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Wes Anderson’s new feature film ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’ hit theaters this past week, drawing audiences and critics with its distinctive Anderson-Aesthetic brand of comedy. At this point, many filmgoers know what to expect from an Anderson film, as the director’s cult popularity has gradually introduced his style into the popular consciousness. While the director’s films may explore new plots, sets, characters and colors, audiences understand that they are unlikely to plunge into truly unknown territory, instead embroidering on familiar themes and landscapes. Anderson’s cinematic storytelling often expands on a certain aesthetic theme, with Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums and the Life Aquatic centering in turn on the structures of a high school, a tenement house, and a submarine. In a similar vein, Anderson’s new film centers on a hotel. The ‘Grand Budapest Hotel’ operates against a painted mountainous background in the fictional Republic of Zubrowka. Depicted in a juxtaposition of flashbacks to a sumptuous golden age and present day decline, ‘Zubrowka’ evokes political sentimentality reminiscent of the declining Ottoman empire – or maybe of any degenerating empire.

Jude Law plays a writer on a stay at a drab and tacky version of the hotel in the 1960s, who makes the acquaintance of the proprietor of the hotel, Mr. Zero Moustafa. Moustafa relates to the writer his early history at the hotel, working as a lobby boy under the tutelage of socialite/concierge Mr. Gustave (Ralph Fiennes), whose flighty mannerisms, almost moral emphasis on décor, and sexual exploits dominate the rest of the film. Gustave’s vociferous love affairs with the hotel’s elderly female patrons intertwine him – and by extension, Zero – in an intrigue involving a noble family, a disputed inheritance and an ominous hitman. The exploits that ensue are often slapstick, particularly in a rollicking prison break and chase scene that culminates in a Marx Brothers-esque gunfight. However, the film’s bright colors and adventurous spirit are framed by an inescapable sense of loss. Old Moustafa admits that he cannot even reminisce about his young love Agatha (Saoirse Ronan) without crying, while terse, tacky style of the 1960s set reminds us that the past has been lost to war, ideology and institutionalization. Zubrowka may be fictional, but the shadow of war hovers over the end of the Grand Budapest’s glory days with a familiarly foreboding tenseness of militarization, secret police and border inspections – while the sense of oppression encasing the decrepit 1960s Budapest feels familiar as well. In Grand Budapest, Anderson uses his refined sense of aesthetic design to illuminate an arc of glory, war and repression that feels both familiar and timeless.

 

Say “Mmm Mmm!”

Say “God DAMN!”

I’m your pusha man, I’m your- I’m your pusha man. Twenty-year old Chancellor Bennett, formally known as Chance the Rapper, started his second song of the night off with a call and response introduction leading into the track “Pusha Man.” Each time he called out his instructions he would jump with both feet, hopping around the stage like an over-caffeinated energizer bunny turned rapper. His energy level was easily the most consistent and most redeeming aspect of the performance. Whether I was standing in the last row or pressed up against the jostling crowd just a few bodies from the stage, I felt as though I was right next to Chance, absorbing his radiation. He made one thing abundantly clear that night: he loves performing.

And the crowd loved him for it. Despite dominating every music blog on the face of the internet, his many magazine covers and upcoming multitude of summer music festivals, Chance is still a rising artist. Granted, he’s rising faster than most anyone in the music industry right now, but his stardom is only about a year old. As such, a sold out Hill Auditorium is actually one of the bigger shows he has ever headlined. This statistic, combined with Michigan’s proximity to his hometown and muse Chicago, and Michigan’s success at sports, made for one excited artist and 3,500 crazed fans.

Unfortunately for these fans, and anyone who like me, had been waiting for the opportunity to see Chance in person, the concert was notably short. After a stellar and poised performance from Noname Gypsy to open up the stage, Chance came out at around 9:15 and was completely done by 10:30. Certain aspects of this were understandable. After a year of intense performing and touring, he has to be tired of some of his more popular songs. So while the entire crowd desperately wanted to hear “Juice,” I can immediately forgive him for not wanting to play it. Also, it’s understandable that his songs are going to be short; most of Acid Rap’s tracks feature guest artists, so most of the time Chance could only sing his verse and one or two rounds of a chorus. Again, there is no real way around this. However, what he could have easily done was to dig deeper into his repertoire. He didn’t play a single song from his first project Ten Day all night, probably because he (correctly) assumed that most of the white 18-22 year olds were there to support the catchier tracks from his latest mixtape, not to indulge in the entirety of his work. To me, this meant shorter songs, longer instrumental solos and frequently interruptions for applause. To cover these shortcomings, Chance kept his energy level high, dancing and jumping and spraying water and revealing layers and layers of personalized jerseys for the crowd’s entertainment. Despite these antics, I still walked away from Hill that night feeling slightly unfulfilled. There are fewer features on Ten Day, and playing a couple of his earlier songs would have given Chance the opportunity to really get into a song, and not just provide a teaser.

