Creative, conscious, commanding—Jazzmeia Horn packs it all into every note. The vocalist, composer, and educator brought a fierce trio to The Blue Llama last Sunday, featuring a set of (almost entirely) original compositions.
Ms. Horn is a decorated jazz vocalist based in New York City (originally from Dallas, TX). She won the Thelonious Monk Institute International Jazz Competition in 2015 and the International Sarah Vaughan Vocal Competition in 2013, as well as accumulated three Grammy nominations for her records “Love and Liberation” and “A Social Call”. She lives with her two daughters in the Bronx, which prompted intimate and animated stories about motherhood.
Her music is focused and refreshingly genuine. She finds deep harmonic exploration in her songs amidst lots of unique vocal qualities throughout her (multiple-octave) range. She mentioned church being a large part of life growing up, with clear inspiration from gospel music, accompanied by healthy doses of pop and R&B.
Most of the set included tunes from her 2024 album “Messages“, including “Tip” and “You’re Getting To Be A Habit With Me,” the only jazz standard of the evening. Each tune was dense and impressive, with numbers “Destiny” and “Free Your Mind” being my favorites for their contemporary feel and expansive vocals (in range and rhythm).
The room seemed to stop when Ms. Horn took a solo. There’s an air of fearlessness behind Ms. Horn’s improvisations. When she started an idea, she took the time to finish it, creating beautifully satisfying lines. Some of her improvisational tendencies give a nod to the great Betty Carter, one of the most rhythmically inventive jazz singers.
A sweet anecdote was tacked onto her second tune, “Happy Living”; she recalled memories of her grandfather’s story about the “man with two bags.” One of which has a hole, where he puts negative comments and thoughts. The other is held close to his heart with words special to him. She sings: “I don’t feel bad when others make me mad, I keep a hole in my bag on my shoulders, and I sing my own songs and just keep along on my journey.” Her performance, even more so than “Messages” through my headphones, felt beautifully intimate and personal.
In a crowded, white room, people mill about to see over 700 artworks scattered around walls, bins, and tables. What is the singular thing that connects all of these art pieces? They were created inside prison walls.
The Prison Creative Arts Project (PCAP) is an organization that aims to connect those “impacted by the justice system with the University of Michigan community for artistic collaboration, mutual learning, and growth” through classes, workshops, performances, literary reviews, and annual art exhibitions. The 29th Annual Exhibition of Artists in Michigan Prisons is PCAP’s largest endeavor hosting 772 original artworks made by 538 artists.
“In His Eye” – William “Cowboy” Wright
The exhibit is divided into seven themes: connection, critique, natural expression, portraiture, prison as art studio, self, and what if? Each theme gives the viewer a chance to ground themselves in the chaos of the gallery. With bodies bumping into each other constantly, and hundreds of beautiful art to wrap the brain around, the space can become cacophonous. However, this chaos is the same trait that makes the gallery so wonderful: there’s something for everyone.
One standout piece is “In His Eye” by William “Cowboy” Wright where a close up portrait of a squirrel stands tall and in awe, as the reflection of a man in a Michigan prison uniform kneels down with an acorn. This painting is humorous with the incredulous expression on the squirrel’s face; and it rings home for Ann Arbor residents who see friendly, fat squirrels so often on the university’s campus. Wright wields his paintbrush to shift the view of incarcerated men for his audience from whatever preconceived notions they had to that of the squirrel’s: giving, God-like, and beautiful. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, the squirrel’s in this case…
“Hold On” – Daniel Teribery
Another standout is “Hold On” by Daniel Teribery, which depicts an incarcerated man kneeling over a sunflower in a purgatory of darkness (his cell); he is surrounded by artwork and staring greyly into the flower, as a hand reaches outgrasping the cell with verve. The interesting part of the painting is the way the hand looks to both be holding up the cell and break into it at the same time. Cracks in the cell’s structure could imply that the hand is pushing in, or perhaps they represent the slow degradation of the man’s mind. If it breaks… if the hand can’t hold on, then the cell will fall further into the darkness of the background. I’m not sure exactly, but Teribery’s symbolism succeeds in opening up these important conversations on life inside prison walls.
Beyond these pieces, the 29th Annual Exhibition features art of all genres, styles, and materials. You want to see a portrait of a clown painted in realism crying over a hot dog? It’s there. How about abstract circles crafted with oils and cardstock? That’s there too. Figurines made out of toilet paper? They make an appearance every year! Truly, if you have the time to browse through all 700-some pieces you will find at least ten that you could spend hours analyzing and admiring, and at least three pieces that you feel compelled to display in your home. (I should know– I bought four pieces myself.)
