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FIVE CENT SOUND

Well, if you haven’t guessed from the huge title on our super awesome cover page, our theme for this semester is “Saturation,” (Let’s all give a round of applause to Abby for executing that cover). With a focus on quantity over quality, HUGE tours, and eyeopening collaborations, the current music industry is as saturated as it gets– in both good and bad ways! With so much going on at all times, what does it take for an artist to stand out? It was our goal this semester to highlight artists that are breaking through this saturation, whether that’s through experimenting with unpopular genres, shining light on social issues, or bringing entirely new ideas to the music industry. This was our first issue as Co-Editor-inChiefs, and we couldn’t be more proud to present this to you all. We want to personally thank our lovely exec board for being so supportive when we needed them the most, ESPECIALLY Miss Grace Chapdelaine who edits her butt off every single day. And of course, we must thank our lovely writers, editors, and creative team for providing us with sensational work every semester. We hope you enjoy reading along! <3 - Alexa Maddi & Abby Stanicek

Exec Co-Editor-in-Chief // Alexa Maddi Co-Editor-in-Chief // Abby Stanicek Head & Managing Editor // Grace Chapdelaine Head Online & DEI Director // Daphne Bryant Social Media Manager // Katie Palmer Photo Coordinator // Miranda Nicusanti Playlist Coordinator // Annaliese Baker Editorial General Editors Dana Albala Kayla Gibbs Maya Eberlin Megan Richards Nina Fauci Rachel Hackam Selin Tiryakioglu Sophie Hartstein Copyeditors Emie Mcathie Kayla Gibbs Nina Fauci Sophie Hartstein Creative Nicole Armstrong Christina Casper Milani Gosman Aleiagh Hynds Alexa Latzman Rose Luczaj

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered by You, Jazz by Marianna Orozco // 9 The Colorful Shift of the Reggaeton Genre by Rocio Sola Pardo // 17 Girlidiots for Boygenius by Solia Simpson // 23 Man! I Feel Like a Woman!: The Underrepresentation of Females in Music Production by Rose Luczaj // 29 It’s Time to Acknowledge Non-male Drummers by Mimi Newman // 35 EMBR@C3 N01SE by Izzy Astuto // 41 The Scene’s (not) Dead by Emma Silva // 47 Lost Life On Wax: Capturing the Underground Music Scene Through Art, Music and the Road Less Traveled by Nina Fauci // 53 Never Pick Fights with a Girl Gang by Daphne Bryant // 63 Swiftly Saturated by Gianna Di Cristo // 69 Noname: An Artist in Poetry and Protest by Clairenne Wilson // 75 Assembly Line Music by Sean Perry // 81 “Not Just the Disabled Kids”: Neurodivergent Music Artists by Julia McCormack // 89 Your Music Saved My Life by Nico Schumacher // 97

ByMariana Orozco

Layers of Laufey’s deep, hazy voice, full of longing and nostalgia, hit the ears of thousands as they hit play on her sophomore album, Bewitched. A soft melody of piano deepens into a jaunty baseline joined by gentle cymbals as the first verse of “Dreamer” begins. The Icelandic-American artist, Laufey Lin Jónsdóttier, has been recognized widely for her authentic, jazzy sound. This unique sound and the relatability of her lyrics about modern dating, Laufey has become one of the most popular faces in current American jazz. However, such a title does come with contention. Some jazz lovers find difficulty in giving Laufey such a label as representative of the jazz genre. Though she incorporates jazz instruments like the french horn, trumpets, piano, bass, and drums, and a deep alto voice, she still receives comparisons to indie pop artists like Clairo and eclectic artists like Thundercat. These comparisons stem from the modernity of her music, combining pop and classical elements not seen in early jazz. Her musical background helps explain this theme throughout her releases. Laufey’s musical training in instruments like the piano and cello was influenced by her family’s musical background. Her mother—who is a classically trained pianist—urged her children to hone and sharpen their skills in orchestra performance, resulting in many opportunities to play with sophisticated artists like the Iceland Symphony Orchestra.

Besides her classical training, Laufey also grew up listening to old jazz figures like Ella Fitzgerald, Chet Baker, and Bing Crosby. These artists represent an era of jazz in the mid-1950s in which romantic music with entrancing expressions of love and loss were mainstream. Additionally, the effects of popular music constantly playing throughout anyone’s day-to-day life and their catchy, addictive verses make up a significant part of any artist’s musical world. With different sounds coming from all different directions and eras, it’s no wonder Laufey’s so-called jazz music sounds unlike her old figure inspirations as well as those that came even before them. So, what is jazz music, then? What is it supposed to sound like? And how has the genre changed so much over the years listeners are no longer able to come to a consensus on who and what represents it? For starters, jazz is a style of music that originated within African American communities predominantly in New Orleans. Early focus remained on improvisation and movement of sounds, often described as “swing.” Imagine a stuffy, cramped room along the Cotton Belt, a woman standing atop an improvised stage adorned in gems and feathers, gleaming with sweat, and using their authoritative voice to entreat their audiences to respond. They did not sing not about love, but instead about being wronged, nor did they discuss sparkly stars or the warm sun, instead they discussed work and pain. This is 1920s jazz, a subgenre that

sounds completely unlike Laufey’s music, and yet they fall under the same category. 20s music was grittier, louder, and more guttural than any jazz following it. It was also much more conversational. Bessie Smith’s 1927 hit “Trombone Cholly,” for example, is known because of her commanding voice and the responding melody of the trumpet. What makes this song extraordinary is the natural and argumentative dialogue between Smith and her accompaniment. At the time, it was revolutionary that most players and singers were non-classically trained, representing an older jazz that is very different from later artists like Fitzgerald and modern ones like Laufey. Players would learn to play only by ear and their compositions were instinctual, responding to the leading voice. When listening to “Trombone Cholly,” you hear Smith jibe, “I know a fool who blows the horn,” and the trumpet player proclaiming his contempt in the background, as if exclaiming, “I know you’re not talking about me!” A switch occurred into the 1930s as more classically trained musicians started to take over jazz. Recording labels seeked a smoother sound reflective of more precise sound technology. Thus music became much more structured, and so the Jazz Age moved into the Swing Era, and so on, and so on. Movement in music occurs frequently, more than once in every decade as music evolves. The 40s brought Bebop and the beginnings of R&B with artists like Charlie Parker and James Brown,

respectively. The 50s were defined by the Cool Jazz genre, pioneered by Miles Davis. Suddenly music began to slow down, rhythms became calmer and the emphasis on voice control and organized composition was essential. The 1960s were all about Hard Bop which was characterized by its Gospel influences which then branched off into an even more popular genre called Soul Jazz. It wasn’t until the 1970s that things started to get crazy: there were sub-genres like jazz-funk, jazz-pop, jazz-rock, and punkjazz, and even later in the 80s and 90s comes the emergence of cape jazz (from Cape Town,) ethno, non-western jazz, neo-swing jazz, and ska-punk-alternative-rock jazz—because why not? At one point in the 90s, a sub-genre called jazz noir emerged which can only be described as musky and full of impending doom. There really is a category for every kind of jazz. Every era of jazz has its own definitive properties that form unique combinations. So, how and why do these changes occur? If you ask Berklee student Noa Zebley, she would say it’s the people who influence the genre. “The way jazz moves, there are always influential people that help move it into a new era…” she explains. “Everytime music has move forward has been because people said ‘fuck the money.’” She’s referring to traditional trailblazers like Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Joe Henderson, Dizzy Gillespie, and Alice Coltraine who were greatly influenced by

the improvisational origins of the music. In discussion of these origins, Zebley admiringly explains that “being able to improvise is the root of what jazz music is,” she also adds, “It’s a big musical conversation, and it’s so beautiful when you all know that language,” speaking of her first experiences playing with other musicians. Thinking of jazz as a conversation is helpful to figure out how it has changed overtime. Pioneers in the genre get their recognition by creating something akin to a new vernacular within the genre through unique rhythms, sounds, and techniques. Charlie Parker, for example, created a more intuitive and fastpaced mode of communication between players known as the bebop style. Although ways of playing have changed throughout time, almost unrecognizably, it doesn’t mean music of today cannot be defined as jazz. After all, we still call the English from centuries ago the same language we speak now, even if they sound completely different. With this knowledge in mind, perhaps a jazz artist like Laufey should not be regarded as one who rejects the genre’s origins, but as one who embraces them. Because isn’t experimenting with new sounds the foundation of what jazz really is? However, there are differences between improvisational music and jazz that helps in distinguishing what does and does not fall under the genre. Zebley observes that experimental influences are still present in modern music as well, this time citing the work of Thunder-

cat and DOMi & JD Beck, though she explains, “There is improvisation within that music, but I wouldn’t call it jazz.” Taking the exploratory foundations of jazz and applying it to other forms of music helps create new sound, but it does not necessarily mean this new music is jazz in itself. Contrastingly, Laufey may more easily fall under the genre as she uses traditional jazz instruments and performs with orchestras, while other modern experimental artists play themselves with technologically and synth based instruments, lending themselves to alternative categories. Still, the musical world of modern mainstream artists like Laufey and these improvisational artists is very different from the old ones of Charlie Parker and Miles Davis, of Ella Fitzgerald and Bing Crosby, and of Bessie Smith and 20s artists. Music students like Noa Zebley are exposed to various forms of playing music in education and in life. Though Zebley grew up playing within the jazz genre, she finds that studying at an institution like Berklee with so many different types of music has exposed her to diverse ways of playing. Laufey, too, was a Berklee student of the 2021 graduating class and a beloved member of the school’s community. Zebley endearingly regards her, saying, “Seeing how Laufey’s education culminated in her music and how it influences what she does is fascinating…and it’s so good!” Berklee’s multi-approach method to teaching genres of jazz and pop combine

with Laufey’s classical training to form the authentic sounds of Bewitched. Such combinations represent a natural response that occurs within music. Jazz needs to evolve in order to adapt to audiences’ taste, and there needs to be people moving that conversation onto new topics. Furthermore, these conversations should be fresh. It would be unfortunate if Laufey directly emulated an already existing type of music, then this conversation wouldn’t be had at all. So, jazz is complicated, often bewildering in its tendency to change so rapidly. New decades bring new eras, and now, in 2023, Laufey’s whimsical and romantic sound seems to represent the current state of jazz. The amalgamation and fusion of multiple forms of well-loved music, both old and modern, has given the young Icelandic artist the opportunity to form new audiences in jazz and bring it back into the mainstream. Bewitched has been the most popular jazz release in the past years, and the most popular jazz debut on Spotify, receiving almost 6 million streams on its release date. Music, especially in a genre as flexible as this, inevitably changes with time. But has it changed too much? Again, who can say? The fact is, jazz that people enjoy is still being created after over a century, and that’s something extraordinary. As Zebley says, impassioned in her discussion of a cherished form of music, “When people follow what they love, I don’t see music dying.”