Still, it is hard not to enjoy a Chance the Rapper concert. His live band and jazz influence makes him the next Prince and not the next Meek Mills. He clearly loves making music, and using it to influence people around him. Although I think the true power of his song “Paranoia” was lost on the mostly intoxicated white audience (true to any large gathering of Michigan students), it was clear to everyone that Chance has substantive lyrics.

Highlights of the night included his joint performance of the song “Lost” with Noname Gypsy, his personalized Michigan basketball jersey and Chance’s infectious, glowing energy that transformed Hill Auditorium into his own personal playground. During his more tranquil, introspective songs as well as his more high-energy dance tracks, one message strongly came through the speakers. “Everything’s Good.”

Last Friday, thanks to the Residential College’s Feminist Forum, I attended a talk given by Chicago pop music critic Jim DeRogatis entitled “R. Kelly, Woody Allen, and Daniel Tosh: Does Separating the Art from the Artist Perpetuate Violence Against Women?” DeRogatis was the key journalist in breaking the stories of R. Kelly’s notorious sex crimes against underage girls. Though I didn’t agree with everything said by DeRogatis, his main point – to get us talking about the major issues of sexual violence prevalent in mass media – was highly successful. In brief, as I understood it, DeRogatis expressed that when an artist’s personal transgressions are reflected in their art, the public is sustaining an environment of acquittal, which is exactly the verdict declared on the R. Kelly trials despite the filmed evidence to the contrary. DeRogatis, however, argued that while he could never watch Woody Allen’s Manhattan (a film about an older man in a relationship with a much younger woman) due to its relation to the allegations surrounding the director, he would still highly esteem Midnight in Paris because its quality exists in a separate sphere than Allen’s personal life. DeRogatis referenced fellow journalists who have called the public to action by way of creating a less easy environment for these major names to not only get away with heinous crimes, but also to create and put out art explicitly about those crimes. Where DeRogatis’ focus was on the latter, I’d like to emphasize the crucial nature of the former.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that much of the ground covered in this talk directly and indirectly related to my former blogs. This was a red flag for me to do some rethinking. DeRogatis’ point that art unrelated to the artist’s personal life could still maintain merit really struck a chord with me that contradicts some of what I said previously on the death of the artist. Feeding into a public figure’s good reputation and wealth does in fact provide these figures with an easier environment to escape the repercussions of their actions. Continuing to support figures such as Terry Richardson, whose alleged sexual assault against his models has been widely publicized, reinforces not only their means of escaping the system, but also perpetuates a mentality that says this kind of behavior is okay if your art is good enough. Some of the top voices in pop culture on women’s advocacy have worked with Richardson, such as Beyoncé and Lady Gaga, and his career continues to flourish because his portfolio trumps his criminal record.

There are also many artists who produce work with violent and sexist messages that that differentiate from their personal life. I am a firm advocate of free speech, but until we establish a groundwork of morality, I think artists like Eminem are playing with fire when they put horribly violent and degrading lyrics into their art. I think Eminem has so much talent but lyrics like “Bitch I’ma kill you! You don’t wanna fuck with me Girls neither – you ain’t nothing but a slut to me Bitch I’ma kill you!” disturb me on a level that transcends freedom of speech issues. It’s the same with comedians and rape. I understand joking about harsh realities to make them seem lighter, but until society has a better handle on the overwhelming rape and sexual assault culture, rape is just not funny. It’s not free speech that needs to be changed, it’s not more censorship that we need, it’s a major mentality shift where consumers begin to exercise their rights and raise their voices in starting these kinds of conversations or abstaining from works of art (or artists) that oppose their values.

