AUTHOR,ARTICLE
CAROLINE FILIPS,"At the intersection of hip hop and social action lies the University’s Hip Hop Congress, an organization focusing on the sociocultural, political and artistic impacts of hip-hop culture. Since the national organization reestablished its chapter on campus in 2010 after a two-year hiatus brought on by a decline in membership, the congress has continued to boast a strong following and promote positivity.
As a good kid in this m.A.A.d city himself, LSA senior Joe Hermann serves as the organization’s president. Often drawing inspiration from his favorite rappers such as Kendrick Lamar and their tales of triumph against gang violence and drug use, Hermann believes there is an empathetic aspect of the congress’ namesake genre.
“That’s what I think has stuck with me most about hip hop, opening me up to how people are more products of social conditions than they are necessarily poor choices,” Hermann said. “I just gained greater empathy for people of all backgrounds because of hip hop.”
This empathy and acceptance drawn from hip hop fuels the organization’s positive impact across campus. With 30-40 active members, the congress is a diverse group, yet all are bound together by their love of the music.
“When we have our meetings and we’re talking about a new album, so many people from different backgrounds think it’s dope and they can all relate to it in different ways and for different reasons,” Hermann said. “I think that’s one thing I really appreciate about our organization, how it draws together people from different backgrounds to have conversations about something they love.”
Meetings are really in-depth discussions, with topics ranging from Kanye’s latest shenanigans to the prejudices stemming from the hip-hop stereotypes. The congress serves to explore issues of race, class and the prison-industrial complex, all while striving to uphold the positive aspects of hip-hop culture’s history and significance.
“We’ll watch one or two music videos, we’ll talk about what we thought about it. I usually try to bring one or two topics of relevant hip hop news,” Hermann said. “There’s a real sense of community and we just try to have good discussions and try and create a little bit too while we’re there.”
Along with dropping beats (the organization is currently in the process of creating a mixtape), the congress attempts to educate its followers on the roots of hip-hop culture’s negative connotations.
“A lot of hip hop is very misogynistic and that comes out of other conditions, you know,‘what are the social conditions that produce misogyny?’ and often times its poverty, lack of access to equitable housing, lack of access to jobs, poor education,” Hermann said. “So when I think about music that has those negative qualities, I don’t blame the artist, but I blame the social conditions that it comes out of.”
Due to the equal focus on arts and social justice, the group includes an eclectic mix of members — complete with aspiring rappers, clothing designers and writers.
“People are both extremely knowledgeable about politics and social conditions, but they’re also extremely creative, so they’re thinking of creative ways to approach problems,” Hermann said.
The creative minded organization hosts annual events, often boasting noteworthy speakers. During last fall’s presentation by Kanye West affiliate, Rhymefest, the rapper spoke of his Chicago-based poetry workshop collaboration with West, designed to stem youth violence and foster greater political participation. During the second half of the year, the congress hosted an Immortal Technique concert at the Michigan Union.
The group also works to falsify unfavorable reputations of gang culture in various cities such as Detroit and Pittsburgh, with the help of guest hip-hop activists Piper Carter and rapper GsiriX, each from the aforementioned cities, respectively.
Events usually attract a crowd of about 200 and aim to encourage a stronger following of the University chapter. In terms of localizing the breadth of the national organization, Hermann believes in the preservation of the national organization’s ideals regarding respect and political activism and connecting these to local issues.
“For example, last year we did an event called Hip Hop Made Me Do It, which was held at Rackham and sort of around the time BBUM was happening, we tried to gather students and local leaders to talk about the actual issues related to race on our campus and in the Ann Arbor community,” Hermann said. “We tried to take the tradition and spirit of the national organization and apply it to local issues, and also just show love to local hip hop artists.”
In accordance with the goals of their predecessor rap-icons, the congress strives to eradicate the common misconception that hip hop and social justice are mutually exclusive. Hermann is hopeful that the group will continue to showcase collections of music that are neither misogynistic nor violent.
“Talib Kweli, Mos Def, Kendrick Lamar … there’s all sorts of rappers who are making music that has a positive message as well and are aware of the platform that they’re on as pop culture figures,” Hermann said. “I like that our organization has been able to facilitate meaningful conversations and left an impact on people where they’re legitimately pursuing things that aren’t necessarily hip hop related.”"
CAROLINE FILIPS,"I’m an ardent supporter of the “look good, feel good” mantra, and “dress well, test well” is a close second, or at least … it used to be. Though I may have planned a few outfit/accessory combinations the night before I took the ACT in high school (convinced the mysticism of the right clothing combinations brought me to the University) the motivation to look effortlessly put-together becomes more difficult to muster in college and I often find myself sporting last night’s pajamas when I take my exams.
I surely don’t feel my best when my friends can’t tell if they’re eating lunch with an undercover bag lady or their friend who aspires to eventually cultivate a yuppie lifestyle — complete with a perfectly tailored Bergdorf Goodman wardrobe. Perhaps it’s easier to express how you feel on the outside than explain how the stress of two exams catalyzed an existential crisis, resulting in your surrender to sweatpants.
So has the confidence I used to draw from clothing faded throughout my limited college career? Absolutely. I quickly succumbed to a new lethargic lifestyle, constant hunger for anything that can be delivered directly to my bedside and productivity contrasted by equal amounts of laziness. And because of that, I no longer considered my outward appearance a priority. Yet I yearned for that lost confidence, that feeling of knowing I used to dress somewhat decently and reflecting it in my mood.
