Reviewing the Arts

By Emmie Shugert

“Face Off” is a reality TV show on which special effects artists compete to make “living art.” This show is like an “American Idol” for geeks, nerds, freaks and more. It shows you that your dreams, no matter how quirky, are possible to reach through competition. The stars  here are  “background” people, just your average freaks, not famous actresses or singers.

The competition offers the winner a contract with a make-up company and a chance to go on and design costumes and prosthetics for other TV shows and movies. “Face Off” features amazing contestants who sometimes take their work to extreme levels that shouldn’t be possible in the short time they have. When they manage to pull that off, it doesn’t go unnoticed by the judges, experienced makeup and special effects artists like Ve Neill, who’s worked on projects like “The Hunger Games” and “The Pirates of the Caribbean;” Glenn Hetrick, who’s worked on “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen” and “Angel”; and Neville Page, who’s worked on “Star Trek” and “Avatar.” Because these judges are experts, not  celebrities meant to grab ratings, even when your favorite contestant gets kicked off the show, you don’t feel cheated, and neither do the contestants.

The contestants are usually pretty eccentric but there is plenty of drama in the way they clash. You want to see your favorite contestant win and the bitchy ones lose. If you don’t like the whole sci-fi thing, the drama might draw you in. Everyone needs to feel the triumph of having their favorite contestant or design win one of the competitions or hey, maybe even the whole thing. What really gets you is the hope and effort of the contestants.  In the “Howl at the Moon” episode, they were split into groups, one of which made a six-foot tall full body suit for a werewolf. You ended up on the edge of your seat because you weren’t sure if they’d be able to finish the prosthetic in time. This team was able to pull it off, but sometimes when the contestants screw up, you just want to curl up in the fetal position because you don’t want them to go home.

If the competition or the drama doesn’t draw you in, you can tune in to look at the finished projects. The good ones end up insanely well done and the bad ones, well, they look like road kill. Mostly, the work they do is amazing. Not only do contestants have to make prosthetics in two to three days, they also have to create a cohesive make-up, which they only get about four to six hours to do. In this episode, Kris Kobzina and Wayne Anderson were the ones who made the full body suit but they also did a complete paint job. Their assignment was to design a werewolf from Neptune. To deal with this, they painted their werewolf an ice blue. The judges were impressed.

With each episode, the contestants get better and better. In the end, “Face Off” is inspiring because these are average people trying to follow their dreams. At the end of each episode, you get to see these out-of-this-world designs that seemed impossible to make in the short time they’re given.

By Sarah Martinson

“Glee” has always been about the dreams of the young hopefuls, but when has it ever been about the dreams of the psychologically disturbed? Its latest episode, “Shooting Star,” is a classic example of the glorification of perpetrators in the media. In exploiting society’s perverse indulgence in tragedy “Glee” has done little, except make it even more tangible and desirable for psychopaths to achieve celebrity.

This show is best summarized by Rachel Berry (Lea Michele), who has gone from being its lead character to making frequent guest appearances in her own side storyline. A Barbara Streisand enthusiast, she has always had one dream and one dream only – to make it to Broadway. Donning golden stars as her own mantra, stardom is the embodiment of her and the show.

“Glee” has always been aspirational in giving a voice to those who would otherwise not have one in our mainstream culture. However, the voice being heard in this episode is questionable. The voice is not authentically that of Becky (Lauren Potter), who is pinned behind the shooting. Becky is not a disturbed serial killer. She has always been optimistic and endearing, a bubbly cheerleader. Becky, who has Down syndrome, has always been a true testament to the show’s theme of the underdog triumphing. But that was all thrown away in this grotesque example of media sensationalism.

All this episode has done is allowed for further glamorization of violence and school shootings. “Glee” often comes off as superficial and cliché, but this works to the show’s advantage in allowing it to be satirical of stereotypes and gender identities. However, the show’s established platform as a quirky, glamorous portrayal of high school does not aid it well in tackling the controversial and heated issues of gun violence.