Visual by Nicole Armstrong // Article by Rocio Sola Pardo

From incorporating drag performances in music videos to featuring songs that explicitly portray same-sex relationships, Latin American artists of the queer community have recently carved a path for LGBTQIA+ representation in one of the most historically homophobic genres in Latin American music. Reggaeton, a genre that fuses reggae from Jamaica with Spanish hip-hop styles, originated in Panama City during the 1980s by workers from Jamaica and Barbados during the construction of the Panama Canal. During the 1990s, reggaeton spread to the Caribbean and was adopted by islands such as Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. Artists like Daddy Yankee and Nicky Jam, who became the dominant voices in popularizing reggaeton, incorporated themes of poverty, economic insecurity, and sexual exploration into their lyrics through a hyper masculine or “machismo” lens. With the rise of queer representation in Latin American music genres in recent years, many have argued that “reggaeton turning gay” may be contradictory because of the genre’s deep reputation of misogyny and homophobia. However, queer Latin American artists have created a more inclusive space of expression. The following are some of the most prominent figures in this movement: Villano Antillano: Born and raised in Bayamon, Puerto Rico to

two conservative parents, Villano Antillano grew up around the influences of salsa, hiphop and other Puerto Rican folkloric music styles. When she was kicked out of her house at 17, she decided to follow her passion and pursue a music career. While releasing singles, she began embracing her femininity and eventually gained the confidence to come out as a trans woman. Early in her career, she relied on sex work to make a living. Sex work empowered her as a woman, and she incorporated these experiences into her music. In recent years, Villano Antillano has risen to fame with “Villano Antillano: Bzrp Music Sessions, Vol. 51,” a freestyle trap song that she produced alongside Argentinian musician Bizarrap. It gained popularity across Latin America, and reached the Billboard Hot 100 in Spain and Argentina shortly after it was released. In her song, “Reina de la Selva,’’ Antillano embraces her identity by calling out those who don’t value her as a trans woman. She acknowledges how she has paved the way for other trans artists in the reggaeton industry with lyrics like, “They’re not comfortable with the fact that I exist [as a trans woman]” and “I changed the course of history like Joan of Arc’’. Since then, she has released three albums that touch more on LGBTQIA+ themes and has collaborated with prominent reggaeton artists such as Bad Bunny

and Sevdaliza. Today, she is considered to be one of the most exciting voices in reggaeton as she continues to pave the path for queer and trans representation within the genre. La Cruz: Alfonso la Cruz, or more commonly known as La Cruz, is a rising reggaeton artist who has become one of the most dominant voices for queer representation. Born in Caracas, Venezuela, La Cruz moved to Spain to pursue a career in music. While there, he gained popularity by participating as a contestant in “Operacion Triunfo,” one of the most famous reality talent television shows in the country. In 2022, he released his first album, Hawaii and quickly received recognition on social media for his LGBTQIA+ lyrics. In his songs, “Quitate La Ropa’’ and “Te Conoci Bailando” he sings about a man he is very attracted to that is “driving him wild.” La Cruz’s unapologetic display of queerness in his songs and music videos is paving the way for a more inclusive space in reggaeton that fosters LGBTQIA+ visibility. Young Miko: At 25 years old, Young Miko has already launched into stardom in the reggaeton genre. Maria Victoria Ramirez, or more commonly known as “Young Miko,’’ was born in the small town of Anasco, Puerto Rico. Growing up around early reggaeton and her dad’s favorite rock bands is what inspired her to pursue a career in music. After starting her career by releasing songs on Soundcloud, she began to gain recognition with her single “Classy 101” which was her first song

to enter the Billboard Hot 100. Since then, she has collaborated with other popular artists in the genre such as Villano Antillano, Jowell y Randy, and Arcangel. In her music, Miko openly embraces her experiences as a queer person. In her song “Bi,” from her debut album Trap Kitty, she sings about her experience of coming out and having romantic/sexual encounters with women. In “FINCA,” which is part of Bad Bunny’s record breaking new album nadie sabe lo que va a pasar mañana, Young Miko sings about the types of women she is attracted to and her experiences with women who haven’t had previous WLW relationships with lyrics like, “She likes men and women, but she’s mine” and “She’s not a whore, she’s a happy and elegant woman.” Young Miko’s explicit portrayal of queer culture in her music has allowed her to create a voice for LGBTQIA+ representation and challenge norms as a lesbian woman in a male-dominated genre. Honorable Mentions: Ana Macho: Ana Macho, a Puerto Rican trans and non-binary musician, is also a rising star in the reggaeton and trap genres of Latin American music. In one of her most popular songs, “Muneca,” which features Antillano, she explicitly references her trans identity and gender expression. With lyrics like, “I’m not a normal girl, I’m a [feminine] doll,” she satirizes the unrealistic beauty standards and gender

norms that women–especially those who identify as trans–are expected to follow in order to be accepted by society. Macho and Antillano also use the song to call out transphobic remarks and empower themselves in their identity by singing, “You say that I have the face of a man, but I’m not interested in being a woman, because I [believe] that I represent [what it is] to be a woman.” With Ana Macho’s vibrant vocals and hyper-feminine tropical aesthetic, she has empowered herself and other artists in the queer community to embrace themselves in extravagant ways. Bad Bunny: Benito Martinez Ocasio, known as “Bad Bunny,” has dominated the Latin American music industry and incorporated cornerstones of queer culture into his styles that have reached the mainstream. The Puerto Rican artist turned global phenomenon has shattered traditional reggaeton norms that promote toxic masculinity, homophobia and misogyny, such dressing up in full drag for his “Yo Perrero Sola” music video and paying tribute to a trans woman who was murdered in Puerto Rico during his performance in “The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon.” Despite being accused of queerbaiting for kissing a male backup dancer during one of his performances and incorporating feminine clothing into his style, Bad Bunny says that he is not defined by his sexuality and should be able to express himself without settling on a label. Furthermore, Bad Bunny’s unapologetic incorporation of gender fluid styles and tributes to the queer community have expanded the scope of Latin American music and redefined how reggaeton’s artists express themselves.

He falls asleep drunk on his Greyhound tour bus, passed out over a pile of women he accrued from gyrating on a big black stage. He lives life on the edge, tiptoes along the rope of commercial and provocative. He writes from his bleeding heart, blackened by manic lovers. He conjures jealousy though no one really knows who he is behind his mystery. He takes whichever drugs he craves, he writes and performs and expresses his art and is revered for it. He sleeps around, wears daring outfits and gives bizarre interviews that are declared eccentric. He evades consequence and reliability. He lives in a world made up for him, like the sheets you lay on your guest couch. The male rockstar has an established way of living that is meant to be idolized. It is a freedom only a man could hold, and a woman could only fantasize about; an existence privileged enough to live beyond the confines of patriarchal oppression. His privilege leads his ideas to be revolutionary, despite their averageness. The indie rock trio comprised of Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus, and (the small one) Julien Baker, coined the term “boygenius” as, what they told Rolling Stone Magazine, “a reference for overconfident men who are praised for their every thought.” Dacus adds to this notion in an interview for the New York Times back in 2018 defining a boygenius as “boys and men we know who’ve been told that they are geniuses since they could hear, basically….” This standard is not expected of women in the industry. Dacus continues for the NYT, “If one person was having a thought—’I don’t know if this is good, it’s probably terrible’—it was like, ‘No! Be the boy genius! Your every thought is worthwhile,

just spit it out.” As male voices saturate much of the foundations of rock music and female voices are watered down, this philosophy increases in value.

Society would harbor an immense influx of art if women and nonmen began conducting themselves with as much blind confidence as men are taught to wield. Throughout Boygenius’s discography, thers’s a pattern of paying homage to some of their musical inspirations, most being men or male lead bands. On the cover of their self-titled EP, the group is positioned akin to Crosby, Stills and Nash’s self-titled album cover, nonchalantly draped over a raggedy couch. Their latest project The Record, has some speculating that the three hands reaching up is a reference to Pearl Jam’s 1991 album Ten. Back in January of 2023, the group did a piece with Rolling Stones magazine in which they recreated a Nirvana shoot from the 90s, also done with Rolling Stones. The three stood stoically in full suits, blazers with boxy shoulders, matching red ties, and chests adjourned with patches and pins. The artists Boygenius chose to reference are people that they respect, are valued in the rock scene, and have served as inspiration for their sound. However, when placed in the context of blind idolization and sexism in celebrity culture, another layer of meaning can be derived. Boygenius artfully pays homage to artists they are influenced by while also acknowledging the irony of their position as an all-female band in a male-dominated genre. The tongue-in-cheek attitude of leaning into the “boy genius” persona as queer women rep-

resents a reclaiming of power, as they become the rockstars that gain attention.

The trajectory of fame that Boygenius has entered is substantial, especially since the group is overtly and unabashedly gay. Without a doubt, they have established themselves as a mainstream success and—based on the culture of their fanbase and the public response to their stardom—have obtained the title of “rockstars.” This represents a cultural shift in the music industry. A social shift that values the attention of young queer women as audience members, which have historically not been a particularly valued demographic. As a result, we are seeing the same emulation of Boygenius from their fans as we saw the band do with their own rock and roll heroes.

In 2022, the amount of credits given to female and non-binary music producers and engineers on the top ten Spotify tracks did not exceed five percent.

Let that sink in. Over the past few decades, the media has praised the music industry for promoting female and non-binary musicians. In fact, the 2023 Video Music Awards made headlines for featuring an entirely female nominee pool for Artist of the Year, leading to a sense of optimism and even victory among the general public. However, this celebration greatly overshadowed a more concerning report that came out in March of this year, which highlighted the immense gender disparities in the music production and engineering field. The inaugural Fix The Mix report was published by the musical nonprofit “We Are Moving The Needle,” whose goal is to advance the careers of aspiring female and non-binary music producers and engineers through educational scholarships, technology and various other resources. In this nearly 60-page document, the jarring statistics surrounding female and non-binary representation in the music industry are revealed and analyzed in an extremely thorough breakdown by digital service provider, genre and consumption. This report ultimately concludes that, although women and non-binary individuals are studying collegiate-level music production and engineering in much higher numbers than previously

the case, they are hired far less often than men with the same degrees. So, why is this the case? I spoke to sound engineer, record producer and Berklee College of Music professor Susan Rogers to gain insight into the male-dominated world of music production. “You had to overcome the perception that you couldn’t do it, and you had to overcome the reluctance to include a woman in an all-male environment,” she says of her experience in breaking into the industry during the late ‘70s and early ‘80s. Rogers, who has worked with artists such as the Barenaked Ladies, Robben Ford and even Prince, found that the only way to prevail over the prejudices in the music production scene was to simply work harder and do better than her male competitors. “You have to do your job and do it really well,” she bluntly states. “In hindsight, my instincts guided me well. My instincts led me toward working as an audio technician first, because the audio technician has more technical knowledge than the actual engineers and producers and musicians do. By entering through the technical door, I was able to establish that I was capable and not only could [I] operate the equipment, I could fix it, and the rest of them in the room couldn’t. So, that ended up being a smart, strategic move.” Rogers also mentioned that every experience she has had in the music industry has yielded “wonderful memories” — with one exception. In this case, she was hired specifically for her gender by an artist seeking an entirely female team.