Though it may not be apparent in my everyday outfit choices, I still believe in the immeasurable confidence that comes from dressing well. Perhaps it’s pretentious, superstitious even, to place such a high value on the power of clothes beyond the obvious social advantages. However, I rely on aesthetically pleasing attire to contrast my frivolous nature (so people take me seriously, like, just a little bit). I attribute some of a person’s confidence to the power of a structured exterior, and I don’t find this to merely be a personal belief, but a media trend that extends far beyond me.
Let’s examine Andy Sachs, played by Anne Hathaway in “The Devil Wears Prada.” In the beginning she’s the epitome of everything fashion isn’t — unkempt, badly dressed, while also blithely unaware of the fashion industry’s doyen interviewing her, Miranda Priestley (Meryl Streep, “August: Osage County”). Yet after fairy godfather Nigel’s (Stanley Tucci, “Easy A”) harsh yet sage advice on how to thrive rather than be defeated by the cutthroat realities of the industry, combined with his access to the closet of Runway magazine, Andy is morphed into an icon in her own right.
Her fashionable ascent endows her with the confidence and poise to face all adversity she encounters (i.e. when Emily makes fun of her, she retaliates with Chanel boots), and she’s soon running the show that is Runway magazine. That’s the power of clothes, their powers turn you into a #GirlBoss, which takes you to Paris even though you’re not the editor’s first assistant … and Gisele compliments you at work. Just look at Miranda, terrifying any and everyone in her path of chicness, fueled by the confidence of clothes.
Even the inspiration for the film came from the stories of the most confident and well-dressed woman at Condé Nast, at Vogue, in the world — the elusive, forever unapproachable, goddess who makes flip phones OK: Anna Wintour. Her existence is a spectacle, consisting of Blahnik and Birkins … but most importantly, she’s a woman in charge of what many regard as the fashion bible, and she runs the show looking immaculately polished, and why? Because simply appearing well dressed signifies one’s importance, and being aware of this when you’re looking fresh is lethal.
Clothing and mood are undeniably interconnected, as any shopaholic can attest. As evidenced by any powerful woman of the 21st century, it’s as if appearing à la mode whenever possible is essential to success. More often than not, first ladies have become fashion icons, as they accentuate their place in the public eye with a refined exterior. Hillary will never betray her beloved rainbow of pantsuits, as they have become integral part of her identity, and a symbol of her enormous ambition.
So why after taking 45 minutes to get all dressed up and make it to the club do Beyoncé and average college students alike feel as if we can run the world? Because we look like we can."
CAROLINE FILIPS,"If you’re hoping for a fun night out without the typically embarrassing occurrences of a liquor-soaked night, at long last, your wishes have been granted by Brillig Dry Bar.
If you’ve never experienced the dry bar scene, just as I hadn’t, you might assume it to be similar to a restaurant or coffeehouse. I was also unsure of how those of legal age would respond to the non-alcoholic principle. I expected the atmosphere to be just as dry as the bar, but the latest addition to Ann Arbor’s nightlife scene is modern and upbeat, while also alcohol-free. One can enjoy him/herself at Brillig and leave without the regrets of drunken texts and Instagram posts.
Throughout the month of December, Brillig has hosted multiple pop-up events to introduce itself to Ann Arborites. Hosted in its daytime coffee shop, Mighty Good Coffee, Brillig is not a permanent gathering place yet. However, its pop-up event on Dec. 26 boasted a buzzing crowd with a line out the door, foreshadowing a promising future for the unconventional bar concept.
As a viable alternative to both the late-night coffeehouse and bar scenes, Brillig is essentially the resurrection of the soda fountain, yet it caters to the new-age customer. Structured similarly to Mighty Good, customers order at the counter, then their food and beverage orders are called out for pickup. Seating ranges from couches, the bar and high and low tables. The eclectic décor, with bikes strung from the ceiling with various maps to educate customers on coffee production, adds to its unpretentious, homey diner vibe.
Unlike the usual bar scene, Brillig’s energy is sophisticated, not inebriated. It’s loud, but the noise is categorized by the pleasant cadences of everyday life — friends and families greeting and catching up, with a live band adding soothing sounds of light jazz in the background.
In addition to the usual fare of Mighty Good Coffee beverages, the drink menu ranges from the popular Brooklyn Egg Cream to the Cranberry Sour that I sampled, a deliciously tart and sweet concoction of Michigan-made Vernors and cranberry juice.
Brillig also caters to snack cravings, with its pastry case and menu of small plates — snack trays of cheeses and fruits, meats and mustards and the winter cookie sampler.
As a Michigander through and through, my usual hangout spot has been Coney Island since I was approximately 12 years old. Though Ann Arbor never ceases to amaze me with its seemingly endless selection of restaurant and nightlife options, I was always homesick for my familiar diner scene. Yet after my positive experience at Brillig, I now hope to frequent the kitschy hotspot.
Brillig fits in seamlessly to the city, as it’s everything Ann Arbor is: casual, clean and conceptually innovative. Though Brillig may be overlooked by college students at first glance, it’s a nice alternative to the standard collegiate night out, without wreaking havoc on your liver."
CAROLINE FILIPS,"She came. She spoke. We laughed.
