fortnightly student magazine
volume 17 â€” issue 3
RIP Triple Rock
Challenged, Suprised, Captivated
Q&A: Bruise Violet
Conqueror of the Useless
VOLUME 17, ISSUE 3 EDITORIAL: Editor-in-Chief Managing Editor Cities Editor Voices Editor Music Editor Online editor Copy editors Multimedia Editor Multimedia Producer
Emma Klingler Jake Steinberg Annie Burdick Kassidy Tarala Liv Martin Alex Wittenberg Chris Shea Kikki Boersma Carson Kaskel Olivia Heusinkveld
Editorial Interns: Abbie Clapp, Alexander Cain, Becca Most, Claire Becker, Ella Cashman, Emma Dill, George Miller, Hannah Haakenson, Jenny Felton, Luci Bischoff, Megan Hoff, Morgan Benth, Olivia Hultgren, Simon Batistich, Tala Alfoqaha
PRODUCTION: Executive Director Production Manager Creative Director Finance Manager PR/Ad Manager Social Media Manager PR and Advertising Associate Art Director Designers
Web Manager Distribution Manager
Holly Wilson Olivia Novotny Kate Doyle Rakshit Kalra Aaron Christianson Grace Steward Sophie Stephens Katie Heywood Andrew Tomten Kellen Renstrom Megan Smith Laurel Tieman Cassie Varrige
Production Interns: Darby Ottoson (PR), Jamie Rohlfing (PR), Lydia Crabtree (PR), Macie Rasmussen (PR) Art Interns: Emily Hill, Jade Mulcahy, Jaye Ahn, Lauren Smith, Mariah Crabb, Natalie Klemond, Peyton Garcia, Sophie Stephens, Stevie Lacher
THIS ISSUE: ÂŠ2017 The Wake Student Magazine. All Rights Reserved. Established in 2002, The Wake is a fortnightly independent magazine and registered student organization produced by and for students at the University of Minnesota. The Wake was founded by Chrin Ruen & James DeLong. Disclaimer: The purpose of The Wake is to provide a forum in which students can voice their opinions. Opinions expressed in the magazine are not representative of the publication or university as a whole. To join the conversation email email@example.com . The Wake Student Magazine 126 Coffman Memorial Union 300 Washington Avenue SE Minneapolis, MN 55455
Writers Aaron Christianson, Annie Burdick, Becca Most, Crystal King, Ella Cashman, Emma Dill, Gabby Granada, Hannah Haakenson, Hannah Kloos, Holly Wilson, Jessica Arnold, Liv Martin, Lydia Crabtree, Marit Miedema, Megan Hoff, Noah Schminski, Olivia Heusinkveld, Olivia Hultgren, Olivia Novotny, Taylor Pearson, Art 1 Megan Smith, 2 Morgan Wittmers-Graves, 3 Jade Mulcahy, 4 Ashley Bernhardt, 5 Sophie Stephens, 6 Lauren Smith, 7 Peyton Garcia, 8 Natalie Klemond, 9 Katie Heywood, 10 Stevie Lacher, 11, 12 Katie Heywood, 13 Megan Smith, 14 Katie Heywood, 15 Tessa Portuese, 16 Will Hanson Cover by Jessica Arnold
wink! one page magazine 1
What kind of Finsta are you? By Aaron Christianson, Hannah Kloos, Marit Miedema, Olivia Novotony, and Holly Wilson
Doesn’t have a Finsta, but follows and supports friends’ Finstas
Posts like their Rinsta but with more details in the captions.
Uses humor to explain mental health state, intimate but #relatable. Only posts bad angle selfies.
Posts about mental health progression. We are proud of them.
Only posts drunk pics. Captions often regarding how much they love their friends.
Shitposts with bad quality photos. Clear that they haven’t showered or slept in a couple days?
Vague obscure memes that leaves you uneasy.
Blurry lit weekend posts with no legible caption. Missing a shoe a lot?
Uses Finsta to create and spread rumors about their life. Uses art references to seem deep and misunderstood.
Q: What would the Wake’s Finsta name be?
Finsta Drinking Game notthemndaily (47%)
thesleepmagazine (23%) pinkeye (23%) wtf.is.a.wake (7%)
Drink: —when you see a dirty mirror selfie —when you see an unflattering front camera selfie —when you see a post about regretting going to Blarney’s last night —when you see one of your own posts —when you watch a video that’s just everyone yelling —when you see a good meme —when someone posts something that’s actually hilarious Shot: —when you see a Finsta post on the Rinsta timeline —when you see a picture of someone’s pet Finish your drink: —when you see a post with a three-paragraph long caption about drama you know nothing about
*please drink responsibly
Letter from the Director
UPCOMING EVENTS 11/2
11/10 - 12/3 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time
A trans retrospective in ﬁlm- then and now
RIP Triple Rock
Programmed by Gender Reel and America in Transition
Opening night Nov. 10, production based on the novel by Mark Haddon
Challenged, Suprised, Captivated
Mixed Blood Theater
Ghostmouth album release A
Black Motivated Women Annual Fashion Show
w/ Flavor Crystals, Good Doom, Panther Ray
Featuring local talent including designers, models, and performers
Triple Rock Social Club
Coffman Memorial Union
Art by Alexandra Finley
Conqueror of the Useless
Art by Peyton Garcia
Q&A: Bruise Violet
Who Cares about Healthcare? We Do
Cameras on Cops Keep the Story Unbiased
We Are More Than Your Sisters and Daughters Six Reviews
11/4 School of Music Collage Concert Tedd Mann Concert Hall
w/ Kodie Shane Cabooze Theater
11/9 LCD Soundsystem Roy Wilkins Auditorium
11/ 10 - 11/25 Bobby Rogers: The Blacker the Berry C Photography as contemporary activism and protest. An exploration of identity, race, authentic self-expression
Letter from the Director Hi readers! How are you? Now, actually think about it. We’re in the thick of midterms, and it seems that the light at the end of the tunnel keeps moving further away from us. So, how are you? It’s alright if you’re “not the best” or “could be better.” Everyone feels that way for more than one reason, and this point in the semester probably doesn’t help. When we feel this way, it’s important to take care of ourselves and our friends as best we can. Do things that fulfill our hearts and minds when it seems that everything from classes to the political and societal landscape—check out our Voices section to read more on that—try to drain us. For me, these choices often take the shape of going to a concert. It feels especially poignant upon Triple Rock’s announcement that it will be closing its doors at the end of November (read about what Triple Rock meant to some of its biggest fans in our Cities section). Live shows let us experience our favorite songs more vividly and passionately. Recently, I’ve found solace in going to shows alone. It’s empowering and wonderful. I wound up at Pinegrove alone, but it didn’t stay that way. I interviewed some fans on the street about what the band and the music means to them (read it online!), and hearing everyone talk about this band that had brought them all together that night lifted my heart. I was completely mesmerized at the show watching everyone sing out “I should call my parents when I think of them, I should tell my friends that I love them,” during “Old Friends”. That show felt like the hug I needed at the time, and I think it did for a lot of others too. So, how are you? I hope you’re good, and if you’re not that’s okay because like Evan Stephen Hall sings, “Things go wrong sometimes, don’t let it freak you out.” Check in with your friends as the days grow shorter and the nights of studying seem ceaseless. Check in with yourself. Please take care.