The annual exhibition is a great opportunity to purchase art no matter your budget. Work ranges in price from as little as $15 to over $1,000. It’s a great opportunity to build your collection, and support artists on the inside, as all proceeds go straight back to the artists.
The point of the gallery, however, isn’t to empty our pockets, fill our living room walls, and to pat ourselves on the backs when we use our money for good. The point, first and foremost, is to learn from incarcerated artists about life on the inside: to see them, to hear their stories and to trust their experiences. When an incarcerated person leaves prison after serving their time, they often measure the passage of time by counting the days they’ve spent in freedom. We, me and you reading this, are people living in the free world. We have the privilege to see all 772 artworks, even the incarcerated artists whose work is on display do not have the opportunity to view work made outside of their prison’s walls. I hope you take the chance to view this exhibit and open your eyes to new perspectives.
The 29th Annual Exhibition of Artists in Michigan Prisons is currently being held at the Duderstadt Gallery located in the breezeway between the Duderstadt Center and Pierpont Commons. The gallery is open for viewing now –Sunday and Monday from 12:00 PM–6:00 PM, and Tuesday through Saturday 10:00 AM–7:00 PM– until April 1st. You can also view the art online at the link here. You can continue to purchase art from the exhibition until April 1st at 5:00 PM, but hurry! These pieces sell fast.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched Casablanca, but seeing it on the big screen at Kochoff Hall on February 25th felt like experiencing it for the first time. There’s something about watching a film like this with an audience—hearing the collective sighs, the quiet laughter, the weight of its most powerful moments settling over the room. No matter how familiar I am with it, Casablanca always manages to reveal something new.
Set in the early years of World War II, Casablanca follows Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart), an American expatriate who runs a nightclub in Vichy-controlled Morocco. Rick projects an air of detached cynicism, famously claiming, “I stick my neck out for nobody.” But beneath his indifference lies a man who has been burned by love and betrayal—someone who once believed in causes greater than himself and has since chosen to look out only for number one. To me, Rick symbolizes pre-war America, reluctant to get involved in a fight that seemed distant, but ultimately unable to avoid the pull of history.
That pull arrives in the form of Ilsa Lund (Ingrid Bergman), the woman who once shattered Rick’s heart. She walks into his bar with her husband, Victor Laszlo (Paul Henreid), a leader in the anti-Nazi resistance. Ilsa and Rick’s reunion is filled with longing and regret, but it quickly becomes clear that her presence is about more than lost love. Victor needs exit visas to continue his fight against fascism, and Rick is the only one who can help.
Ilsa has always been one of the most fascinating characters to me. She’s not just torn between two men—she’s torn between her heart and her duty. With Rick, she found passion, but with Victor, she finds purpose. What’s remarkable about Victor is that he sees Rick and Ilsa’s connection and never lets jealousy cloud his mission. He knows that the fight against tyranny matters more than his personal feelings, and he trusts Ilsa to make the right choice. That kind of maturity is rare in love triangles, and it’s one of the reasons this story feels so timeless.
In the end, Casablanca isn’t just a love story—it’s about standing for something bigger than yourself. The film builds to one of the most famous scenes in cinema history: Rick, despite having every reason to hold onto Ilsa, chooses to help her and Victor escape. He understands that their fight is more important than his happiness. “The problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world,” he tells her. It’s a heartbreaking moment, but it’s also the ultimate act of love—not just for Ilsa, but for a cause greater than either of them.
Watching Casablanca that night, I was reminded of why it remains one of the greatest films ever made. It’s not just about romance or war—it’s about resilience, sacrifice, and the choices that define us. And every time I hear “As Time Goes By,” I know I’ll keep coming back.
I watched The Godfather for the first time at Kochoff Hall in the University Center on the Dearborn campus. I went in knowing its legendary status, but I wasn’t prepared for how much it would pull me in.
More than just a crime film, The Godfather is a story about power, loyalty, and fate, explored through the journey of Michael Corleone, played by Al Pacino. At the start, Michael is an outsider to his family’s crime empire, led by his father, Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando). Unlike his brothers—hotheaded Sonny (James Caan) and the weak-willed Fredo (John Cazale)—Michael is a decorated war hero with no interest in the mafia. At his sister Connie’s (Talia Shire) wedding, he arrives in uniform, already set apart. When he tells his fiancée, Kay Adams (Diane Keaton), “That’s my family, Kay. It’s not me,” I believed him. But as the film unfolds, it becomes clear that no matter how much he wants to stay out, he can’t escape.