As soon as cartoonist and writer Alison Bechdel appeared on stage at the Michigan Theater and graced the nearly-full crowd with her presence, she too laughed … at herself.
“There’s an old saying that cartooning is a field for people who are mediocre artists and mediocre writers, and I would say that in my case, those things are pretty much true,” Bechdel remarked. Soon after, Bechdel presented the audience with her rejection letter from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.
It’s that genuine, self-deprecating humor and her idiosyncratic cartoons that captivated the audience on January 22.
But her accolades, such as her 2014 MacArthur Genius Award and breakthroughs for the LGBT community, prove that she’s far from mediocre in her profession.
Bechdel was selected to speak about her biographical graphic novels and the art of cartooning for part of the Penny Stamps Speaker Series, which has partnered with The Zell Visiting Writer Series and The Institute for Research on Women & Gender. Speaker Series Director Chrisstina Hamilton said Bechdel has been requested to speak numerous times and is highly regarded by Stamps students.
Though ultimately delivered with insightful, witty candor, Bechdel’s presentation tugged at the audience’s heartstrings as she spoke about her unconventional upbringing, defined by the dramatic twists and turns within her family life. She evinced her signature ability to find humor in misfortunes rather than succumb to them, proving her greatest talent lies beyond her work.
Bechdel’s graphic novels examine what most are shy to admit — let alone publish — such as the poignant tale of her father’s secretive, sexual double life that led to his eventual suicide. Yet openness and freedom from inhibition is the essence of Bechdel’s powerful storytelling.
Staying true to her childhood dreams, Bechdel made a name for herself and developed a unique style tinged with honesty.
“I always wanted to be a cartoonist, even when I was a little kid,” Bechdel said. “But it was soon pointed out to me that was not a very practical career choice.”
No stranger to grit and perseverance, Bechdel kept at her craft even when prospects were bleak.
“It took a lot of work and a lot of years before it actually became my job,” Bechdel said. “I had to keep pursuing it, keep pushing it, slowly let go of my paying day jobs. It was a long process committing to it.”
Bechdel emerged in the cartooning field with her marginal lesbian comic strip, “Dykes to Watch Out For,” (1983-2008), which originally was not intended for publishing. Instead, the comic was the medium through which Bechdel extracted humor from the lifestyles of her and her friends.
“After I graduated from college, I had recently come out as a lesbian and I just started drawing these comics for me and my friends about women like us, women who looked like us,” Bechdel said. “It was very unusual in the early eighties to see any kind of different looking women in the media, you would just see very feminine women and we were all countering that kind of image and looking kind of wild, crazy and androgynous.”
Though well known for her comic strips and darkly humorous graphic novels, Bechdel is also the creator of her surname-titled test, which assesses the gender bias in films. The Bechdel test deems a film as feminist if it satisfies three requirements: one, if there is a scene with two women, two, the women have a conversation and three, if that dialogue is about something other than a man.
For fans of Bechdel and those who missed the presentation, a comprehensive showcase of her work will be on display at the Institute for Humanities through February 25. The exhibit features original diaries from Bechdel’s youth, the infamous rejection letters, notable comic strips and clutter from her creative process.
Amanda Krugliak, arts curator for the Institute for Humanities, modeled the exhibit after Bechdel’s childhood home with great attention to detail, even mimicking its wallpaper.
“Conceptually, the idea of the room is to place it in the context of the house she grew up in, which was this kind of Victorian house,” Krugliak said. “Her father was really interested in interiors and getting something just right from the Victorian period. I thought it would be interesting to use that as a starting point and think about all these things coexisting in this room — past, present, her work, but also bits and pieces of growing up.”
Bechtle also touched on the media’s response to the Jan. 7 terrorist attack on Charlie Hebdo, a satirical French newspaper targeted because of its depiction of the Prophet Muhammad.
“I think everybody can see the significance of cartoons and comics especially right now,” Hamilton said. “We’re sort of in a very fresh and precious moment with the terrorist acts that happened in Paris just in the last couple weeks that were directed specifically at cartoonists.”
Though intended for comedic effect, comics are undoubtedly a powerful tool. As evidenced by the recent, horrific Parisian tragedies, it’s clear that they can have formidable effects. Yet, the influence of the medium’s worldly succinctness is one to admire.
“Obviously the power of the cartoon is sometimes more powerful than words can solve, that visual element can take it to another place,” Hamilton said. “The ability for comics and cartoons to juxtapose real-world issues in a visual and separate world formant give people the ability to instantly see things that otherwise might take a novel to explain.”
Rather than acting in haste after the world deals us an unfavorable card, perhaps we can move forward from adversity by taking a note from Bechdel and extracting humor from our misfortunes rather than succumbing to them."
CAROLINE FILIPS,"As a partially irrational, wholly self-indulgent 19-year-old college girl, I know a thing or two about romanticizing people, places and ideas. When I stumbled upon My Paris Dream, Kate Betts’ enchanting memoir of the post-collegiate Parisian caper that eventually catapulted her fashion career, my annual summer malaise went into overdrive — you can only watch “Midnight in Paris,” live-stream haute couture shows and eat TeaHaus macaroons so many times before you’re hankering for the real thing. Betts’ storied soirée along the Seine accelerated my own, unoriginal Paris dreams.