Holly Wilson Executive Director
What exactly is sustainably farming? “Beets” me, but The Good Acre is making strides toward it. BY OLIVIA HULTGREN Thursday afternoons are a bit chaotic in University Flats apartment 104. The end of the week is approaching, classes are just getting done for the day, and Katherine Glodoski comes home with a backpack full of produce, potatoes stuffed in one sweatpants pocket and garlic cloves and a red onion in the other. Fellow roommates and students Erica Ellingson, Ashley Little, and Miranda Bakker are thrilled. Not only because it’s Thursday, of course, but because their share of fresh produce from The Good Acre has come. Beets, zucchini, squash…you name it, they’ve tried it, or at least attempted to try it. As I step into their cozy apartment to meet with Glodoski, Ellingson and Little, I can tell. From the two yellow squashes sitting on the counter to the kale, cauliflower, and bell pepper salad lingering in the fridge, these roommates consume more vegetables than the average Joe. Their produce is delivered via a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) program that began as a partnership between the Minnesota Student Association (MSA) and The Good Acre, a Twin Cities food hub that focuses on expanding the reach of the local fresh food market. Long story short, CSA is a subscription program for your stomach. Through The Good Acre organization, people from all around the Twin Cities can subscribe to regularly receive a box of fresh produce grown sustainably by local farmers. “It’s so good because Katherine actually uses all the produce,” Little says. “She actually knows what to do with the produce,” Ellingson adds. “Oh, I Google what do with the produce,” Glodoski corrects her with a laugh. The Good Acre’s produce boxes have launched them a world of exploratory dishes and surprisingly healthy food, and there’s no going back, especially to their freshman dining halls,
where opting for vegetables was rarely a possibility. The Good Acre offers a student-exclusive deal of $100 total for six weeks of produce that typically feeds three to four people each week. “Good, real food shouldn’t be too expensive for anyone,” says The Good Acre’s CSA manager Anna Richardson. “We wanted to create a studentspecific CSA option recognizing that students want to eat well and buy responsibly but are often prohibited by cost.” Eighty percent of the money made from the Good’s Acre’s CSA program goes back to the farmers, providing income so they can afford to sustainably grow a wide variety of foods. The organization puts time into helping farmers minimize chemical usage, cover crops during the winter, and add organic soil elements such as compost or manure to positively impact the environment.
it is for young people to become sustainable as Earth becomes unable to support more people… it’s important that we all keep that in mind.” This year, a limited number of 50 student households received a CSA share each week, and The Good Acre hopes to increase the number of shares they can offer in 2018, spreading awareness for student sustainability and health. In the end, I left apartment 104 with a smile and two acorn squashes, generously given under the impression that they were pumpkins.
Another purpose of the program is to help immigrant and minority farmers access food markets across the Twin Cities food system, says Richardson. Above all, Richardson adds that The Good Acre isn’t just striving for efficiency. The program also aims to establish a sense of community among local farms and the people who invest in them. It certainly shows among the young women of apartment 104, if anything. “It’s cheap, and it’s supporting local farmers,” Glodoski says. “Best of both worlds.” “There’s a tangible difference,” Little explains. “I feel really good knowing that we’re supporting farmers, that they’re real people with real lives.” “I grew up in a household that wasn’t super sustainable,” Ellingson says. “Growing up and realizing how important
RIP Triple Rock A sad farewell to a beloved venue BY LYDIA CRABTREE It’s hard to believe, but the Triple Rock Social Club is closing its doors for good after November 22nd, according to a Facebook post from the venue. The sadness of this situation sunk in right away for bands, fans, and regular patrons, and many people reposted the original news, expressing their sadness about the venue closing. One of those people was Jack Carlson, the bassist from Wanderer, a local Minneapolis punk band. “It’s the go to place,” he said. “Both for music and for hanging out with people. [I’m going to] miss seeing bands that probably shouldn’t be playing that small of a venue playing there.” There was no concrete reason cited to explain the Triple Rock closing, but Carlson speculates that it is either due to gentrification or the owners’ responsibilities to their families. There are so many elements about the Triple Rock that make it stand out in comparison to other venues: “The atmosphere, vibe, and history of that place can’t be beat,” Carlson said. An 80s punk rock band called NOFX even wrote a song called “Seeing Double at the Triple Rock.” The song is about wanting to get snowed in at the Triple Rock to prolong drinking on a given winter night in Minneapolis. Another unique aspect of the Triple Rock is their dedication to local artists. The venue gives local artists top priority, even over nationally known artists, says Sylvia Jennings, who is an avid
local music lover and concert photographer. Wanderer recorded their latest EP, Gloom Daze, on stage at the Triple Rock. Carlson remarks that “recording our way and our style at our favorite venue on stage was great.” Carlson described the experience as comfortable, fun, and low pressure, which is everything a band could hope for in a recording process. Wanderer had their last performance at the Triple Rock on October 24th at 9pm. The versatility of the venue is quite impressive. The Triple Rock is typically known as a punk venue, but you never know what you might get. Jennings reveled in her memory of seeing Car Seat Headrest two summers ago at the Triple Rock. She remembered there being a group of dads in the middle of the pit at the show. “Maybe those dads used to be punk rockers that went to the Triple Rock in 2002, who knows,” she proposed. She also mentioned how one night at the Triple Rock could be a total punk show and the next night could be dads just rockin’ out. The staff, bands, and concertgoers are what make the place what it is, not necessarily the building: “The staff lets you do what you want to do, and they are very kind,” Jennings said. The Triple Rock will be
remembered by the countless release shows, final farewell shows, national acts, and up-and-coming local bands. There will be so much to miss when the Triple Rock is gone. Carlson and Jennings both mention that they’ll miss the atmosphere, history, and overall vibe of the Triple Rock. The closing of the Triple Rock is a somber time for us at the Wake too. We have hosted our birthday party at the Triple Rock since 2012, and we are sad to part from the kind people that we have worked with to coordinate our event. Finding another venue is not the main problem; what will prove difficult is finding a venue that is as inclusive, intimate, and bitchin’ as the Triple Rock. Jennings suggests that everybody go to the venue one last time to see a show or check out the kick-ass food, while Carlson succinctly wrapped up his thoughts about the Triple Rock’s closing by saying, “The Triple Rock Social Club was integral to the Minneapolis music scene, whether you’re into punk, metal, or hardcore, or indie, or hip-hop or anything. The Triple Rock was always a place where people could express themselves and start community here in the Twin Cities. Everyone is going to miss the Triple Rock sorely. There won’t be another place like it.”
Challenged, Surprised, Captivated
Immerse yourself in this Walker Art Center sculpture exhibit BY TAYLOR PEARSON 4
Laughter at Grumpy’s? I came, I watched, and I didn’t laugh BY HANNAH HAAKENSON As someone who loves to laugh, I was looking forward to attending the Death Comedy Jam at Grumpy’s Bar and Grill on Wednesday at 10 p.m. After shuffling through the small crowds of boisterous conversations and loud laughter, I stepped into the smaller room that would soon host the comedians. There was a row of booths and more seating in the back, but I had no problem securing a seat as there wasn’t much of an audience. I settled in, excited for a night filled with big smiles and lots of laughter. I hate to say it, but I was sorely disappointed. One of the hosts, Phil, was extremely energetic and tried to get the “crowd” riled up by saying, “Grumpy’s: It’s where old comics come to die, new comics come to quit.” After their name was announced, each comedian walked onto the stage, grabbed the mic, shuffled around for a few seconds, and desperately attempted to make the crowd laugh for the next five minutes. The first comedian tried one joke about Perkins (I didn’t get it) and then hopped off the stage. This is when I became certain that attending this comedy jam had been a mistake. The next few acts earned a handful of chuckles, but most of the time, the air was thick with discomfort as the comedians threw punch lines and waited in anticipation for laughter that didn’t come. After sitting painfully through 22 different acts, I felt unsatisfied with the whole experience. I think Phil should’ve introduced the acts with, “Grumpy’s: It’s where both comedy and laughter come to die.” Yes, I had laughed a couple times, but I left the bar starving for more.