There is nothing cliché or superficial about a school shooting. It is an all too real example of how in a matter minutes your life can be jeopardized by the hands of someone else. Yet, in the closing fifteen minutes of this episode, the words of McKinley High glee coach Will Schuster (Matthew Morrison) are nothing but cliché and tripe. “I’ll never forget the look on their faces…”

No school shooting could have been wrapped up as neatly as the one in this episode was. Oh, there wasn’t any real threat or shooter, it was just good ole, naïve Becky and she was scared! Let’s just sing some John Mayer and everything will be okay. And you know by the next episode, “Sweet Dreams,” this will have all come to pass, but that’s not how school shootings work in real life. I went to high school just twenty minutes from Northern Illinois University and its school shooting in 2008 had serious ramifications on my school and community. For months, my school mandated that everyone had to have their bags searched whenever entering any of their afflicted buildings. There were weeks of talking about putting in mental detectors, which makes me question how those metal detectors could be installed so quickly at McKinley High.

It is redundant to go into the debate about whether or not gun violence in the media attributes to violence among youth when there is just as much real violence in the world. However, it is not passé to argue glorification of this violence is a serious issue in the media. The way tragedies and tragic events circulate on the news makes it possible for the disturbed to achieve celebrity from their heinous acts. As said by Morgan Freeman in regards to the Sandy Hook school shootings, the reason we have so many shootings is “because of the way the media reports it. Flip on the news and watch how we treat the Batman theater shooter and the Oregon mall shooter like celebrities. [They] are household names, but do you know the name of a single victim of Columbine? Disturbed people who would otherwise just off themselves in their basements see the news and want to top it by doing something worse, and going out in a memorable way… Any articles or news stories yet that focus on the victims and ignore the killer’s identity? None that I’ve seen yet. Because they don’t sell. So congratulations­, sensationalist media, you’ve just lit the fire for someone to top this and knock off a day care center or a maternity ward next.”

True to Morgan Freeman’s words, I did not know a single one of the victim’s names of my own hometown’s school shooting: Catalina Garcia, Julianna Gehant, Ryanne Mace, Daniel Parmenter and Gayle Dubowski. I will not mention the gunman’s name, because it not worth mentioning or remembering. Remember those who had their lives unjustly taken. These people were students pursuing higher education and knowledge. They shouldn’t have died. If there is any way to do justice to these horrible crimes, it is to turn your back on the media frenzy that ensues. Don’t allow psychopaths and serial killers to be celebrities. Turn off your television sets. Don’t glorify the sin, but remember the promise of what could have been.

By Libby Buck

There are TV episodes that are “Oh, wow!” discovery-type episodes, and there are ones that end as cliffhangers. “Arbitrary Law,” a special episode of “Twin Peaks,” manages to be both of these things. This is the 1990 episode in which the audience learns the answer to the million dollar question, “Who killed Laura Palmer?” while getting the same weird feeling they expect from every “Twin Peaks” episode – the feeling that gives us that strange urge to talk in a British accent or dance alone in our empty apartments.

“Twin Peaks” is a ‘90s murder mystery show, dramatized to make fun of soap operas, which follows the death of high school homecoming queen Laura Palmer in the small mountain town of Twin Peaks. The investigation is led by Special Agent Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan), who has lost at least half of his marbles over the years, with the help of  local law enforcement officers, all of whom might as well be sporting dunce cones. This show is not the typical “Law and Order” crime series. Clues are uncovered in dream sequences and in wooden logs, rather than, say, fingerprints? The show was created by David Lynch (“Eraserhead,” “Blue Velvet”), and his classic flair for bizarre satire is written all over it.

“Arbitrary Law” cuts to the chase and is all about the investigation—none of the extra side-story stuff to lead to guessing down the wrong path.  Laura’s father was the one that killed her (gasp!), but surprise!—he was possessed by this entity named Bob, leaving the audience wondering WHO the fuck, or WHAT the fuck is Bob?

