Author: Madi Hammond

REVIEW: John Splithoff at The Ark

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Last Wednesday, I went to The Ark as a fan of the opener and left with a newfound appreciation for live music. Singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist John Splithoff brought his signature charisma and soaring vocals, filling the venue with energy and soul.

Splithoff, who first rose to fame in 2016 with his hit “Sing to You,” released his newest album, Far From Here, this March. A reflection on the chaos of a busy, ever-changing life, the album drew many first-time concert goers to The Ark, something Ark staff confirmed with a quick show of hands.

What drew me, though, was opener Evann McIntosh. After going viral in 2019 with the dreamy track “What Dreams Are Made Of,” the now-21-year-old has only sporadically released new music. At the Ark, they and their guitarist performed mostly unreleased material. Personally, I am now looking for it to be officially released; there were several songs I would love to add to my playlist. Despite a few awkward pauses between songs, McIntosh’s buttery-smooth vocals kept the audience engaged. A clear standout was “Blue Movie Magic,” their newest single, released just a week prior.

McIntosh’s chill, groovy R&B set made for a smooth transition before Splithoff and his three-piece band kicked things into high gear. He burst on stage to roaring applause, dancing his way to the mic. Though not his first time at the Ark, it was his first performance there since releasing “Far From Here,” and he was back with a vengeance.

There are moments when you’re reminded that some artists simply love music — and Splithoff embodied that joy. You could tell that he was having the time of his life up on stage, flexing his musical chops and showing off his talent. Between impressive vocal riffs and leading crowd call-and-responses, he effortlessly switched between guitars and keyboard, never missing a beat or a note.

But Splithoff made sure that his band also had their time to shine, with solos from the drums and keyboard alongside backing vocals from the bassist.

His set mixed fan favorites with new tracks, including a beautiful moment during “Kyoto Snow” when he asked the crowd to light up the room with their phone flashlights. The performance revealed his stylistic range, flowing from soulful ballads to upbeat, synthy pop. He even worked in a few Ann Arbor-specific ad libs, nodding to the city, the popcorn in the crowd, and Midwestern family values.

One of the most charming moments came during a story he shared while seated at the keyboard. Earlier that day, he ran into two fans in line at Frita Batidos, an Ann Arbor staple, who had driven from Canada just to see him. They asked him to play “Steady,” and he did. After closing with his biggest hit, “Sing to You,” he returned for a heartfelt encore and played another fan request, “Paris.”

Splithoff lit up The Ark, making the small venue feel expansive and electric. His return to Ann Arbor marked both a milestone in his career and a true celebration of live music.John Splithoff is touring with Evann McIntosh through May.

REVIEW: Freaky Tales

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“Freaky Tales” certainly lives up to its name in a genre-bending, horror-comedy-action thriller love letter to the Bay Area in the 80s, which, as said in the tagline, was “hella freaky.”

The movie is divided into four chapters with different characters, plots, and energies all interspersed with what it calls the freaky green lightning of Oakland, California in 1987. From alternative teenagers fighting Nazis to a rap battle between newcomer duo Danger Zone and Too Short to the murder of a retired hitman’s pregnant wife, the final chapter connects all of the characters in a house robbery-gone-wrong turned revenge murder spree. 

The plots are all over the place; the star-studded cast, including Pedro Pascal, Normani, and even Ben Mendelsohn, never gets more screen time than lesser-known actors. So what is truly the central character and thesis of the movie? It’s the city itself.

However, as someone who has never visited or lived in California — let alone Oakland, let alone in the 80s — a lot of the references went over my head. Only in later research did I learn that every story took place at real places with real people and even during some real historical events. Bay Area rapper Too Short, whose song “Freaky Tales” is where the film gets its name, is a character in the film and even has a cameo himself.  The “Sleepy Floyd” basketball game that happens in the fourth chapter, where Warriors player Sleepy Floyd scored a record 29 points in the fourth quarter to defeat the Lakers, is a real event. The film dropped a hefty budget to shoot on-location in Oakland at classic spots like a Giant Burger and the Grand Lake Theatre and recreate legendary 924 Gilman and Sweet Jimmie’s. 

