Hit or Miss? An in Depth Look at Lana Del Ray

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Earlier this year, Lana Del Ray performed live at the Lollapalooza in Santiago, Chile. Although I was not able to attend this performance, the internet is such a wonderful, convenient place that is was very easy to find a full concert video. I’ve never seen a full live concert of hers; let’s just say I had a few qualms with this one. She seems to be very uncomfortable in a live setting. Whether it’s nerves, or just not having great stage presence, Lana’s performances are always a hit or miss for me. From seeing the entirety of this concert, Lana Del Ray seems like she’s not a great live performer, but she flourishes creatively as a writer/artist in a studio setting.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fNWASDXE2I

The first thing I noticed in this concert was the song she started with, 13 Beaches. It seemed like she was off to a rocky start. Her higher…

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No, Ryan Gosling, jazz is not dying

“I never thought jazz was meant to be a museum piece like other dead things once considered artistic” -Miles Davis

Like Mia from the hit movie La La Land, I hated jazz. The whiny melodies, the seemingly endless improv sessions in the middle of a standard, the sloppy syncopation of swung lines—it just didn’t make sense. Why would anyone care to listen to jazz, let alone devote their whole lives to this slapdash music style? Needless to say, I was less than excited to learn that I would be joining my sister at some obscure jazz club in New York City to listen to some random jazz group on one of my last days of freedom before college. On the plus side, the club served food. I was pleasantly surprised to walk into what appeared to be a restaurant, already aglow with the murmur of conversations around me, as I sat down at a table adjacent to an empty stage. A tarnished saxophone sat on stage just out of arm’s reach, seeming to cooly asses the audience from its position behind a mic stand. As I carefully sipped the bowl of piping-hot gumbo in front of me, I steeled myself for what I believed was going to be one of the most banal concerts of all time. Boy was I wrong.

The band filtered out: a large saxophone player who picked up his instrument with the tenderness of a mother picking up her first-born child, a suave pianist, a shrimpy-looking drummer who was dwarfed by the bass drum, a dorky trombonist, a lanky bass player who sauntered out to a stool before absentmindedly caressing his instrument as though it was his long lost love, and finally a trumpet player, strutting out to center stage. Following only the briefest of introductions, a crash of noise, and the first chart had begun, a song that I had no hope of recognizing. The drummer nodded along to his rhythm, eyes glued to the trumpet player, who punctuated the sentences of the trombonist, who provided the countermelody to the saxophonist, who transformed the tarnished piece of metal sitting alone onstage moments ago into a living being. The saxophone was no longer an instrument, but instead an extension of the man, a living being, caught up in the fabric of the music and adding its own intricate embroidery to the texture. Without any warning, the sax dropped out and the trombonist was now steering the song. All eyes were now on him as the band members spoke to each other in a language I couldn’t understand, with music instead of words and head nods for punctuation. The music crescendoed, increasing in passion and strength until it felt as though the noise would shatter the walls of the room, too ripe with emotion to be contained by mere sheetrock. Then without warning, silence. An ephemeral stillness, followed by the explosion of applause.

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One of their later charts, a ballad, nearly brought me to tears. The trumpet player switched to a flugelhorn, before diving into the honey-thick noise created by the saxophone and drum set, outlined by the occasional hiss of the cymbal. He sang through the flugel, a cross between the pure hymn of an angel and the anguished wail of a lost lover, with eyes squeezed shut, body slowly swaying to his own song as it rose in both energy and tempo. Each note hung in the air like embers from a fire, glowing as they floated up to the stars, until the song ended on one final cry behind the sizzle of the cymbals. The remaining songs followed this precedent of spontaneous creation and communication, producing an experience that was both practiced to perfection, and constantly new and changing.

Throughout the entirety of the jazz concert, there was always a conversation between the musicians, a sort of cycle of improvisation and creativity, passed around from person to person. The jazz wasn’t just music. It was a living, breathing force, an entranced being conjured up from the people on stage, and their lumps of noise-making twisted metal and wood. It was alive. And, in spite of what Sebastian from La La Land may believe, something as alive and jazz can never truly die.

Pray for Panic! A Deep Dive into Urie’s Mind

globalmusicgirl's avatarMusic and the World Around Us

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Panic! At the Disco,” has been a very thought provoking band since their inception in 2004. Since then, they have gathered a cult following of young females who obsess over the band’s frontrunner, Brendon Urie. In the beginning, there was also Ryan Ross (guitar), Spencer Smith (drums), and Brent Wilson (bassist). Slowly, for various reasons, they began to quit the band one by one. In 2015, Urie became the only official member. However, Brendon has been able to keep the band’s name alive and fresh, with new songs, and the hidden storyline of certain songs, especially as he pours his whole self into the music, and almost each track in his 2018 album. Urie gives us a peek into the mind of a musician dealing with serious issues.