DeRogatis was absolutely correct about one thing, we can’t keep giving these well established figures of talent an environment to act as they please with no repercussions. I want artists to be able to say whatever they want about anything, but until we live in a society where there is an educated awareness about the reality of these issues of sexual violence, I think artists need to create with a better sense of social responsibility to the mass audience they’re reaching. The death of the artist is important to the work, but the artist as a member of this society should not be able to hide behind his art from the consequences of his or her actions. The messages put out by world renowned artists, like Eminem, are instrumental in facilitating this change. That being said, I also firmly believe in the social responsibility of the consumer. It’s time that we start really understanding where our money is going and what kind of morals and lifestyles we want to support. I may understand that Eminem is playing a character, but his middle school audience might not. The media is accessible to all ages and while no one can be sheltered from the harsh realities, we can all use our voices and buying power to stop the promotion of sexist and sexually violent ideologies, at least until we live in a world where they don’t already permeate reality.

Thank you so much to Jim DeRogatis and the Feminist Forum for providing me with the tools and inspiration for rethinking some of my former claims. Whether you agree with me or not, it’s important that we are talking about these issues in hopes of bringing about the change we want to see in mass media and in our everyday lives.

As part of a Bachelors in Music each Voice Major is required to take diction classes in French, German and Italian. For the first half of the semester the class functions like a normal university course: the rules are presented to the class by the professor, examples are shown, exceptions are noted, with quizzes and a midterm to follow. Following the midterm the class becomes performance based where each student presents two songs or arias in the language which has been studied and is critiqued by their peers and professor.

After I sang in diction yesterday I couldn’t help but think and brood over all the reasons I absolutely hate singing in diction. Being in a snarky mood, this list expanded to a list of reasons I hate singing. Since for the past 7 months I have blogged about all the reasons I love music I felt it was appropriate to share this list.

Reasons I hate singing:

1. Singing before 10 am is nearly impossible. Diction classes starts at 9:30 and somehow I always end up going first.

2. Performing requires so much multitasking. When I focus on my technique I forget to act. When I remember to use my RLC (rapid, late, and clear) consonants I think more about the sounds of the words and less about their meaning. When I think about my breath support I forget about my jaw tension. The list goes on.

3. Everyone expects you to perform for free, or worse, pay a membership fee. Experience and exposure seem to be buzz words in this area. Do my computer engineering friends get asked to design and code websites for experience and exposure? No. They get offered at least $10/hr.

4. Application fees. Any summer program, competition, or school that you want to apply for requires an application fee of at least $35. Once you pay that you have to pay for an accompanist (typically $50 for a total of 20 minutes of their time), transportation to the audition and lodging depending on when and where the audition is being held.

5. Continuous danger of public failure. Get a C on your EECS 280 project? That’s between you and the autograder. Forget your words, sing a wrong note or crack on a high note? Everyone knows and silently judges.

6. There are so many sopranos. For every part I will ever audition for there will be at least 20 other sopranos waiting in line behind me trying for the same part. If there was a class where out of 20 students only one person could get an A and everyone else failed I would avoid that class like the plague, yet I subject myself to the same thing at audition after audition after audition.

7. If I get less than 8 hours of sleep my voice teacher can tell immediately. However, consistent sleep schedules and college do not work well together resulting in a difficult balancing act of sleep and homework.

8. On-stage romance. Playing the romantic lead is no fun when your on-stage love interest has B.O., bad breath or is just someone you don’t get along with. Sometimes it is really hard to suppress the desire to hit them as they go in for the kiss.

9. I spend about 1.5 hours a day locked in a 5′ x 5′ stark white box which passes for a practice room. During that time frustration reigns as perfection is constantly sought but never achieved.

10. As a vocalist my body is my instrument. This means that indulging in vices from yelling to drinking, sleep deprivation to acidic foods directly affects how I sing, limiting and eliminating their presence in my life.

11. Like many performers, I cannot stand the sound of my own voice. This negatively skews my perception of my vocal ability and career potential, resulting in additional unnecessary stress.

12. I want a career in music so badly that I often finding myself giving up other things so that I can work toward that goal. I have lost friendships and ended relationships for music because I couldn’t find the time to do both.

For every reason I hate music and singing there are 10 reasons I could never give it up. Music has become my vice; it is the itch I must scratch and such an integral part of my life that without it, I wouldn’t know who I was or what I was doing with my life. Still, sometimes it feels good to complain.