Because of this, she found her skills to be undervalued and unappreciated, and describes it as a “very unpleasant experience,” even adding that the record never came out due to problems between the artist and the label. This calls into question the hiring practices that major record labels have grown accustomed to, just as the Fix The Mix report does. While Rogers has found great success in music production and engineering, she also acknowledges that the current generation of aspiring women and non-binary people seeking to enter this industry do not have it much easier than she did. However, she has hope that they will continue to redefine the standards of representation in music production, and offers the following advice to them:

”Know yourself, know what kind of thinker you are. Know what your desires are. You will do your best work—any work any young person will do his or her best work—when work when who you are has some overlap with what you want.” These words resonated with local Boston artist Anais Preller, releasing music under “anais,” who is currently in the process of applying into Berklee’s highly competitive Music Production and Engineering major. Despite her parents’ desire for her to pursue a more conventional STEM career and the institutionalized misogyny that she experienced with record labels in the past, the artist is determined to become a female trailblazer in the industry. Preller grew up as a talented vocalist and keyboardist who began mixing and producing her own music during the COVID-19 pandemic. With plen-

ty of free time to record tracks from home, she spent the quarantine honing her technical skills, eventually gaining the confidence to transfer out of her first university and enroll in music school. “I encountered a lot of people who said ‘you could be better.’ So, I was like, okay — let me get better,” she recalls, describing the condescending nature of the producers who she previously worked with. “These people that were talking down to me, honestly, gave me so much motivation to just produce as much as I could and write as much as I could.” After countless hours of mixing and mastering, Preller has finally finished a completely self-produced EP. The first single, “Pyromaniac” was released on Spotify in late October. She hopes that these tracks will serve as proof of her technical abilities and talent — but to no one but herself. “It’s not a matter of making my parents proud, or my friends proud. It’s a matter of making myself proud,” she says. “It’s definitely the right decision for me.” Although breaking into the music industry as a young female can be difficult, there are plenty of major music and production icons who are working to amplify the voices of women and non-binary individuals. Artists such as Alanis Morissette, HAIM and Brandi Carlile, along with producers and engineers Catherine Marks, Emily Lazar and Ali Harnell — in addition to

many others — serve on the advisory board for “We Are Moving the Needle,” and hope to one day see a more highly represented demographic of female and non-binary music producers. If you’re interested in donating to the cause, you can do so at wearemovingtheneedle.org/donate.

Article by Mimi Newman // Visual by Nicole Armstrong

“Girls to the front!” are the words the crowd chants as Bikini Kill take the stage at the Brixton Academy in London. I am jostled forwards in the crush of people, getting elbows to the ribs and Dr. Martens in my face from the girls crowd surfing over me. Kathleen Hanna, their front woman for three decades and, arguably, the face of the Riot Grrrl movement of the 1990s, joins in the shouting with a grin on her face. But it’s the girl in the back–Tobi Vail–that I find myself watching, half-hidden behind her drum kit and sunglasses. She hardly seems to break a sweat playing the songs that would make my 14-year-old wrists ache from the effort of trying to keep in time, making more noise than the rest of the band put together. But Tobi Vail didn’t make it onto Rolling Stone’s list of the 100 best drummers of all time. In fact, only five women did, three of whom were in the bottom 10, and none of whom were placed above number 58. Of those five, only Meg White from the White Stripes comes even close to being considered a household name amongst the younger generations. However, in defense of Rolling Stone, it’s not as if they left off a considerable number of notable female drummers (my one large gripe with the list being the absence of Karen Carpenter, widely regarded to be one of the greatest drummers of all time); the truth is, there just ar-

en’t many well-known drummers who aren’t men. The notable lack of women achieving fame and success as drummers hasn’t stopped women from taking up the instrument entirely, though. Daisy Soper and Maeve Malloy both play drums for local artists and bands, and thus have first-hand experience of the male-dominated world of drumming. Soper, who has been a part of the local Boston scene for two years and plays primarily with the band Women in Peril, has found the scene to be “mostly welcoming,” but she has also had “many negative experiences” playing shows as a lesbian woman. Malloy, who plays for numerous local artists including Chrysalis, has “never felt too outwardly disrespected” in the two years that they have been involved in the scene, but they do feel that within such a male dominated environment “it can be a challenge to get a word in.” Soper’s introduction to the drums mirrors that of many girls who have taken up the instrument– falling in love with music as a teenager, and playing along to emo records before forming her first band, Yessirnosir. Soper doesn’t “really know how to describe it”–the experience of playing the drums, that is–but says that “the first time [she] got behind a kit [she] was like, ‘oh yeah, this makes sense.’” She wonders if drums have historically been such a men-dominated instrument because “they’re primal, raw, and, some would say, aggressive … there’s always been an innate masculinity to it.” As a result, she says, drumming has been “off-limits” to people of other gender identities.

And because so few women have become household names as drummers, young women looking to take up the drums have no one to look up to and no one to see themselves in. When my teacher asked who my favorite drummers were in my first ever drum lesson, the list was all male. The likes of Dave Grohl and Joey Jordison came to mind, and not Cindy Blackman or Moe Tucker. It was arguably only in the 1990s that women playing the drums started to feel like less of a novelty, thanks to the feminist punk Riot Grrl movement. All-women bands such as Bratmobile, Sleater-Kinney and, of course, Bikini Kill pioneered a new wave of DIY music in the punk scenes of the Pacific Northwest and Washington, D.C., and as a result brought a plethora of women drummers to the forefront of alternative music. While the Riot Grrl movement may have been short-lived, its DIY feminist ethos arguably had a lasting impact on music because it proved that women are capable of playing the instruments previously reserved mostly for men. And while there is still undeniable work to be done–especially if Rolling Stone is anything to go by–local scenes do seem to be making progress and continuing the work of the Riot Grrls in diversifying the world of drumming; Malloy has noticed that “the issue has definitely improved over the years” while Soper has seen “an uptick in other gender identities in drumming, especially around Boston,” even if, as Malloy states, it is still “definite-

ly a work in progress.” And regardless of how male-dominated the drumming world may be, the best drummer I have ever met is a girl called Sophie from my high school jazz band, and the most transfixed I have ever been by a drummer’s playing was watching Tobi Vail in her big, white sunglasses. The role models that I did have within the world of drumming played such a large role in motivating me to keep playing in showing me that, as Soper puts it, playing the drums is “an experience and art form that can be shared by everyone.” Malloy points out that it is “important to not push [drumming] heavily onto girls just for the sake of diversifying the drumming community,” but by working to make local scenes a welcoming environment we can make sure girls don’t feel “alienated.” Of course, the easiest way to help diversify our local scene is to support and uplift the bands and artists that historically might not have received as much encouragement as their all-male counterparts. Soper’s band Women In Peril released their EP Can I Hold You earlier this year, while Chrysalis (who Malloy plays drums for) have just released their debut album I’m On My Way. Local DIY venues such as The Beatroot and Wonderland (@beatroot. allston and @wonderland.allston on instagram) regularly showcase bands and artists of all gender identities. Both Malloy and Soper are on instagram at @maeverrsss and @sopersoper - check them 38 out to find links to their projects and information about their upcoming shows.

Article by Izzy Astuto // Visual by Christina Casper

Back in 2019, hyperpop duo 100 gecs exploded on the music scene with their first album, 1000 gecs. Tiktok became a breeding ground for discourse around the pair, people questioning why exactly they enjoyed this harsh “noise,” oftentimes not even sounding like what a traditionalist would label as music. Since then, the duo has skyrocketed to stardom, pioneering a new wave of hyperpop music. However, hyperpop is merely an offshoot of a much broader genre called noise music, which — as a whole — is having a resurgence in the 21st century. So, what exactly is the genre? What music is classified as “noise” and why is it becoming so popular right now? Most of those who have tried explaining any history of noise music have fallen short, as the limits of what is and is not noise music can become very techno and messy. As Peter Woods said in his article, “A Beginner’s Guide to Noise Music” from The Hard Times, “noise comes from the circulation of cultural ideas and artifacts, emerging from the accumulated meaningless debris that accompanies all forms of communication. […] Noise music, therefore, comes from artists purposefully activating that noise.” Futurist artist Luigi Russolo is a pretty easy place to start. Credited with coining the term “noise music,” he wrote a manifesto in 1913 discussing the effects the Industrial Revolution already had — and was going to continue to have — on the ways that people made music. He designed noise generators to demonstrate the varieties of more complex sounds that could be deemed as music, predicting that this would eventually re-

place traditional, melodic music. The experimental nature of noise music attracted many mainstream rock bands in the `60s and `70s, further pushing the concept into the mainstream. The Mothers of Invention’s debut album leaned heavily avant-garde, and as Yoko Ono began to influence John Lennon, The Beatles’ music utilized “sound collages” and looped tape effects. The Velvet Underground potentially did the most for the genre, however, through their collaborations with Andy Warhol. The overlap between noise music and the more absurd art movements, such as pop art and Dadaism, are undeniable — and ultimately, the core beliefs are the same. They each stemmed from artists who rejected the logic and reason of capitalist, common society and embraced the odd and the irrational. These very themes are why the genre is seeing such a rise in popularity once more. From hyperpop to industrial to synth, these genres are, in particular, being embraced by marginalized communities who are put off by today’s oversaturation of music. As Five Cent Sound’s theme for the semester, “Saturation,” encapsulates, there is a variety of music genres in the mainstream. Truly any sound that any person could want exists, which can be quite overwhelming! Especially with the technology of today, many mainstream genres just sound overproduced and too commercial. Some artists’ response to that is leaning into it fully, taking the technology at their dis-

posal and squeezing as many sounds out of it as they can get. Instead of yet another sickly-sweet pop hit fated to be blasted through the Old Navy speakers, or an indie ballad sung by a whiny Midwestern man, pure, unadulterated noise is the solution. Music that isn’t trying to market itself to anyone, but is unapologetic in how unappealing it can seem on the surface. While the genre can fluctuate in just how intense that noise is, the heavier, harsh industrial sound isn’t for everyone. If you’ve ever found yourself sick of the current TikTok industry plant, perhaps check out noise music. That’s not the only reason one might be attracted to the genre. Sophia, known online as Pleasure Coffin, is a noise artist from the Boston area. Self-described as making “haunted doll music,” she says noise music is what the inside of her brain sounds like. Currently, she has one EP on Spotify, entitled The Wound Is A Gift, which she treated as a release of emotion. “[Noise music], I think, is a way for the concept to shine through more. Noise, itself, has the potential to be very simple […] so, I think what drew me to [the genre] is the freedom of it, how you can really do whatever you want and let the ideas take hold.” “Wound,” specifically, the final track of the EP, came from a negative experience that she wanted to put a positive spin on with the song’s creation. It opens with a loop of the artist apologizing, followed by haunting vocals and eerie lyrics. The soundscape of electronic beats enhances the song’s overall vibe and ability to unnerve the audience, drawing them in further and further until they combine with Sophia’s vocals to a screeching, static conclusion.