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Panic! At the Disco was hailed as one of the emo pop greats of the 2000s. Throughout the times, their…

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More Than Just Pop: The Script

“The beauty of their lives
Is when they’re dead and gone
The world still sings along
When anything went right
When anything went wrong
They put it in a song”

-Danny O’Donoghue

The Script is changing the script of pop music (excuse the pun). In their eponymous debut album, The Script, the Irish trio proves that they are much more than just another boy-band. Embedded in each and every one of their songs is a carefully scripted story written to resonate with an audience beyond just your run-of-the-mill pop-obsessed teenagers, touching on topics as basic as heartbreak, to as nuanced as the inequity in today’s social climate. This exquisite storytelling, combined with the group’s inventive sprinkling of rock and R&B influences in their songs, all polished to perfection, explains how the album The Script has won the test of time over this past decade.

While The Script was only propelled to stardom in 2008, the band’s lead vocalist Danny O’Donoghue and guitarist Mark Sheehan have a rich musical history together, and even knew each other since childhood. The two previously performed in an Irish-based group called Mytown, but failed to gain international acclaim and soon disbanded. Following this, the duo traveled to Los Angeles where they worked alongside producers and performers alike, before recruiting drummer Glen Power and, following a series of jamming sessions, founded their own band. The group’s first album, The Script, debuted shortly thereafter.

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The album opens with the single “We Cry,” a carefully crafted ballad with soaring vocals and ghostly coos, combined with a rock-esque taste added by the guitar, all on top of the background heartbeat of the drum kit. Interspersed between the smooth cries of the melody, O’Donoghue, in an almost spoken-word style, tells the hard-knock stories of a young mother, a drug-addicted musician, and an aspiring female politician. He breaks through the pop-music tide of hollow love-sick and bubbly lyrics, instead tackling heavier topics ranging from drug abuse, to sexism, to inequity, singing, “I’m sick of looking for those heroes in the sky to teach us how to fly.” The raw truth emanating from the lyrics in “We Cry,” juxtaposed with the smooth and polished notes of the music, packs a powerful punch for the Script’s opening track.

Before the Worst” returns us to the sounds of a more classic pop song, complete with a steady backbeat of drums and guitar, and an almost desperate banging of the keyboard. The intimate rawness of the lyrics, reflecting on “a time when we stayed up all night, best friends, yeah, talking til the daylight”  is perhaps what makes it such a universally understood and widely received piece. In an interview, Sheehan explained that fans would come up to him and tell stories about what this song means to them and how they relate to the lyrics, proving just how large the fanbase is that “Before the Worst” resonates with.

The following tracks likewise detail romantic pitfalls, providing stories that are simultaneously detailed and personalized, while also accessible enough for a wide audience to relate to the lyrics. Things are then shaken up with the song “Rusty Halo,” marked by a more rock-based beat. The fast-paced tempo of this track automatically induces a sort of anxiety in the listener, yet ironically, this song also introduces subtle religious overtones, suggesting a sort of upcoming final judgement day in the lyrics, for which O’Donoghue has to “Shine my rusty halo.” While not appealing to a specific narrative, this track touches more generally on the likewise universal idea of guilt.

Towards the end of the album, The Script briefly diverges from their classic storytelling style for a gag song, “If You See Kay” (spelling out F-U-C-K). The origin of this song actually directly involves the members of The Script and their audience alike, in which O’Donoghue posted the opening lyrics to “If You See Kay” online, and then let listeners comment on and tweak the song however they like from there.

The album ends with the softest ballad yet, “I’m Yours,” complete with the steady backbeat of an acoustic guitar, and soothing coos from O’Donoghue himself. Although a more standard sappy love song, this provides listeners with an opportunity to recuperate after unpacking emotional baggage from the earlier tracks. That’s not to say, though, that “I’m Yours” lacks musical value. The guitar bridge before the last refrain has an almost Spanish guitar-vibe to it, and the swells of the music throughout the track create a warm and relaxed feeling to the piece, a welcome change from the rougher rock-based earlier tracks. And of course, given that this song is so lovey-dovey, virtually anyone in a relationship can relate to the piece both on its surface level, and more deeply upon analysis of the lyrics.

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Although some critics claim that The Script is somehow too polished, these people are ironically overlooking the very thing that makes The Script’s first album so timeless: its attention to detail. More specifically, it’s attention to the intimate details of life, love, pain, and joy in the narratives of their songs. Ten years after its debut, The Script is still widely played on a variety of music stations and channels not because of the notes that the band wrote on the page, but instead as a result of everything the band created that goes beyond the written music, from their interactions with fans and listeners, to the ageless stories they tell with their songs. The Script’s uncanny ability to connect with each and every one of their audience members is thus what makes their first track rise above the level of  mere noise, instead being transformed into a powerful and timeless force in itself.