A stunning new exhibit at the Walker Art Center blurs the line between artwork and viewer. Déformation Professionnelle is an exclusive art exhibit brought to the Twin Cities by artist Nairy Baghramian. The exhibit is unique, packed full of brand new sculptures that reflect upon and transform some of Baghramian’s previous artworks. Admittedly, I’m not an art aficionado, but I found myself enthralled as I paced through the gallery. The beautiful collection can be seen at the Walker Art Center until February 4, 2018, and is displayed in galleries 4, 5, and 6. The first thing I noticed was the sheer size of the stark, white rooms that host the exhibition. I felt lost in another world as I stood in the middle of the massive exhibit and gazed at my surroundings. After coming back to reality, I realized that each display space also functions as another sculpture in the collection. Wide walls, vaulted ceilings, and marble flooring provide the perfect backdrop for the ambiguous sculptures strewn carefully about each room. The empty spaces that dominate each gallery appear to be as meticulously calculated as the placement of each individual sculpture. Color contrasting also delights the eyes as bright pastel figures clash with earth tone structures against the backdrop of the bleached surroundings. Meanwhile, the open layout of each room encourages the viewer to carelessly lose themselves in the large space. Having each structural element within arm’s reach provides a real sense of submersion as you find yourself blissfully sutured into the artwork.
After taking a moment to soak everything in, I asked myself a seemingly simple question: How do I feel about this exhibit? It was very difficult to summarize my emotions and I wrote down several words that finally came to mind: challenged, intrigued, surprised, curious, captivated. My mind had officially been blown by art. Transcendent works of art challenge emotions and force you to think critically about the profound meaning that the artwork is trying to convey. Déformation Professionelle is a striking exhibit that does exactly that–all while facilitating a relationship between the viewer, the artwork, and the architectural space that houses the experience itself.
Conqueror of the Useless An excerpted piece from a forthcoming collection of writings from the road. By Jessica Arnold
Fuck, fuck FUCK. I can feel my left calf begin to shake from standing on the small, barely-there granite face for the better part of a minute. I might as well be onelegged. My right foot is useless. One arm is stuffed in the large crack in front of me, while the other fumbles with a .75 Camalot—a spring loaded contraption with a trigger and four aluminum lobes that allows a climber to secure themselves within the natural features of the rock. If I were to slip, this 4.18-ounce mechanism shoved into a crack would be the only thing keeping me from slamming into the uneven rock below. “I’m out of gear,” I shout down at my partner Matt, my voice trembling with the suggestion of panic. The green Camalot, or cam, is essentially useless in the flaring granite divide, which opens into a forearm-sized gauge in the Precambrian rock. The crack is too wide for the cam’s lobes to effectively grip the interior surface of the granite. I try placing the cam back further, but it remains dangerously underloaded. Unfortunately, having climbed the majority of the route, the .75 is the largest piece of gear left on my harness. ”Five-six? Seriously?” I mutter under my breath, deciding to leave the piece in. A 5.6 route is an easy climb in my book, but right now it is anything but. Cursing, I bring up my rope and hastily clip into the carabiner attached to the cam. Ideally, if I were to slip, my fall would be protected by the rope running through this point. Ideally.
I have neither the time nor the energy to add a shoulder-length sling of nylon to the placement, which would allow for a safer fall. Palms sweating, I feel my heart about to beat out of my chest. I am way in over my head. // If life is a journey of highs and lows, then heading west mirrors life in microcosm. Moving through the high plains at 75 miles per hour leaves little room for the kind of ignorance that might accompany a three-hour drive through Midwestern cornfields— an experience I know all too well. Right now, I am a few miles shy of Mount Rushmore, a hundred feet above the ground, clinging to the side of a tower. This marks the first day of climbing on a two-and-a-half week road trip through South Dakota, Wyoming, and eventually Oregon—a trip born in a ravenous hunger for a certain kind of adventure, and in a desire to forget a persistent pain. For the first twenty years of my life, my trips out west were punctuated by rampant thunderstorms on I-80 and that precise moment when ochrehued mesas interrupt the flat expanses of Nebraska. The states between my family’s comfortable life in the Midwest to our coastal nook in northern California have always been my favorite states to pass through. They mark where the cornfields transform to rolling hills of fragrant sage, and where the word West ricochets off steep plateau walls rather than disappearing
into endless flatland. They are where I could catch a glimpse of the rocky spine of a mountain range, and watch weather systems unfold like dark blossoms on the horizon. In our annual pilgrimages back and forth across the country, I watched myself, in the rearview mirror of the family suburban, grow into adulthood with the landscape. And here I am, on my own terms, with my life depending on a spring-loaded contraption smaller than my forearm. // Traditional climbing, or trad climbing, requires the climber to place gear for protection against a fall as they lead their way up a route, instead of clipping their rope into bolts drilled into the rock face, which is known as sport climbing. Something about the cut-your-teeth grit endowed in the epic lore of climbers past had drawn me into this esoteric art for months. Though I had spent the last few years climbing sport routes with the more advanced ratings of 5.10 and beyond, there is an added layer of complexity to trad climbing. Due to the amount of gear and knowledge required, as well as the sheer risk, it is the most technically complicated form of climbing, and perhaps the most mentally challenging. The razor-sharp granite slabs that make up the hundreds of spires within the Black Hills National Forest are studded with slick chunks of quartz, making for climbs that require delicate balance and deliberate footwork. Trusting one’s weight on
a polished rock the size of a quarter is a mental battle against every fiber of intuition and natural instinct. Add the complication of self-placed gear on a traditional route (which one also must trust in order to ascend) and it is difficult not to question what the hell am I doing? And why? The local guidebook put Not So Sweet at 5.6, which seemed reasonable enough for my
“I watched myself, in the rearview mirror of the family suburban, grow into adulthood with the landscape.”
stretching my mind and my body thin. The idea was to leave and not look back—and to scare myself enough to render my fears back home useless. //
trad climbing ability. I am, without a doubt, a beginner. No amount of flipping through dense mountaineering books or practicing at the local cliffs could have prepared me for what I was about to get into.
The green cam seems to taunt me as I feel my legs wobble. You are not cut out for this, it hisses. I swallow and decide to move. Tilting the cam any which way seems to increase my risk of ripping out gear. There is no way that I can lower on my rope without making the situation worse.
So, I climb up.