Michael’s turning point comes when a rival, Virgil “The Turk” Sollozzo (Al Lettieri), orchestrates an assassination attempt on Vito. When Michael visits his injured father in the hospital, realizing he’s unguarded, he takes his first step into the family business. But it’s the restaurant scene—where Michael kills Sollozzo and corrupt police captain Mark McCluskey (Sterling Hayden)—that changes everything. The tension was unbearable, and when he finally pulled the trigger, it felt like a moment of no return. From then on, he wasn’t just protecting his family—he was becoming his father’s successor.
After fleeing to Sicily and experiencing love and loss, Michael returns home to take over. Sonny has been killed, Vito is aging, and the family needs leadership. At first, it seems like he will follow his father’s code of loyalty and restraint, but by the time we reach the Baptism Scene, Michael is something else entirely. As he stands in church renouncing Satan, his men carry out brutal murders on his orders. The contrast is chilling, and it cements him as the new Godfather, willing to do whatever it takes to secure power.
The final scene, where Kay watches as Michael’s men close the door on her, was haunting. The man who once wanted nothing to do with his family’s crimes is now its most ruthless leader. Unlike Vito, who believed in loyalty, Michael’s rule is colder, more absolute.
Watching The Godfather that night, surrounded by others equally engrossed, made the experience even more powerful. It’s not just a movie about organized crime—it’s a tragedy about transformation. Michael’s descent feels both shocking and inevitable, leaving one question lingering: was he forced into this life, or was he always destined for it?
In the fall of 2019, Qingyun Chinese Ensemble was founded, emerging as the University of Michigan’s first and only Chinese music ensemble and carrying a mission to bring traditional Chinese music to Michigan audiences. Their recent performance at the McIntosh Theater, Echoes: A Music Journey to the East, operates as an extension of their ambitions, focusing on bridging the gap between ancient melodies and contemporary interpretations. With extensive experience in their respective instruments, the members not only displayed technical skills but also a deep pride in representing their culture and heritage.
Echoes: A Music Journey to the East was divided into three chapters–Journey to the West, Diversity in Harmony, and Life as a Bundle of Spirits– each showcasing a diverse selection of short pieces. Soloists and full ensembles constantly fluttered on and off the stage with their instruments as two announcers enthusiastically introduced each piece’s context and featured instruments. The announcers noted specifics of certain instruments, for example, how the sound of a solo instrument accentuated the intended emotion of the piece, as well as some of the song’s history. Whether or not audience members arrived with prior knowledge of Chinese traditional music, Qingyun ensured they left with a newfound understanding of the genre.
My knowledge of Chinese traditional music is limited, and perhaps as a result, I found the evening marked by diverting surprises. I was taken at how the performers utilized the entirety of their instruments– for example, tapping on the base of the erhu (Chinese fiddle) or running a stick beater along the ridged encirclement of a dagu (Chinese bass drum)– and at the variety of songs being played. The repertoire ranged from Chinese folk music to more contemporary pieces, to adaptations of music from the video game Black Myth: Wukong, alongside a Japanese song and Mozart’s iconic Turkish March. The distinct sounds each instrument produced were strikingly beautiful, and when the full ensemble came together in the final chapter, their rich harmony was accentuated by individual tones adding layers of texture. I especially loved when the sounds of the dizi (Chinese transverse flute) poked through with its deep, melodic tones. Additionally, many of the traditional songs performed were deeply rooted in nature, a sensation that resonated in the music itself—the dizi evoked birdsong, the muyu (woodblock) mimicked the rhythm of galloping horses, and the guzheng (Chinese plucked zither) gently flowed like water streaming down a mountainside.
Performance of Erhu Concerto “War Horses Galloping” (1976)
The compact McIntosh theater seated no more than 100 viewers, fostering an easy exchange between the performer on stage and the audience. The ability to see each musician’s fingers move deftly across their instrument, catch subtle expressions, and witness the silent nods exchanged before beginning a piece added a sense of intimacy to the experience. The final surprise song was one of exuberant energy as the behind-the-scenes crew was brought onto the stage and the audience was invited to heartily clap along to the rhythm. After the performance, there was also a ‘Meet the Instrument’ segment where the audience was invited to come up on stage and play the exhibited instruments.
The Qingyun Chinese Music Ensemble continues to provide a space for students to refine their craft while introducing new audiences to the often-overlooked beauty of Chinese traditional music. Their performance was both welcoming and educational, offering an experience that was not only immersive but also deeply personal, reflecting the performers’ passion for their art.
More information on the ensemble as well as the pieces and instruments performed in Echoes: A Music Journey to the East can be found here: https://qr-codes.io/pkFUwE
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.
