Bored of that playlist you automatically reach for when you want music? Overwhelmed by the constantly changing industry? Confused by the visually over-stimulating portion of the internet that is supposed to be showing you new music? Or maybe you just aren’t very social and have never heard of Pandora? Whatever the case is, if you are looking for ways to find music that won’t cost you any money and are easy to work with, here are your answers. Happy searching.

Welcome to the Hype Machine, my absolute favorite and most used website. Hypem is unique because it serves as a funnel for the rest of the music blogosphere (or at least the important parts). When certain noteworthy blogs update new songs, they automatically feed into Hypem’s website. The songs get placed into the “Latest” tab, for members to peruse and judge. If you particularly enjoy a certain song, you can click the heart button and add it to your favorites. The songs that get the most clicks as favorites get transferred into the “popular” tab, which is where I suggest looking, and where there will be the best collection of new songs. www.hypem.com

Downsides: Extremely remix heavy (sometimes they are great but it gets extremely frustrating). Duplicate heavy (if two or more blogs update the same song they will all show up on Hypem).

Recently, you may have heard people talking about this new program called Spotify. Beginning in Sweden and now operating in about ten countries across the world, Spotify is an amazing service. Listeners can search through thousands of full, studio quality albums and stream them all for free. Legally. Tons of major record labels have agreed to let Spotify stream their music. Spotify is great for listening to new albums in their entirety without having to buy the whole thing. www.spotify.com

Downsides: Starting a couple months ago, unless you pay for a premium account you only have 10 hours of streaming per month. Don’t let this stop you, but just a heads up.

If you’re in the game of playlist making, you’re about to switch up your style (unless you’ve heard of this already, and now I just look foolish). Grooveshark has a massive library of music, and is a great place to build playlists. Create an account, assemble that playlist in the comfort of your own computer, then later log into that account on any other computer and start blasting those tunes. I also use it to create playlists I want to share with other people, which I do by sending them the username and password. They can then add songs to the playlists or create their own on the same account. It’s kind of like tapas food, great for sharing.  www.grooveshark.com

Downsides: A lot of poor quality songs, make sure you sample before adding to your playlist.

Sunset is one of my favorite music blogs. They have a great selection of hip-hop, indie, mashups and dubstep. Their team of about 5 or so writers does a fantastic job working together to ensure a constant source of new, good music. www.sunsetintherearview.com

Downsides? Good question, I can’t really think of any. I’m just really into this blog

Here’s a list of other blogs if you aren’t satisfied with all of this. Just google these names:

Pigeons and Planes – Pretty Much Amazing – Good Music All Day – Some Kind of Awesome

I first discovered Doulas Adams’ “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” four years ago when a friend and I watched the Garth Jennings’ film from 2005. A couple weeks later, I walked into the Askwith Media Library looking for a Harry Potter audiobook and, thanks to a very funny and helpful librarian, walked out with the original “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” radio series on CD instead.

The history of “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” is a little strange. It began as a comedy radio series on BBC radio and was later adapted into a series of five books. Both were written by Douglas Adams. The stories in the first three novels are similar to those in the radio series, but the fourth and fifth books deviate from the original source material.

If you’ve never read, listened to, or watched anything related to “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” the basic storyline revolves around the Earth being destroyed to make way for an intergalactic highway. Arthur Dent, an Englishman who befriended the alien Ford Prefect, is saved by Ford before the Earth is destroyed.  Ford (who lives on Earth and appears human) and Arthur hitch a ride on one of the demolition fleet ships and, using Ford’s trusty Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, proceed to travel throughout the galaxy on a series of adventures that include (depending on the version of the story), whales and flowerpots falling through space, yarn people, an infinite improbability drive, singing dolphins, a depressed robot, genius mice, a horrible spacey tea substitute, and a plethora of aliens and ridiculous high jinks.

The story is amazing fun, filled to the brim with perfect ridiculousness, and if you’ve never read it, I highly suggest you do.  That said, you could just go on your own hitchhiking trip through the galaxy in a Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy game on BBC radio 4’s website.  This game puts the player in the same role as Arthur Dent in the radio and novel series.  You have to navigate your way through the galaxy with your friend Ford, never forgetting your trusty towel and Hitchhiker’s Guide.  The game, which uses text based controls, puts you right in the story and has a choose-your-own adventure feel.

