. Both are songs of protest by Latino artists, but they use very different methods of protesting the white narrative. Chicano Batman released this cover in 2017, as the anti-immigration “build a wall” movement gained traction. They use this beloved American anthem as a pro-immigration protest, translating one verse to Spanish, “No existe nadie que pueda pararme / Por el camino de libertad / No existe nadie que pueda hacerme volver / Esta tierra es para ti para mi”. Levitating directly addresses the problem with privileged groups not recognizing their privileges and the violence of micro- and macro-aggressions from these supposedly well-meaning groups.

This Land Is Your Land by Chicano Batman

Levitating by Xenia Rubinos, Sammus, Olga Bell

Critical Karaoke

Maps by The Front Bottoms, on Self-Titled

High school was finally over. I was finally free! Well, kinda… It was time for me to enter the “real world”. I was going to college, to UW, moving out. There was so much ahead of me! In retrospect, most of that “real world” stuff was bullshit I’d idealized. I had these huge plans, these expectations for myself, but I was anxious. I knew the comfort of adolescence was “slipping through the palms of my sweaty hands” as I tried to move along in life.

Enter: The Front Bottoms, a band of two best friends, Brian and Mat. It was my favorite band for a long while, to the dismay of anyone who could hear when I was blasting their songs. Why? Well, this song isn’t the most drastic example, but to the classic rock- or pop-worshipping ears (so my parents, sister, and friends) the band sucks. See, Brian – yes, we are on first name basis – Brian isn’t the best at singing. And the lyrics aren’t poetic, they’re weird and blunt. There are no riffs that would make Hendrix proud, but there are voice cracks, keyboard smashes, and voicemail recordings. Things I knew. To most people, it’s shit. The lyrics, the name of the band, the subject matter, the instrumentals: all of it is so crass. But GOD, to newly-18-year-old me? Those nonsense lyrics, off-tune wails, and destructured melodies were my salvation. In my naive adolescence, two white boys from New Jersey were just the most relatable.

This song, Maps, embodies that summer after graduation for me. It makes it all real, audible: that uncertainty, that hope that things will be different, that doubt that they’ll even get better. I could listen and instantly know that I wasn’t the only one who felt like this (well, obviously, but I couldn’t always see that back then). I really did not know what the hell I was doing but I guess these two dudes didn’t either and that was a big comfort, for whatever reason.

I hated high school. I had that whole pop punk “I hate this town and everyone in it” thing and I very much fit The Front Bottoms’ aesthetic. But at the same time I was finally starting to enjoy some parts of my hometown. I was torn. Like the girl in this song, I was emotionally attached. I almost loved my friends enough to stay. But like the guy, I knew “if I don’t leave now then I will never get away” and I would always wonder if I’d be better off some place else.

This song is fairly pleasant to listen to. It’s upbeat tempo and poppy synth carry the band’s usual acoustic guitar and percussion to an optimistic place for a change. It takes me to “senior sunset”, the only purely social event I went to my senior year of high school. I was sitting on the beach with my friends, watching the sun dissolve into the water. In that moment, it felt less like the world was pitted against me. But that was very out of character.

In high school, I unhealthily clung to music because I didn’t have any better ways to cope. I was always overwhelmed by school, trying to please my parents and them not noticing, barely living through an unsustainable four years just to end up on a beach, with a bunch of people I didn’t like. I was mad, uncertain, emotional, unhinged, just like the music I listened to. But it was over. I was caught in the disbelief that I had made it to the end, mind hazy. I was uncertain but I made it, and I didn’t think I’d do that. I’m glad I had Brian and Mat to help me get to the scary, uncertain part to this optimistic, really nice part.

Blog Post #3

Since music became a ubiquitous commodity, it has been a form of protest and activism. In recent years, musical artists have been championed for their bravery in expressing feminist and LGBTQ-inclusive ideology. So a few feminist and LGBTQ icons have entered the mainstream. That’s great, but there are still systemic barriers in music that promote the straight, white, rich, male narrative.