A major defining aspect of “Twin Peaks” is the riddle of a language in which the characters seem to speak.  It is highly laughable, and yet respectable for what it contributes to the unique aesthetic of the show.  Some of the most brilliantly ridiculous lines are uttered in this episode, in which Agent Cooper is advised by the local chief detective, “I don’t know where this is headed, but the only one of us with the coordinates for the destination in his hardware is you.  Go on whatever vision quest you require, stand on the rim of the volcano, stand alone and do your dance, just find this beast before he takes another bite.”  It’s as if they are on a quest for Harry Potter’s damn horcruxes rather than to solve a murder, and it’s great.

The psychotic visions that somehow lead Agent Cooper in the right direction are amplified in this episode.  He has a recurring dream in a room full of red curtains with a zig-zag floor, Laura in the flesh, and a midget where everyone can only speak in reverse.  Laura tells Cooper who killed her in this dream, and after this the audience sees many closeups of a deer-in-the-headlights Cooper putting the pieces together (MacLauchlan is a strong candidate for having the best deer-in-the-headlights face).  Also, in another scene a giant man comes to stand before him, and he chews a stick of gum as if it’s the most important thing a man could do.  The mixture of real life, supernatural, and downright weird things is spot on.  All of these offbeat scenes that have been occurring throughout the series are finally coming together to solve the mystery.  For even the most attentive viewer, it may be necessary to give the whole series a couple viewings before it’s possible to catch every little sneaky detail.

The visuals of the episode are done in the standard “Twin Peaks” red color scheme.  If the performances of this show usually merit a 10/10 rating, in this episode they could merit an 11/10.  In a show that almost always shines, this episode stands out.  The events of it are exciting and unpredictable.  For a first-time viewer, the mysticism of the episode might haunt them (in a good way), and leave them searching for more.

By Kendall Klitzke 

[Pro]

The prevailing image of Leonardo Da Vinci as a brilliant old inventor, the ultimate Renaissance man, is stripped away in David S. Goyer’s historical fantasy, Da Vinci’s Demons. Leonardo, played by Tom Riley, is a young, hot, fledgling inventor and bad boy in this fresh exploration of one of history’s major players. This Leonardo is not only brilliant, but he also has a way with the ladies, and the Starz mini-series depicts him in other ways we haven’t seen before.

Intrigue, sex, violence, and a bit of ridiculous fun abound in Florence, where Leonardo works and lives with a cohort of archetypal characters. Overall, the dialog could use a little work, but the cast, notably Riley and Eros Vlahos as Nico Machiavelli, carry it well enough to make the banter entertaining. However, it’s not all fun and games when there’s a corrupt church and a major power grab taking place in Italy. In Da Vinci’s Demons, there will be fun, there will be mystery, there will be love, but there will also be blood.

And if that weren’t enough, Leonardo takes on superhuman-like qualities. Creative graphics of his sketches and deconstructions, superimposed over slow motion action scenes, demonstrate what it’s like to be inside of Leonardo’s head, and it’s an incredible thing to watch. Although the plot gets a little too complicated a little too fast, the visual components of Goyer’s Renaissance-era Florence are stunning.

[Con]

David S. Goyer’s historical fantasy, Da Vinci’s Demons, offers a fantastical version of the early life of Leonardo Da Vinci. This attention-getting concept, exploring a rarely investigated, Leonardo – the great man as young, reckless playboy – is sure to draw in curious viewers. It’s Da Vinci, what could go wrong?  

Well, apparently, a lot. The Starz mini-series lets its great concept down immediately by trying to do too much from the start. Presenting Leonardo as a young, fledgling inventor with an incredible memory would be riveting enough. But we also get a dog and pony show including a dark conspiracy, a secret society, lots of sex and violence and an unflattering portrayal of the Medici family.

The production’s sizable art direction budget and its abundant displays of breasts can’t save Da Vinci’s Demons from the trite mechanics of its plot, predictable dialog, or its overall weirdness. This is a shame, because the cast, notably the handsome Tom Riley as Leonardo, works hard to make the show watchable. 

