Mainstream of Consciousness

Out of all the musical genres, the most ambidextrous is hip-hop. Anything with a pulse can be sampled underneath a rhyme, as rap is essentially poetry with a backbone. And as technology advances, we have been capable of even more extraneous production: sampling music from across the world, from any time period, and creating new, obscurely unique sub-hip-hop genres and exploring the many moods and emotions that come attached with each new additive. But this far push from hip-hop’s roots may not be as easily introduced. Inching further away from the machismo that douses your standard booming bass and degrading lyrics by sampling piano keys and violins ultimately add a negative connotation to the genre: soft.

           

The occasional hip-hop ballad has been the rap artist's way to slam-dunk a one-hit wonder since 1990s slowjammer LL Cool J paved the way for hip-hop/R&B artists to follow. However, the lines between romantic ballads and a deeper contextual version of what braggadocio hip-hop used to be are becoming more and more blurred.

           

Although rap artists have continually produced more melodic tunes with R&B choruses, artists such as Kanye West, Snoop Dogg and Nelly have gone as far not only as singing the hooks themselves, but singing entire songs and albums while still classifying themselves as hip-hop artists. Additionally, almost across the board, rappers from T.I. to Drake write lyrics with female fans in mind, both by expressing their sensitive side and by boasting about their ability to satisfy women.

           

This is where controversies rise and the war in hip-hop draws between the classic standby and the frontier runners: what does it ultimately mean for hip-hop to have feelings?

           

Kanye West’s techno-motional “808s & Heartbreak,” Drake’s expressive rap/R&B “Take Care,” and Lupe Fiasco’s “Cool” are three albums that prove an open imagination and creative ProTools work can push hip-hop from “Hot in Herre” to a ever-evolving artistically literate genre.

Kanye West, “808s & Heartbreak” (Rock-A-Fella Records, 2008)

           

Kanye West may never be satisfied. Grieving over his materialistic consumption in one moment then boasting about his wealth the next, he is driven by ego and plagued by doubt—contradicting the expected feigned composure of your standard pop star. He hides behind no pseudonyms or characters, and will not hold back from telling you how he truly feels about everything. West is also noted to have the most creative and competitive drive to recombine ideas, challenging hip-hop’s standards: making the only constant theme throughout all of his albums being the experience of Being Kayne West.

           

In the year of 2008, however, West had nothing to brag about. He and his fiancée broke up, and his mother Donda West, who raised Kanye alone from the age of three, died from complications after cosmetic surgery. This whirlwind of sadness caused West to create the melancholic electronic album, “808s & Heartbreak,” where he sings through the entire album. Steeped in regret and pain, this introspective, minimal electro-pop record contains even more self-examination than a typical Kanye West album and is prime example of the many directions hip-hop can go if we release it from its cage.  

At this point in time, the vocal synthesizer auto tune was relatively new on the hip-hop scene. Used most famously by the lyrically shallowest rap artists such as T-Pain, auto tune wanes on the tacky side of hip-hop traits. But in the context of West’s “808s & Heartbreak,” (and aside from hiding behind it as a vocal crutch) his cyborg-soul software almost feels like an “if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em” approach to the technique: West, however, finding a new way to it better. He embraces the different ways the cyborg-soul software sounds to his advantage in this new genre of emo-electro-R&B, upping the pathos and embodying a cadenced cry.

           

Through first collective listen, the album gives off a monotonic drone of the pitch-corrected technology, orchestral strings, and constant bass underlining erratic beep-boop-bops. But if each song is taken in separately, the album reveals folds and layers that shows West actually paid close attention to each production detail—it just needed a little selfless detangling. The record “Street Lights” has an invigoratingly-pattering drum pulse that beats through atmospheric vocals and piano scales underneath his vocodored cadence “life’s just not fair” and perfectly embodies West’s depressed stage.

The track “Coldest Winter,” dedicated to his late mother, also effortlessly translates West’s emotional outcry. Its haunting refrains that inhale and exhale in between bursts of static and chilly '80s synths display the complicated frustration and sadness that comes with losing someone.

“Heartless” and “Love Lockdown” are the album’s most car-stereo capable and glimpses of what this album could’ve looked like if West set his ego aside and was willing to do further editing. Between tribal drums thundering and vocal twitches, “Love Lockdown” successfully samples this new concoction without being too much. “Robocop” is disappointingly close to being another successful groove with hints of West’s trademark snarky lyrics and punchy violins, but sinks to a self-indulgent jam session during the awkwardly endless bridge when West laments how he will “never be a ruh-roh-bot.”

West’s idea to invite 5-foot-nothing Top 40 jester Lil Wayne to this complex release is another obvious misstep. As proven later in 2010 with his failed rock attempt “Rebirth,” Wayne is only successful at his staple version of rap: sex, drugs and yes, gaudy auto tune. Their duet on this album, “See You In My Knightmares,” is horribly one-note and edging on immature and dorky. “You think your shit don't stank, but you are Mrs. P-U” Wayne recites. Any attempt for this song to be on any level of sophistication is immediately lost after his verse, as presumably predicted when first seeing “Featuring Lil Wayne” tacked on the title.