The assumption in most music, as Mimi Nyugen explains, is that the default person in existence is “whitestraightboy” (2). In much of popular music, deeper political issues that disproportionately affect POC, female, and LGBTQ on a daily basis are not represented in the mainstream. It is hardly ever addressed that, “some people –white, heterosexual, middle-class, male– often travel in more comfort than others –nonwhite, queer, poor, female)” (Nyugen, 2). So often, popular/mainstream music and the latest hits fail to represent the majority of the population. THE WORLD IS NOT JUST STRAIGHT WHITE BOYS. But in mainstream music, it tends to appear that way.

Music is still a powerful platform to allow those oppressed groups to speak out about the issues that are not being addressed in their daily lives, and create a community with each other even when the mainstream won’t listen. Ann Powers writes about the role musicians played in publicizing and combating the AIDS epidemic of the 80s and 90s. Through the 80s,  music addressing AIDS was mostly contained within the gay community, pop music not taking notice of the deadly disease until much later. However, at the time, “The epidemic’s realities did increasingly inform the music of scenes where gay men were more audible,” (Powers, 254). Through musicals like Rent and men’s choruses, awareness of AIDS spread, but knowledge of this disease was barred from the mainstream for too long, and there is systemic homophobia and fear of other narratives to blame.

Today, we are lucky to have easy access to music outside the mainstream. Streaming is wonderful in that sense! And, artists of all backgrounds are beginning to rise in the mainstream (Beyoncé, Frank Ocean, Troye Sivan, Cardi B, to name a few). But there is still a very straight and very male dominance in popular music today, and LGBTQ-inclusive feminist messages have yet to dominate popular music.

Related Songs

Below are examples of LGBTQ artists addressing the harmful impact of a heteronormative society’s influence on same sex relationships, and how that forces the people involved hiding their true feelings and who they are.

References

Nyugen, Mimi. “It’s (Not) a White World: Looking for Race in Punk.” Punk Planet 28. (PDF)
Powers, Ann. “Oh No, It Hurts: AIDS, Reagan, and the Backlash; New York, San Francisco, Seattle, 1977-1997.” Good Booty: Love and Sex, Black & White, Body and Soul in American Music (New York: Harper Collins, 2017). (PDF)

Blog Post 2

As the most popular genre today, hip hop has huge potential for promoting social change in the current culture. Female hip hop artists like Cardi B are vocal on social media platforms like Instagram and Twitter about women’s rights and feminism. Aisha Durham et al. acknowledge that, “It is hip-hop feminism that is uniquely able to move women from the sidelines of the stages we built, and from the cheering section of audiences that our public pedagogies have made space for, to claim an unapologetic place at the center as knowledge makers and culture creators” (734). Feminists in hip hop use their platform to empower women and other marginalized communities, flipping the popular narrative of hip hop as an exclusively heteronormative and misogynistic genre.

Women in hip hop often face criticism of their personalities and professional merit. For example, Nicki Minaj, Cardi B, and cupcakKe are often provocative in their performance styles and not taken as seriously in the hip hop community as their male counterparts, which encourages the hypersexualized slutty rapper narrative. In the Kanye West song, Monster, Nicki Minaj directly addressed this, rapping, “So let me get this straight, wait, I’m the rookie? / But my features and my shows ten times your pay? / 50K for a verse, no album out”.

Additionally, when these artists experiment musically, it is not accepted. Jennifer Lena describes this criticism, “Musicians often do not want to be confined by genre boundaries, but their freedom of expression is necessarily bounded by the expectations of the other performers, audience members, critics, and the diverse others whose work is necessary to making, distributing, and consuming symbolic goods” (7). Though Beyoncé raps on many of her (and other artists’) songs, it took years for the hip hop community to see her as more than a girl group R&B singer. Hip hop feminism is a platform with the power to change the world, especially via the fanbase, but takes longer to reach the general hip hop community because female artists are not taken seriously in their artistry.

Related Songs:
The songs below include contributions from underrepresented minorities within the rap community (transgender, female, hispanic) and how their identities and beliefs affect how they interact with society.

Wish You Would (feat. Princess Nokia) – Mykki Blanco

LGBT – cupcakKe

Brujas – Princess Nokia

Durham, Aisha, et al. “The Stage Hip-Hop Feminism Built: A New Directions Essay.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, vol. 38, no. 3, 2013, pp. 721–737., doi:10.1086/668843.