This slightly crazy endeavor began nearly three weeks ago, when I was frantically searching for a used car that would get me from Minneapolis to wherever-the-heck-out-west. Perhaps planning a trip before having a means to make such trip is a bit naïve, but for months I had my mind set on getting the hell out of the Twin Cities and, hopefully, the trenches of my mind. Climbing has always been a way for me to transcend that which I cannot control; the heartaches, the what-ifs, the shoulda-couldas that so often wind me up into a frantic state. This year had taken on new meaning after agonizing in the aftermath of a failed relationship and receiving the news of my father’s cancer. Climbing became my entire life, a devotion to distraction that filled up weekends and every free hour with learning knots, reading forums, and climbing laps at the Rec. I became the girl with an obsession that had no end in sight, searching for some intangible peace that lays atop the next summit. It was only natural, then, that I would save the last chunk of summer for an adventure in the vertical world. I left without much of a plan in a car I had just obtained, packed with all the outdoor gear I owned. I wanted to climb as many rocks as possible, in as many states as possible, while
“Climbing has always been a way for me to transcend that which I cannot control” Holding my breath, I pull upwards on the slippery granite, and swing my leg as high as I can on the mottled, abrasive rock. I cling to the flake for dear life, knowing that if I fall, I will likely be tearing out my last placement. There are no good footholds here. I might as well be climbing on glass. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I have no time to think. I secure my rubber-clad right foot as best I can on the rock and begin to haul myself over the flake. Contorting my lower half in free-space and attached with essentially a single arm, I have arrived at the apex of my climb. Using every ounce of strength, I push against the rock and feel the microscopic granite face disappear beneath my toes. The anchors. Beach-whaled over the flake and utterly rattled, I crawl to the metallic rings, nestled at the
well-protected top of the spire that I have just successfully climbed. The two large metal rings, corroded by years of weather and use, signify the end of my route and offer a space to thread the rope and descend. I feel my stomach rise into my throat. I am about to vomit. The End. Done. Safe. ”Make it to the anchors?” Matt yells from below, his voice at a calm contrast to my trembling form.I sputter out a half-audible response, something along the lines of that was fucking hard and feel my eyes glaze over with the beginning of tears. Holy shit. There is a soft breeze kicking up into a wind. The surrounding scenery, which ordinarily would be enough to shock me into a slack-jawed awe, is almost an afterthought. An afternoon thunderstorm is approaching from the west. I will be headed that way, soon. I automatically begin setting up the belay, letting my hands do the work while my mind tries to wrap around what has just occurred. A familiar grief visits quietly, though just for a moment, as it is quickly replaced by a strange sensation. A resilience, perhaps, made clear by a crack in some obscure granite tower. I finish double checking my carabiners and pull up the slack in the rope, my fingers still shaking slightly. Matt begins to follow my lead, where he will climb the same rock while removing the gear. My lead. //
Bedtime Story Eddie bounds into bed wiggling his footie pajamas down under the covers as I set “Colonel Rex” on the bed. “The scary one,” he giggles as I tuck him in. I crinkle my nose. “Are you sure?” He nods excitedly. “Oh, alright. Once there was this ghost that lived...” “Not that one! Ghosts aren’t real mommy.” “No? Oh, I thought they were.” “Scratch, scratch. I turn almost afraid to look outside. It’s so dark that I wouldn’t be able to see anything out the sliding glass door other than dark shapes. If it’s hard to see out then it’s hard to see in; or so I reason to myself. Scratch, scratch.” I sit on the bed and scratch on each side of giggling Eddie. “I wait for my eyes to adjust and check for everything to be in its place. All shadows stay in place as the wind blows all the other shadows onto my back porch. The door is locked and the security bar down. If anyone wants to break in they would have to break the whole glass door. I jump as my phone rings.” “It was daddy!” Eddie interjects. I smile leaning in more. “Know what I told him?” “I started the movie by myself,” I watch my cat, Zelda, saunter down the hall into the dark bedroom. I can almost hear daddy roll his eyes through the phone. “You let your imagination get the best of you every time.” “You love it, don’t pretend you don’t,” I tease. “Maaaybe.” I hear his smile. “Do you want me to stop and get dinner?”
BY CRYSTAL KING
“I have popcorn and I’ll probably be in bed by the time you get home.” “Ok. Please don’t leave all the lights on when you go to bed.” “Then don’t scare me awake when you come home!” I chuckle hanging up. I start up the movie and grab the popcorn. All the lights are off to set the mood and I curl up on the sofa, making sure my legs don’t dangle or my feet touch the ground. I’ve seen movies where a foot is grabbed by something under a couch or bed. I smile like I’m winning against the monsters and turn back to the screen. As I get more enthralled with the movie it sends goosebumps down my arms as I shovel salty, buttery goodness into my mouth. Scratch, scratch.” Scratching around Eddie again, he giggles with anticipation. “My head jerks to the sliding door, my hand halfway to my mouth with more popcorn. I stare out looking for something I hope isn’t there. I pause the movie so my ears can concentrate on any other noise that seems to echo inside my head. Putting my popcorn down, I let my legs down carefully watching where I put my feet. I stare towards the bedroom, trying to focus my ears on all sounds. I sit, waiting… listening. My heart beats as it crawls up my throat like a spider up a wall. I rise and slowly ease towards the hallway. Slowly searching for that habitual feeling along the wall, somehow being ok reaching into a dark hallway thinking I would only lose my hand, if anything. I find the switch and wait for my eyes to adjust. Peeking into the bathroom I reach in to snap the shower curtain back. Empty. I sigh a little, then laugh, partly at my own foolishness, partly just to break the silence.” I glance at Eddie to make sure he’s ok. He’s gripping the sheets up to his armpits but his smile stays broad on his little face with his intense blue eyes. He almost looks older tonight. I pause a second to look at his little face, his dad’s same curls, the same little nose, and the same broad smile. His eyes are the same deep blue that I used to look at every day, happy that they looked back. He looks so much like his dad it makes my heart ping with sadness and yearning for him to still be here.
“With my back against the wall, I slowly inch my descent towards the bedroom. I try to keep my breathing light and shallow enough to hear anything else that doesn’t fit in with the sounds of my apartment. Holding my breath, I slowly move my hand to the light, half expecting another hand to already be there when mine finally finds the switch. I breathe out knowing no one has tampered with the power. Next is the dreaded closet. Closets are the single scariest part of any home. Everything comes out of closets! Poltergeists…. monsters…. Cujo! After what feels like an eternity I feel brave enough to open it and peer at the unmoving clothes. No monsters to trap me. I close the door leaving the light on. I know I keep storage under the bed so I’m not worried about someone hiding underneath, but the windows are right above the oak dresser by the bed. I pull back my brown wooden shades, congratulating myself on buying them because they make noise when they even slightly move. No face peers in at me with a wicked smile. I feel like I can finally breathe as my heartbeat starts to slow down. I pick up Zelda and carry her with me back to the couch, keeping every light on but closing every door to watch for moving shadows. I press play and get as close to the wall as possible. Scratch, shuffle, shuffle. My eyes dart to the sliding door. My heartbeat is so loud I can’t hear the movie. I grab Zelda with both arms around her, believing cat company is better than no company. I peer out, the silence so loud I’m afraid if I hear a bug chirp it will give me a heart attack. Was that shadow moving? My pulse quickens and I stare wide eyed, mouth slightly open. I hold my breath hoping my movement from breathing is just what I see and not some lurker standing outside waiting for me. Just then the front door opens. I whip around screaming, throwing my hands in the air while try to protect myself. I hear someone yell and open my eyes to see Zelda dangling off daddy’s arm. His mouth is firm, his eyebrows furrowed and his food on the floor next to his spilled drink. “If you watch a scary movie by yourself again, I’m moving out.” Eddie says it with me as he roars with laughter. “And that’s how you knew daddy was the one!” He
unclenches his little hands, laying them on his stomach just like his dad. “That’s how I knew,” I smile remembering.