But, if you’re willing to hear this thug-you-can-hug through this new context and are open to his less-than-American-Idol quality of singing, “808s & Heartbreak” fosters one of the most expressive and vulnerable releases from the otherwise showoff-y genre.

Drake, “Take Care” (Young Money Entertainment and Cash Money Records 2011)

As another one of hip-hop’s most groundbreaking artists of today, Canadian actor-turned-rapper Aubrey “Drake” Graham has raised eyebrows nationwide. Loved by some, loathed by others, his arrival to success has sparked conversation on the contemporary convergence hip-hop and R&B, making Drake the figurehead with his sweet singing and sensitive rhymes. But with as much attention comes criticism: Drake is easily labeled as incompetent. Lil’ Kim stated he “just wasn’t built for this hood shit,” and Common admitted that his 2011 critical release “Sweet” was inspired by him. The opinion has been voiced that Drake’s singing has made him less of an MC, and that he is perhaps too cuddly to be a Young Money contender.

           

Both his nonexistent criminal record and privileged childhood have also forced Drake’s credibility as a rapper into discussion. However, Drake’s success in not only mainstream audiences but also in underground fans is the most telling thing about him. His way of blending soulful sing-song slow-jams with expressive rhymes and lyrics appeals to an indefinable demographic, proving that pushing hip-hop boundaries can create an entirely new ball game—one where Drake is now MVP.

           

Through a brief history of the sensitive rapper, it all began with his mixtapes released and promoted via MySpace in 2007. Lil Wayne stumbled upon his music and helped shape Drake’s third mixtape, “So Far Gone” in 2009 with his single “Best I Ever Had” nominated for a Grammy with no thanks to any major label. Literally an overnight success, Drake then joined the Young Money Entertainment forces alongside Wanye, T-Pain and later, Minaj, and released his first studio album “Thank Me Later” in 2010. This album showcased the Toronto rapper's tales of his quick and unprepared stumbling into the high life that is underlined with regret.

           

In his newest 2011 release “Take Care,” we are taken further into the trappings of his unfortunately famous psyche. Pushing to luxe and expansive production this time around, his futile experiences at exclusive after-parties with cocaine and hookers have an extra kick of sadness throughout the echoed synth. Though the immorality of his lush lifestyle he continually references seems far from relatable, his emotions are translated so matter-of-factly that you actually feel a mutual pain when he vents about his drunk-dials and ones-that-got-away. “Too many drinks have been given to me/ I got some women that’s living off me/Paid for their flights and hotels I’m ashamed/… Having a hard time adjusting to fame:” He has become increasingly more intoxicated, and, simultaneously, self-aware, coming to terms that he’s losing his grip and drowning in guilt.

           

In “Over My Dead Body,” he honestly admits to his shattered conscience:  “I thought I found the girl of my dreams at a strip club… I was wrong, though.” He effortlessly blends the emotions of being cocky, sad, and affectionate, using this album as both an inner diary and an outward “fuck you” to people who misread him.

           

Phone conversations outer-luding songs such as “Look What You’ve Done” add this genuine touch; Drake whispers to himself alone with a piano, and through analyzing past issues via playback of a voicemail where his distant dad “knows to get in touch,” he paints the scarring impact of his father by allowing the audience in so personally.

           

What is also concurrently so relatable about the aloof MC is that his raps that flow so effortlessly conversational that listening to him is like hearing a friend lament about his life so authentically. You know it is all real because his rhymes never translate to feel forced—they flow from the heart—unlike rhymes from rappers like Lil Wayne (who unfortunately makes a few unwelcome cameos on “Take Care.”) “My nuts hang like ain’t no curfew, bitch, if you wave then I will surf you,” he immaturely taunts on “HYFR.”

           

The rest of the members of the star-studded crew to make appearances throughout the album, however, add to its depth. From the mind-blowing verses Minaj spits on Drake’s cadenced “Proud,” to his duo with Rick Ross on the album’s single flashy record, each new person adds complexity to Drake’s expressions. His endearing sampled cover on the title track with Rihanna of Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie XX's "I'll Take Care of U" and his attempt at letting a girl down easy by saying "we live in a generation of not being in love” echoed by Stevie Wonder harmonics also push the album farther along conceptually.

           

Though Drake’s continuous slow jam feels thick in the difference of temperature from usual hip-hop, the interworking’s of Drake’s honest outlook on his new lifestyle is a refreshing match with the genre’s bass-heavy persona. Because he makes “Take Care” so accessible to virtually anyone who listens, it is an undeniably successful album.

Kid Cudi, “Man On The Moon: The End of the Day” (Universal Republic 2009)

A third new flavor to the hip-hop scope comes from the Cleveland drug-infused philosopher and rapper Scott Mescudi, née Kid Cudi. With his first release, “Man On The Moon: The End of the Day,” he mixes trippy atmospheric production with similar singsong choruses and the blunt words of a realistic stoner, adding a further dimension to the traditional scene.