As the winter semester died down, I opted to spend my impending summer in Ann Arbor. I figured I could conquer my nasty Natural Science credits, save up (to buy overpriced Fall footwear, probably) and edit the collective lovechild that is Daily Arts. And then, just as I’d felt live streaming the recent Valentino haute couture show, the FOMO ran deep, because deep in the soul a palm reader once told me I had, I felt as if I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. In that particular case, I needed to be in Rome’s Piazza Mignanelli, admiring the label’s extensive history rendered even richer by the collection’s Neapolitan pastels and marine motifs. Yet in the greater scheme of my Francophile existence, I was desperate for the experiences I’ve never had, the culture I’ve never explored, the learning my sartorial psyche has yet to absorb … I longed for the Champs Élysées. Sorry, Main Street.
I started alternating my stalk sessions between Facebook and Instagram, primarily those of my University acquaintances who were living out not only my Paris dream, but also my deep reveries of Rome, Barcelona and London during their spring study abroads.

And by the time I realized the seasonal wheels were in motion and I didn’t have enough cash to swing international travel (i.e. I spent too many paychecks on beaucoup de vin et fromage), I did the next best thing and bided my time with what I now refer to as the “non-annoying ‘Eat Pray Love’-esque fantasy”; I picked up Betts’ memoir — a petite gout de Paris.
As I tore through the pages, engrossing myself in the international exposures I’ve yet to experience, my subconscious surrendered to exhaustive wanderlust, (Case #1: maybe I didn’t actually need highlights and the faintly orange tint of Jergen’s, I just yearned for the sun-kissed cascades and bronzed glow that only a Brittany beach can provide). Betts painted the picture of the holiday I’ve always wanted — one of plenty of croissants and French lovers, but primarily a fortuitous string of events leading to an impressive fashion resume … and besides, like her, “I was (am) in love with fashion and culture, specifically French culture.”
Her story begins with her graduation from Princeton in 1985, a time when her aspirations didn’t match up to the trite realities of her college companions. As a history buff, she toyed with the possibility of war correspondence, but was ultimately disconcerted with her future. She had no desire to rush into entry-level positions at advertising firms like J. Walter Thompson and rather opted for the extended education of a Français foray. The memoir opens with a wistful retrospective of her primary exposure to the city a few years back — how she was moved in ways she couldn’t comprehend, high off of delusions of glamour and grandeur. She yearns for that potent je ne sais quois she knows she can’t find elsewhere. And so, as I wish I could, she flees to France.
She spends her days on the narrow streets, surveying the inherent chicness of the elusive Parisiennes, with panoptic nightly studies of the culture’s nuances, slang and mannerisms through the lens of her homestay family, the Deschamps — Bibiane and her husband Antoine, and their two enfants — Maxime and Guillemette. Yet perhaps the cocktail hour of gossip with Bibiane’s girlfriends is the most intriguing segment of her education.
Aside from the fact that any mention of careers or ennui of one’s daily minutia is absolutely off the table for discussion, the women possess an intoxicating allure that Betts’ can’t ignore. They’re walking hallmarks of stylish simplicity — fresh faced with a slash of red lipstick, dressed in perfectly tailored separates, sporting un-fussed coifs and topped off with minimal to no accessories — France’s quintessential, effortlessly chic breed of women.
I so desperately wanted to find a feminine, Française icon to guide me in my never-ending quest of stylish pursuits. But after a decent hour into the search, I knew it was far fetched.
And as I dwell on the minute details of my daily strolls along Main Street, I can’t help but recall the otherworldly, yet shockingly simple fashions I see each day. Sure I’ll return home to reread a chapter of Betts’ tale, transporting myself into a realm of chicness, class and champagne I can’t help but covet; but I take her tokens of truth and find my dreams of Paris in the stylish absurdism of the brazen Ann Arborites. I may not always have Paris, but for now, I have my quirky counterparts."
CAROLINE FILIPS,"Despite the requisite college town fixtures of countless pizza joints, Mexican dives and crowded coffee houses, Ann Arbor kind of failed us with the burger options. Blimpy? Too greasy. BurgerFi? Fries, nothing else. Quickie? Not sober. Five Guys? Closed. For the best burger, one must venture past Main Street and between upscale steakhouses for the quirky and quality favorite — Frita Batidos.
It’s impossible to have a conversation about Ann Arbor’s food-scape without mentioning Frita Batidos. The eclectic eatery — nestled deep downtown among comestible competitors — sets itself apart with a simple, eponymous dining philosophy — order a frita and wash it down with a batido.
The Cuban-inspired menu offers different iterations of the classic chorizo frita (or burger) — a special beef blend from Kerrytown’s Sparrow market, black bean, chicken and fish — all topped with shoestring fries and sandwiched between a light brioche bun. As for the batidos (or milkshake), patrons have the option of adding a splash of dark rum to any tropical fruit blend.
The street food fare always seems to weasel its way to the top of Ann Arbor bucket lists and rack up the most Instagram likes on any page. But the egg-topped burgers are more than the key to an aesthetically pleasing post — they’re the foundation of a memorable meal.
"
CAROLINE FILIPS,"People love to hate Madonna. I know this firsthand, seeing as my mother loves to hate Madonna … and that was probably my biggest reason for loving the queen of pop.
While I would normally argue bitch, she’s Madonna any time mother dearest voiced her disdain, this time, like most times, mom’s right.