One interesting element of the show is its incorporation of graphics to give the audience a peek at what happens inside of Leonardo’s head as he creates his inventions. In slow motion, we see his sketches come to life. In addition, the art direction and beautiful simulation of Florence is a decent enough reason to take a look at Da Vinci’s Demons. In fact, it might behoove the audience to let this one be seen and not heard. Maybe it gets better.

By Cristian Garcia

[Pro]

The Starz channel’s new historical drama, Da Vinci’s Demons, is a highly entertaining mixture of fact and fiction. Written and produced by David S. Goyer, who also co-wrote The Dark Knight trilogy, the eight-part series imparts enough knowledge about Leonardo to appeal to those interested in the Renaissance while offering enough sex and violence to capture the more casual mainstream audience.

Da Vinci’s Demons revolves around Leonardo’s internal struggles and his quest to find his true calling in life. His thirst for knowledge leads him to discover new things about his past that could potentially put his life in danger. Played by the energetic British actor Tom Riley, da Vinci is brought to life in a way we have never seen before. Sexy, unpredictable and uncontrollable, he becomes part of a love triangle including Lucrezia Donati (Laura Haddock) and Lorenzo Medici (Elliot Cowan). It will be interesting to see how long the affair lasts.

One of the highlights of the series is its dramatization of da Vinci’s remarkable inventions, including flying machines and multi-barrel armaments. Through the use of beautiful graphics, we see those sketched-out inventions take life.

[Con]

Is there such a thing as too much sex appeal? Apparently, David S. Goyer, who wrote and produced the Starz channel’s new historical drama, Da Vinci’s Demons, does not think so. As played by British actor Tom Riley, Leonardo is a flirtatious playboy, not the genius most of us envision. The failure of Goyer, who co-wrote The Dark Knight trilogy, to create a believable da Vinci is disappointing.

The eight-episode series is based on da Vinci’s early adult life and the struggles his quest for knowledge brought upon him. Goyer succeeds in capturing Renaissance-era Florence, which looks and feels historically accurate. But da Vinci’s sexy bad boy does not fit in this world. I could almost see him riding a motorcycle across the city in his leather jacket and tight pants, which is not good. 

Wasn’t da Vinci obsessed with perfection? Riley does not get that idea across because he is way too relaxed. It almost seems like the series’ main goal is to create a new sort of hero with out-of-this world qualities like Batman or Spider Man. Goyer needs to find a better balance between what is real and what is fiction. Still, I won’t be surprised if Da Vinci’s Demons becomes a big hit. It has everything most people want in an historical epic: sex, violence, action and drama. In the end, viewers may care less about whether or not da Vinci is portrayed accurately than how sexy he is.

By Sam Belden

“Untitled (Natural Bridge)” does not fall short in Gregory Crewdson’s conceptual and narrative ideas. Using extreme precision and control, Crewdson utilizes his frame as any painter would utilize a canvas. The setting, lighting, objects, and anything else a person can think of was idealized and controlled for this photograph. This adds to Crewdson’s cinematic style of photography; everything is directed just as it would be on a movie set.

Crewdson’s beautiful and elaborate photographs comment on the narrative as the subject instead of an object. The whole scene in his photographs is the subject. So are the moments before and after the story plot, especially in “Untitled (Natural Bridge).” Through lighting, composition, technical elements such as depth of field and shutter speeds Crewdson creates a cinematic atmosphere that shows his style of photography and creates an emotional photograph that can produce serenity and anxiety within a viewer.

This landscape-esque image depicts the story of a figure who is standing still in this moving river. The blurred river with the eroding dam, the most dominant aspect of the image, is in the foreground, the small figure in the middleground, and two lit houses and a lit trailer in the right background. Green, luscious trees are surrounding the area of the left background and the lighting tells the viewer the scene is at dawn or dusk. Which is left up for the interpretation of the viewer.