           

The album is a concept album, which in itself can be difficult to be seen as a credible artwork through the hip-hop audience. We are taken though first-hit on the album’s intro song “In My Dreams (Cudder Anthem),” where Cudi expresses that he likes to drift into fantasy because he can escape from life’s truthful anguishes, “Right here in my dreams/Everything is a-okay…/Cause every day, every day, every day is sunny…/ Everything plays out exactly how I want them to.”

           

Still falling under the soft-stereotype, Cudi handles his emotions differently than his sensitive counterparts. Instead of admitting to his sadness, he substantially dilutes his feelings and finds new psychological truths. Interweaved throughout the album are Common’s narrations that carry the storyline. We begin with him admitting, “We live in a world where it's more okay to follow than to lead…This is the story of a young man who not only believed in himself, but his dreams too.” Though in “Take Care” we find some of this honest philosophy, in fact even a similar lyric: “I heard once that they'd…rather hear about finding yourself [than] how you lost you;” as well as in West’s “808s & Heartbreak:” “What does it feel like to live real life to be real?/Not some facade on TV that no can really feel;” Cudi pushes this outlook into an entire collective idea, making the emotion of being “soft” actually beneficial.

           

This doesn’t mean the softness doesn’t exist, however. The album’s most poignant track “Sky Might Fall,” not surprisingly produced by Kanye West himself, is Kid Cudi’s essential proof of the saying that “drunk words are sober thoughts.” “What a world that I'm livin' in, will the rainstorms ever end…Still I feel my heart stronger then its ever been, strong will to my journey ends/ 'Til then I roll more then I've ever rolled…” The sadness is there whether or not he can mask it with hallucinating to fantasy.

On “Soundtrack 2 My Life” Cudi admits to his family issues. “No sitcom could teach Scott about the drama/ Or even explain the troubles that haunted my mom.” Elaborating on this childhood and how his family shaped him, Cudi allows us into the crux of his pain. And this otherwise-masked family drama is consequently linear in all three albums, additionally found in “Take Care,” and “808s & Heartbreak,” even though hip-hop tries to avoid the softhearted side that family truthfully exposes.

           

The eerie echoes of the techno-hip-hop-rock that compose the record also translate its emotion, just as the productions did through “Take Care” and “808s & Heartbreak.” With help from West, psychedelic rock-techno duo Ratatat, and Cudi’s future rock-duo “WZRD” bandmate Dot da Genius, the album is pushed into the faraway place Cudi finds himself. And while listening, it’s hard not to drift off into dark daydream.

           

The album’s song that sheds the most positive light is “Make Her Say” that features verses from Common and Kanye West with a fun back-and-forth sample from Lady Gaga’s a capella version of “Pokerface.” Though the radio-readiness disrupts the flow of the rest of the sinuous record, West’s dependably “got-em!” lyrics are nothing but gratifying.

What sets Kid Cudi apart from the other two front men is his ability to admit that he will eventually turn out ok. On the track “Pursuit of Happiness,” he explains that although this moment may not be ideal, there has to be light at the end of the tunnel. “I'm on the pursuit of happiness and I know everything that shine ain't always gonna be gold/I'll be fine once I get it, I'll be good.” Today is tough, but life goes on: there is more optimism throughout “Man On The Moon: End of the Day.”

           

Ultimately, looking back at the journey we have taken since mainstream hip-hop’s roots incepted, much has changed. Whether or not it’s going to be accepted, it is impossible to try and hold together one genre from evolving artistically. If we are willing to untie the genre’s unspoken rules, we can allow new ways for music to progress and develop. And, we can find inspirationally profound art that is honest to the different emotions found throughout life.

           

           

Final

            Out of all the musical genres, the most ambidextrous is hip hop. Anything with a pulse can be sampled underneath a rhyme, as rap is essentially poetry with a backbone. And as we move further more advanced in technology, we have been capable of even more extraneous production: sampling music from across the world, from any time period, and creating new, obscurely unique sub-hip-hop genres and exploring the many moods and emotions that come attached with each new additive. But this far push from hip hop’s roots may not be as easily introduced. Inching further away from the machismo that douses your standard booming bass and degrading lyrics by sampling piano keys and violins ultimately add a negative connotation to the genre: soft.

            The occasional hip hop ballad has been the rap artist's way to slam-dunk a one-hit wonder since 1990s slowjammer LL Cool J paved the way for hip hop/R&B artists to follow. However, the lines between romantic ballads and a deeper contextual version of what braggadocio hip hop used to be are becoming more and more blurred.

            Although rap artists have continually produced more melodic tunes with R&B choruses, artists such as Kanye West, Snoop Dogg and Nelly have gone as far as to not only sing the hooks themselves, but to sing entire songs and albums while still classifying themselves as hip hop artists. Additionally, almost across the board, rappers from T.I. to Drake create songs with female fans in mind, both by expressing their sensitive side and by boasting about their ability to satisfy women.