Filmed at the bar atop New York’s Standard Hotel, Madonna invites us into her world of moscato and Moschino for a whirlwind rave with chiseled lovers, studded-leather and her son’s first-rate breakdancing. Essentially, if there’s a post-midlife crisis for baby boomers, this is it.
We’ve been privy to the long-anticipated video via Tidal teasers and Instagram, with colorful, punchy fan art and videos from both Madonna and Nicki Minaj. Apparently, that, along with featuring an array of A-listers in music videos, is a thing now (see: Taylor Swift, “Bad Blood”). But when Taylor did it, we didn’t lose our focus — we were enthralled with both the theatrical tale and the true star, Swift. Pause: The fact that Madonna even attempted to imitate this is both confusing and out of character, seeing as she used to set the bar that others aspired to. Madge’s take on the trend poses no storyline, aside from debauchery featuring sock puppets. In short, she’s forgettable and she’s outshined by the sum of star-studded cameos.
While she’s undeniably savvy in her attempts of capitalizing on the current zeitgeist — a video exclusively for Tidal users features not only music moguls (in order of importance: Beyoncé, Nicki, Kanye, Miley, Diplo, Katy Perry and Rita Ora), but also frontrunner fashion designers Jeremy Scott and Alexander Wang — the weight of her guests’ combined energies and cultural significance rivals, if not tops, Madonna’s.
Though age is relative in most cases, it’s time Madonna starts acting accordingly to hers. We know her body says she’s a 30-something crossfit junkie, but her career speaks for itself, being that of a longstanding innovator in an industry that thrives on freshness. She was shiny and new at one point, continuing to maintain her signature ingenuity for decades, and “Bitch, I’m Madonna” was the creed that established this. But, Madonna, this video pushes my love over the borderline, and I’ve gotta agree with mom on this one."
CAROLINE FILIPS,"They say you’re likely to meet “the one” in college.  And by “they” I mean my overzealous relatives, the ones who spew not-so-sage advice at family gatherings after throwing back one-too-many glasses of wine. However, in my case, they were absolutely correct. Though I’m confident my kin’s definitions of “the one” differs from the clothing companion I’ve grown to adore, I’m happy and in love.
In short, the undergraduate college experience is a wondrous four-year experiment.  You’re able to truly test your limits, push some boundaries and, above all, step outside of your sartorial comfort zone. For me, a distant dream once reserved to the truest of trendsetters became a reality and a staple of my wardrobe.  
The year was 2014, and the romper and I endured an extraordinary love affair and never looked back.
What truly captured my heart about the romper was its ease; similarly to the powerful effects of a good coat, I could instantly transform from a rundown, sloppily dressed college student into a somewhat-polished pseudo-adult.
Though the romper is subject to endlessly endearing qualities, what truly stole my heart was the uncanny semblance it bears to my pajamas of choice, the infant staple, the one-piece-wonder that is the onesie. Rompers changed the game by being a sort of socially acceptable pajama-esque garment for all occasions other than sleep.  It was genius.  It was everything I didn’t know I needed.  The hybrid of a top and cropped trouser had a seductive simplicity. You literally just slide it on and you’re dressed in a full ensemble. That right there easily saves you seven minutes of dreaded morning outfit indecisiveness.
While I’m aware the romper reemerged around spring 2011 after its metallic triteness and extended legs of the ’70s, along with countless identity crises (i.e. often resurfacing during festival season as its somewhat washed up cousin, overalls), I was initially a skeptic. As with most bourgeoning trends, I assumed it would eventually fizzle out, and my inherent aversion drew me to avoidance. I was naïve, uneasy with the concept of abandoning my beloved closet of endless separates that structured sufficient portmanteaus. As bloggers and trend-forecasters badgered us hopeless wannabe style-icon/internet-trolls with the news, I resisted. In my defense, I was a long, lanky, clueless high-school freshman when the romper reemerged — too under-confident to rock anything other than my trusty, extra-long (thanks be to Lulu’s special order) yoga pants.
Yet the romper persisted with a strong social media presence, immaculate appearances on the runway and rave reviews of esteemed fashion critics; but I regrettably fell victim to the spell only as of late. Forgive me, romper, for not realizing your true potential until I fully trusted you. But now, here we are, two kindred spirits who just needed to mature apart before we could grow together.  
As with any great love, the search wasn’t easy. It was a painstaking pursuit.

For starters, rompers are sized stranger than any garment I have ever come across. You’d think they’d be cut similar to the standard dress size — bust, hips, waist, boom — the whole awful, humiliating, as-if-I-needed-to-be-reduced-to-yet-another-number shebang. But no, it’s absolutely nonsensical and against all cloth-cutting logic.
Yet, these offsetting qualities seemed a necessary roadblock in the attainment of a quasi-nirvana level of satisfaction. I knew “the one” would never be wholly, one-hundred-percent perfect. I had to assess my options, not merely settle for what was there. I knew true love was all about the chase and the challenge.
My first rendezvous with the romper was flawed, awkward and uncomfortable. Essentially, it didn’t fit. It didn’t compliment my body, it didn’t play off my prominent features and again, it was a downright bore.
Like a tragically awful first date, it was all wrong. What’s worse was that I tried to like it. I searched endlessly for its redeeming qualities, and by the time I counted seven offsetting attributes, I knew the end wasn’t near, it was there.