To convey motion or not  is a question all photographers need to ask themselves. In the area of film, cinematographers are essentially creating moving stills telling a narrative. Crewdson’s photograph depicts motion in a different style that is not so obvious. The sweeping river in “Untitled (Natural Bridge)” shows movement. The movement is captured through a slow shutter speed which allows the viewer to progress through the image more delicately and gracefully. This scene of a woman or child standing in the water above a small dam comes to life with the blurred motion of the water. The uneasy angle of the dominant line creates a sweeping motion of the eyes that shows a unconventional composition similar to cinema.

A noticeable, formal aspect about this photograph is the skewed horizon line. Breaking all compositional rules of photography and art in general Crewdson’s photograph does not show a traditional horizon line. The most prominent line in the photograph is skewed, creating tension within the frame. This tension can impact the viewer and produce a tone of anxiety. The straightest line in the photograph is the small roof of the cream house on the border of the right edge, which creates some balance. This distortion of the dominant line creates an off-balanced photograph, adding to the cinematic tone and surreal atmosphere.

Motion is not only a formal aspect, but also a concept with this photograph, which sets Crewdson apart from many photographers. The idea of the story, what happened to the scene before and after the image is essential for Crewdson. The movement of time and the story adds to the dreamy tone. Why is the figure standing in the river? Where will she go back to? To the lightened up RV or one of the two houses? Since the depth of field is long Crewdson has made a point to the viewer. Everything in the photograph has importance. From the small figure in the river, to the detail in the cement wall, and even the small, yellow lit lights in the trailer. Everything adds to the narrative because everything is significant in the image.

Through his cinematic and narrative style, Crewdson is paving the way for photography. “Untitled (Natural Bridge)” shows his ability of control and precision of his scene. The mood of confusion and surrealism is propagated by the compositional elements, technical tools, and motion. The serene, but eerie photograph will have the viewer questioning the narrative, but Crewdson has left enough room in this image that the story is up for any interpretation.

By Quintin Puebla

When people think of art, images of famous works such as Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” or Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” come to mind. Yet, what about the artists who inspire and influence our culture through entertainment and design? These people are at the forefront of creativity and have constructed some of history’s most imaginative artwork. One man who has paved the way for such work is visual futurist and concept artist Syd Mead. Mead’s style of work integrates an overall sense of functionality, design, and raw creativity that unifies into a series of cohesive visuals saturated with underlying narrative. One piece that epitomizes Mead’s futuristic mentality and style is his conceptual painting, “Palm Springs,” one of his best-known works.

Showing his early roots in industrial design, “Palm Springs”  not only relays his impressive understanding of design, but also is driven by his ability to portray a visual narrative. Like many masters of their craft, Mead’s way of visually conveying his ideas on canvas is near faultless. From his illustration of light reacting to the variety of materials presented to the aesthetically driven functionality that is incorporated throughout each of his designs, Mead provides the viewer with a fantastic glimpse into an alternative sci-fi world.  However, what separates this piece from the typical fantasy-like artwork of the time period is its attention to practicality. The vehicle in the center of the painting is obviously the focal point and for good reason. Even though initially this car may seem perplexing in design, its overall readability soon becomes much less foreign as the viewer progresses to look it over. First, the shapes and geometric patterns act upon our imagination, yet slowly build into an identifiable shape that we understand as a vehicle. The lines then wrap and separate the subject leading to an understood form, which is only more vividly depicted by the realistic lighting and reflectivity of the shown material. All of these visual elements culminate into an image defined not by obvious or easily interpreted motifs, but instead by pure swatches of creativity and design.