Lena, Jennifer. “Music Genres”. Banding Together: How Communities Create Genres in Popular Music, pp. 1–26.

Puberty 2: Album review

It is difficult not to be biased in writing this because I intentionally chose an album that I love: Puberty 2 by Mitski. It is “indie” or “alternative” music, but is comprised of a variety of elements from other genres, especially punk, which separates her sound as distinctly, well, Mitski.

[DISCLAIMER]: I’m not sure I buy unto this whole “genre” thing. I appreciate their function in categorizing and talking about music, but there has been too much trouble caused by these useful categorization tools becoming over-glorified devices for gatekeeping music. As Jennifer Lena points out, “genres are numerous and boundary work is ongoing as they emerge, evolve, and disappear” (Lena, pp.7). Genres are loosely defined and change over time, and Lena suggests that debates over the criteria that make or break a genre, “serve not only to sort bands and songs into groups but also to identify those who are aware of current distinctions from those who are outsiders or hapless pretenders” (Lena, pp. 7). People need to loosen the boundaries of genre when critically discussing music, especially for an artist like Mitski, who borrows from many genre sources in writing her “indie” music. The racialized political economy continues to affect music categorization today. As a female Asian American artist, Mitski has been pushed out of the mainstream music narrative, lumped into this non-genre of indie rock that doesn’t get to break into the mainstream of popular music. Her position on the outside of the mainstream parallels that of Memphis Minnie, who was erased from the rock narrative early on. After watching her performance, Langston Hughes wrote, “But Memphis Minnie’s music is harder than the coins that roll across the counter” (Hughes, pp. 4), describing the power her music had to affect people on a deeper level than monetary. As sad as it is, that is the reality that many artists, Mitski included, face today as the mainstream and major labels continue to dictate which genres and who “makes it” in the business. [End disclaimer]

On Puberty 2, Mitski explores the fragile intensity of love and sex from a so often overlooked (especially in “indie” music) female perspective. In this exposé of female sexuality, Mitski is the active character, the one seeking and enjoying the sex rather than as an object of male enamorment. This album largely focuses on lyricism strewn with cutting and emotional imagery, which sits atop the platform provided by the instrumentation. Because of this, some of her songs, like “Once More to See You” and “I Bet On Losing Dogs”, are instrumentally simple for the majority of the song. But she still drags raw emotion from these songs, reminiscent of how blues artists used vocalization to draw the listener in to hear their (often lyrically repetitive) stories.

Her blend of musical styles is risky, but comes together in ways that keep the listener engaged, captivating their emotions through their ears. On “Once More to See You”, Mitski strips down the beats of the 60s groups that were derived from the clave to command the song’s bass and drum lines, layering background vocals and synthesizer to yearn for a lover once more. With scratching, frantic strumming, static buzzing, and vocals progressively moving toward spitting the words out viciously, “My Body’s Made of Crushed Little Stars” borrows from punk style. In addition, the lyrics express the artist’s perceived stagnance in her life as compared to her desires to see the world, utilizing work-life metaphors to scream about how she wishes she were dead: “I should tell them that I am not afraid to die… I work better under a deadline… I pick an age when I disappear”.

AND NOW! Your Best American Girl: The platform Mitski uses to discuss the tradeoffs she makes in her personal life as an Asian American woman, grappling with more than just unrequited love.

Mitski’s work doesn’t quite fit into the usual love and hate narrative that (white male) rock artists do. We live in a society that has been deeply affected by Rockism for decades, and Mitski exploit the stolen sounds of rock in her own critique of white male behavior on “Your Best American Girl”. In her punk style, Alice Bag transforms cancíon ranchera’s estilo bravío, which Habell-Pallán describes as, “the wild and rough vocal aesthetic in which women sing with aggressive, fearless, and bold expression, appropriating so-called masculine traits” (Habell-Pallán, pp. 250). Mitski uses similar transformations of estilo bravío throughout the album. Although “Your Best American Girl” starts as a slow, almost lullaby to an unrequited love, the songs builds up to the chorus in volume and instrumentation. Once she reaches the chorus, she employs these bold vocalizations in estilo bravío, singing, “Your mother wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me / But I do, I think I do / And you’re an all American boy /  I guess I couldn’t help trying to be your best American girl”. In this chorus, amplified vocals and electric guitar screeching with feedback crash together in an emotional exclamation of the artist realizing that no matter how hard she tried, her heritage will never let her be that idealized version of an American girl that her love wants.