But instead of wondering about the visual artistry and history of the setting, my attention was distracted by the gory scenes in chapters 1, 3, and 4. This was particularly a shame, as the film utilized different aspect ratios, filters, and animated graphics to emphasize the 80s aesthetic. Especially because of the ending fight scenes, I was left wondering just how much of the budget was allocated for fake blood. It was very campy, tying into the campy nature of its depiction of the 80s, with exaggerated outfits from jumpsuits to spike wrist guards; but there seemed to be a never ending stream of (comically) violent sequences that quickly got old.

“Sleepy Floyd” in an advertisement for his mindfulness program, Psytopics.

When I wasn’t distracted by flying body parts and punctured jugulars, the emotional whiplash of the different chapters was distracting enough. The acting in the first chapter, centered around friends Lucid (Jack Champion) and Tina (Ji-young Yoo), was weaker than the rest, although superstars like Pedro Pascal set a high bar to match. But it had a happy ending, and so did the second chapter, leaving the audience totally unprepared for what was to come in chapters 3 and 4. As co-director Anna Boden says, it is an “action packed genre mixtape of a movie;” but I would call it a gruesome action-packed emotional rollercoaster. 

I was not the intended audience for this film, and if I was, my opinions would likely be much different. But unless you fit that context (or enjoy sincerely weird movies), I would not recommend shelling out to see it.

REVIEW: Mickey 17

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Science fiction meets satire in an explosive way in “Mickey 17” — but there is simultaneously too much and not enough of either.

Set in 2054, main character Mickey Barnes (Robert Pattinson, “The Batman”) signs up to be an Expendable on the newest space colony expedition to Niflheim after receiving death threats from a loan shark following a failed macaron business venture with his best friend, Timo (Steven Yuen, “Beef”). However, he soon realizes that not reading the paperwork thoroughly was a mistake. As an Expendable, Mickey is sent to do the most dangerous jobs and used as a human guinea pig for the research team onboard. Every time he dies, his memory is simply reuploaded into a newly reprinted version of his body. Meanwhile, failed politician Kenneth Marshall (Mark Ruffalo, “The Avengers”) commands the future colony full of his red-hat-wearing fans with a camera crew in tow, undeserved bravado, and promises of one day reproducing to make a “pure race.”

Once they reach the famed planet, however, native creatures they name “creepers” become a barrier to breaking ground. During an exploratory mission, Mickey miraculously survives a terrible fall. But by the time he makes it back to the ship, another Mickey has already been reprinted; and with “multiples” strictly forbidden under penalty of death, the angrier Mickey 18 and a milder Mickey 17 must keep their existence under wraps.

“Mickey 17” is director Bong Joon Ho’s most recent project after his award-winning film “Parasite.” Bong’s newest film is an amalgamation of genres: satire, horror, science fiction, and comedy, with a few touchingly romantic moments. From start to finish, the film is defined by absurdism. Mickey’s failed business, which was based around misunderstanding that “macarons are the new hamburgers,” sets the tone for a protagonist who has stumbled into something far beyond his understanding.

Ruffalo’s character, while officially inspired by an amalgamation of different tyrannical rulers, reads (at least to the audience at the showing I attended) as a parody of Donald Trump. His reality show-style governance, blonde wife, and red-hat-wearing followers make the connection undeniable. While this satire is amusing at first, its relentless intensity becomes exhausting over the two-hour runtime, growing more repetitive than revelatory.

Pattinson, on the other hand, carries the film with an engaging performance that oscillates between bewildered desperation and deadpan humor. His portrayal of both Mickey 17 and Mickey 18 gives each iteration of his character a distinct edge, subtly differentiating their personalities with their motivations, mannerisms, and even accents. However, the film never quite allows him to fully explore the psychological implications of multiplicity, treating the idea of splitting consciousness as more of a plot device than a deep thematic concern.

Despite its many strengths, “Mickey 17” ultimately feels unfocused. Is it a commentary on environmental protectionism? A philosophical exploration into the implications of dividing consciousness? Or an elaborate vessel for scathing critique of right-wing politics? It might be all of these things, but none stand out as the film’s central thesis.

