So last week at the Oscars, Disney’s Frozen took home two rather predictable awards (though my hopes had been that Miyazaki would sneak away with it, the way many have hoped Leo DiCaprio might finally get his first).

While I haven’t seen the film, I’ve heard the song and probably ever conceivable cover by this point–one even involving a traffic reporter:

What is the fascination with this song? Is it that it’s sung by Idina Menzel, the Tony Award winning vocalist who starred as the original Wicked Witch of the West in the musical Wicked (whose name was pretty horrendously marred by John Travolta at the Oscars when he called her “Adele Dazeem”)? Sure she can hit really hit those notes with soul, try listening to her incredibly similar in both theme and structure “Defying Gravity” from Wicked, but does that really justify the attention of the whole internet?

To be fair, the song is pretty catchy and the message is certainly relatable. The overarching theme is made pretty apparent in the title, “Let It Go” is all about releasing yourself from the past. Additionally, and here the similarities to “Defying Gravity” are really obvious, a secondary theme is included revolving around discovering and releasing your true self/power. However, as I look at the lyrics more intently, I notice what seems like a contradiction. When the song starts, the lyrics state that there is “not a footprint to be seen” in the snow. But that’s not really true, all of the footprints leading forward are still apparent in the snow behind you when you walk. This implies that the singer is just not looking back, not that those footprints don’t exist. This is what creates the contradiction to the latter part of the song, when the speaker claims that “the past is in the past…that perfect girl is gone,” because that previous iteration of the singer’s self isn’t gone, her past has followed her footstep by footstep even if she wants to just look to the as yet untrod future. Further supporting this is the line “my soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around,” which has intriguing implications surrounding their mathematical definitions. I’m not a math person, but according to Wikipedia definitions: “a spiral is a curve which emanates from a central point, getting progressively farther away as it revolves around the point” and “a fractal is a mathematical set that typically displays self-similar patterns, which means it is “the same from near as from far.” Putting that together as best as an English major can it seems to imply that the singer’s soul is moving farther away from a central point (her past) and yet is doing so in such a fashion as for her end point to be paradoxically as close to where she began as when she started.

Which might seem to defeat the point of the song, but honestly it’s what I think makes it so cool. I mean, the whole song builds up to that last line “the cold never bothered me anyway,” which I feel is such an awesome twist. Basically, she’s saying that despite the whole song being about how she’s moved away from the past, she hasn’t really changed at all! The cold has never bothered her, the power that she’s gained, is all power that she’s already had, she’s not letting go of the past as much as she’s letting herself accepting who she is for the first time. I think what this song shows, when you really think about it, is that letting go doesn’t mean ignoring the past but recognizing that you can only overcome the things that you first embrace.

Sources: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/idinamenzel/letitgo.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spiral
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fractal

The new HBO series “True Detective” structures itself around a series of well-known tropes: two macho cops find their different personalities and worldviews clashing and conflicting when they are forced to work together; a woman’s body is found in a murder scene with occult, ritualistic overtones; a detective follows his superior intellect to investigate a potential serial killer. Yet writer Nic Pizzolatto and director Cary Joji Fukunaga use these familiar plot devices as a simple basis on which to build an eerie, dark character study and southern thriller.

The series uses a surprisingly effective story-telling device, as detectives Marty (Woody Harrelson) and Rust (Matthew McConaughey) are questioned separately in the present-day about the particulars of a closed homicide investigation that took place fifteen years in the past. Aged by makeup and hair, the actors respond to their interrogators, providing narration, commentary, excuses, and the key implication that the case we are following is somehow not quite closed. As we listen to Rust and Marty’s different perceptions the investigation – and eventually watch their stories diverge from reality as they lie to the detectives – Pizzolatto establishes a theme of storytelling and subjectivity. As the detectives interrogate liars, drug dealers, and potential murderers, and as Rust establishes himself as a first-class, cold-hearted winner of criminal confessions, the subtle interplay between questioner and story-teller becomes more interesting than the allegedly murderous truth.

Though Pizzolatto excels at intertwining an intriguing plot with complex character development, the dialogue can be clunky and overwrought. Rust, an intellectual with a dark past as an undercover narcotics CI, has a particular penchant for pessimistically philosophical dronings. When Marty often gives his partner the verbal equivalent of an annoyed elbow –  Jesus, man, what’s wrong with you? – it comes as a comical moment for anyone who ever wanted to do the same to Dexter, Travis Bickle, Rorschach, or their pop culture brethren. The monologuing can get tiresome, and often it’s to McConaughey’s credit that he can pull off some of Pizzolatto’s most nonsensical lines. With a thousand-yard stare, a drag on a cigarette, and the humble obfuscation of a deep (and recently parodied) southern drawl, McConaughey can skim rhapsodies about “mainlining the truth of the universe” without batting an eye – but the other actors, specifically Michelle Monaghan as the philandering Marty’s beleaguered wife, struggle more noticeably with the unwieldy prose.