“I feel like, nowadays, a lot of people are stepping away from genre and merging all together, and that’s what I love. It’s my utopic dream to have no one attached to any genre,” Sophia laughs. She spoke of how with genres like noise, which can encompass so many different artists, she can one night open for a metal show and play with a hyperpop DJ the next. The community that comes from noise music is incorporated into the genre itself — because it brings so many people together under one large, incoherent umbrella. Sophia cited death insurance, an artist who really leans into the electronic nature of noise music, as one of her local inspirations. death insurance’s most recent album, i’m in your walls, features yelled vocals over video game soundtrack-esque sounds, reminiscent of games like EarthBound and The Legend of Zelda. With titles like “0hmyg0d” and “ifeelgr8,” the music intentionally takes advantage of internet lingo and aesthetics to bemoan burnout and college. The artist’s website, https://deathinsurance.online/ solidifies this with its messy, Myspace formatting. Another shoutout was Pain Chain, a local artist who is an excellent example of the many queer people making a name for themselves through noise music. As an experimental genre, noise speaks to so many queer people, specifically, because it isn’t meant to conform to any type of mold. It’s wild and

scares people, but doesn’t let that deter its sound and what it has to say. Pain Chain stands out due to their casual approach to improvisational music, coming up with the soundscape while recording. Sophia says that’s often how she operates as well: going into the studio and pressing a ton of buttons to just see what sticks. At the end of our interview, Sophia asked if she could share a final quote with me, which was, “The idea becomes the machine that makes the art.” The quote came from Sol LeWitt, a conceptual artist who reached peak fame in the 1960s for his murals and “structures.” The quote references his own work, but Sophia points out how relevant it feels to noise music. It’s an intuitive genre, one that comes from an artist’s base instincts — choosing sound after sound and weaving them together to create something totally unique and beautiful to those who are willing to expand their minds and appreciate a different form of music. Further, conceptual artist Joseph Kosuth would go on to say, “Art’s only claim is for art. Art is the definition of art.”

Listen to Izzy’s noise playlist!

Visual by Aleiagh Hynds // Article by Emma Silva

About a year ago, I got to see one of my favorite bands of all time, My Chemical Romance, live at TD Garden. I sat in the second row from the back in the highest section with an obstructed view for $200 a seat. Towards the end of September, I saw several local bands in Providence at a show called “Punks For Pets.” The ticket price? A donation to a local animal shelter. One of the bands performing was The Agents, a Providence-based ska band that formed in the early 90s. The show was packed with diehard fans and friends of the band from day one. I was lucky enough to chat with some of the members about the importance of local shows and the way the scene has changed since they first started. “Our first gig ever was a pig roast for a bunch of Johnson & Wales students. That was eye opening,” said The Agent’s frontman Jay Dalomba. “It was like, ‘Wow! We can fucking do this! Let’s keep doing this!’ and we’re here 30 years later, still doing it.” However, in the years since then, the scene has definitely changed quite a bit. “It’s a bit more spread out in the sense of before, we had a lot more of a defined club scene. You would go from [performing at] Baby Head, where you were just starting out and could garner a crowd, and then you would move up to the Met,” said The Agent’s trumpet player Dawn Hamel. “There are less places to play, [in the] last couple years. Covid definitely killed a lot of stuff, and nobody wants to stay out late anymore. All the shows are over by 10,” added friend of the band Bob Kadlec. In part due to lack of venues, many young artists

have turned to social media to gain an audience. Take an artist, like Steve Lacy, who amassed a substantial online following during the pandemic. When he finally took to his own tour last year, he was met with backlash online for being visibly upset that fans only sang along to “TikTok famous” portions of his songs. While TikTok allows for artists to get their music out to huge audiences, it limits artists to only promoting one small clip per video. Some of Lacy’s most popular songs are “Bad Habit”, “Some,” and “Dark Red,” but many listeners only know the parts that were used on TikTok. There are over 570,000 videos using the official audio for “Bad Habit,” with one of the top videos garnering 65 million views. While this has obviously helped promote his music, those 65 million viewers only heard a small part of the chorus in each video. These issues manifested in real life when Lacy went on tour last year. Despite shows selling out, the audience often went quiet during the verses in “Bad Habit” and many other songs that had not blown up online. “[The best thing] is when you can vibe off the energy of the crowd; when you have a lot of people up and dancing, singing along.” Hamel stated, a sentiment echoed by the rest of the band. Fans only knowing small parts of a song takes this experience away from younger artists. Many young artists are using the internet as a means to completely skip the local scene. Some small artists have quickly exploded in popularity that they simply don’t have time to work local venues. This lack of experience prior to jumping into the industry may leave them at a disadvantage, as “putting the work in in the

clubs and meeting people and getting ripped off, losing gear, all of that stuff makes you more rounded as a musician. It grows you up” said Dalomba. Social media boosting an artist’s popularity can also boost ticket prices and take away concertgoers’ attention from opening bands: “You get hyper focused into something, and then you’re not necessarily looking at who an opening band is sometimes. You’re just focused on the band you want to see,”said Hamel. This sentiment echoed throughout larger stadium shows I’ve attended recently. The crowd rarely stands or responds to the openers unless the bands are closely connected, such as in the case of Muna and Boygenius. So what does this mean for music overall? Why is keeping the local scene alive so important? To put it simply, once bands and artists surpass local fame, they fairly often lose the ability to stay independent. This lack of independence can limit their creative freedom. Small music scenes keep alive the bands still finding their voice, finding their footing. They also allow for people to support their own community from the inside. It’s all in the name, it’s local. Supporting an independent artist is putting your money right back into your own community. Local scenes can also keep alive genres that may be losing mainstream popularity. When asked about how the ska scene changed, Hamel referenced a lack of new ska in the US at large. “There was second wave, third wave ska, and then boom silence and now it seems to be coming back a little bit” she said, “it’s nice to see some of the true traditional ska [and] reggae bands…coming back. I see a little bit more of newer bands,

and that’s something where there was a huge gap for years.” Supporting local bands is more important now than ever. In an age of streaming, where bands get “pennies on the dollar” from Spotify, smaller bands may struggle to support their music. When asked how to best support local bands, Hamel encouraged fans to “look for their bandcamp where you can buy directly from the artist, but you get the absolute most when they come out to your show.” Dalomba emphasized how many bands rely on merch sales to pay for studio time, so it’s one of the best ways to make sure they can get in and record. “Buy merch because the money goes directly to the bands. Tell your friends, tell your enemies, help spread the word. Get stickers and put them up all over the town.” The Agents can be found on Bandcamp, Spotify, and any other streaming platform. They perform regularly throughout Rhode Island, and can be found on Facebook under the name The Agents, where all show dates are posted.

Hidden gems illuminate the beauty of the underground art and music scenes, and one of them is Able Thought, a multi-talented artist who has embarked on a captivating journey that blurs the lines between these two realms. Able is the sole creator of Lost Life On Wax, where he markets his documentary photos printed onto recycled vinyl records as the perfect gift of artwork for music lovers everywhere. His creative odyssey has taken him from the gritty streets of New York City to the vibrant alleys of Japan, capturing candid moments of artistic expression in a world where art and music intersect. After meeting Able at his booth in Boston on a Saturday afternoon, we met for an interview where he dove deeper into his life as an artist and his unwavering passion for documenting the unseen through his unique approach to vinyl record art. Nina: Where did you grow up? Where is “home” for you? Able: I started doing artwork in Providence, but Warren, Rhode Island, is home. It’s where my family is, and where I stay a good amount of the time. I would say I split my time pretty evenly between Boston, Rhode Island and New York City. Prior to the pandemic, I went to Southern California and Arizona as well. I started pursuing my artwork pretty hardcore in New York City before I started traveling so much. N: What subjects do you document and how do you choose them? A: I started out as a touring musician. I didn’t get on the road to do art, I got on the road to do music. My music is, for lack of a better term, kind of weird. I ended up playing concerts in basements, warehouses, people’s living rooms and

dive bars. It was more gritty, more interesting. Simply taking pictures on my phone came with an impulsive need to record this [scene] because I thought it was a bit under-documented. You don’t see too much photography based around this. It’s buried deep into those circuits. Street musicians became the heart and soul of Lost Life On Wax, but there are other interests I have and love to capture. It’s a bit all over the place, because now I think about what would look cool on a record. N: Your Japan and Goth collections stand out to me. Where did the inspiration to curate those collections come from? A: The Japan collection came from the time when I was set up in Brooklyn and I had some Japanese people come by the booth. They owned a department store and were planning a show highlighting a handful of Brooklyn-based artists. It was this big event they had in this big room, and for about two weeks, I was selling my artwork there. They own hotels, so they accommodated me, other artists and our friends that came. From there, I fell in love with Japan. It’s my number one spot to visit if anyone were to ask me, and I never thought I’d get there. At least, I wasn’t actively thinking about getting there because I had a lot going on here, until I was offered a free ride. The Goth collection was inspired by a friend of mine. He and his girlfriend have this skeleton named Brando, and whenever I would walk into his house or his studio, Brando would always be doing something different, and I decided to start documenting this guy’s life. It’s mostly pictures of Brando doing things. N: Who, what or where inspires you to keep creating?