Though I don’t doubt the first romper prompted me to test my limits, it was suffocating in ways I knew would hurt us in the long term. But eventually, one day when the sun shines overhead, or in my case the April showers quickly escalate into a torrential downpour; sometimes, when you least expect it, you’re seeking shelter in a department store. You glance to your left and there, on a mannequin, waiting to be ripped off, is the one.
"
CAROLINE FILIPS,"I’m greedy. I’m predominantly greedy in regards to food and sleep (that thing I really want that I never seem to have). Though after further self-examination, I’ve discovered my insatiable greed for any knowledge that’s even tangentially fashion-related, but it’s a curse. I endlessly read and painstakingly reread anything and everything industry-centric to the point where it all melds together in my mind. Striving for sensibility, I then resort to staring at my magazine cutout-clad wall to remind myself why I pine for every morsel of insight on this hectic, unpredictable and elusive sphere. Even a quick glance to my makeshift wallpaper reminds me why fashion is where I need to work (read: live, it’s 2015) and breathe. Though I’ll admit to cancelling plans and arrangements out of sheer greediness to absorb the ins and outs of what I intend to pursue, I know my self-indulgence isn’t always worth forgoing a shot at fun (or a round of shots, for the record).
Though I complain about not having enough time for X, Y and Z, it turns out I do. I greedily prioritize what I really want to dwell on, whether it’s outsourcing inspiration for my next column or printing out that NYT recipe for vegan brownies and contemplating the perks and drawbacks of adapting the diet. I have these luxuries, these greed-tinged little luxuries. Ironically, the frontrunners of the luxury fashion world can’t even find time for luxury.
When I began my fashion-arced odyssey in high school, I came across a Tom Ford OWN documentary
on YouTube. In the opening monologue, Ford speaks candidly about his infamous career burnout that prompted his partly autobiographical directorial debut of 2009. After designing 16 collections annually and alternating between Yves Saint Laurent and Gucci, he was lethargic, drained and uninspired.
“I didn’t know who I was, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be,” he says, reflecting on the dark ages.
With his film rendition of Christopher Isherwood’s novel “A Single Man,” Ford told the calamitous tale of his midlife crisis, albeit concealed by stunning cinematography and Julianne Moore and Colin Firth equally slaying ’60s wardrobes. He translated both his lost direction and irretrievable time onto the screen. By drawing a veil of beauty over the unfavorable realities, he echoed the general trends of fashion’s business tactics. We so often forget that simple fact behind the gems and silhouettes — the truth that fashion, at the end of the day, is a business.
A later jaunt in my solo fashion research led me to a Ford maxim — “Time and silence are the most luxurious things today” — words that have recently reverberated in the wake of two prominent French creative directors abdicating their couturier thrones. Two weeks ago, Raf Simons announced his departure from Dior, an unexpected exit to say the least. Particularly evinced throughout the spring documentary ‘Dior and I,’ Simons was the brand’s perfect fit, requiring zero alterations. He honed his indelible creativity and maintained an unmatched synchronicity from collection to collection. But he ultimately decided to focus on his eponymous label after three glorious years at the house.
After Alber Elbaz accepted his well-deserved Superstar award at the recent Fashion Group International Night of Stars, he commended Simons’ choice in earnest and alluded to his own impending departure from the helm of Lanvin. Aware of his speech’s time constraints, Elbaz opened with a retort: “I need more time,” he said. “And I think everybody in fashion these days needs just a little more time.”
When I first read Elbaz’s words in the Women’s Wear Daily review of the night, I recalled Ford’s adage, “Time and silence are the most luxurious things today.” Elbaz’s speech wasn’t merely him gracing the audience with his signature wisdom and wit; it was a sartorial call to action, a refrain from ‘luxurious’ silence. He exhausted the exhaustion of fashion’s relentless pace impinging on the creative process, along with reminding the audience of a designer’s constant time crunch — the elite required to churn out six collections annually, often six months before their intended season. A few days after, Elbaz announced his departure after 14 years at Lanvin.
On the endless list of designers I research and pretend to know on a personal level, Raf and Alber have been tied second for years (sorry boys, Ford stole my heart during the formative years). But within my own sophomoric sartorial pursuits, I sense the pressure on the industry’s doyens sublimated into the pressure I put on myself to keep up with its ever-accelerating pace.
Like any art form, fashion is complex and irreducible. Before a collection’s debut, which demands an ample digestion and appreciation period for the masses, it requires weeks, months, years or even lifetimes worth of inspiration and planning, but above all, a designer’s heart and soul. I can only image that with amended annual requirements and an augmented time window to explore creative triggers, my beloved, wunderkind and pretend-friend designers can reclaim their identities and better imbue them into every collection. I’m confident that Elbaz’s industry critique will catalyze much needed change. Until then, I’ll hold on to my luxuries."
CAROLINE FILIPS,"Isalita was the restaurant Ann Arbor didn’t know it needed. When Mani’s next-door neighbor emerged on East Liberty’s restaurant scene in 2013, the city already had a preponderance of Mexican eateries — countless burrito joints for the late-night drunkards, Qdoba and Chipotle for a quick bite on a collegiate budget, Prickly Pear when you venture out of central campus’s bubble and Aventura when the parents are paying. Though for students, Isalita ultimately falls into the latter category, the authentic Mexican eats are more than splurge-worthy.