            This is where controversies rise and the war in hip hop draws between the classic standby and the frontier runners: what does it ultimately mean for hip hop to have feelings?

            Kanye West’s techno-motional “808s & Heartbreak,” Drake’s expressive rap/R&B “Take Care,” and Kid Cudi’s inspiring classic rock “WZRD” are three albums that prove an open imagination and creative ProTools work can push hip hop from “Hot in Hurr” to a well-respected, ever-evolving artistic genre.

Kanye West, “808s & Heartbreak” (Rock-A-Fella Records, 2008)

            Kanye West may never be satisfied. Grieving over his materialistic consumption in one moment then boasting about his wealth the next, he is driven by ego and plagued by doubt—contradicting the expected feigned composure of your standard pop star. He hides behind no pseudonyms or characters, and will not hold back from telling you how he truly feels about everything. West is also noted to have the most creative and competitive drive to recombine ideas, challenging hip hop’s standards, and making the only constant theme throughout all of his albums being the experience of Being Kayne West.

            In the year of 2008, however, West had nothing to brag about. He and his fiancée broke up, and his mother Donda West, who raised Kanye alone from the age of three, died from complications after cosmetic surgery. This whirlwind of sadness caused West to create the melancholic electronic album, “808s & Heartbreak,” where he sings us through the entire album. This introspective, minimal electro-pop record steeped in regret and pain contains even more self-examination than a typical Kanye West album, and is prime example of the many directions hip hop can go if we release it from its cage.  

At this point in time, the vocal synthesizer auto tune was relatively new on the hip hop scene. Used most famously by the lyrically shallowest rap artists such as T-Pain, auto tune wanes on the tacky side of hip hop traits. But in the context of West’s “808s & Heartbreak,” (aside from hiding behind it as a vocal crutch) it almost feels like an “if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em” approach to the technique. West, however, finds a new way to it better. He embraces the different ways the cyborg-soul software sounds to his advantage in this new genre of emo-electro-R&B, upping the pathos and embodying a cadenced cry.

            Through first collective listen, the album gives off a monotonic drone of the pitch-corrected technology, orchestral strings, and constant bass underlining erratic beep-boop-bops. But if each song is taken in separately, the album reveals folds and layers that shows West actually paid close attention to each production detail—it just needed a little selfless detangling. The record “Street Lights” has an invigoratingly-pattering drum pulse that beats through atmospheric vocals and piano scales underneath his vocodored cadence, “life’s just not fair” perfectly embodies West’s depressed stage.

The track “Coldest Winter,” dedicated to his late mother, also effortlessly translates West’s emotional outcry. Its haunting refrains that inhale and exhale in between bursts of static and chilly '80s synths display the complicated frustration and sadness that comes with losing someone.

“Heartless” and “Love Lockdown” are the album’s most car-stereo capable and glimpses of what this album could’ve looked like if West set his ego aside and was willing to do further editing. Between tribal drums thundering and vocal twitches, “Love Lockdown” successfully samples this new concoction without being too much. “Robocop” is disappointingly close to being another successful groove with hints of West’s trademark snarky lyrics and punchy violins, but sinks to a selfish jam session during the awkwardly endless bridge when West laments how he will “never be a ruh-roh-bot.”

West’s idea to invite 5-foot-nothing Top 40 jester Lil Wayne to this complex release was another obvious misstep. As proven later in 2010 with his failed rock attempt “Rebirth,” Wayne is really only successful at his staple version of rap: sex, drugs and yes, auto tune. Their duet on this album, “See You In My Knightmares,” is horribly one-note and edging on immature and dorky. “You think your shit don't stank, but you are Mrs. P-U” Wayne recites. The attempt for this song to be on any level of sophistication is immediately lost after his verse, as predicted when first seeing “Featuring Lil Wayne” tacked on the title.

            But otherwise if you’re willing to hear this thug-you-can-hug within this new context and are open to his less-than-American-Idol quality of singing, “808s & Heartbreak” fosters one of the most expressive and vulnerable releases from the egotistical genre.

Drake, “Take Care” (Young Money Entertainment and Cash Money Records 2011)

            As another one of hip hop’s most groundbreaking artists of today, Canadian actor-turned-rapper Aubrey “Drake” Graham is also one of the most controversial artists introduced on the scene. Loved by some, loathed by others, his arrival to success has sparked conversation on the contemporary convergence hip hop and R&B, making Drake the figurehead with his sweet singing and sensitive rhymes. But with as much attention comes criticism: Drake is easily labeled as incompetent. Lil’ Kim has stated he ‘just wasn’t built for this hood shit,’ and Common admitted his 2011 release “Sweet” was written about him. The suggestion has been made that Drake’s singing has made him less of an MC, and that he is perhaps too soft for contemporary hip hop.

            His nonexistent criminal record and privileged childhood have also forced Drake’s credibility as a rapper into disrepute. ‘His art isn’t hard enough to be considered real hip hop.’ But Drake has proved his worth, as his artistic talent and courage to go outside the norm has had equally massive success in not only mainstream audiences but underground fans as well.