A: My art is a compulsive thing I do. I would be lost without it. I think about it from time to time and I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have this. I need to do it. I remember when I had a regular job years ago, when I’d come home and create at night. I was always exhausted, but then I got into making music, and it would actually energize me to the point where I just wanted to do it all the time. I wanted to live in a world where being creative is all I do. And I suppose I got there. N: How do you see the intersection of art and music in your vinyl creations? How does each piece convey a unique connection between the visual and auditory aspects of life? A: If I’m documenting an artist, I’m trying to capture what the feeling was when I was there. So some of the record art is a bit more somber looking, and I was looking for that moment because you only get one shot with a picture. For example, if you’re watching a show live, there’s many different emotions that the artist would portray, right? So in my art I’m trying to portray how I felt when I was there to document what I felt like the artist was trying to give to me. I’m sharing the feeling I felt as a spectator watching these artists and trying to potentially convey that to other people. There’s also an element of specificity in my subjects. It would be very easy for me just to slap a photo of The Beatles on here and make a bunch of money, but that wouldn’t be contributing anything to music culture whatsoever. It’s been done. To shine a spotlight on these artists that aren’t well known that I can potentially show to a lot more people, to share and spread the word, is what’s very important. N: If you had to choose one song as the 56 soundtrack of your life in the scope of your

business and your journey creating music and art, what song would you choose and why? A: Wow. That’s a deep one. I would choose “Happiness Is a Warm Gun” by The Beatles. It’s very sequential and completely changes on and on and on. It’s a good representation of what I’ve gone through. There was a time when I was traveling for years, and now I’m in my studio every day and I’m not moving. N: How long have you been a photographer, and what was your “Aha!” moment where you thought you could take it more seriously? A: So, I never considered myself a photographer. I never did it to be a photographer. I would document these shows with no intention of ever putting them out there. I did it just to do it. But then I found myself getting interested in cameras, and I thought about getting a regular camera–a little point-and-shoot. Before I knew it, I had almost 17,000 pictures on a bunch of full SD cards that I had no idea what to do with. Then, the “Aha!” moment came where I figured that a couple had to be decent, and I thought about what I could do with them. Then, it literally just popped in my head: put them on a vinyl record. N: The originality of your artwork is what drew me to you. I thought, “This is amazing. People need to know about this.” A: Yeah. But my thinking was I’ve never seen anyone really doing anything with recycled records, especially at that time. I haven’t seen anyone else try to do what I do, but I’ve seen other people do things with vinyl record art. N: You mention that your life used to be on wheels. Where have you been, and how many years were you on the road? A: I traveled around the country all the way up

until the pandemic. Since then, everything shut down, which is when I ended up going into an artist co-op with a friend of mine. Nowadays, I’m stationary and I’m actually loving it. I was on the road for a lot of years, starting in 2013 up until the pandemic. I’d go from city to city, cross country, nonstop, a different city every single night. And that time is when I was able to figure out where I made the most money. Between 2016 and 2017, I traveled until I had ten good spots, scattered around the country. My summers were in New York and Boston, and my winters were in Southern California and Phoenix. I would bop to cities, from San Diego to Los Angeles to Phoenix and the occasional Tucson trip. Those cities were always the best for me. You’ve got to follow what I do. I’m selling at markets where you need close-to-perfect weather, and those are the places that always had it. N: You’ve mentioned that you have a vintage mobile studio. Did you build it yourself? How long did it take to perfect it? A: I remember knowing the exact make and model of the truck I wanted: a Toyota Sunraider. Back in the 80s, they made pickup trucks with small campers on the back called shorties. I could go to New York City, and if I had to do some stealth camping and crash in a parking lot somewhere, I easily could. I had my notifications set up on Craigslist to ping me anywhere in the country where one came up. N: Of all the places that you’ve traveled to, domestically and internationally, which is your favorite? A: Hands down, New York City. You can’t look in any direction where there’s not something dramatic going on. There’s nothing like it. It’s a stimulating city that can make you very strong because the weather is almost always terrible. It 58

has this element to it that you don’t see anywhere else. N: Would you say NYC is your favorite place to revisit? A: I suppose, apart from this town outside of Osaka in Japan called Shinsaibashi. It’s a fun town that feels like it’s run by skateboarders with art and music culture everywhere. Every building is graffitied. It’s an awesome Japanese city that never sleeps, nicknamed the American Village. It feels like how Brooklyn is to New York City. I’m in New York City for three months out of the year, every year. So it just feels like my home away from home. N: When and where did you start selling your record art? A: My first sale came from a friend of mine who had a thrift store up on the west side of Providence. I hung them in his shop where I made my first sale. I had four of them. My next memory was doing some very small local pop-up markets. It was very sporadic, because it used to take so long for me to make them and I was very much learning what to do. N: And is it just you? Or do you have anyone that helps you out with your process? A: Not with the process. I make everything on my own but I do have people that help me sell. N: What would you say your customers value the most from you whenever you interact with them? A: That’s a good question. I think that there are two frames of mind when people come by the booth: They’re either looking for what I got, or they’re not. It’s either perfect for the people that are at the booth or they’re almost confused, which is good because I know I’ll have a great interaction with those people that it’s perfect for. We’re going to be on the same

level. N: Your digital storytelling is what truly sets you apart from other artists. Where did the idea to create those stories come from? A: It really took off at the booths where I started pointing to photos and saying things like “Oh yeah, this is crazy. This guy thought he was going to fall through the floor because the crowd was jumping so much.” And people love that. I’m explaining a picture of something that you can see, so I thought it would be better to make videos for each one. I’ve thought about making comics about my touring life. N: Why do you think it’s important for your customers to know the stories behind your photos? A: I’m documenting something that happened, and most of the time, there weren’t a lot of people there. These moments are important, and sharing those stories with people that didn’t experience them is good for music culture. These bands in these smaller DIY networks should be able to support themselves and have more eyes on them. N: Is this your full-time job or is it something you do on the side because it brings you joy? A: I had a regular job in 2011 and 2012. I would do my creative stuff at night, and it got to the point where I wasn’t sleeping. The first year was terrible, I made very little. Once I became more confident in figuring it out as I went, I pursued it full time. And it’s taught me that time is extremely invaluable, much more valuable than money. N: Were there any other specific challenges or obstacles you faced in your journey as an artist? How did you overcome them? A: When I first started, I was selling primarily in Rhode Island, and I wasn’t doing it super consecutively. The same went for music. It

gets to the point where everybody already has it. Everybody had been to the music shows. It’s hard making a living on music, and it’s even harder trying to convince people to come see you play every weekend. You need a paycheck, and that’s when I started to realize that I needed to be in a different place every weekend. A big challenge was finding the perfect truck that I could travel in, the biggest jump being that I was going to figure out how to live in a truck now. N: What are your future aspirations as an artist? How do you envision your art evolving over the next few years? A: I’ve thought about potentially doing a zine. Some artists I know save a bunch of scraps from their studio from the month, put them together in a book, and that’s their zine. I’d like my online presence to be the primary driving force, and to be able to make art to promote the art. In 2024, I’m doing shows again until Halloween time to focus on creating longer videos for YouTube and Instagram. So many friends of mine have found success online, but it was never the avenue I put enough time or attention into since the shows were working. For people like me, it’s about creating art that actually captivates them, which takes time. That’s the next big thing. Able’s ability to capture the essence of the music scene authentically and his dedication to the unconventional are not only inspiring, but essential in preserving the realities of music culture still in the shadows. As Able evolves as an artist and expands his creative horizons, we can anticipate more captivating stories and innovative artworks to emerge in the future. Lost Life On Wax is a platform for the vibrant and the unexplored to take center stage.

Visual by Nicole Armstrong // Article by Daphne Bryant

No sector of the music industry is more saturated than the pop scene in East Asia. Countries from the Philippines to South Korea consistently crank out new, ridiculously talented groups of teenagers and young adults. Idols dedicate years of their life to performance. If a group doesn’t make a splash within their debut year, then it’s unlikely they’ll ever succeed. When talking about K-pop, everyone always wants to rave about BTS or BLACKPINK, which are considered the two biggest groups of our generation. But there are other artists showing up and showing out; one girl group in particular is breaking through the saturation of Asian pop in a unique way. Enter XG, short for Xtraordinary Girls. XG is a Japanese group consisting of seven girls who can all sing, dance and rap (as is typical of J-pop groups). Surprisingly, the group doesn’t claim to be K-pop or J-pop, but rather a global girl group. All members of XG are Japanese, but they promote themselves in South Korea and release songs entirely in English. XG’s blatant appeal to diversification and international audiences is the ultimate way to differentiate them from other groups. Domestic success is one thing, but global acclaim is indicative of superstar status — and that’s where XG is heading.

The group was formed by Xgalx, a subsidiary of the entertainment conglomerate Avex. Headquartered in Tokyo, Avex focuses on more than just the pop music scene. Unlike most companies that produce idols, they’ve also set sights on avenues like anime, video games and live music events. Perhaps it is this versatility that served as the perfect backdrop for the multifaceted XG to hit the scene. Business student Meggie Phan finds that XG’s appeal lies in their comfortability with being an epic machine made for an international audience. “It’s meta, because it feels as though they know they’re manufactured. They have huge financial funding, they’re very cohesive with their branding and very aware of who they are,” says Phan. Other groups often have inconsistent or jumbled themes and concepts, but less than two years into their career, XG exhibits maturity, consistency and understanding of their playing field. Their music, visuals and dance are all on point, and they’ve got their market formula and identity down pat. XG’s commitment to an out of this world brand is exemplified in many ways. One may cite their TLC space-themed music video for “LEFT RIGHT,” or the music video for “GRL GVNG,” which features a heavy alien, supernatural presence that maintains a presence throughout their discography. Similarly, the lyrics for “SHOOTING STAR” play on otherworldly themes without coming off as cheesy. Despite being introduced to the world as part of the highly overloaded K-pop industry, neti-

zens (regional and international online fans) recognize that XG is different from the rest. “I think what makes XG stand out is their music quality. If you [listen to] their songs, each one has a really deep meaning and I really love that they always input themes that are not talked about [amongst other idol groups],” says fan Isabela, who runs an XG style account on Instagram. XG is known to make outward declarations of its unique approach to the industry. “XG ‘bout to break ya idol stereotypes,” member Cocona raps in XG’s fan service mixtape “Nothin,” which expertly samples the song by Queens, AUS native N.O.R.E and is a major fuck you to everyone who comes in with preconceived notions about the group. XG’s boldness only grows overtime. “When [XG] started, I think they were playing it kind of safe. And now they’re definitely getting more out there and experimenting with styles,” says Mel Jones, student and fan of XG. Their 2022 debut single, “Tippy Toes,” takes an edgier approach to the hip-hop and R&B genres. “Watch the way, we lead the way, we work the way we glow / They ain’t ready for us, we about to wreck the game,” raps leader of XG, Jurin, starting the song off strong. Due to the simple backdrop and fairly traditional choreography, this is known among fans to be one of their less dynamic releases, but with most idol groups, everything is extremely planned out. As lead vocalist Chisa takes on the pre-chorus, XG hints at bigger and better things coming: “We’re on the rise, you ain’t seen nothing yet / Lace ‘em on tight / Gonna keep ya on your tippy toes.”

Even though they are in the pop market, XG will often refer to themselves as a R&B and hip-hop group, both genres that originated in Black American communities. However, they don’t label themselves carelessly like the many idol groups who often lack any true knowledge about those who came before them or the history of the genre, and treat Black culture as a mask they can put on and take off. “XG’s team is intentionally fusing multiple influences — while still honoring their origins,” says Simon Jakops, CEO of Xgalx, in an interview for Billboard. “XG and its producers ‘want to add new color and continue to play the role of unfolding a new world’ while still ‘respecting the legacy of various senior musicians’.” XG’s dedication is evident in their training background, discography, and eagerness to collaborate with American writers and producers. In multiple conversations with media outlets, XG doesn’t hesitate to recognize and celebrate icons like D.R.E, neo-soul artist Erykah Badu, the Jackson family, and legend Mary J. Blige as their idols and inspirations. Because of groups like XG, the industry is changing. These seven girls defy many of the stereotypes that mainstream idols have been known to perpetuate; they purposefully sing in English to reach their international audience, stick to an interesting and unique brand while still experimenting with genre, and aren’t afraid to always cite the cultural roots their music is derived from. One of the hardest things about being an idol group is getting a fanbase to be dedicated for the

long term, but it’s likely XG will never have this problem. Just know that XG is going all the way!