“You still leave the lights on.” “I know.” There’s something in his eye that I don’t recognize. “Do you miss daddy?” “Every moment of every day. I think of him when I look at your same curls, same wide smile. You even walk the same!” “He misses you too.” “I’m sure he does. He’s watching over us now, making sure you are safe and Santa brings you presents.” “I want a BB gun!” “You’ll have to be really good, but I’m sure daddy will talk to Santa.” “Extra good,” he yawns at me. His smile broadens, aging him. I get a strange feeling as I look down at him. He’s looking up at me but there’s something in the way he looks. I try to shake it off but the feeling won’t go away. “I’m sure, starting with going to sleep.” Maybe the feeling will be different in the morning. Tucking the covers around him I look around, “Where’s Colonel Rex?” “He’s under the bed.” I stand to close the closet door, rubbing my arms to keep warm. For a moment I think I can see my own breath in front of me, but surely it can’t be that cold. I start to crawl under the bed. As I stare into the darkness a face stares back at me, same curls, same broad smile only a little smaller, and the same intense blue eyes. My heartbeat immediately picks up as the realization slowly flows over me that he’s been down here the whole time. He holds Colonel Rex tight in both arms, his eyes wide in fear as he says, “Mommy, there’s someone on my bed.”
Peyton Garcia California Wildfires
Bruise Violet BY LIV MARTIN Emily Schoonover (18), Danielle Cusack (21) and Bella Dawson (18) have been involved in the Minneapolis punk scene since they were ages 14, 17, and 14 respectively. These three dynamic women are the members of Bruise Violet, a progressive-minded and unabashedly feminist local band. Read on to learn how they feel about the closing of the Triple Rock Social Club, how they discovered their sound and how they inspire young girls at their shows.
: How did you come up with the name Bruise Violet? Why is it significant? Danielle Cusack: It’s a song by the band Babes in Toyland that I really loved when I was 18. I thought it was a cool juxtaposition between something bruised, which is like violent, and something pretty like a violet. Bella Dawson: Which is just us in a nutshell.
: What music groups have inspired you? BD: I say this every time, but I had nothing to do
with Riot Grrrl or anything like that. I was raised on R&B like Erykah Badu and India.Arie… and then extremely heavy metal.
Emily Schoonover: That’s the combination of a
DC: We straight up had a song that sounded like a My Chemical Romance. It goes like [singing] “I don’t wanna be here any moooore.” : How would you describe the type of music that you make? ES: Punk.
DC: Well, it shows, because we have pretty melodies and then a harsher aspect.
BD: It’s kind of weird, when you think about it.
rock music until I got involved with Bruised Violet.
DC: I call my three favorite bands “The Holy Trinity.” So, it’s Bikini Kill, Sleater Kinney and Babes Image courtesy of Bruise Violet
ES: I started out with more classic punk, like The Ramones. Then, I graduated to Emo music—as one does—and then I graduated to more modern punk. And then also Riot Grrrl. I feel like you can see all of them come into play. I write some Emo shit. I like all of the angst.
BD: I didn’t get into more female fronted punk-
in Toyland are my three main influences. I just love punk, and a lot of hardcore punk, too. As far as local bands, I’ve loved Kitten Forever from the moment I saw them.
DC: We’ve been put on metal shows. We’ve been put on pop-punk shows… grunge shows. When we first were playing on the scene we were pretty much thrown around to whichever scene would take us. But, somehow we fit with everything.
Q&A ES: Melodic punk. BD: Yeah!
comprehension out of chaos. My schedule… Oh my god. I feel that being in this band while in high school set me up for success.
BD: Honestly, just like women in general. Any femme-identifying person. It’s an innate “I get you, you get me” situation.
: What’s your favorite venue in Minneapolis to play and why?
ES: It taught me time management more than my time management class did!
: How has your band changed since you started out?
ES: Right now my heart’s saying the Triple Rock
BD: For real. It really taught me how to be able to handle a hectic schedule.
ES: We’ve gotten older.
because it’s closing, and it’s so sad. But, normally I would say The 7th Street Entry.
DC: Do you remember that one show when I took pink nail polish and wrote “Fuck Men” on the wall [at the Triple Rock]? ES: I literally was thinking about that the other day! DC: And it’s still there! We played our first big show at Triple Rock with Upset and Colleen Green and Kitten Forever. I was like 18 which means you guys were like 15. BD: That was a lit show! DC: There’s just like a lot of memories are there…
We like grew up there as a band!
ES: It’s true! It’s true… I grew up there and I grew up going to shows there. : What do you do on stage to amp up your fans? ES: My best. [everyone laughs] BD: The head-banging! I find that people actually watch. ES: [to Bella] People are so fucking into your stage presence and it’s grown over the years. DC: Your head-bang where–you have so much
hair–and it just goes all the way down and flips up.
BD: We played a show over at Indie Brewing not too long ago and I had my fro out for the first time and I just went ham with the head-banging. People were doing it with me and I was like, “Damn! Okay!” It took at least 24 hour for that–the pain–to go away. ES: Oh my god, yeah, I get headaches after it! : What is it like being successful local musicians and balancing life… school, work, etc.? ES: [singing] “You get the best of both worlds.” DC: I like to say I’m like Hannah Montana. I
like the contrast of going to shows and signing autographs and taking pictures and then I go to class the next day and no one knows who I am. I’m one of the very few people that can say like ‘my job is my band.’ Being able to do what I love and not sacrificing it is cool.
BD: For me, I’ve been so used to making
: Who is the target audience for your music? Who are you mainly making music for? DC: Teenage girls. ES: That’s our goal audience. But our realistic audience is like “beer dads.” DC: Middle-age men like us a lot. Yeah, dads who come with their craft beer and look really unimpressed while watching us but then they’ll be like “You’re so sick!” ES: And then they’ll buy like $40 or $50 dollars worth of merch afterwards. DC: Yeah. ES: But my favorite are the teenage or younger girls or just younger people in general. DC: Yeah, the younger girls! They’ll come up to us and be like, “You’re the reason I started my band.” There was this little girl at Rock the Garden who caught my drumstick and she had these huge eyes and was holding onto it. I was like, wow, that’s honestly why I do this… If I’m going to help little girls want to play music. Because, honestly, that’s what Riot Grrrl was to me.
: How do you inzspire young girls? BD: Well, we met this young girl at the Pizza Lucé Block Party and it was really impactful for me because I’m in the punk scene–like there’s not a lot of POC. And, her seeing me on stage then was… we had a sort of connection based on that because we’re not often represented. That’s what I want to do for other young, black girls. It’s really nice being able to make an impact on them. DC: It’s also just such an unspoken connection between young girls and bands. ES: It’s like you get each other. BD: I love that unspoken understanding because I have to fight everyone all the time because, you know, all of us are into social justice and we’re very much advocates for many spectrums of it. Going out and having to constantly be on your guard and then finally finding someone who is a kindred spirit. You don’t have to talk or anything to understand each other. It’s healing.
: Are you talking specifically about younger fans?
DC: We’ve gotten not as obnoxious. BD: More tight. DC: The dynamic has just been understood because it’s been like four years, which is nuts. Playing bigger shows… But, I mean, we were just talking about this. We’ll play the [First Avenue] Main Room one minute and then our next show will be at the Hex. ES: You can play the Main Room a thousand times but you’re never too good for the Hex. DC: Hmm… Any other changes? Better fashion. ES: I don’t know what you’re talking about. BD: Well… Emily did have that little slip-up with her Chacos. DC: Oh my god… At Rock the Garden she turns around to me, second song, and says, “I forgot to change into my boots and I’m wearing Chacos right now!” ES: I have really bad Chaco tan-lines now, too.