Narrative is one of the more important aspects of concept design that is so often taken for granted; however, Mead nails it in several clever ways. The scene is set with a balanced combination of cool blues and warm oranges, which is meant to convey a more sunset type of setting. Yet, that’s really the only obvious element to the story. Mead’s mix of exotically dressed people and juxtaposed combination of futuristic and classic vehicles throughout the scene indicates a variety of potential interpretations. For example, many of the figures within the painting are wearing red and gold outfits that resemble a type of contemporary military regalia. But are they evil or good? Mead doesn’t make the narrative boringly apparent like most sci-fi and fantasy artists. He instead allows you to create your own story through his designs. Rather than spoon feeding you the information, Mead lets his visual creativity speak to you on a much more intimate level.

By blending design and conceptual artistry, Mead has established a style of work that has acted as the foundation for the concept and entertainment industries. His art pushes the limitless potential of imagination through a blend of believable functionality and unfiltered originality. Going beyond the superficial desires to make a “pretty picture,” Mead’s ability to express this raw form of storytelling through visual information plays upon what we can conceive beyond our daily realities. Without trying to act above the audience, he utilizes design as a visual language in order to pull in as many viewers as possible, while still illustrating a fantastic display of creative prowess. By living up to his belief that science fiction is “reality ahead of schedule,” Syd Mead’s work stands as a testament to the limitless capabilities of the human imagination.

By Mariela Del Toro

When looking at Peter Blume’s oil painting “The Rock,” located in the American Art section of the Art Institute of Chicago, it might be hard to look away. There is too much going on in the image. Laborers work hectically to construct something amongst an area that has a gigantic suspended rock ready to collapse into the ground they are working on while a fire sparks in the right corner burning down what seems to be an old home. Vibrant colors give the painting an animated look, but the content is very serious. This painting is not just a reproduction of a construction scene, but an effort by Blume to provide social commentary through the tone of his image and symbols.

Blume was commissioned by the Kaufmann family to paint their new home, Falling Water, one of Frank Lloyd Wright  prized architectural works, in 1939.  Nine years later, in 1948, Blume completed his work, and it’s obvious he had more in mind than simply commemorating the home.

In the image, Falling Water recedes in the far left, and is under construction. The scaffolding contains many workers, as does the land. All the workers are barefoot, and the deep contrast of shadows on the faces that are visible make them look serious and unhappy. Every worker is also posed in a manner where they are lifting, digging, or hammering something down. Perhaps Blume was attempting to show the struggles of a working class, and to show the gap in social status since people who do not even have shoes on made this monumental piece of architecture made for the wealthy.

The composition of the image is remarkable.  The eye is able to travel between the top left and the bottom right in a number of ways. From Falling Water, the diagonal composition of the workers wraps around to the old home, which causes the viewer to wonder why this home is being burned down. The smoke of the fire travels through the dark sky up to the giant rock, which is centered in the painting.

So what’s with the rock? The rock is suspended by land where the workers are digging, and by the looks of it it can collapse. There is a woman near the rocks platform kneeling on the ground with outstretched arms. Being the only woman in the picture and the only one without equipment to work, she likely was placed in the image to represent the emotional side to the scene. Since the rock is surrounded to the left with bones and to the right with flowers, there is a point made about life and death, which is important to the piece. It’s not about death to humanity, but to nature, and the trouble we have coexisting with it.

Symbolism, structure, and Blume’s attitude on the subject are what makes “The Rock” a piece of art. The work tells a story about construction and deconstruction, and points out that we our quick to destroy nature for our own selfish gain.

By Mary Barrett

Henri Cartier-Bresson, one of the most celebrated photographers in history, was known for capturing moments at “the decisive moment” –  releasing the shutter with perfect timing, at the exact fraction of a second. He didn’t look at photojournalism as taking pictures of famous people or political leaders but instead focused on documenting the lives of everyday people and the people who were affected by the situations that the journalists wrote about.

“Children Playing in the Ruins,” on large display as part of an exhibition at the Fotografiska Museet in Stockholm entitled, “The Man, the Image & the World,” is one of his most famous photographs. Taken in Seville, Spain in 1933, the photograph depicts a group of young boys playing in the rubble of a destroyed building. Through a giant hole in a wall, Cartier-Bresson is able to create beautiful contrast and depth of field in his image. In this image, most of the boys closest to the camera have their eyes fixed on the camera. The viewer is able to see the sadness and childlike wonder in the children’s eyes. Some of the children in the background are completely unaffected by the picture being taken and continue to play with one another in the ruins.