The game was originally created for early computer gaming, and Douglas Adams worked with programmers and designers to create much of the dialogue seen in the game. If you choose to check this out, I give you fair warning that it is extremely addictive, but also that it may be difficult to navigate if you don’t know a little bit about the story.

For those of you who’ve never given “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” a chance, you should check it out; it’s sure to make you laugh.  For those of you who know and love this wonderful story, 42 will always be the answer.

Don’t Panic!

From around the age of 14 on, I have been fascinated by scientific illustrations.  As a teenager, my room was filled with anatomical drawings; when my grandma was diagnosed with lung cancer I sent her a detailed charcoal drawing of a set of lungs.  I still believe they are ridiculously underappreciated as an art form, though I also think their quality has declined with the advent of digital technology that can just produce a model on a computer.  Meticulously  drawn diagrams of plants and animal bone structures always captured my attention in biology class far more than the lessons being taught, but I have no doubt that these illustrations helped me to understand the beautiful intricacies of science better.  Not only do they serve an aesthetic purpose but they are instructional, and I for one have no problem with art being used as a tool to

get people interested in or excited about academics.  Prior to photography, they served as a means of relaying information all over the world; for example, zoologists in England could see what a rhino looked like without ever having seen one in person.  It used to be in Europe that only executed prisoners were allowed to be dissected (and occasionally in public).  Due to Christian convictions at the time, it was believed that dissection prevented any possibility of entering heaven and the forgiveness of the deceased’s sins.  Many anatomical illustrations are, in fact, of executed criminals.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to the slats of moon light patterning across my sheets, and it strikes me, a bold and lucid flash against the crags of stupor that accompany the half-consciousness of the half-night, that I’m quite technically an adult already. It was last Wednesday, that I walked back home from class on campus listening to the episode of This American Life entitled “Fear of Sleep”, Act Five: A Small Taste of the Big Sleep. You can probably guess what the title intimated but here are a few excerpts taken from the transcript online:

“I can feel time whizzing by. And I’m trying to hold on to something generally. So I usually start grabbing the walls or like clinging to the pillow. And I’m like this isn’t going to go away. I need to hold this. I need to hold on to time. I need to stand in this river and just not move.”

“Like it’s a kind of very primitive feeling. You have to just, like, flee from this totally horrible thing that’s happening to you. But there is nowhere you can flee. And understanding at the same time that what you’re fleeing and trying to run away from is the complete cessation of you.”

A procession of public disclosures detailing early morning revelations, of the sort that only a good rousing from delta waves sleep can elicit, passes on by. The trail of stories ends with a woman articulating her sad resignation and an eventual amorphous and non-committal acceptance. I’m disoriented when I stare at the darkened ceiling, and while I can empathize and on other nights sense all too well for myself that utter suffocation of this done deal of life and its stony indifference, as I become cognizant in degrees, what my mind wanders to is something on a slightly smaller scale, a sub-category of this larger motif. It’s a rude awakening nonetheless, as my thoughts circle on to the fact that I’ve passed the threshold of twenty and now I must be quite serious if academia is what I want to pursue. That I must think responsibly, deeply from now onwards until I can no longer. Sylvia Plath was precociously serious, I had realized earlier that night; I hopelessly browsed through a few of her published journal entries, all eloquently wrought on paper by the tender age of 18, to remind myself of the deliberation, the self-doubt, and the nerve that it takes to procure decent writing. Thoreau’s journal too, is trenchant by the time adulthood overtook him – succinct bursts of wit and honesty that would herald Walden and Civil Disobedience. And then an influx of young but promising women and men parade in my mind’s eye, apparitions like Macbeth’s dead kings all suspended with their portfolios bursting with talent while I think on the day ahead, a schedule penciled in with a series of urgent nothings. They all began at some discrete moment in time on an ordinary day, not particularly unlike any other, a smudgy event that only in retrospect we identify as the first star that formed in their life’s constellation. Yet they wrested their discontent with the world into some comprehensible form – either shimmering and snapping prose or unabashed and seismic visual forms. While Ira Glass’ interviewees flee from the scythe, budding artists and/or the young persons of our generation seem to shudder at the thought of insidious mediocrity. In a plaintive tone, Plath expresses that to be a round peg struggling in a round hole “with no awkward or painful edges – no space to wonder or question in”, you might as well be finished. It has been a constant debate in my head and at least a million others: Is melancholy and frustration or the glow of high spirits the better catalyst? For me at least, I’ve been more of a member of the former camp – needing some sense of dissatisfaction to light the proverbial flame and get things a’rolling.

