Having discovered DIY music last year, I was fascinated by the dreamy, synth-filled ballads of young artists like Clairo and Gus Dapperton. Alternatively called bedroom pop, DIY music has proliferated through Spotify and Soundcloud. The subgenre is defined by lo-fi, somewhat psychedelic music that musicians create (some out of the comfort of their own bedroom). Often, the individual artist sings, records, and produces themselves, hence the title. There is something very honest, compelling, and intimate about this approach to music DIY artists take.

Notably, Clairo’s music video for “Pretty Girl,” produced in 30 minutes in 2017, garnered millions of views, skyrocketing the success of the now 19 year old singer. Her soft, but thoughtful vocals complement the groovy digital beats present in her songs. Now, she headlines tours and festivals, all while being a college student. Clairo’s discovery has also directed attention at similar artists, who don’t restrict themselves to a certain style of music. Instead, they experiment with production and borrow from alternative, indie, pop, rock, and hip hop influences. Some significant artists in the scene are Rex Orange County, Yellow Days, Kevin Abstract, and Cosmo Pyke. Clairo has recently collaborated with some of these musicians, including Cuco and Jakob Ogawa.

It will be intriguing to see how DIY music evolves. For bedroom pop aficionados, the real, raw direction that artists take are one of the best parts of this unique genre. Artists focus on producing exciting, personal music projects that don’t simply produce for mass audiences, but still sound good. I, for one, will be on the lookout for fresh new talent, and how this genre continues to affect the music industry.

(The Fader)

Within the first week of moving back to campus, I’ve been spending almost all my time with my friends, going to events, settling into my new dorm, doing work for student orgs, or just getting caught up in the day-to-day functions of sleeping, showering, working out, etc. I had forgotten how all-consuming my life in college is compared to the slow, steady work habits I’d developed over the summer at home. More than anything, I was stunned and frustrated when I realized that, after spending two hours tweaking and perfecting my semester’s Google calendar, I would have very little time for my own personal endeavors: for my writing, reading, and all the creative work I love and need to do.

In years past, I’ve completely relinquished my own creative passions and pursued my schooling with a crazed fervor. During the academic year, nothing mattered to me except class, work, and deadlines. I remember waking up at 2 am in high school to study for AP Chemistry (the class bulldozed me, to say the least) and spent my free time creating lessons plans for the Islamic Studies program I worked at. If I did create or consume, it was just either therapeutic or for a class– not real, substantial work that tested the limits of my imagination. But coming to Michigan has made me realize that though this academic religiousness is certainly well-intentioned, it cannot possibly be an end in itself. I have to take what I’ve learned and do something with it, to create, to live– for various people, this can mean different things, but for me, it means to write.

But there’s a problem. I have no time to write. Between classes and evening e-board meetings and hitting the gym and hanging out with friends and studying, there is very little left in my schedule that I can truly say belongs to me. How do I find time to create in this busy, big, bustling world? I am reading Aristotle, Dickinson, the earliest greatest novels and the works of contemporary geniuses, scouring textbooks and poetry alike– but where do I find myself? Where am I in this cosmic narrative? How do I write myself in?

I’ve been obsessing over this question. How do I write myself in. Surely, I can’t do this year what I’ve always done, which was to sell myself away during the school year and win myself back for creative pursuits in the summer. I can’t expect to be a good writer and write only three out of twelve months in the year. More than anything, I don’t want to mindlessly drift through my life, desperately trying to find my last bit of control and individuality that has been buried beneath my other commitments.

So I looked at my calendar. Then I looked at it again. And again (I’m still looking at it now, in fact). I think I’ll try to sneak an hour or two of work before I leave for class in the morning, and maybe thirty minutes of reading before I go to bed at night. It’s not the perfect plan, but I think that it’s possible.

Passions, I think, are not possessed by rare and ingenious people. People are not born with passion. We create it. We nurture it, like a small child, or a plant, or any other living, breathing thing; it needs care, it needs to be protected, and it needs to be given space and time. We all care about things. But how much? That’s what separates a creator from a consumer. It’s not our talent or our passions that matter. It was never about that. It’s how much we’re willing to fight for them.

And if fighting means making a little bit more time on my Google calendar before and after bed, then so be it. I guess I’m on the battlefield. Bring it on.

 (Self Portrait, 1928)

In my art & design theory/history classes this semester, we came across the artist Claude Cahun–and I think that her story was too cool not to share. A Jewish French artist, Lucy Schwob adopted the androgynous name Claude Cahun, and produced prolific work exploring gender and beauty throughout her lifetime. She took hundreds of self portraits, donning different guises, and also created numerous literary works.

She also famously collaborated with Suzanne Malherbe, AKA Marcel Moore, to create art that broke the boundaries of aesthetic and societal normality. Cahun and Moore were involved in a lesbian relationship which they hid from the public (even though their parents married, making them stepsisters).

Amazingly, Cahun and Moore escaped to the Isle of Jersey right on the cusp of World War II and became a force to be reckoned with. They responded to the German invasion by launching a fierce anti-Nazi resistance movement, distributing flyers, translating messages, and even putting on costumes around the island. The women were sentenced to death, but were freed in 1945 after Jersey’s liberation. I found it admirable that the couple were willing to put their lives in danger in order to follow their beliefs and fight for what they believed was right. True martyrs, Claude Cahun and Marcel Moore will be remembered for their astonishing bravery and artistic genius.