Although the children in the image are quite young, they are unsupervised, and it seems as though that is quite normal. These children have very hard and aged looks on their faces as though even though they are so young, they have faced enough hardship and dealt with enough troubles to make them independent enough to act much older. Cartier-Bresson captures the emotions of these children wonderfully in his image, leaving the curious viewer to wonder what life must be like for this group of children.

All of Henri Cartier-Bresson’s photographs, taken on a 35 mm Leica camera, are black and white. The success of this photograph benefits greatly from his use of black and white. The walls and rubble that the children are playing on make the shadows and children appear much darker in contrast to their stark white color. Although this photograph may at first seem to be staged it becomes apparent from things such as the blurred hand of the child on the right and the child in the front not even looking at the camera, that this photograph truly does capture the emotions of the children in that exact moment in time.

“Children Playing in the Ruins” is a striking photograph because not only is it well-photographed through the contrast and depth of field, but it is also thought- provoking since the looks on the children’s faces leave the inquisitive viewer wondering what is going on behind those eyes. This photograph beautifully portrays the innocence of children yet the hardship that some have to deal with that becomes apparent after looking at their faces.

By Rick Homuth  

Everybody has to be 16 at some point. Some are able to handle the volatile age with relative grace, and ride out their adolescent period with some semblance of dignity and self-respect.

I, alternatively, was a ska kid.

Perhaps this does not come across as embarrassing as it should. Allow me to explain.

I was a stupid, idiot ska kid. A two-toned, skanking rude boy. A long-haired, checkered-sneaker-wearing, Monster-Energy-drinking, Vans-Warped-Tour-attending ska kid. And “How it Goes” by Big D & the Kids Table was my collection of anthems.

Ska music, for brevity’s sake, is similar to reggae, but faster. One way or another, the genre was imported from Jamaica and subsequently bastardized by the Western underground music cultures of the world. In the early to mid-2000s, ska was infiltrated by awkward scenesters not quite yet edgy enough for punk, in a movement that came to be known as “third wave ska.” And as much as I’d like to deny it, I rode that wave hard.

But no matter how hard I try to shove “How it Goes” to my mind’s vapid recesses where I store all my bad memories, the album seems consistently to find its way back. Despite how lame ska culture appears to me now, this record is good. I can forgive some of the overly theatrical lyrics, and don’t have a problem biting my lip through some of the cringe -worthy reggae-influenced songs. Big D and his six companions have 72 minutes of absolute rock-solid ska-punk, and though I wish I could say I didn’t know nearly every single word to each of the 20 songs, there’s a reason I do.

I am to this day impressed with how the album begins. “The Sounds of Allston Village” (referring to the Boston neighborhood that Big D and the gang call home) boasts a short-but-sweet melody exemplifying the Berklee-educated band’s technical musicianship, with a bright ensemble of horns and a jazzy bass line laid over the classic upstrokes of ska guitar. Breathy female voices chime in with “oohs” and “ahs,” and there is a refined quality to the band’s sound. The group isn’t trying to hide their punk roots, however, as the rhythm is laid out by a distinctly snapping snare drum and distorted guitar tone, playing the stiff upbeats that lay the foundation for ska music.

In significant contrast, the following track,”L.A. X,” is a hyperactive ska punk ballad in the form of an open letter to the materialistic upper class residing in Los Angeles. Frontman Dave McWane leaves nothing to the imagination in his colorful criticism of the club-going twentyomething L.A. elite, and channels the cliché pissed-off punk rock attitude to get his message across. “And fuck your fucking fake ass world/And all your handed out fucking thrills/Some of us, we have to work hard/Just to get our little part,” he yells, on key with the band’s DIY, working-class hometown hero roots. It’s a five-minute trip, which is long for any variety of ska-punk, but the length seems to give it a truly epic vibe. Of course, the f-bombs are present to the point of redundancy, and the whole song reeks of immaturity. But, hey, I guess that’s what this is all about.