 

The Much Needed Resurrection of “An American Elegy”

“This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.” — Leonard Bernstein

Since the Columbine shooting in 1999, over 215,000 students have been exposed to gun violence in their schools, inducing widespread outrage in America as the debate on gun control raises to a fever pitch. In this past year alone, a walkout was organized by students nationwide in response to the Parkland shooting, and Americans banned together through various social media hashtags, including “#MeNext,” to express their opinions on gun reform. On the opposite side of this argument, members of the NRA (National Rifle Organization) are becoming increasingly vocal both online and at rallies, and many argue that eliminating the right to bear arms would be counterproductive, further endangering unarmed Americans. With both sides of the gun control debate so impassioned, this issue is becoming increasingly polarized. Ironically, more attention is placed on being proven right than on creating change, and fear and outrage emanating from all sides of the debate has resulted in the stifling stalemate that we find ourselves in today.  This stagnancy, however, has one simple solution: hope. And that is exactly the message that Frank Ticheli communicates in his concert band piece entitled “An American Elegy.”

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This piece was written in 2000 in response to the Columbine shooting, and in memory of the victims of the tragedy.  As he explains in the program notes, “An American Elegy” is, “above all, an expression of hope.” Instead of retaliating against the tragedy by attacking the government for lax gun laws, or calling for security guards in schools and for teachers to learn to wield a gun, Ticheli uses music to unite people, and inspire the hope necessary to induce change.

Ticheli was commissioned to write “An American Elegy” following the tragic Columbine shooting, and the piece debuted in a joint performance with students from Columbine High School Band, and the University of Colorado Wind Symphony. This initial performance already illustrates the uniting power of music, and how much more impactful creation is than debate. In fact, Ticheli was able to compose virtually every element of “An American Elegy” in a mere two weeks, spurred on by the gravity of his budding creation. If only politics could operate at that speed.

In terms of the music itself, “An American Elegy” begins with just barely a whisper of the lowest voices in the band. These deep voices continually rise in both pitch and volume, and upper voices soon join in with a countermelody, until it feels that the song explode apart from the sheer noise and energy emanating from the band. A bell toll finally marks the emergence of a new chorale, however, and the piece transitions from this force of uncapped energy into a more meditative main theme. Just as people tend to first react with stunned silence to a tragedy, before more and more voices cry out in outrage and despair, this piece likewise begins with a sort of melancholy feeling, before more and more instruments are added to the composition. Throughout this, however, the initial base line almost exclusively rises in pitch, perhaps representing a sort of hope among the chaos. The bell that marks the transition of the music into a more melodic chorale parallels a funeral bell that unites people in remembrance of the deceased, and the first main theme introduced shortly thereafter is one of the first instances in which virtually all members of the band are working to create one united and cohesive theme.

About halfway through the piece, the meditative and muted series of themes and intertwining lines gives way to a triumphant trumpet countermelody, indicating a renewed sense of purpose to the voices of the piece. Shortly thereafter, however, the listener is faced with a very simple and stripped-down tune between clarinets and saxophones that lacks even the basic melodic line, leaving only a bare harmony in remembrance of the tragedy. In addition to honoring those who passed in the horrific attack at Columbine, this quiet transition highlights the strength of those who endured the attack. Approximately seven minutes into the piece, Ticheli writes an exact quotation of the alma mater of Columbine High School, focusing the attention of the piece on the tragedy of Columbine.

“An American Elegy” concludes with an offstage trumpet solo, followed by one final swelling of noise from band, paralleling the very first crescendo of the piece and marking a last return of the main melody. The music then gradually fades out, leaving only the clarinets and the occasional bell toll exposed, until that too lifts into the silence. After hearing to “An American Elegy,” the listener is almost guaranteed to be reduced to a stunned silence, in awe of the piece’s “poetic strength.”

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Even though this piece was composed nearly 20 years ago, Ticheli just this year wrote a letter to the Los Angeles Times about “An American Elegy” and modern gun violence. When Ticheli composed the piece, he expected Columbine to be an outlier, a tragic anomaly. Instead, gun violence in schools has become a common occurrence, which Ticheli blames on current politicians who lack “a humility and wisdom.” Luckily, however, this bold arrogance can be remedied through something as simple as music.

Music, when truly listened to, has the power to impact us profoundly. It can bring about intense emotions, induce reminiscing, and, perhaps most importantly, inspire hope. In creating “An American Elegy,” Frank Ticheli helped to unite a mourning community of people, paying homage to the victims of the shooting while also pushing forwards to the hopeful future. Today, however, when people spend every waking hour arguing about who is right, the noise of our own voices blocks out the magic of the music. In the debate on gun violence, and more broadly in virtually every emotionally or politically charged argument, people often slip down the rabbit hole of debate, forgetting about the problem yet to be solved. So perhaps, rather than adding their own voices to the cacophony of debate, politicians and protestors should give up ten minutes of their time and listen to Ticheli’s “An American Elegy.” If nothing else, the listeners may finally feel hope.

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