A large part of Alice Bag’s performance style is her stage presence, her “jerks, jumps, and twirls” and “frenzied dance” as she projects her raw energy to the crowd from the stage (Habell-Pallán, pp. 254). When I saw Mitski, she moved to convey the energy of each song. While her music and stage persona are not exaggerated to the extent of Alice’s, she carries that connection to the audience. When I saw the clip of a live performance of “Gluttony” in class, it reminded me of Mitski’s performance of “Drunk Walk Home” from her album prior to Puberty 2, Bury Me At Makeout Creek, as shown in this clip: https://youtu.be/0O0RboqC0So?t=116. I love how Mitski performs this song. On the studio recording, Mitski screams over the beats; it’s raw and full of emotion, just like Alice’s performances in estilo bravío. In the clip, she gives the audience space to unleash their own screams while she carries that raw energy in her turbulent movements across the stage. Mitski is not Your Best American Girl. She is so much more.

References

  • Habell-Pallán, Michelle. “Death to Racism and Punk Rock Revisionism.” Pop: When the World Falls Apart: Music in the Shadow of a Doubt, 2012, pp. 247–270.
  • Hughes, Langston. “Music At Year’s End.” Chicago Defender, 9 Jan. 1943.
  • Lena, Jennifer. “Music Genres”. Banding Together: How Communities Create Genres in Popular Music, pp. 1–26.

Critical ModelS

Blog Post #1 Stream A

Kira Smith

Before the internet, print was the main way to write about music (a relic of an idea today considering the way most of us consume media: the internet). But beyond editorials, billboard hits, and “The Top 1000 Albums of This Decade SO FAR” lists, individuals could still (occasionally) share their narratives on the progression of music. 

Back in the days of print, Langston Hughes wrote about Memphis Minnie’s performance on the icebox. He praises her powerful music, but also takes the opportunity to criticize the venue and its owners, white men, who profit off her talents. Of these men, Hughes writes, “They never snap their fingers, clap their hands, or move intime to the music. They just stand at the licker counter and ring up sales on the cash register. At this year’s end the sales are better than they used to be” (Hughes). While these men are not moved by Minnie’s music, Hughes recognizes this monetary success is not everything, that “Memphis Minnie’s music is harder than the coins that roll across the counter” (Hughes), that her influence is something beyond mere capitalism – it’s humanism. In his poetry, Hughes expands the archive, exposing the club owners for the thieves they are. 

There have always been alternative stories regarding music history, digital media has just made them easier to create, consume, and care about. As Tara McPherson urges:

“Our field has taught us that technologies are not neutral tools, and that they powerfully influence social systems. Thus, it is imperative that we be involved in the design and construction of the emerging networked platforms and practices that will shape the  contours not only of our research, but of social meaning and being for decades to come,” (McPherson, pp. 123)”.

Our ability to communicate online, via this relatively new technology, is not optional: it’s something we all must do to keep these alternative narratives of music socially relevant. Much of this class focuses on “expanding the archive” of stories told about music, applying new perspectives to current and old content to reshape the way we think about this content as a population. In this way, we rewrite and often challenge the popular narrative surrounding the great influences on music.

DJ Selections:

These covers of the same song, Moon River, across more than 50 years demonstrate the sonic influence of new technologies, as well as the evolving context of a song through the lens of different artists’ experiences.

Citations:

  • Hughes, Langston. “Music At Year’s End.” Chicago Defender, 9 Jan. 1943.
  • McPherson, Tara. “Introduction: Media Studies and the Digital Humanities.” Cinema Journal, vol. 48, no. 2, pp. 119–123. Winter 2009, doi:10.1353/cj.0.0077.