: What is the future of Bruise Violet? DC: We’re going to be rocking when we’re in our 80s. ES: We’re gonna be doing whatever the heck we want whenever we want. DC: I guess the music will change… I’d like to see us five years from now and see what has happened. How much older do we look? Do we have stable jobs? BD: The goal is to be on Nina Simone’s level of no chill in my life. Did y’all see that story about her? So, basically what happened was that back in the day, this record company in Switzerland had tried to take some of her albums without paying her, and she went and she took a gun and she shot at this man… ES: No… no! That stresses me out. BD: And she said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get ‘em.” Oh my god… She takes no shit from anybody. DC: You know what would be nice? A record label.
Bruise Violet is playing at The Hex on November 10th and at The 7th Street Entry on November 12th.
The viral hashtag from an intersectional feminist lens BY OLIVIA HEUSINKVELD Despite many news outlets initially crediting Alyssa Milano with the movement that took social media by storm, “Me Too” was actually started by Tarana Burke in 1996. Burke, an activist and the program director for Girls for Gender Equity, coined the phrase to empower women of color and serve as a grassroots movement in communities which are systemically underserved by sexual assault workers and rape crisis centers. Despite many women finding comfort and empowerment in the hashtag, Milano’s popularization of #MeToo not only erased Burke’s name, but seemed to change a lot of the focus of the conversation. Seeing the lack of intersectionality (a term referring to the practice of examining and discussing issues through a lens that recognizes multiple social categories and their interactions) in #MeToo, Brianna, an activist who runs the Instagram account @SassyLatte, made a post highlighting some of her concerns with the social media movement. Wanting to know more, I talked to Brianna about their view of the movement, and how conversations surrounding sexual assault can adopt a permanent intersectional lens.
: Describe your process of encountering #MeToo. What was your initial reaction and how did your opinion of the hashtag change as it gained more momentum? Brianna: ... Anytime something starts “trending” within activism, it’s a red flag for me because I feel like activists should be leading discussions with critical inquiry, rather than jumping onto hashtag trends. While in the middle of researching #metoo, someone sent me a message on Instagram. The message was an article about Tarana Burke and that is when I decided to start questioning everything about the trending hashtag. Who was it for? Who was left out? Who would be helped? What about the permanence or longevity of the movement? Was homage paid or at least credit given to Burke?
: What can people do to be more critical of the activism they engage in? B: So much about activism is giving visibility to those who are denied representation. It’s about giving voices to the disenfranchised. People who fight the hardest for these things are people who are actually within those communities. If something is trending and interesting, ask critical questions. Who is participating? Who is benefiting? Who is left out? Does this approach actually hurt communities of marginalized people? Then research, research, research. […] Honestly, if you research the genesis of so many social justice and civil rights activist groups, WOC are the ones creating these spaces and beginning these conversations. We are forced into invisibility, but you can find us if you do your work.
“If something is trending and interesting, ask critical questions. Who is participating? Who is benefiting? Who is left out?” : Do you see any positives in the Me Too movement as it has played out over social media? B: Sure. I think so many women, mainly white women, felt a sense of solidarity. I think solidarity can be comforting and healing. But, as far as I know, that’s about it. I don’t think men learned anything from it. If anything, several men attempted to co-opt the space, changing the dialogue to their victimization, which only diminishes the importance of the connection between all men and the privilege they experience within rape culture. I don’t think that enough attention was paid to the nuanced experiences of trans, queer, disabled, poor, and WOC.
: In your opinion, what does an intersectional discussion about sexual assault look like? B: I think we have to stop addressing it as an “all women” issue. We are ignoring the specific circumstances of people who live within multiple layers of systemic oppression. The statistics of sexual assault are higher for poor women, even higher for WOC, and higher for trans women. The needs of the women within marginalized communities need to be made more of a priority because we are at greater risk. It is important to recognize and point out those needs when discussing how sexual assault should be handled and how treatment should be handled.
: How might people who do care about issues of sexual assault use the momentum created through #MeToo to create real and lasting change? B: There has to be a desire to truly want to analyze the scope of the situation through an intersectional lens. For WOC, intersectionality is a state of being. For everyone else, it is a tool of critical and compassionate thought. Moving forward, the approach needs to be intersectional and it needs to be inclusive. For the full interview, visit www.wakemag.org.
Who Cares about Healthcare? We Do Although an abstract issue, students have definite opinions on healthcare policy BY EMMA DILL Healthcare legislation involves mounds of paperwork, literally. President Obama’s Affordable Care Act (ACA) regulations filled over 30,000 pages, a seven-foot stack, with abstract terms like “deductible,” “essential benefits,” and “rider.” This mix of elaborate regulation and jargon makes healthcare an issue I struggle to understand. I wondered what other students thought. Did they barely comprehend healthcare like me? Or did they feel strongly about the issue? I went to find out.
Jonas, a freshman, said the GOP’s repeal and replace efforts would “absolutely screw over [his] family.My mother is disabled with a chronic illness,” he said, “and the ACA has helped immensely with costs of medication as well as insurance costs.” The ACA also helps Jonas access his own doctors, mental health care, and medications at little to no cost. In contrast, Ellie, a sophomore, admitted she didn’t fully understand the GOP’s efforts. The difference between Jonas and Ellie’s perspectives demonstrates that while some need to understand healthcare specifics because of health or financial circumstances, for others, like Ellie and myself, the issue is less imminent. Gisselle, a sophomore, and Lew, a freshman, viewed healthcare in broader terms. Gisselle thought healthcare should be universal, not run by corporations. Charging for healthcare is like seeing someone drowning, having the ability to help, but charging before rescuing them. She thought raising taxes could remedy healthcare: “I’m willing to pay more money for someone to get the help they need,” she said.
Lew compared international healthcare models. Under Europe’s single payer system, everyone receives healthcare, but in America, single payer isn’t considered an option. Instead, we debate lesser evils—should 28,000 die under the ACA without access to care or 50,000 under the GOP plan? Lew also thinks media coverage restricts our options by focusing on only two solutions— Democratic or Republican—and ignoring alternatives. “It is vital that we break the two-party mold and think about solutions to our healthcare crisis that actually work for average Americans,” Lew said. And with that I completely agree.
A House of Horrors Without an Exit One Gopher’s off-campus housing story BY NOAH SCHMINSKI College is a time for making buds, hanging out with those buds, and drinking Buds; all of this in the safety of your own home. This was what Andrew Norton was thinking prior to his junior year as he planned to move into his first ever offcampus house. After a pleasant experience subleasing a CPM apartment that summer, renting a five bed/ three bath CPM house just east of Van Cleve Park seemed like a great idea. He admits that after touring the house it “wasn’t in the best of shape,” but was promised a professional cleaning and renovations prior to move-in. When move-in day finally arrived, Norton and his four roommates arrived to a scene straight out of a “Saw” movie. Beer cans covered up a black-stained floor, graffiti lined the walls, and mold made the ceilings look like a Jackson Pollock piece. Of course, the roommates agreed that these conditions were unlivable and demanded that a cleaner be sent out. CPM agreed, but the cleaner wouldn’t be able to come for several days, which lead the roommates to four long days of cleaning, spending upwards of $1,500 in supplies and manual hours. After the cleaner arrived, she claimed the house was “uncleanable.” Norton was also forced to take the bedroom downstairs where he encountered “unlivable” conditions. The basement was not only filled with mold, but it also had a bug infestation that started with centipedes, which lead to mice, and finally rats “the size of footballs.” For the remainder of the three months they spent in the house, Norton ended up sleeping on an air mattress in the living room. It took three months for the students to break the lease with CPM after what Norton described as being “a full time job,” which included involving the Minneapolis Health Department and the University of Minnesota Student Services.