Alternatively, it doesn’t take very much for unconsciousness to take over once more – there’s no struggle to fall back into the warmth of slumber, only that dreaded contentness that Plath makes mention of. It’s just a flash in the pan, these unsolicited midnight “insights”, that under the afternoon sun, seems to wither in consequence.

The statement: “I’m a theatre major.”  The common responses: “Oh fun!” “So, you’re like gonna be on Broadway or something?”  “That must be like not even being in school!”  What I want to say back: “It is, but it’s also hard work.” “Absolutely not.  Even performance majors have to work very hard to get to that point.”  “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

An issue that has come up in many of my classes and conversations with friends lately has been this idea of the easy major, the non-serious major, the idea that having fun and making a life are completely separate things.  Honestly, I’m offended, as are many of the others engaged in this constant struggle for legitimacy.  Our gut response tends to be, “Why shouldn’t it be fun?” but I’d like to dig a little deeper than that.

Chances are, if someone asked why go to the theatre, you’d say to be entertained or something along those lines.  Good, great, wonderful.  I hope that the shows you see succeed.  However, there are millions of ways to be entertained.  The means by which The Phantom of the Opera, Endgame, and The Odd Couple entertain you are entirely different.  So let’s change up our word choice a little.  Let’s say that you go to the theatre to be fulfilled. Oo, things just got a little more serious.  There is a contract between you as an audience member and the production that you will get something out of the show.

As a theatrical company, then, we have an obligation to make sure that you leave with something new.  What that thing is differs from production to production—laughing harder than you have in years, realizing that your relationship with your parents was way more complicated than you thought, a new perspective on race in the 1960s—whatever it is, we are providing a service.  That is what you pay for.  Now how many people are involved in achieving this goal?  That varies from theatre to theatre, but let’s say we have actors, a director, designers, a stage manager, a backstage crew, a writer, a producer, a marketing team, a literary office, a development office, an artistic director, and a managing director.  Wow.  That’s a lot of people.

Now these people have “fun” jobs.  They enjoy what they do.  Good for them.  If you don’t enjoy your job, you might want to reevaluate your choices.  Why is me having fun at my work any different than you having fun at yours?  All of these people have to work together to achieve this goal of giving you, the audience, something new to carry with you as you exit the theatre.  This begins in planning a season, and goes all the way to selling tickets and striking the set after the final curtain.  There are so many steps in that process, and they are not always fun.  They are challenging and stimulating, and sometimes they involve fights and hard-fought compromises.

Right now, I am finishing my second play.  It is driving me to the brink of insanity.  I sit staring at the blinking cursor wondering how the hell I am going to wrap this thing up.  What am I trying to say?  Who am I trying to reach?  What is propelling the plot forward?  At the same time, I am working on Beaux’ Stratagem, watching actors struggle through comedic timing while still dissecting their characters’ intentions.  My theatre back home is producing my first play, and the director is taking on the task of getting the play on its feet and staying true to my vision with practical space concerns.  Each member of each team is busting their ass making sure that the product that you finally see is outstanding.  We might not work nine to five, but there is no way you can say we are not working.

So yes.  We get to do what we love, and for that we are grateful.  There are incredibly rewarding moments sometimes, the eruption of laughter when you hit a joke just right or hearing our words come to life or seeing our renderings materialized on stage.  But along the way, as with any job, there are challenges.  There are tear-filled nights and hours of thought.

So sure.  My job is fun, but that is only the beginning.