Drake's 2011 release "Take Care" contains the most somber slow-jams out of his two major releases, simultaneously proving that hip hop and R&B can merge to a new undoubtedly successful genre that can generates support from snooty underground fans and hood rats alike.

"The Office," "Sexual Harassment," NBC 2005

 “There is no such thing as an appropriate joke, that’s why it’s a joke!” manager Michael Scott frustratedly exclaims during a sexual harassment lecture.

This episode of the scripted comedy series “The Office,” which chronicles the daily shortcomings of office workers at the Dunder Mifflin paper company, documents a day at work when Michael is forced to take a seminar on office harassment policies because of the dirty jokes he continually forwards to the employees’ emails.

Ironically, the show may have a lesson to learn in this subject as well.

Most other editions of this NBC series have more tasteful humor mixed throughout the show, give or take a few dirty jokes for shock value. In attempt to make the comedy in this episode about Michael’s inappropriate tribulations as manager, the script continually made jokes that crossed the line: one “that’s what she said!” punch line after another.

The endless dirty humor took away the show’s usual charm. Each character has a quirky and poignant personality, and as the show is set up to be mockumentary-like, they are each hilariously believable. But focusing strictly on Michael’s unbecoming sense of humor, this episode makes us audience members feel just as uncomfortable as office stuck-up snob Angela. For example, when Michael applauds employee Stanley for keeping a picture of a “centerfold schoolgirl” taped to his desk to keep himself “turned on,” and that seeing the photo himself is also the best part of his morning, Stanley gets offended and clarifies that it’s actually a photo of his daughter who goes to Catholic girl’s school.

What also lacks is the comedy’s natural pace. Each episode is effortless in moving along with the storyline of both each episode and the long-term storyline of the series as a whole. But when these 20 minutes come to a close, Michael talks to the camera about how he has learned his lesson while consequently making a crude comment about “hot” receptionist Pam. As comical as fans of the show may find this, the ending still proves that we have moved nowhere. Michael will always be immature, and coworkers will always be there to roll their eyes.

The offensive humor, however, may have you question whether you want to be there too.

John Baldessari “Throwing Three Balls in the Air to Get a Straight Line (Best of Thirty-Six Attempts),” 1973

Photography is full of shit. Most photos hung in a gallery by an experienced artist could have arguably been taken by anyone capable of clicking a button—five-year-olds and monkeys included. So what makes a photograph transcend above the rest? And when does a picture change from a frozen moment in time to a piece of art?

Being so effortless, it’s easy to force a photo to look arty and thoughtfully inspired. Close ups of flowers, photos of architecture, the Instagram app for iPhones etc., we’ve all seen them. Shooting with a sense of humor, and with a fun and succinct design, Californian conceptualist and photographer John Baldessari’s collection of photos titled “Throwing Three Balls in the Air to Get a Straight Line (Best of Thirty-Six Attempts)” is innovative yet beautiful as it playfully redefines this need for forced beauty in photography.

For the past 53 years Baldessari, now 81, has been poking his finger in the eye of the contemporary art world. He has challenged art’s unspoken rules by testing what would happen if these lines were more blurred, and exploring their reasons for existence. He is a genius at stripping things of their normality—their context, order of being experienced—and then seeing what comes of it. Always asking ‘why?’ is an important quality for artists to have while creating their art, but Baldessari looks at the entire scope of art as it is and asks this same question: why must we take photos of the beautiful things in order to make beautiful art? Why not find beauty in odd places? This gets the gears in your mind churning and gets you to look at simple things in a new way—a specific quality that takes art from lackluster to intelligently successful. And as a result, Baldessari has been able to experience the world in a way that is not preconceived and to see profound connections that others aren’t even looking for.

This idea of reconstructing normality is seen through Baldessari’s collection “Throwing Three Balls in the Air to Get a Straight Line (Best of Thirty-Six Attempts).” The artist’s series of work captures his attempts at throwing three balls in the air to make a straight line—an absurdist idea—looking at non-conventional forms of order, seeing what happens when he tries each new method. Thirty-six being the number of frames in a typical role of 35mm camera film, the collection shows 12 of the best in Baldessari’s trials.

 

Though the resultant images are merely a documentation of Baldessari’s ball game, they also border on abstract imagery and resemble his later paint and graphic design works, using circle shapes and pops of color.  Visually, the simplicity of the layout combined with the complimentary color combination in the subject, the blue sky and orange balls, is pleasing to the eye. And without feeling a need to make these photos more complicated to be successful, the photos stand strong with only the few elements in the space.

Through arbitrarily tossing balls in the air to express new out-of-the-box philosophies and finding art in the trial-and-error process, Baldessari achieves the near-impossible: showing us that photography can push boundaries, make you think, evoke emotion, strike a nerve, and actually be art.

 “Beauty is a by-product,” Baldessari explained in an interview with Seesaw Magazine, “Each time an artist does something, you get better and better at making beauty, so why work at it?  Why not something else?”