The concept of the Expendables had the potential to be something profound, but instead, the film brushes past it in a brief flashback explanation about why reprinting technology is only allowed on Earth. This missed opportunity leaves “Mickey 17” feeling like a film bursting with ideas yet unwilling to fully commit to any of them. While entertaining, it leaves the audience wondering: What was the ultimate point?

REVIEW: Flow

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Some call it a film for children; others criticize it as lazy and aimless storytelling. Some even find it boring. But after watching the animated film “Flow,” I can see why it has captivated audiences worldwide. 

“Flow” follows a cat trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world where the water is continuously rising. The film’s protagonist, simply known as Cat, must work together with a group of animals to stay alive, including the Labrador, the Lemur, the Capybara and the Secretarybird. 

The film’s plot is loose and meandering, reflecting its unconventional creation process. Director Laila Bērziņa chose to forgo traditional storyboarding and worked without any deleted scenes, allowing the narrative to develop organically. This stream-of-consciousness approach lends the film a natural and almost dream-like quality that some viewers may find aimless. Yet for others, it’s this unpredictability that makes “Flow” feel so authentic, like a visual diary rather than a structured story. 

One of the most striking elements of “Flow” is its complete lack of dialogue. Instead, the film relies entirely on music and sound to convey emotion and progress the plot. The absence of spoken words forces the viewer to pay attention to the soft, pastel visuals in order to keep track of what is happening. This makes it impossible to absentmindedly scroll on your phone — you have to be present. The score, composed by Latvian musician Ilze Kalniņa, heightens the immersion with its haunting melodies. Through this unique combination of visual storytelling and sound design, “Flow” proves that a film doesn’t need dialogue to be moving.

The animation style of “Flow” is just as unique as its storytelling approach. Entirely created using Blender, a free and open-source graphics software, Flow stands as a testament to the power of independent animation. The decision to use Blender not only gave the film its signature fluidity and hand-crafted feel, but also demonstrated how accessible tools can produce Oscar-winning results.

The film’s critical success is undeniable. It won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature and Best Original Score, impressively beating out Disney’s Inside Out 2 and Studio Ghibli’s Kaze no Uta. These wins marked Latvia’s first-ever Oscars, and the country erupted in celebration of the country’s recognition. Latvians hailed “Flow” as a victory for both the nation and the animation team.

Despite being an animated film, and therefore often perceived as child-oriented, “Flow” resonates with audiences of all ages. Its mix of tension, tenderness and visual beauty makes it not just a film to watch but a film to experience. While it might not appeal to everyone, “Flow” undeniably pushes the boundaries of what animation can achieve and challenges us to see storytelling through a new lens.

REVIEW: The Stampede

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When I picture an art gallery, my mind conjures a quiet, sterile space lined with ancient sculptures or framed paintings, each accompanied by a neatly printed placard. Even trendier collections, like those at the Museum of Modern Art, tend to follow a certain formula: curated, polished, and sometimes intimidating.

But The Stampede installation at the Stamps Gallery is something different — fresh, young, and alive. This exhibition is the first gallery showcase for The Stampede, a student organization founded in 2023 with a mission to create spaces for students to present new and unconventional artwork. With a rallying cry to “RUN WITH US!” it presents some of their work while showcasing the energy of this student-driven art movement.

Gallery-style art collection at The Stampede exhibit.

The exhibit serves as a retrospective of everything The Stampede has accomplished in its short existence. In just a year, the group has hosted pop-ups, parties, art markets, concerts, and gallery exhibitions, establishing itself as a vibrant hub for artists, writers, and musicians. This exhibition isn’t just a collection of their work — it’s a living testament to their rapid growth and creative impact.

The first thing you encounter upon rounding the corner into the one-room exhibit is a simulated merchandise table. While it was used for actual sales during the opening night, afterward, the items weren’t available for purchase. Instead, they mimic the kind of setup you’d find at a Stampede event, reinforcing the immersive, DIY ethos of the organization. It’s a clever way to blur the line between exhibition and experience, making visitors feel like they’ve stepped into a real Stampede gathering.