What sets Isalita apart from its comestible counterparts is its upscale flair without pretentiousness. There’s no pretense of modernizing the usual fare of a classic cantina, the expected dishes are just dressed up a little bit. As far as eating with the eyes goes, Isalita delivers. I’ve never been so enamored by the presentation of my quesadilla and the modern art that was my nachos, but alas, there’s a first time for everything.
In retrospect of my two visits, Isalita has yet to disappoint. Upon seating, customers are encouraged to order various tapas for the table, which can be shared with ease on the lazy susans. I urge you to precede your meal with the freshest of guacamoles and the salsa trio, but I advise you to not make my two-peat mistake of filling up on the irresistible chips and dip before the true fiesta. If you find yourself with an appetite after appetizers, the inventive potato poblano quesadilla is a favorite, along with the delicious, simple chicken tinga tacos. Seeing as it is consistently crowded, the young Isalita has surely secured a spot in the hearts of Ann Arborites."
CAROLINE FILIPS,"Oscar de la Renta once said, “the great thing about fashion is that it always looks forward.” It’s true — designers of esteemed fashion houses and editors of high-brow fashion magazines foresee and create our sartorial future. In the midst of winter, top designers showcase next fall’s collections, and the September issues of high-brow fashion magazines are planned years in advance. De la Renta looked forward, too. He forecasted both fashion’s future and the fate of his eponymous empire. Merely a week before he lost his eight-year battle with intermittent lymphoma, de la Renta appointed Peter Copping as his successor. Though maintaining de la Renta’s signature elegant femininity posed an undeniably daunting task, it’s clear Copping’s debut collection exceeded expectations.
All of the industry’s most scrutinizing eyes were given the benefit of the doubt as Copping delivered a quintessentially Oscar collection with appropriate and innovative personal touches. Copping paid homage to the late tastemaker with fairytale frocks, dirndl skirts and lettuce hems, yet added an edgier, gothic flair with a black fringed ’70s shift dress and ball gowns consisting of unconventional, sheer bodices with textured overlays. In typical de la Renta attention to detail, subliminal romantic touches of ornate embellishment and unlined lace beneath coat and suit dresses added a sophisticated polish to many looks. Immaculate eveningwear stole the show, particularly a strapless, ombré magenta mini dress with textured rosettes and a fitted, floor-length gown of jeweled applique atop cobalt faille. As the finale concluded, the show’s audience and live-streamers alike were relieved knowing Copping successfully wrote the new chapter of ODLR."
CAROLINE FILIPS,"When people ask me why I like fashion, or why I intend to work in the industry, I never have an immediate, straight answer. At the initial utterance of the question, my mind is instantly flooded with images of iconic Vogue spreads, sketches, fabrics and troops of models trotting down the runway. I often retort with my usual sartorial spiel — how fashion is pertinent to all of our lives, a reflection of the past and an indicator of the future … paired with other eye roll-worthy answers that the inquirer undoubtedly tunes out.
Sometimes I even share a favorite childhood anecdote: the time my fifth grade teacher complimented the way my baby-doll Hollister blouse matched my blue braces, swearing I was destined for a career in fashion design. Though my tweenage concept of “fashion” (RIP Limited Too) evokes pain and shame, it was when I truly understood what fashion was all about — how style choices could be an extension of your character. Beyond that, fashion says what we can’t; it’s a voice we don’t have on our own. Yeah, there’s some heavy stuff beyond the cloth.
Yet when I mull it over, reflecting on the countless documentaries of doyens I’ve watched, chic PR-girls I’ve internet-stalked and industry editorials I’ve re-read endlessly, I’m reminded of the fashion world’s inimitable icons who keep me so bizarrely infatuated.
Though all unique in their signature idiosyncrasies (i.e. Tom Ford bathing thrice daily, Valentino Garavani’s place-setting fetish, Largerfeld’s … well, everything) the industry’s key contributors are all bound by one distinctive characteristic: they’re all so unapologetically themselves, and that individual eccentricity is translated into their work. True fashion icons don’t subscribe to any notion of normal. Like any arts-related endeavor, success in the industry is equal parts raw talent and being atypical in whichever facet you pursue. It’s a sphere for weirdos to thrive and the most quirky to flourish. Normalcy doesn’t exist in fashion; it’s about the misfits. Fashion applauds the individual and gives a resting bitch face to the conventional.
Ranging from the game-changing theatrics of wonderfully outrageous shows (see: McQueen’s Dante, Fall 1996), to Linda Fargo’s trademark platinum bob — figureheads know it’s all about their schtick. Famous for her strictly hyperbolic candor along with her succinct and sassy memos, there’s no one who emulated fashion’s uncanny uniqueness better than Diana Vreeland.
Vreeland once said, “You gotta have style. It helps you get down the stairs. It helps you to get up in the morning. It’s a way of life.”
Though I regrettably wasn’t alive at the height of her editor-in-chief reign at American Vogue in the early ’60s-’70s, it’s clear she lived out her mantra, embodying everything style was, is and will continue to be. In any and all clips of Vreeland, particularly throughout her documentary, “Diana Vreeland: The Eye Has to Travel,” she’s brash, outspoken and 100 percent herself. Her brand of style consisted of accentuating her anomalous features and larger-than-life personality. She didn’t care what anyone thought of her, she trusted her instincts and her irrefutable eye for style and ran with it. And if that leads you to Vogue by way of Harper’s Bazaar, you’re doing something right.