“Almost Famous” (Directed by Cameron Crowe, 2000)

The uncoolest of us rock fans can only imagine what life would be like on the road with our idols. Cameron Crowe’s “Almost Famous” gives a semi-autobiographical snapshot of this fantasy, taking us on the tour bus in a 1970s rock ‘n’ roll adventure. An entertaining and seemingly honest cinematic depiction of rock culture, “Almost Famous” is a born crowd-pleaser complete with Crowe’s amusing-yet-believable script and performances from a sublime cast.

The film is lead by protagonist 15-year old William Miller as he stumbles into the chance of a lifetime: to spend a few weeks on the road with his favorite band, Stillwater, and write an article about them for “Rolling Stone” magazine. Throughout his struggles, William gets tossed in a love triangle, finds support from famous “Creem” rock critic Lester Bangs, and gets caught up in where his true allegiance lies: to his new famous friends or his journalism career.

The script is dripping with cornily charming quips that have undoubtedly been quoted in many obnoxiously pretentious Facebook statuses. However, Crowe still manages to make the poetic lines collectively feel real. Most resonating (though dangerously close to becoming cheesy) was the fictionalized version of critic Lester Bangs’ phone conversation with William about staying true to your dorky self in the life of rock criticism: “The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with someone else when we're uncool.”

Even more memorable from “Almost Famous,” however, were the movie’s remarkable characters. Though all actors were impeccably casted, two transcended above the rest. Kate Hudson gives what is arguably the most charismatic and emotional performance of her acting career as band-follower Penny Lane, the girl at the center of the movie's love triangle. Frances McDormand (“Fargo”) also brilliantly portrays William's mother—she perfectly illustrates a mother struggling to find the balance between smothering her children and giving them their freedom.

The film pays lip service to a few music-related issues: the struggle between commercial acceptance and remaining true to one's art, and the difficulties faced by band members who constantly wane in and out of friction with each other. Being a daughter of a bigwig in the music business who has spent most of his adult life on tour with famous rockstars, I have experienced first-hand the truly confusing mess the industry can create of a person. Upon entering the music business, a forth wall starts to dissolve that used to block the mysticism of the rockstar lifestyle. They are now coworkers in a sense, and along with them, everyone wants to be your friend. But eventually, the truth of the business is uncovered—it is a world full of jealousy, deceit, reputations, wealth and most importantly, fame, so much so that in order to succeed there is pressure to follow suit in the corrupt pathway. Crowe definitely brings this ugliness of the industry out—perhaps not enough—exposing the back-and-forths in William's mind as he begins to wake up to his heroes' humanity and realize their blemishes.

Though constantly entertaining, “Almost Famous" begins to lose momentum towards the close of the film. The end is dragged out far too long, leaving the audience wondering which tearful embrace will be the last. Also, the script unsurprisingly starts to lose authenticity in its Hallmark-card sendoffs.

But this being said, the movie as a whole stands as an excellent film on all accounts. From the deliciously sentimental script, wonderfully talented actors, and exceedingly truthful depiction of the music business and rock criticism, “Almost Famous” is a movie that—though including the necessary elements of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll—you’d happily watch with mom.

Lady Gaga, "Born This Way" (Interscope, 2011)

 

Lady Gaga has no fears. Headstrong in creating her first album boasting about her nonexistent fame and popularity, her predictions eventually proved true by creating a massive fanbase by which she addresses as her “little monsters.”

Her equality-seeking music has become a frontier in gay rights, though she speaks out against everything from racial discrimination to high school bullying. Gaga even delivered an incredibly moving and unforgettable “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” rally speech as she screamed her analogy that, “Equality is the prime rib of America,” referencing a dress she wore to the MTV Video Music Awards that was made out of cuts of steak.

Someone so deeply philosophical, revolutionary and innovative paired with a remarkable musical talent has the tools to create extraordinary music to shake our shallow and auto-tuned society, but on her sophomore album “Born This Way,” Lady Gaga creates a disappointingly hokey album that feels rushed and borderline parodied.

Undeveloped lyrics, such as in “Bad Kids” “I’m a twit…and I’m proud of it,” make the album feel tossed together with an awkward mess of a thousand ways to say ‘it’s cool to be weird,’—not to mention the multitude of languages forcibly sprinkled throughout. The words, “Don’t be a drag, just be a queen” on the title track compellingly paired with a Madonna-like melody creates an phony stereotypical match to a 1980’s pop record because all gays are into drag queens and, like, love Madonna. And sparkles.

There is no excuse for this, Gaga! You are capable of much better (see EP “The Fame Monster.”) It doesn’t matter that you tweeted the deeper inspirations behind each of your songs as clarification—were we supposed to assume this record is about striving to succeed though tough times in New York, or the inspiration taken from your Grandpa? Because the drinking-lots-of-beer and “I want your whiskey mouth all over my blonde south” lyrics were as convincingly deep as your hair is naturally blonde.