Cameras on Cops Keep the Story Unbiased Let’s put our body cameras to use, Minneapolis BY BECCA MOST It’s no secret that the American public has a complicated relationship with our police system. Designed to protect, support, and engage our communities, police have always held a status of power. They put a human face to our laws and take a physical presence in upholding them. For a long time, I grew up admiring police, even telling an officer who visited my fourth grade classroom that I wanted to become one when I was older. As a white person growing up in suburban Minnesota, I was at a significant advantage. I didn’t have to worry about racial profiling, and from my few interactions with police, I had no reason to believe police weren’t protecting my community. Because they were…right? The truth is, there is a massive disparity in arrests and confrontations with police due to race. A study done by the American Civil Liberties Union “analyzed [that] Minneapolis Police Department arrest data from 2004 to 2012 [showed] blacks are 11.5 times more likely to be arrested in the city for marijuana possession than whites and are nearly 9 times more likely to be arrested for disorderly conduct than whites.” These facts and figures reflect an underlying truth that some people still can’t come to grips with—the playing field isn’t equal. It never has been. Racial minorities have always had a more difficult time with police, this fact only encouraged by continued racial profiling and negative social stereotypes. A step in the right direction is an attempt to hold officers accountable with the use of body cameras. Body cameras are normally placed on the center of the officer’s chest and are activated when the gun is removed from the holster. With some of the cameras, this will emit a signal that automatically turns on the cameras on any other officer within a 30-foot radius. Minneapolis initiated a policy requiring officers to carry body cams in 2014. According to an article in the Star Tribune, “officers must upload the video at the end of their
We have the technology to make improvements to our criminal justice system. Using body cameras not only keeps our cops credible but keeps the story unbiased. Police are powerful figures in the community and it’s their duty to be transparent, and in doing so protect both themselves and civilians alike.
shift [and] the policy requires that body camera video be retained for at least seven years if an officer uses force or someone is arrested or receives a misdemeanor citation.” So, police have body cameras—the question is why aren’t they using them? There have been instances where body cameras could have been beneficial to evaluating a crime scene. Remember Justine Damond, the Australian woman shot in front of her home back in July? Officer Mohammad Noor responded to her 911 call and ended up shooting and killing her. We still don’t know the details behind the incident, but if the camera he had been wearing had been turned on, there would be no debate. Because policing is such a public job, it’s part of an officer’s duty to assure the public that they can, in fact, be trusted. And while this can be annoying or frustrating to officers that regularly perform their job correctly, it’s a matter of safety. The fact that more and more uncovered footage of police officers taking unauthorized approaches when dealing with civilians accentuates the problem. Usable body camera footage not only protects the rights of the public, but it also protects the rights of the officers. We shouldn’t think of the cameras as holding a “Big Brother-esque” presence, but rather see it as a credible, unbiased third party. When faced with the facts, the testimonies, and a video depiction of what actually happened on a scene, we get the most accurate details of the situation. It’s difficult to misinterpret events as they unfold before you. We can see precisely what measures the officer used to handle the situation and compare them to tactics they were trained in. Video recording allows us to gain more information about the scene of an officer-civilian interaction than we ever have before. 9
We Are More Than Your Sisters and Daughters An advocate examines objectifying language in the discourse of gender-based violence BY GABBY GRANADA “How might you approach a person you know at a party that appears to be taking advantage of someone?” I ask this question to a room of about 30 young men sitting before me. The hypothetical scenario is met with silence, which isn’t out of the ordinary during these presentations; in fact, it’s almost commonplace. As a certified sexual assault crisis counselor and a violence prevention educator for The Aurora Center, I’ve fielded this uncomfortable silence so many times that the uneasiness now feels familiar. I stand there at the front of the room, waiting for a response. Eventually, a hand raises. “I’d remind him that the girl he’s with could be someone’s sister or daughter,” the young man says. The answer sparks several affirming nods. A few others respond, saying they would approach the situation the same way. And I realize that the room’s consensus is that the most effective form of forcible perspective for a man is one that erases the agency of the woman entirely. Essentially, the thought process is this: don’t harm her because there are other men in her life—a father, maybe a brother—who value her.
Comedic writer Aparna Nancherla subverted this backwards logic in under 140 characters. “As the daughter of a father, I think the lot of you could do better,” Nancherla said in a tweet. I’ve heard these phrases repeated many times during the presentations I give on consent and sexual assault, and with every reiteration, I am increasingly unable to mask my wincing. The nature of these responses isn’t malicious; it simply highlights the inadvertent ways in which patriarchal thinking is normalized in conversation. That doesn’t excuse it, though. The language of rape culture is the crux of the issue. The first step in rationalizing violence against any group of people is to objectify them, thus dehumanizing them through language. Women aren’t impervious to these patriarchal norms, either. Instead, we internalize it. We get hit on at parties and in bars and rely on phrases like “I have a boyfriend” and “Sorry, I’m taken” because sometimes that’s the safest and quickest way to get someone to leave you alone: claim yourself as already owned.
“Dear Men, Please remove the phrase ‘as a husband and/or a father of daughters’ from your vocabulary. Women exist outside your bubble,” one Twitter user, Abigail Shirley, said in a tweet shared over 30,000 times.
I’ve found myself guilty of emulating those innately objectifying phrases without realizing the full severity of my words. The impetus of those throwaway statements is the belief that the person hitting on you would sooner respect the invisible man that’s not with you—your boyfriend or the person that claims you as “taken”—rather than the woman standing in front of them, expressing her disinterest. “We need to do better at protecting our sisters, friends, co-workers, and daughters,” Ben Affleck said in a public statement, responding to Harvey Weinstein’s myriad of sexual assault scandals.
There’s something innately objectifying and near territorial about that phrasing. Genderbased violence should enrage you as a human being, not just as a husband or a father.
The instinctual urge to protect women in these situations is understandable, although protection alone is retroactive at best when grappling with an endemic social issue like rape culture.
The malignant, beating pulse of gender-based violence is power and control. This issue begins and ends with how men of all ages discuss, view, and treat women. Enlisting yourself as a “protector” is not enough. Soon after his statement, Affleck issued a one sentence public apology for his sexually predatory behavior in the past that was recently brought to the public’s attention. Often times the most uncomfortable conversations we engage in are the most crucial ones. That belief is what led me to become an advocate. That is why I love my job as a violence prevention educator for The Aurora Center. With every presentation I give, I enter a predominantly male space and attempt to close the dissonance between us in hopes that it will affect even the smallest change. Catalyzing these discussions is an act of protest, an act of resistance. Continuing the conversation of rape culture and gender-based violence—and simply refusing to rest—is progress in and of itself. I welcome that unrest. I hope you do, too.