I would imagine it might be difficult for an outsider to the third wave ska genre to be able to understand how impressively diverse the tracks on “How it Goes” are. But on an album which, over the course of its daunting 72-minute run, manages to not feel boring or repetitive, the band must be doing something right. “Voice Alone” is centered around minor chords— darker, deeper notes than anyone would ever expect from a ska song. “My Girlfriend’s On Drugs” starts out with a noteworthy bass line that feels more like the centerpiece of a blink-182 single rather than a hook buried in the middle of the album. “Little Bitch” is Big D’s take on the Specials’ two-tone classic, updating the ska favorite with their trademark distortion and intricate, popping drum sounds. For all its different styles, the album maintains a grip on the listener’s neck, keeping them nodding along to the walking bass lines and complimentary horn section.

So, what makes this confession so embarrassing for me? After all, most kids inclined towards more alternative, esoteric subcultures go through a dumb phase at some point during their journey. I think what it is, is that after all these years I can still get stoked about these songs. Somewhere along the line I ditched the goofy clothes for a leather jacket, joined a hardcore band, and “moshed” where I would normally have “skanked,” but to little avail. The worst part about “How it Goes” is that it brings that all back, and I love every second of it.

By Zach Lona

Music is a reflection of time and experience. We all remember those iffy artists that aren’t too great now but we swore by in our earlier years. And who could forget the artists that avoid that pitfall, earning a special place in our heart by making the song that gels perfectly with the moments that become memories? There’s a certain type of music that always, season after season, comes to define each unique summer I spend laying in a patch of grass with a close friend. These summer jams range from sleepy-eyed indie rock to feel-good funk to heavy metal. Regardless of style, these songs capture the carefree camaraderie that absolutely has to be present  in memorable  teenage summers.

For me, the summer of 2008 could be boiled down to a song by an artist I’m not even a huge fan of. The adorably quaint “You And I” by singer-songwriter Ingrid Michaelson seems to have been written just for my girlfriend and me during our first summer together. This ukulele- driven ditty was on heavy rotation during our near-daily park strolls and nights out. Michaelson’s sweet voice and innocently romantic lyrics (“We might not have any money, but we’ve got our love to pay the bills”) instantly captured the spirit of our flowering relationship. This all sounds incredibly cheesy, but that’s exactly the point as far as I’m concerned. You’d think my girlfriend would’ve been the one to introduce me to this girly indie pop, but it was in fact I, with my prog- and metal-rooted tastes, who first came across “You And I.” I knew immediately upon hearing the chorus that it would define my first real relationship, which makes the song all the more sentimental.

“You And I” remains iconic not only of cool summer nights but of my successful experiences with romance. This is probably because it captures so perfectly what romance should be: care-free and simple, yet emotionally involving. There isn’t actually all that much to the song: a verse here, a couple choruses there and a reprise of the chorus that introduces a clap-stomp beat. The inclusion of Michaelson’s producer to sing a verse creates a charming male-female duality that solidifies the song as a lovers’ anthem. They sing lyrics like “Let’s get rich and build our house on a mountain… from way up there, you and I”, which have an almost naïve approach that takes the listener to a warm place they likely haven’t visited in some time.

Despite all these touchy-feely qualities, “You And I”  breathes fresh air into the category of indie pop love songs. Too many artists take a conservative approach with their uninspired acoustic arrangements and generic lyrics. They seem more preoccupied with talking about love than actually experiencing it as in “You And I.” There aren’t many artists that have the courage to make a song as shamelessly fascinated with puppy love as Ingrid Michaelson has. And because we need a theme song as catchy as our relationship, my girlfriend and I keep “You And I” the crown jewel in our lengthy playlist of “us” songs.