Sonically the album sounds just as reckless; with crushing disco beats, over-the-top guitar solos and an attempt to include Dubstep undertones everywhere creates a mess of grade-school basement DJ trials combined with a preachy Whitney Houston record. A classic flaw in this album, as seen in many of such talented female piano-playing vocalists, was that it was well over-produced; the true-core talent Gaga has underneath the synthesizers is best showcased when paired with just a piano.

But the closest we’ll get to this unpretentious Gaga is on the album’s best song, “Yoü and I.” With a somewhat-dorky country flare, this song is the only break from the thick basslines and is perfect for a car-stereo indulgent sing-along.

Also, if extracted from the context of its fuzzed counterparts, “Government Hooker” stands as the other one of the album’s guilty pleasures. This track, about Gaga’s pretend affairs with JFK, displays catchy hooks and funky post-disco and Casio-tone samples that make the track feel actually paid-attention-to.

Collectively, the dorky lyrics and awkward backings topped with the worst possible album cover, that alone looks like a joke, is apt to leave devoted fans feeling jipped and newcomers uninterested. If Gaga had spent as much creative energy and time pushing musical boundaries as she has social ones, “Born This Way” would have been much more successful.

Tame Impala, "Innerspeaker" (Modular Recordings, 2010)

When an album is classified as “psychedelia-rock,” it’s pretty clear of what it entails: some sort of brain-melting guitar and echoed undertone patterns combined to make a lengthy drug-infused jam session. The only question: is it a good trip, or bad trip?

That being said, Tame Impala’s hypnotizing whirlwind of hazy reverb and fuzzy guitar riffs on “Innerspeaker” is not short of blissfully nostalgic; as it kicks on an old paisley-pop record while tweaking in a 21^st century vibrancy, the result is ideally executed, constantly dazzling and an undeniably groovy jaunt to wonderland.

As a checkpoint in music history, the late years of the 1960s are known as the time when albums were intentionally created as a whole, from start to finish, as an art form. This creates a deeper 60s similarity to the record beyond just its sound—“Innerspeaker” is an album’s album. Its trance-inducing grooves don’t allow you to hit the next button until it fades out as you dry the drool off your lip.

Aesthetically, the album could fool baby boomers into coming across it as an undiscovered gem (not to mention the ironically striking similarity between lead singer Kevin Parker’s vocals to John Lennon’s). But Tame Impala is establishing a whole new breed of retro-rock: it doesn’t feel as though the Aussie group is completely reconstructing a vintage uniform record or wanting it to be cloaked as a Jimi Hendrix Experience deep cut. “Innerspeaker” has an updated freshness and melody that pushes it from being a 60s-homage to its own unique art. Its balance between a connected classic and a lively pop-rock record will please a larger audience than just psych fans (though they will undoubtedly dig it too.)

After some intentional stereo feedback, the album begins with a delayed and reverbed guitar beat, immediately pulling you into a daze. Once you’re in his grasp, singer Parker croons, "She doesn't like the life that I lead/ Doesn't like sand stuck on her feet/ Or sitting around smoking weed,” as he echoes out in the blurry mixture of sounds. Though the production of the songs is practically more vital than the hardly discernable lyrics, the album tosses around themes like the Ego, existence, perception, and the inner-self. Most notably, the record "Desire Be Desire Go" has a far-out philosophic chorus repeating the question, "Every day, back and forth, what’s it for?"

The album’s sound creeps into your ears, melts through to your brain, and clouds your vision. Proved true by the helicopter of kaleidoscopic stereo-panning on "Why Won't You Make Up Your Mind?" or the heart-beating stomp on "Bold Arrow of Time," “Innerspeaker” demonstrates a encompassing sense of control.

The classic flaw of anything so dangerously psychedelic is that it stares at the carpet too long, forgets what day it is and drifts off into boredom. “Jeremy’s Storm,” the album’s unnecessary all instrumental piece with little to no direction, is most guilty. But forgive it for its long-lasting fluidity: “Innerspeaker” is a trip meant not to be listened to, but experienced.

"Cashback" (Directed by Sean Ellis, 2006)

“It takes approximately 500 pounds to crush a human skull. But the human emotion is a much more delicate thing.” Sean Ellis’s “Cashback” perplexingly begins with our protagonist reciting this quote over a classical operatic medley that plays while his (now) ex-girlfriend mutedly screams at the top of her lungs in slow motion. From here, we as an audience have an insight of how unconventional this film will ensue.

After this painful breakup, the central character Ben Willis develops ongoing insomnia. To kill the endless time he now has, he starts working the late night shift at the local supermarket, where his artistic mind hallucinates between dreams and reality.

 

Though the dry, quirky-yet-lovable humor seems a tad “been there done that” after the recent “indie” film craze, the UK feature “Cashback” provides a beautifully atypical twist on a standard love story with its eccentric editing, erotic provocations, and unusual casting.