Artwork at The Stampede exhibit.

One wall is dedicated to a constantly running short film, projected in a loop, capturing the raw energy of Stampede parties, behind-the-scenes glimpses of artwork in progress, and the collective excitement that fuels the group. Another wall displays the spray-painted banners seen in the video, along with an archive of promotional posters from past Stampede events. The third wall is packed floor to ceiling in a salon-style arrangement, a practical necessity at their pop-up galleries where wall space is often scarce. This layout mirrors the spontaneous and organic nature of their events, where art spills over every available surface.

The variety of mediums on display is striking: zines, collages, paintings, sketches, and even papier-mâché sculptures. Each piece stands on its own, yet together they form a cohesive narrative of experimentation and self-expression. The installation feels less like a traditional gallery and more like an active, ongoing conversation between artists and their audience.

Perhaps the most playful (and fitting) element of the exhibit is the shrine to the “Blood of the Bull,” The Stampede’s signature sangria. A simple spray-paint can and red Solo cups serve as a cheeky nod to the community-building aspect of their events. It’s an artifact not just of their gatherings, but of the youthful, unfiltered spirit that defines The Stampede.

“Blood of the Bull,” an ode to sangria at The Stampede.

More than just an organization or an exhibit, The Stampede is a community. Every part of this installation pulses with the energy of the college experience: messy, exciting, and full of possibility. Rather than adhering to the conventions of traditional galleries, The Stampede invites us to break free, run wild, and make space for something new.

REVIEW: Thornetta Davis

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Detroit royalty came to Ann Arbor last Wednesday.

Thornetta Davis, Detroit’s Queen of the Blues, took the stage at The Ark alongside the Thornetta Davis Band, delivering a performance that brought the house down. 

I, along with everyone else in the packed venue, had the time of my life. Going into the concert, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t even know the difference between jazz and the blues (and, after my research, I’m still not quite sure). But the audience — mostly made up people several decades older than my friend and I — definitely knew. The excitement in the air was palpable, a shared anticipation that made it clear this was more than just another night.

When Davis finally stepped onstage, her black feather fans and sparkling outfit drew raucous applause before she even sang a note. She opened the concert with “I Gotta Sang the Blues,” a playful, self-assured song in which she explains why she sings the blues: “The blues ain’t been nothing but good to me.” The moment set the tone for the night: bold, soulful and full of heart.

Throughout the concert, Davis moved seamlessly between rollicking, dance-inducing numbers like “I Need A Whole Lotta Lovin’” – which included a call-and-response section that the entire crowd, except for me, seemed to know instinctively– and poignant ballads like “I Am America” which brought a standing ovation. But my personal favorite was “I’d Rather Be Alone,” which Davis concluded with a cheeky, resounding, “Bye!”

The crowd played a big role in the energy of the night. Though I might not have known much about the blues, the rest of the audience sure did. When Davis mentioned the musical group The Chisel Brothers, a woman in the front row stood up and proudly displayed her Chisel Brothers jacket. 

The intimate set-up of The Ark also allowed for effortless interaction between Davis and her fans, making for an electric yet personal experience. At one point, an audience member enthusiastically shouted that she owned not one, but two, of Davis’ CDs. The night was filled with dancing, clapping and joy, culminating in a final standing ovation that brought Davis and her band back onstage for an encore.

Speaking of her band, the Thornetta Davis Band radiated pure joy as they played. Each member had their moment to shine, taking turns delivering riveting solos from the drums to the piano to the guitar to the bass. The chemistry between Davis and her band was undeniable, with the music and her voice blending together so seamlessly that at times she felt like another instrument in the ensemble. 

I left the concert not only with a newfound appreciation for Thornetta Davis and the blues but also with a fresh sense of musical curiosity. The experience inspired me to seek out more concerts featuring artists I am not familiar with, to step outside my comfort zone and to embrace genres I’ve yet to explore. If this concert proved anything, it’s that great music — regardless of genre — has the power to bring people together.