Visual by Aleiagh Hynds // Article by Gianna Di Cristo

In a world filled with Swifties of all ages, hearing about Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour is a weekly (minimum) occurrence. However, the content from news articles remains more or less the same: friendship bracelets, fan-made costumes, outrageous ticket prices that brought a huge monopoly into Congress, and the parents accompanying their kids — cool. One would think publications wouldn’t want to over-report. Yet, in the past few months, journalists have been obsessed with talking about this tour without any hesitation toward repetition. To act as if the tour isn’t impressive is a little biased — Swift manages to put on a threehour show and has crowds roaring every lyric of a setlist comprising more than 40 songs. She’s on track to have the highest-grossing tour ever — a seat currently held by Elton John — and the Eras Tour movie has made over $100 million in pre-sale tickets. Coverage also focuses on the massive, loyal fanbase Swift has cultivated throughout her years in the music industry. The Eras Tour kicked off in March of this year, but it’s now the middle of October; I think we’ve heard everything there is to know about this tour. The gripe I have with the constant press cover-

age is that if they’re not regurgitating information, they’re reporting on minuscule details just to get a click. The oversaturation of Swift’s face on every online platform has become ridiculous — as if the media doesn’t already milk every Swiftie headline there is to write (such as a riveting article on what she ate at a Kansas City Chiefs game, courtesy of The New York Times). There’s a difference between a story worth telling and a company looking for easy engagement. For tabloids, reporting minute and invasive details on stars isn’t out of the ordinary, but to see major publications repeatedly beat a dead horse with the same conversation is disappointing. This is not to say journalists aren’t allowed to talk about or have an opinion on the same topic. Still, it feels inauthentic for notable sources to produce articles that feel very Page Six-esque. Stan culture is the reason why there’s such an overexposure of artists like Swift. It begs the question: Why have music journalists been so fascinated with covering something everyone is already talking about, while bringing nothing new to the conversation? It’s unlikely that 13-year-old girls are really reading concert reviews behind a paywall. Those kids are most likely consuming media on X, Instagram or TikTok. The articles target older fans with an income fit for subscriptions. The Eras Tour phenomenon started before Swift even hit the road. When Live Nation failed miserably to accommodate Swifties’ attempts

to secure tickets in November 2022, it created a storm so massive that the company’s CFO had to testify in front of Congress two months later. Lawmakers addressed the issue of monopolies and the poor handling of the overloaded servers. It’s strange to think that fangirls not getting access to tickets was what finally pushed Ticketmaster/Live Nation into the justice system, rather than the Astroworld catastrophe that killed nine people a year prior. When it comes to the Eras Tour, I find myself wondering why so much romanticism surrounds it. When reading articles like the New Yorker’s “The Startling Intimacy of Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour” by Amanda Petrusich, who says that Swift using the word “you” felt like she was directly speaking to people, and that she could “see” each one of her fans because of their light-up bracelets — the parasocial relationship becomes immensely clear. Praising Swift for this is odd, as if every other artist who goes on tour never addresses the crowd with “you.” It often seems like there’s a reach to make this concert-going experience sound unique and different, when it’s just about another mega-popstar doing what they do best. Comparatively, Beyoncé’s 2023 Renaissance Tour didn’t receive nearly the same amount of coverage, and the topics that were discussed were very different. Swift’s concerts give journalists a chance to gush about a place where young girls and women get to sing their hearts out; Beyoncé produced a tour that gave journalists the space to analyze and appreciate the meaning

behind its visuals and context. Beyoncé has continuously brought Black culture and history to the forefront of her tour while also amplifying queer culture within house music. Her approach provides some more meat on the bone for people to dissect — it certainly has more depth than themes of the Eras Tour: love, personal growth, breakups, etcetera. The lack of thought pieces on the Renaissance Tour is something to consider, and the contrasting amount of the articles published is worth noting. Swift is published at least once a week by well-known publications, while Beyoncé has received more sparse coverage since her tour began, closer to once or twice a month. It’s okay for something to be mainstream and not extremely profound; there’s no shame in liking something simple. We, as a society, tend to reject this principle because we fear being “basic.” But, there’s a reason artists like Swift are so popular, and it’s because most people can take a liking to their music and image — it’s easy to digest, bop your head to and sing along with. Reading articles like Petrusich’s, such journalists come across as writers simply inflating the experience for readership. That’s not to say it wasn’t how Petrusich truly felt, but the way she describes the tour proves to me, as a reader, that nothing intense was going on — beside how nice it was for people to see someone they love on stage — and there’s nothing wrong

with that! There are likely instances where slow traffic on a publication’s website may encourage journalists to write about people like Swift, even if all the details have already been chewed and spit out a hundred times. The BeyHive has an equally loyal fanbase, which begs the question of why writers aren’t trying to reel in clicks from that side of music. Both musicians are talented, but only one of their tours yielded such a massive online appeal. Publications should understand that the oversaturation of one conversation often turns readers away, rather than pulling them in. There needs to be competition in terms of mainstream artist coverage — there’s already so much that everyone knows about them and it would be interesting to see a reporter break into something new, invoke a conversation that compels people outside of that loyal fanbase to read articles. We, as readers, want to follow someone through their extravagant journey to get to the concert. We want to know what the artist thinks about their own tour. Writing to please the masses isn’t engaging, especially when a dozen people have already arranged their thoughts to say the same thing in a different order. If there is nothing else to be said, leave it alone and find your next topic of discussion.

Article by Clairenne Wilson

“Through all the joy and all the pain Don’t forget from where you came The avenue remembers you Your song, your truth, your light is proof That love is still with you” - Noname These five lines of ethereal cadence and lyrical authenticity are an encompassing example of the socio-political music created by Noname through her poetic songwriting. Noname’s music is not just sonically satisfying, but actively works to protest the systemic issues in America through radical political discourse. Noname, born Fatimah Nyeema Warner, is an artist from Southside, Chicago who incorporates R&B hip hop, rap, and neo-soul into her music. Her lyricism draws on political context, everything from the oppression of Black bodies in America to deeply introspective perceptions of self within the world. A song that I often use to introduce people to Noname —and my personal favorite song— is “Rainforest,” a single she released in 2021. It uses syncopated jazz melodies over a bossa-nova style beat to create a beautiful relationship between her musicianship and slam-poetry style lyricism. The song itself explores the power imbalances through wealth disparity in America, the rights of Black bodies in a post-colonial system, and the ways in which commodification of people through consumerism harms Black Americans. A specific part of the song that is very representative of the advocacy work Noname does for Black voices appears in the final verse of the song, saying:

“You ain’t seen death, I can hear the blood on the moon These n***** put a flag upon it, all they do is consume Only animal that ravage everything in its path They turned a natural resource into a bundle of cash Made the world anti-black, then divided the class” These lines are a clear cut way of telling her audience that colonial America established a harsh class divide, assigning stereotypes to Black and other marginalized communities as a means to drive forward the white consumerist economy. Noname is saying that social constructs create a divided world for the purpose of silencing Black voices for the means of economic gain, turning everything into a means of profit, from natural resources to Black bodies. This song does a beautiful job of pairing musically brilliant production with heavy social and political content, making concepts that are often unapproachable for audiences digestible enough to create change. But digestibility isn’t the focus of why Noname does the work she does. At the beginning of her music career, Noname fell into a deep exploration of writing by authors of color talking about the socio-political and economic state of America. After exploring George Jackson’s “Blood in my Eye,” Noname arrived at the desire to create a community through the need for social revolution. This was the beginning of the Noname Book Club.

Growing up in South Side Chicago, Black art and culture enveloped her childhood. Since her mother owned an Afro-centric bookstore in Chicago, representation through literature was a profound part of Noname’s exploration of identity and her worldview. She created the Noname Book Club in 2019, its self-proclaimed mission to be a “Black-led worker cooperative connecting community members both inside and outside carceral facilities with radical books...believe building community through political education is crucial for our liberation” (Noname Book Club). From this initial space for people to discuss content, Noname expanded the community with the addition of a prison initiative that sends books to people within the prison system as a means to achieve collective liberation through education. Having a book club within spaces that are often isolated from the social change and connection in the outside world allows for a larger outreach in the bookclub’s POC community. These communities Noname has created are a means to dismantling the structures that silence and oppress Black bodies and her work. Nikki Turpin works as the DEI director at a New England independent school, as well as the director of Robins House, which tells the stories of self-emancipated and freed African-Americans living in Concord, Massachusetts. Nikki’s work actively amplifies and represents BIPOC stories, voices, and histories. She finds it refreshing to see artists use their music for political and social activism in rap genres. It reminds her of listening to Public Enemy, Biggie, or Tupac, which were “artists talking about the

things that are happening and engaging younger people to take action against or for something” Turpin says. Growing up in a time when Hip Hop and R&B revolutionized not only music, but the world, Nikki notes how these genres were a means of speaking out for the communities artists were a part of. This work crosses directly into the import of the Noname Book Club, as it is a space that encourages education and discourse on deeply important topics. For Nikki, one benefit of spaces such as the book club is that it allows for people to find the room to incorporate and share their own narrative. Books are “the way to get the revolution started…it causes change to happen, it causes people to connect” Turpin says. Reading allows for a window into a new perspective on the world through the narratives of others. Nikki believes that our responsibilities as listeners is to support and truly engage with Noname and other activist artists who have found their voice and are speaking their truth. From the beat to every lyric, Nonames music is there to be heard. Go beyond the rhythm and listen to the soul of the song. All of the monthly selections for her book club are posted on the Noname Bookclub website for you to engage with as well as a multitude of POC owned bookstores around the country (for us Bostonians, look at Frugal Bookstore!). Joining the book club is entirely free, and it is an opportunity to find a new community and resources for literature by POC authors about POC rights and experiences. Noname’s work is about establishing radical change in a system so quick to oppress and eager to silence those within it. To lis-

ten to her music is to take on the responsibility of social change. While it is important to have music that exists solely for its artistry and intrigue, it is equally as crucial to engage with artistic works such as Noname’s; ones that change you, inspire you, and envelop you in their beauty while igniting a fire within to achieve a world in which all voices are heard equally.