Both Ben’s sleep-deprived fantasies and his minimum wage job are not short of accurately relatable, making this movie doubly entertaining to watch. But the real kicker is Ellis’ direction in the film: transitioning to and from flashbacks by a swift camera pan as if Ben’s past memories were in the adjoining room, as well as the exquisitely convincingness of his alternate realities. Though this, again, seems redundant of a standard Hollywood feature trying too hard to be bizarrely hip, “Cashback” is successful in marrying an indie film with a sci-fi additive because of its systematic precision and unique editing.

What made this movie perhaps indigestible to some was its heavy influence in classic art; as our Ben is completing his last year in an arts college and the movie reflects his passion for the female composure, audiences may be uncomfortable with the insane amounts of seemingly awkward and frank nudity. We see this especially when his time stopping imaginations lead him to undress every woman in his supermarket--not to mistreat them, but to passionately sketch them. The candidness is done in a tasteful manner and adds a flare to a movie that has some repeated themes.

Ben's recapturing and smooth British accent voiceover strings together nearly every minute of "Cashback" yet never overpowers the camera shots from telling the story. Sean Biggerstaff gives a concisely charming performance that is actually believable-- something that is apparently hard to be in a movie that touches on such common life events. Though the script is lacking in some areas, Biggerstaff makes up for it; cheesy lines such as his “The bad news is that time flies. The good news is that you’re the pilot” are dismissed simply because we are rooting for our dearly loveable Ben. Also, his romantic interest and coworker Sharon played by Emilia Fox is a fun contrast to his juvenile demeanor. The other colorful coworkers occasionally add necessary humor, but the rest of the supporting roles seem unnecessary and forgettable. The Kung Fu-obsessed clerk may have been the movie’s one pretentious quip…why?!

Ultimately, this film resonates above a standard romantic comedy, indie flick, or sci-fi film because of its polished direction, suggestive artiness and suitable casting. Thankfully, the UK shows us how it’s done with an endlessly entertaining feature film that’s an incredible payout.

Rewite: Krsitoff Krane and Sadistik, “Prey For Paralysis” (Crushkill Recordings, 2011)

If 1989’s classic Biz Markie is the king of emo-rap, then the Minneapolis underground rap scene is his mulatto, illegitimate, angsty-arty love child from a suburban skinny-jeans-wearing turntablist. Samples of dusty piano chords mixed in with random vocal bits interrupted by distinct and unexpected DJ scratching are what make the Twin Cities rap culture unique. It’s also notably more multilayered than its New York roots; the Twin Cities emcees do not want you to forget that they aren’t a “coast,” but rather the country’s inner muscle—that’s sick, tired, hungover and pissed off.

That being said, Minneapolis native Kristoff Krane and Sadistik’s latest project, “Prey for Paralysis” is characteristically not in any forgiving mood. With their visually depressing lyrics mashed with melancholic and menacing group No Bird Sing member Graham O’Brien’s production techniques, the album is not short of a twisted kick-in-the-gut whirlwind of eerie phenomena. “Prey for Paralysis” is beautifully succinct and emotive, the perfect convergence of methods, attacking the listener’s auditory nerves with a powerful punk thrust, cynical observations, and an out-and-out assault on hip-hop’s standards.

Sadistik and Krane’s styles exhibit a similar background in poetry and prose, as they both execute a desire to make hip-hop that pushes musical boundaries. Krane’s earlier work contains uncommon backtracks, using samples of experimental jazz, rock and hip-hop beats. Though generally known to create relatable music with a positive outlook, curiously, Krane evades any positivity on this collaborative effort. Instead, he matches Sadistik’s darker, apocalyptic flavor. And, with both rappers on the same page, Sadistik and Krane prove to be a great match. Both are able to pull the listener in with their abstract imagery and long form narrative within each of their rhymes. We see this in the track “Higher Brain:” “I’m gonna bite the hand that feeds until I masticate and make it live in me like a symphony that dances in acid rain…It’s like I’m alone inside a little winter getting bitter from the frigid shivers.” They are both tremendously wordy, however, the real tastiness comes from the traditional rapping cadences transitioned with occasional bouts of singing.

An album this dark and depressing walks the thin line of being emotionally redundant, but with only 10 tracks it avoids becoming an overbearing downer. "Pyramid Song" kicks it off and sets the tone for the album as Sadistik and Krane contemplate the meaning of life back and forth, without any glimpse of hope. In "Bad Timing," we see this cynicism carried on. Krane recites:

Without a doubt in my mind, in the blink of an eye
The world as we know it will be combined
All the seas will go dry, all the creatures will die
All the trees will topple over and the humans will hide
Will look up in the sky and repeat the word ‘why?’
And deep down in our hearts we will plead for their lives.

After Sadistik and Krane taunt life’s fated future above jagged guitars and lurid drum rolls for 22 solid minutes, you’re left with a bizarre cloudy feeling similar to exiting an unnerving paranormal haunted house. Blending hip-hop and rock is no easy task, but with producer O'Brien providing bleak industrial music that adds the push-over-the-edge, "Prey for Paralysis" is every bit the perfect tornado of pessimistic energy rock and hip-hop now have in common.