Though the writing is sometimes uneven, the direction is consistently excellent. As the detectives drive up and down the bayou, Fukunaga’s cinematography brings the scenery to life with the bleakness of direct sunshine and the suspect rottenness of fertile land, a blend reminiscent of Sally Mann’s photographs of the American south. Fukunaga may have cemented True Detective’s critical reception with two outstanding wordless sequences in Episode 4. First, Marty trails a woman as she leaves a strip club and makes her way through a dystopic rave to a drug dealer contact, the camera moving with dreamlike focus through the flailing, blindly exultant partiers. Then, in an incredibly choreographed six-minute tracking shot, we follow Rust as he flees an undercover drug heist that has spiraled out of control. In one of the best ‘chase scenes’ I’ve seen on television, the camera follows Rust’s desperate yet calculated escape, weaving feverishly in and out of tenement houses and between chaotic groups of drugged, gun-toting dealers.

After the 5th episode marked a peak in the series’ action, episode 6 followed the disintegration of the partners’ relationship in the past, as in the present the interviewers finally pose direct questions about Rust’s involvement in the supposedly closed case. The seventh episode abandons the retrospective story-telling device and places the scene firmly in the present day, setting the scene for the alcoholic, disheveled Rust and the hackneyed, divorced Marty to put aside their conflicted estrangement and reunite for the series 1 finale on Sunday night.

The series creators have confirmed that the season will be self-contained; the series will continue next season with a new cast and storyline. Although I often enjoy watching characters grow over multiple seasons of a show, with a thriller series there’s definitely something comforting in the knowledge that this mystery is the fully realized product of a complete thought process. Though Pizzolatto has promised that there won’t be any serious twists, True Detective fans are certainly hoping for a suitably twisted ending to one of the most fascinating thriller series on television.

A stunning TEDx talk from our own TEDxUM. “Transforming Creativity” is on how to use art for social justice.

The breeze blows
across the water
that a fish breaks

each now
and again

like a lover’s leg
erupting from
white satin sheets

spiders hang
on silken threads
on silver webs
we’ve hanged
ourselves

but I look down
and realize
that I could chase

fireflies

my whole life
and be happy

Happy Spring Break everyone!

Last weekend I attended a Vocal Performance major’s senior recital, and shared a knowing look with fellow music majors when within minutes novice classical concert goers clearly revealed themselves by clapping at the inappropriate time. The etiquette of classical concerts can be peculiar and intimidating for those who do not frequent such events. In the hopes that by shedding light on some of these peculiarities more novices will attend concerts, I have created a list of The Top 5 Ways I Can Tell You Aren’t a Music Major.

1. To clap or not to clap?

Easily the biggest give away, clapping at the wrong time can be embarrassing (especially if you are the only one) and disruptive to other audience members. A foolproof method to ensure that you are not the only person clapping is to never clap first, rather join in once the applause has begun.
So why isn’t there applause following every piece? Think about the applause scheme for the presentation of a paper. There is often applause as the presenter walks on stage, when an extremely powerful point is made and following the conclusion of the paper. A symphony is much like a basic paper where each movement resembles a paragraph of that paper. While a movement of a symphony (or a paragraph) represents a coherent thought it is part of a much larger musical idea. Since the symphonic idea is not yet complete applause between the movements is considered disruptive.

2. You don’t know your way around the theater

Most theaters consist of the same basic layout from the box office location to the layout of the auditorium. In any given area there are only so many theaters, allowing frequent theater goers to know exactly where their seats are without the aid of an usher.

3. Jeans or evening gown?

In talking to my non music major friends I have discovered that one of the most intimidating aspects of attending a music event is knowing what to wear. Contrary to popular belief, the easiest way to spot a novice is not because they are underdressed but because they are overdressed. Many theaters do not have dress codes (including the Metropolitan Opera in New York) and so often I will attend shows wearing whatever I wore to my morning lectures. Check with the theater about the dress code and when in doubt you can’t go wrong with khakis.

4. [bize] or [bizÉ›]?

Another easy way to tell who is familiar with the repertoire comes from the ability or inability to pronounce the name of a piece in a foreign language. This is not full proof as rumor has it that a music school professor referred to La Boheme [la bɔɛm] as [la bəhimə] at a recent graduation ceremony.

5. I don’t recognize you – or any of your friends

The music school is small with approximately 115 students per grade. Since all of our classes are in one building I can very easily recognize a fellow music major (even if I don’t know them) simply because I have seen them walking the hallways of the Moore building numerous times before. Music students often go to concerts in pacts so if I have never seen you or any of your friends before, odds are you aren’t a music major.