Kings of Leon at Xcel Energy Center BY MEGAN HOFF Tennessee rockers Kings of Leon did not disappoint when they performed at the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul on October. 18th. TAlthough it was a Wednesday night, the arena was packed. The opening act, Dawes, warmed up the crowd with their country twang and rainbow lights. After the opening act, the crowd waited restlessly for Kings of Leon to take the stage. As soon as the lights went down, a huge curtain that covereding the stage began to riserose. Backlit by purple lights, the quartet cranked out “Conversation Piece,” the seventh track off their latest album, “Walls.” The animated graphics were colorful and even trippy at times. Screens lit up with pink and blue flashing hands, and; lights were used both aesthetically and strategically used. During the song “Find Me,” white spotlights roamed over the crowd, mimicking flashlights. When the band played “Use Somebody,” everyone in the audience joined in to sing along. After that huge hit, the curtain came back down, and the band traded their electric guitars for acoustic ones. During the third softer song, they transitioned back into their alt-rock vibe. The lead singer, Caleb Followill, announced that they had been on tour for over a year, and that they had eight shows left before they had to return to Nashville. They fittingly proceeded to play “Back Down South.”
at Cedar Cultural Center
at First Avenue
BY ELLA CASHMAN
BY MEGAN HOFF
Julien Baker is an ambient/indie folk artist from Memphis, Tennessee. She’s attracted much attention for her openness about being a queer Christian raised in the South. Baker presents herself as a reserved and thoughtful individual. She had a distinct and compelling stage presence, with a soft, easy listening voice, which she blessed the audience with on Oct. 21 at the Cedar Cultural Center.
Kayleigh Rose, otherwise known by her stage name Chappell Roan, is only 19 years old. Hailing from the small town of Willard, Missouri, she is on her first tour with fellow artists Amy Shark and Vance Joy. As she took the stage at First Avenue on Oct. 12, she seemed nervous. Backed up by only a guitarist, the music queued up and she opened her mouth to sing. For the next 20 minutes, the crowd fell under her spell. With flowing vocals and an impressive range, she played through the five songs from her recently released EP, “School Nights,” and a cover of “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac.
The opening bands, Petal and Half Waif, set the tone by playing raw and ambient music to warm up the crowd. Baker opened with her new and incredibly moving single, “Appointments.” She played a mix of old songs from her sensational debut album, “Sprained Ankle,” which landed her on top of the 2015 end-of-the-year lists, and songs from her recent album, “Turn Out The Lights.” Occasionally accompanied by a violinist, Julien played many of her popular songs like “Funeral Pyre,” “Something,” “Everybody Does,” and ended the night with “Backtop.”
The show was relaxed but still entertaining, the mark of musicians who are becoming old pros.
The show was quite intimate. Soft yellow lights, paired with her honest and personal lyrics, created a temporary community within the concert space. Baker often took time to address and laugh with the audience while she tuned and set up for her next song. She continuously expressed her gratitude, saying, “I’m so blessed that of all the places you guys chose to be tonight, you chose to be here. That’s something I don’t take lightly.”
The last few songs of Baker’s set were accompanied by the soft sound of falling rain. The attentive audience found it hard to look away because of her strong stage presence and captivating voice.
“School Nights,” released on Sept. 21, showcases Roan’s incredible voice, reminiscent of Stevie Nicks, Lana Del Rey, and Dolores O’Riordan (of the Cranberries). The first song, “Die Young,” is a steady indie tune with brilliant vocal crescendos in the chorus. “Good Hurt” is a little faster-paced, with lyrics about yearning for an old, toxic relationship. The third track, “Meantime,” a slowburning song fraught with passion, describes the inner turmoil of wanting to love someone but not being ready for a relationship. “Sugar High” uses various sugary food analogies to describe the rush of a relationship. The final song, “Bad for You,” smolders with steamy desires. Roan’s debut is smooth and strong, and seeing her live was a surreal experience. Even though her album is impressive, hearing her voice in person made it obvious that she is a singer with true, raw talent.
at 7th Street Entry BY LYDIA CRABTREE On the chilly night of Oct. 19 at the 7th Street Entry, Pinegrove graced the stage with their melancholy lyrics and awkward between-song banter. They played two new songs off a mysterious third album that is in the works. “Darkness” was the name of one of the newly unveiled songs, and had lyrics about feeling a darkness inside of you. Another was about two platonic friends. The crowd stood in pin-drop silence, hanging on every word that they sung. The best song of the night was their hit “Aphasia,” which is about losing the memory of someone special. The crowd screamed the lyrics: “One day I won’t define myself by the one I’m thinking of,” and it was obvious this was a perfect outlet for the many students in the audience to release built-up school stress. The band had an almost painfully awkward stage presence. At one point during their set, the lead-singer, Evan Stephens Hall, tried to compare Minneapolis to a “mini apple,” but the joke didn’t land. The four members traded off wearing a safari bucket hat throughout the show. It was lead-guitarist Josh Marre’s birthday the night of the show, and the band set up a surprise for him during the set. When Marre was about to start one of his many guitar solos, the band and random people throughout the audience began to put on birthday hats, tossed around neon balloons, and the band then transitioned flawlessly into “Happy Birthday” in the middle of one of their songs. Marre was pleasantly surprised, as was the rest of the audience. Here’s the takeaway: Pinegrove is comprised of the nicest, most awkward emo-rockers in existence.
MASSEDUCTION St. Vincent BY OLIVIA HEUSINKVELD Despite all the buzz surrounding St. Vincent’s high-profile relationship and break-up with Cara Delevingne, I refuse to call “MASSEDUCTION” a breakup album. Sure, St. Vincent talks about love, including its endings, but to call it a “break-up” album seems to miss the point of the complex web she spins. With a track list that demands to be listened to in order and in one sitting, “MASSEDUCTION” offers elements of surprise while seamlessly flowing through themes of love, loss, and lust. After a drunken phone call sung with a breathy distance (“Hang on Me”), the album plunges into the world of deep-seated desires and societal taboos. From excessive drug use (“Pills,” featuring Cara Delevingne singing with sugar-pop flair) and kink (“Savior”), to a breakdown of the norms of gender and sexuality (“Sugarboy”), the songs expose the longing for the things we aren’t supposed to want. As “MASSEDUCTION” surges forward, the desire for pleasure starts to tangle with loss and longing. In “Los Ageless,” the song ends with the line: “I try to write you a love song but it comes out a lament,” a guiding sentiment that is infused into the remainder of the album. Songs like “Happy Birthday, Johnny,” “New York,” and “Young Lover” lament the loss of lovers to addiction, trauma, and distance, yet the pain in the lyrics serves as proof of the love St. Vincent carries with her, even through loss. The love explored in “MASSEDUCTION” is messy and hard, even when it is good. Through this album, St. Vincent proves that although a breakup can serve as source material, it’s only the beginning.
Rain Man (1988) BY ANNIE BURDICK “Rain Man,” released in 1988, follows a selfabsorbed ass named Charlie Babbitt (Tom Cruise) whose father dies, leaving him to discover that his father’s money is going to an older brother he never knew about. His brother, Raymond (Dustin Hoffman), has been living in an institution for adults with special needs for all of Charlie’s life. They end up traveling across the country together, and every moment is pure cinematic glory. Despite this movie winning the Oscar for Best Picture that year, when I mention my favorite movie to fellow students, few have seen it. This review is my plea for that to change: watch “Rain Man.” I have a unique connection to the film’s premise; I am close with my aunt who has special needs, and I’ve interacted with a lot of people who resemble Raymond in a number of ways. Dustin Hoffman’s portrayal of an autistic savant is incredible. I will debate forever with anyone who claims that this is not Dustin Hoffman’s acting masterpiece. A young Tom Cruise and other supporting actors are impressive as well, and the writing is outstanding. This movie is clever, warm, heartbreaking, and, in my opinion, intensely funny. It is designed to have a strong effect on anyone who watches it. I strongly believe that lack of representation of people with disabilities is one of media’s biggest pitfalls. This film is one of the first and best representations of disabled people in mainstream media, and it’s just as important and fantastic now as it was then.
JOIN US Come to the next meeting in Folwell 4 on Monday, November 13th at 8 pm.