Visual by Rose Luczaj

You can’t stop scrolling. You try to put your phone down, but the addictive fix that swiping on your favorite app gives you is impossible to resist. The swirling colors give you instant dopamine hits. You can feel your brain rotting as you swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe. The most distinctive feature of these videos you’re watching? The music. The canned, generic, overproduced pop echoes in your head for hours, even after you finally manage to pry yourself away from your phone. The same music that has been burning a hole through your brain for weeks begins to pop up everywhere: Instagram stories, Tweets, ad campaigns, television shows. You can’t escape it. From the minute you wake up to the minute you go to sleep, you will have this music shoved down your throat as long as you have so much as a pulse — you are being forced to digest the musical equivalent of flavorless gelatin. It’s easy to reduce pop music to just this — flavorless gelatin, canned, generic beats overlaid with auto-tuned vocals that you are constantly subjected to without any escape. We hear it constantly, with “abcdefu” by GAYLE and “Peaches” by Justin Bieber being two of the more egregious examples of assembly-line music. However, if you do a bit of deep diving, you will realize pop is so much more than this boring, overused sound. Pop is spunky, energetic, sometimes edgy, sometimes dreamy and, above all else, fun. Pop is not a genre exclusively made up of huge artists that sell their souls to record labels. Pop can be local, indie, self-made. It takes a bit of dig-

ging, but once you learn to love pop, you’re never gonna stop. Learning to love pop is a journey. As kids, many of us embraced the genre without shame. I’m sure we all remember hearing “Teenage Dream” or “You Belong With Me” blast from the radio when we were younger, giving us no choice but to sing along. We would dance along with Ke$ha and Britney Spears and knew all the words to “Fergalicious” by heart. However, at some point, we grew up. Pop became corny, reduced to a dull mainstream genre that our burgeoning sense of individuality vehemently rejected. While some rediscover their love of pop during their late teen years, many don’t come back around to it, choosing to reject the genre in favor of other sounds they enjoy more. Of course, there is nothing wrong with finding your favorite sound, but an issue arises when these same people try to discredit pop as a genre. A lot of the arguments against it are centered around this ear-piercing, assembly-line music that I touched upon previously. Many who discredit pop attribute their disdain to the shallow pop sound we hear on apps like TikTok and Instagram. They argue that because this more generic pop is “bad,” overplayed and created by money-hungry individuals, that pop as a whole is bad, overplayed and shallow. In his Medium blog post, “Why Pop Music is Bad,” Kooper Reece states, “It’s simple, pop music doesn’t care about the listener, or the [e]ffect it has o[n] someone. All it cares about is bringing the label companies money and fame.” This is a shallow take that disregards the versatility of pop in favor of only assessing current, trending music. Simply put, the loudest voices in pop (the

artists that receive the most streams, the artists that create assembly-line music) overpower the real heart of pop — the local pop artists, the indie pop artists and the alternative pop artists. Here in Boston, we have a plethora of local pop talent that represent the best of what pop has to offer. Their art is real, and not created solely for profit. This idea that pop artists are soulless automatons is a complete myth. I sat down with Linda and Calvin Pardee of The Chelsea Curve, a local Boston mod-pop band, to discuss their work as well as their take on pop criticisms. They released their first album, All the Things in 2021, containing 13 tracks of true mod-pop magic that perfectly define their sound. Linda and Calvin were single-handedly able to disprove the idea that pop artists are shallow or don’t care about their craft — the way they speak of their music is filled with a passion and deep love for what they do. Sean: How did The Chelsea Curve come about? How did you originate, and how did you develop the sound that we hear today? Linda: Well, Tim — the guitarist of the band — and I had played in a rock band years ago. We stopped playing for a little bit, and it was time to start up a new thing, and [we wanted the band] to have a retro-mod feel to it. I knew Tim would be the perfect guitarist, so I enlisted him. Our drummer — we knew him from the scene — he played in other bands. He was on our short list of people to contact, but a funny thing happened. He actually, out of the blue, approached me asking if I wanted to be in his new band, and I was like, “Nope! Maybe

you want to be in my new band?” S: Love how you just went, “No! Be in mine, though?” The inception of The Chelsea Curve, as highlighted above, was completely local. No big-budget producers or billion-dollar record labels, just Linda, Calvin, Tim, Ron, their instruments and their sound. The band continues to represent the heart and soul of pop — music that gets your foot tapping, head shaking and heart thumping. The Chelsea Curve created All the Things in their basement, not in some big-budget studio. L: The band had played a few shows — had gotten together and were finding our stride, when this thing happened called the Whistlestop Tour, which was sort of like a collective of bands— Calvin: —A collection of New England bands who were doing a tour. They got all of two days into the tour before COVID hit, and so everything went dark. For the next 18 months, it was the perfect excuse for Linda and Timmy to hide in our basement and write All the Things. They went into songwriting mode. All the Things wasn’t born out of a desire for money or fame. It was created by two artists who wanted to continue practicing their craft and expanding their abilities during an isolating and difficult time. They had no experience with producing or recording an album, but they had all the time in the world to do it, so why not? They loved the music, they loved playing it — an album was the natural progression. They joined Red on Red Records, a local Boston record label started by

their friend Justine, and began recording. L: Justine Covault, from Justine and the Unclean, she was a part of the Whistlestock thing, she started her own label called Red on Red Records. She had asked us to sign on. What we decided to do, instead of releasing one big album all at once [was] we released one single a month for eight months. That was really good in giving [us] momentum. Linda had a distinct vision for what she wanted The Chelsea Curve to sound like. She wanted to make fun, retro, mod-pop music that was a little different from anything she had worked on before. S: How would you define pop — and also mod-pop if you want to touch on that? L: To me, pop has gotta have a hook, gotta have a melody and has to stick in your head. Mod-pop sort of has a retro feel, y’know? Bands like The Who have that energy. C: Mod is not just the music, it’s the whole scene, the dress, the style, the attitude. It’s a culture, a niche within pop. L: It’s not just a sound, it’s a look, a feel. We’ve made friends with quite a few bands that are mod-pop. People who like the scene pass the word along. Calvin and Linda have even made friends with modpop artists who are based in London. It’s incredibly niche, but the culture is alive and well, especially overseas. The desire to dig around and

find people who love similar niches as you is something that all fans can all relate to. Hardcore pop fans don’t love pop for the canned music we hear on the radio. We become obsessed with niches within pop, with particular sounds and vibes. Pop is so much, but often reduced to so little. S: So, pop is in a strange place right now. As pop artists, how do you feel about where pop is sitting as a genre right now, with all of these “assembly-line artists?” C: It’s a commodity. K-POP right now is, like, the money making machine. The artist is just the product. There certainly is an assembly-line. L: Yeah, this goes all the way back to, like, New Kids On The Block. Writers write the songs and then dole them out. C: Honestly, there’s nothing wrong with that, we can’t compete with that. We’ll never compete with that. L: We just do our thing. Linda and Calvin really capture why I love pop. Their music is catchy, spunky, true to themselves and, above all else, they have fun making it. People who reduce pop to the most popular, generic sounds are ignoring artists like The Chelsea Curve, who make vibrant music, filled to the brim with personality. Pop haters fail to recognize that Popheads are not all constantly listening to Ava Max or BeBe Rexha (the queens of generic pop) — they may also be listening to the stranger, more uncanny indie pop made by local-esque midwestern bands with a total of eight fans. Of course, this kind of pop

music still exists, and is genuine, but it fails to fully represent pop as a genre. It’s easy to see how one might develop negative opinions surrounding pop music. At times, it feels as if we are literally being strangled by generic pop music due to short-form video platforms encouraging the creation of boring, clippable music. If I had no pre-existing knowledge of pop music, and I had heard Unholy by Sam Smith 17 times in one day, I, too, may be inclined to dislike pop. But pop as a genre is a treasure trove of wonderful music that only gets better the further down you dig. Bands like The Chelsea Curve prove that some of the best pop is found on smaller scales, not through big name advertisements or relentless marketing. I challenge you, if you still have a distaste for pop, to go out and find a local pop artist and attend one of their shows. Especially here in Boston, local pop is in abundance. (To quickly plug The Chelsea Curve, go check them out at The Crystal Ballroom in Somerville, Massachusetts on December 16 — they will be playing a cancer benefit concert!) Give a local band/artist a genuine chance, and see how much you enjoy their sound. You might just surprise yourself with how much you enjoy the music that they’re playing. You’ll think back to that morning, when you, once again, were overwhelmed with generic pop music on your social media profile, and realize that pop music isn’t only made up of this canned sound.

Article by Julia McCormack // Visual by Christina Casper

Did you know that 15% - 20% of people on Earth are neurodivergent? That’s 10 times greater than the percentage of people with red hair. Being neurodivergent means your mind works differently. While it can be a disability, it may also just mean being someone who thinks and operates in a different manner than others. When you’re a neurodivergent person, it’s nice to know you’re not alone. Many thriving musical artists have autism, ADHD, bipolar disorder, Tourette syndrome or depression — just to name a few. Despite their prevalence, many in the music industry choose to keep their disabilities private. However, some have shared their diagnoses — one of the most well-known of such musicians is the legendary David Byrne. David Byrne: David Byrne, lead vocalist of the Talking Heads, has said he has Aspergers, a now disfavored term for a form of autism. Many cite the way he acts onstage and his non-traditional artistic habits — shown in the movie-film, “Stop Making Sense” — as a great representation of what autism can be. Within the film, Byrne appears to exhaust himself from masking (hiding his physical ticks and natural emotional reactions) and loses himself in the music. Watchers were able to see a more true version of Byrne, and they liked that about him. Here, we can appreciate how the musician takes

common traits that many autistic people display — some of which, people will try to train out of themselves — and embraces them. I always interpret his lyrics in “Psycho Killer” as being about feeling like a monster because you can’t communicate with others in the way they want you to. Byrne’s lyrical phrasing resembles the intense anxiety many autistic people have in regards to how they are perceived — if people like them, if people are talking about them negatively. Ethel Cain: Ethel Cain is another great example of an autistic singer/songwriter whose popularity has skyrocketed over the past few years. Earlier this month, the artist deleted her Twitter account, leaving fans aghast. “I always kind of conflated openness with honesty and I thought that if I was completely transparent and bared every aspect of my soul that people would think I was relatable and kinda cool,” she says in a 2023 interview with The Guardian. “Then I was like, I don’t want to know you. I don’t want to be friends with you. I don’t want to have all of my personal business and every innermost thought just out there on the internet for the world to see.” Navigating social interactions can be a challenge for people on the autism spectrum — to the point where it can be difficult to say no to people, among other seemingly “simple” interactions. Some believe that people with autism have no emotions, but it can be (and often is) quite the opposite — people with autism feel

deeply, but don’t always understand others or feel they are being understood. Doja Cat: Iconic R&B/pop artist Doja Cat has said that having ADHD caused her to keep changing the name of her album, “Planet Her,” but that it ultimately was okay because she’s good at doing things at the last minute. So, when it was finally time to make a decision on the title, it wasn’t so hard to narrow it down. Notably, the artist also dropped out of high school at age 16 because her ADHD made it too difficult to keep up, but she has clearly managed to find strengths in her disorder amid this deterrence. “It felt like I was stuck in one spot and everyone else was progressing constantly,” she says in a 2020 Rolling Stone interview. People with ADHD may act impulsively, have trouble getting organized and struggle to finish tasks on time. They may also have heightened resilience, creativity, courage, energy and conversational skills. Some even call ADHD the rockstar gene — it can actually benefit performers and creators greatly! Halsey: Prominent 2010’s pop-musician, Halsey, has ADHD and announced her diagnosis on Twitter, saying, “ I do have ADHD, I’m medicated!” The artist has also spoken publicly about dealing with bipolar disorder. “I’ve been committed twice since [I became] Halsey, and no one’s known about it. But I’m