They chant “Kill People, Burn Shit, Fuck School.” Their lyrics are bursting with statements like “Rape a pregnant bitch and tell my friends I had a threesome.” They condone violence, preach chaos and thrive on the unpredictable. They dedicate their lives to disrupting social norms and shattering moral barriers. They accomplish all of this through their harsh music. They are the members of the Hip Hop group Odd Future Wolfgang Kill Them All, or OFWKTA. And they are fascinating.

For the past week I have immersed myself in their music, videos and live footage. Their group dynamic is that of any friendly collection of teenagers, except they add a barrage of expletives and vulgarity unique to their own dynamic. Comprised of Tyler, the Creator and his partners Earl Sweatshirt, Hodgy Beats, Domo Genisis and Frank Ocean (among others), Odd Future is a Hip Hop team unlike anything else the world has seen. The emphasis of their music is placed almost entirely on their lyrics; the bass-heavy, steady beats prevalent in almost every Odd Future song merely provide platforms for the voices, which forces the listener to pay close attention to the words. The words, in turn, elicit an inevitably emotional response, and the response spreads the group’s message. That message is the reason for their music.

If you have never heard them, Odd Future’s lyrics are easily some of the most violent and morally insensitive statements ever imagined by mankind. However, these horribly offensive insults only serve as a blanket that hides the essence of their ideology. Odd Future’s true declaration is to not care. About anything. Ever. As children of broken families these teenagers have encapsulated the apathetic, misanthropic, Blink-182 credo that intrigues so many adolescents in our society, and have rejuvenated it into a culture much larger than any punk band could have dreamed of. Hordes of people, including (if not especially) members of every race, gender, religion and sexual orientation attacked in the music, have flung themselves at Odd Future. This cult following has formulated because of the attitude ringing out of its very name. The music allows an outlet for anger and helplessness by first accepting that anger, and then disregarding it. They don’t care that what they say is terrible. They don’t care that their lives have not followed any of the traditional paths for youths today. They don’t care that they are pissing off every well-respected adult they come in contact with. They don’t care about anything.

My initial curiosity regarding this group stemmed from my appreciation for Frank Ocean’s music. Frank Ocean, who has one of the best voices on the planet, was featured in two of the songs on Kanye and Jay-Z’s recent collaboration Watch The Throne. As this proves, he has the talent to work with the biggest names in his industry, yet he remains a member of Odd Future. This surprised me because of the contrast in their principles. While Tyler the Creator is often reprimanded for his frequent use of the word “faggot” and seemingly strong homophobia issues, Frank Ocean spreads lyrics such as “I believe that marriage isn’t between a man and woman, but between love and love.” Then I began to listen more closely to Tyler’s words, and I began to understand their relationship.

Tyler the Creator actually has a much more brilliant mind than he likes to display, one he keeps intact through his substance-free lifestyle. Tyler often attaches a sarcastic, contradictory tone to make his points in lines such as, “I’m not homophobic, faggot.” Or in his song She, he pleads, “I just want to ask you on a date, cunt.” These lines prove that Odd Future’s mentality delves much deeper than the phrases that initiate these derogatory proclamations. Tyler has nothing against homosexuality, but harsh insults transfer his anger and provoke his desired reaction. The point is that they aren’t homophobic; they aren’t racist. They’re just kids.

The true brilliance of Odd Future rests in their ultimate belief. They stress the glorification of violence and anger, and exist in a world with no rules, no morals and no restrictions. They don’t believe in right or wrong. They eliminate the concept of immorality because they don’t recognize it as a possibility. They want to rape, burn, and kill just so they can remind the world that they can. It is utter and complete indifference; they do or say anything they want and never think of the consequences. They have condensed the entire universe down to the flat line of basic primal desire. Critics of Odd Future need to stop creating a controversy because they won’t ever be able to win; they’re fighting a losing battle. They’re attempting to rationalize the irrational. Instead, they should embrace the ideas and reflect on how a bunch of teenagers have captured the attention of millions by channeling their frustration into, albeit, terribly vulgar lyrics that nevertheless precede an inspirational message. It is youth rebellion at its finest. It is the oddest future. It is pure apathy. So I join in, and chant, “Kill people Burn shit Fuck school.” Because I can.