not ashamed of talking about it now,” the singer told Rolling Stone, specifically referring to the in-patient mental health treatment she’s received. “It’s been my choice. I’ve said to [my manager], ‘Hey, I’m not going to do anything bad right now, but I’m getting to the point where I’m scared that I might, so I need to go figure this out.’ It’s still happening in my body. I just know when to get in front of it.” As a condition of her bipolar disorder, “Halsey does not always quite know what version of herself she’ll be when she wakes up,” according to the article. She was diagnosed at 17 after a suicide attempt and says she is currently experiencing an extended manic period. In fact, her third album she’s working on is “the first [she’s] ever written manic,” Halsey explains. It will include songs she wrote in only minutes, and samples everything from hip-hop to country. “It’s soooooo manic. It’s literally just, like, whatever the f**k I felt like making; there was no reason I couldn’t make it,” she tells CNN. Nessa Barrett: Nessa Barrett, a 21-year-old pop singer who writes music specifically about her mental health, talked about her neurodiversity in a recent interview with Entertainment Today. “I have generalized anxiety disorder and bipolar [disorder],” the 17-year-old revealed. “I’ve been in therapy for anxiety since I was, like, six. And then when I was about 14, I was misdiagnosed

with depression. And then I recently have been diagnosed with bipolar.” Songs that more explicitly reference her bipolar disorder include “Bang Bang” and “La Da Die.” Billie Eilish: Billie Eilish has Tourette syndrome, a disorderthat causes people to make unwanted sounds or repetitive movements. When some people hear Billie’s tics, the unwanted sounds or actions from Tourette syndrome, they laugh, thinking she is trying to be funny. Eilish comments on this in an interview with CNN, saying, “and I’m always left incredibly offended by that.” While other artists have confided in her that they, too, have Tourette syndrome, many have chosen not to go public with it — Eilish respects their agency to choose whether or not their conditions are public knowledge. While the popstar has largely been able to manage her tics, which are not as pronounced as they once were, they are still there. Most people don’t notice, but having to focus on her every move is an understandably draining task for the Grammy winner. Eilish has spoken extensively on her experience with the disorder, most often describing her own diagnosis as being ‘exhausting.’ Lewis Capaldi: Lewis Capaldi is a 27-year-old-Scottish singer, who, like Billie Eilish, shot rapidly to fame and has Tourette’s Syndrome. He’s currently taking a

break from touring to help with his mental and physical health. As part of his ascent to stardom, Capaldi was scheduled to headline one of the biggest events in live music: the Glastonbury Music Festival. Though he had canceled some previous engagements to prepare for the festival, his voice began to give out a few songs into the performance. But, his fans didn’t turn on him. They supported him in a truly touching way that should bring hope to other neurodivergent people; they sang with him and chanted his name, aware of his struggles and supporting him regardless. Fiona Apple: Lastly, I wanted to talk about an artist that’s been popular for years — one that might be both you and your parents’ favorite. She’s been making music since the ‘90s and released her latest album, “Fetch The Bolt Cutters,” in 2020. She also, famously, has OCD. “I had really bad obsessive-compulsive disorder,” Fiona Apple told Elle magazine in 2012. “At its worst, I was compelled to leave my house at 3 o’clock in the morning and go out in the alley because I just knew that the paper-towel roll I threw in the recycling bin was uncomfortable, like it was lying the wrong way. I would be down in the garbage.” — Besides all these famous musicians who have achieved fame and adoration, you know who else is neurodivergent? Me. I didn’t know if I was capable of going to college, and now I’m in my third year at Emerson and have started writing for Five

Cent Sound. I’m an assistant poetry editor for Concrete and have great friends here. I didn’t think all of these things were possible for me. I wanted to show this audience the amazing things musicians are doing so you can see that they are, in fact, quite possible for neurodivergent people. The way that neurodivergent people go through life can be hard, but we are our own people, capable of making a big impact on the world and not just “the disabled kids.”

Visual by Alexa Latzman

A quote from a journal I kept while hospitalized reads: “Strangely, the thing I miss the most is music.” I didn’t process the impact music had on me until it was taken away. Jeff Rosenstock’s album WORRY. came into my life right before everything crumbled. I was comforted knowing that WORRY. was waiting for me when I got out, and it gave me something to look forward to. When I returned home, I would listen to it while I ran, blast it in my car, and drown out the sounds of my high school with it playing in my headphones. I loved some parts of the album so much that I would get chills and feel excitement burning in my stomach and electrifying my heart beat. This music had such a strong physical and emotional impact on me that I began to use it as a coping mechanism to quiet the noise in my head. I grew so connected to the album that I was practically addicted to it. Once I started to notice that it had been several months and I was still favoring WORRY. over any other music, I began to wonder if other people go through the same thing. I collected responses mostly from people who didn’t know me and kept their identities anonymous so they’d feel comfortable being vulnerable in front of me. Every response I got meant that there was another person that could relate to my experience. Another person had enough passion for a form of music that they wanted a platform to ramble and rave about the music that gave them the same feeling WORRY. gave me.

Question #1: What were you struggling with that caused you to need this music? Dogleg: I had to transfer schools almost towards the end of my sophomore year. I didn’t have any friends. I didn’t know anybody. I would kind of just go on doing what I had to do and then just leave. Turnstiles by Billy Joel: Every period of change in my life brings me back to this album. Throughout high school it grounded me through relationships coming and going, and it carried me through this [past] summer before college. Citizen: Really rough year mentally, lots of changes in friend groups and struggling with finding my passions and finding people who truly cared. Mice by Billie Marten: My heart was broken for the first time. Right as I was ready to love someone, they betrayed me. again&again: again&again came into a very specific point in my life. For many years now I struggled with chronic depression. I like to describe it as being happy day to day but going to bed never fulfilled. The Way We Were by Barbara Streisand: Growing up–household wise–was never the best. My parents had separated only recently when they should’ve a long time ago. I remember them in a way that I’m not even sure is accurate sometimes. Only by RY X: I was experiencing a very dark and

complex relationship with the people in my life, particularly at school. I was treading the waters of the deep end. I grew so exhausted that this song kept me afloat, but also sank the part of me I didn’t know I needed to let go of. I held onto this fantasy that took every piece of me, but in the end I was distant from the emotional and manipulative power this person had over me. I continue to heal everyday, but no matter how many steps back I take, I come back to this song to realize how far I’ve come, and I couldn’t be more proud. Question #2: What about the music spoke to you? Mitski: The lyrics really spoke to me as if she understood exactly what I was going through and put it into song form. Only by RY X: When I listen to this song now, it punctures a soft spot in my heart, the part that is still recovering from all it went through. This song plays early in my “five stages of grief” playlist, as I maneuvered the difficult stages one goes through after a painful experience. “Only” continues to send a shiver down my spine and a tear down my cheek as it repeats “I was only falling in love” like it was a reminder, a reminder to my younger self that I’m not the one to blame. I was still so vulnerable. Pompeii by Bastille: The lyric[s]… “But if you close your eyes/does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?”…helped a lot with putting into words how I was feeling.

again&again: The topics they sing about are very much the mundane parts of life that you wouldn’t really expect, the parts of life that you often find true sadness, grief, and happiness in. The Way We Were by Barbara Streisand: The song itself goes over this forlorn relationship. In the context of the song you can take it as more romantic, but for me I see it with memories I have with my dad that have now been soured because of our soured relationship. Question #3: Did the music inspire you in any way? Pompeii by Bastille: It was cool to be understood in lyrics. Even though I’m a writer, sometimes it’s easier to use other people’s words than your own. A lot of the things they say have been incorporated into my writing unintentionally. again&again: Music inspires everything I do. So many of the screenplays and ideas I write are based on songs that I’ve listened to and the vibes and the ideas that they’ve given me, and a lot of again&again’s songs have fueled that for me. The Way We Were by Barbara Streisand: I always loved the concept of playing with memory, especially in writing. Playing around with what is it that makes us remember things and what is it that we do remember correctly, and what about memories warps our own perception about the world.

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Dogleg: I’m sure it did help me motivationally, it inspired me a lot. Obviously, like with my band, their sound heavily inspired me. Question #4: With the oversaturation of music today, do you feel like music has lost its power? Mitski: I think there’s definitely two perspectives to this. In my opinion, I don’t think so. I think the power of music can never truly be lost. As long as there’s someone out there that feels a connection to a song, music will always have power. Citizen: Yes. I feel like most of the artists being found at this point all have the exact same sound. Instrumentals have been kind of lost to technology; it’s unfortunate. Turnstiles by Billy Joel: I don’t know. I listen mostly to music before 2010, so I guess I do. Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo have a place but it’s not in my playlists. I definitely feel like the industry has become more about quantity than quality. The same artists make music that feels limp and sort of soggy to me. It doesn’t take me anywhere new, or try to even. And you can say Billy Joel didn’t do anything new, but I would disagree. Every song was experimental in its own right. I mean for god sakes Taylor is rerecording her already existing music. There is not as much original content and authentic content coming out as of now it seems. Only by RY X: Personally, I don’t believe so.

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Yes, there are a lot of songs that stay surface level, and even ones that are full of lyrics distorting the way we, a young audience, look at things. However, musicians continue to release songs that resonate with at least one person, to the point that it could change their life. As the population grows, and the ability to release music does the same, platforms such as Tik Tok and Spotify allow those not a part of the music industry to spread their songs, which often falls in the lap of someone they never knew needed their music. again&again: Since everything is oversaturated now, when you do find a song or an album or an artist that hits, it really sticks. Because when something’s different amongst so much more that is similar, it’s really different, it’s really unique. The Way We Were by Barbara Streisand: (In reference to good pop music today) That impact is going to be much stronger and have much more longevity than people that are arguing against this oversaturation, where they’re seeing it as a bunch of shit being spewed out into the music world. There’s a reason it’s popular. It’s hard to devalue any type of music because you can see it connect with people. These interviews proved that I wasn’t alone in my deep connection with music. Conducting these interviews taught me that we’re all more similar than we think. Most people talked about how music was most important in their life when there was a big change like a breakup or moving schools, which speaks to the comfort a familiar artist or song

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can provide in moments of anxiety and discomfort. It proved that we all go through the same things, and I’m afraid that we just never have the self-assurance to talk about how we cope with it. I found the responses to the question about oversaturation to be incredibly insightful. Both sides of the argument were provided and it brings up a complex view of the modern music industry. On one hand, people believe music is too strong of a power and has too much influence to ever lose its strength. Others believe that oversaturation is causing a lot of good music to be lost in the abyss of overproduction and originality is dying out. However, my project focuses on the individuals’ deeply personal connection to music and the effect it’s had on theirs lives. Music saves lives, and I could only wish to be able to tell all of the artists that carried me through my darkest times: “Your music saved my life.”

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FALL 2023

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