Vreeland emphasized her own imperfections and those of others (she literally discovered Twiggy — THE TWIGGY — at the peak of youthquake). She knew perfection was bogus and uninteresting, she foresaw fashion’s globalization; in life and death, Vreeland is all that fashion was and ever will be — genuinely absurd, somewhat misunderstood and perpetually one step ahead.
And that’s why I’m enthralled with the sartorial sphere. Though I fawn over the sheer art of couture and commend the unparalleled creativity of les artistes, that’s not the ultimate answer to “why, fashion?” It’s the allure of the edgy factors possessed by all the greats — from Anna Wintour’s polarizing snark to Diane Von Furstenberg’s effortless elegance; that nth degree that is so fantastically fashion. That’s why."
NOT CAROLINE,"Does anyone want to hear Drake, the rapper pop star whose hit song, “One Dance,” is the most streamed song ever on Spotify and Apple Music, complain that the rap game is “all lies” and “all filthy?” Apparently so, because on Sunday, October 23rd, on the eve of Drake’s 30th birthday, he used his OVOSoundRadio show to premiere a new song on which he professes those exact grievances, and two hours later he was trending on Twitter, enjoying five times the number of mentions as any NFL team.
“Two Birds, One Stone” is one of four songs that were released during the broadcast and it features one of those rare, reflective monologue verses that spill out of Drake every year or so (think “5AM In Toronto,” “The Ride” or “30 For 30”). Its beat is airy with minimalist drums and Drake’s tone is conversational, like he’s merely clearing his head, helpless to a natural rhyme scheme. Some of the song’s three-minute verse sounds sincere, such as Drake’s acknowledgment that he’s indebted to a higher being or his reminiscing on his parents’ relationship, but other parts, particularly his attacks on other rappers and basking in his success, are tacky and too familiar.
Still, “Two Birds, One Stone” is an exciting song that features Drake’s most technically impressive rap verse of the year. The other new songs — one of which is a remix, not an original — are less personal and more pop-aimed, but equally solid. “Fake Love” is a bouncy sing-song in obvious parallel to “Hotline Bling” and “Sneakin,” which features 21 Savage, Atlanta’s most recent trap music titan, is guaranteed to be a speaker-shaking, strip club anthem. “Wanna Know (Remix)” lets Drake exercise his softer style and spotlights Dave, an emcee from London who has already earned attention from the endorsement.
There is no room to debate Drake’s ability to make hits, but his formula for going viral — an exclusive contract with Apple Music, partnerships with relatively underground artists who are about to explode and disses directed at other celebrities to stir up extra attention — is starting to seem a little bit “extra.” Drake employed the same strategy last summer, using a string of singles to distract from allegations that he doesn’t write his own lyrics, and his latest album, Views, is the magnum opus of Apple Music’s marketing schemes. I don’t need another masterminded assault by Drake on hip-hop’s Top 40. I want innovation and progress from the world’s best-selling artist.
On the hook for “Fake Love,” Drake whines about fake people who are showing fake love to him, straight up to his face, and on “Sneakin,” he boasts “I don’t need love, I’m the G.O.A.T. / I just hit the beat and float.” The lyrics are ironically hollow for an emcee of such high esteem, especially as he attempts to regain some of hip-hop’s respect after sinking into a bubblegum pop vacuum. Drake songs are typically the most exciting releases in the rap sphere, but he’s starting to get monotonous. He makes me feel like a naive consumer.
Drake began the action-packed episode of OVOSoundRadio by announcing his new project, More Life, which is due out this December and has been deemed a “playlist” despite the fact that it will feature original music. Some of the songs that he played on-air will be a part of the project, but it was also described as having been made “with the fam,” so it’s expected to feature Drake’s friends, such as Kanye West and Gucci Mane, or label-mates like Majid Jordan, dvsn and Roy Wood$.
More Life will surely shock aux chords everywhere, prolong Drake’s reign atop the charts and inspire more Apple Music subscriptions, but hopefully it does more than stack sure-thing hits. When Drake released “Marvin’s Room” in 2011, or “Hold On, We’re Going Home” in 2013, he was taking risks that left him vulnerable and pushing creative boundaries. Right now, it seems like he is merely repeating a proven recipe. That tactic will only work for so long."
NOT CAROLINE,"D.R.A.M. is a master of none. Or, more accurately, he is a master of most: The twenty-eight year-old songwriter switches between singing, rapping and crooning with such fluency that it’s difficult to decide which sound most accurately defines his.
Since initially rising to fame through the success of his breakout hit “Cha Cha” — famously sampled for “Hotline Bling”  — he’s ridden the immense success of his out-of-nowhere single “Broccoli” to the top of the Billboard charts, proving himself both wide-ranged and extremely capable. Now, D.R.A.M. is taking his favorite tunes around the world on the Big Baby D.R.A.M. Tour, a playful spectacle that perfectly parallels the energy of his debut studio album, Big Baby D.R.A.M. The show is as musical as it is fun, and though its impressive opening acts could nearly steal the spotlight, it’s D.R.A.M. himself who truly sets the evening’s tone.
On Thursday, Detroit’s El Club was already filled halfway to capacity by just 9:00 P.M. when River Tiber — a moody, somewhat psychedelic, electronic chill-out band from Toronto — took the stage to start warming up the crowd with their drooping experimentation. With an inch of freshly-fallen snow coating Vernon Highway out front, the group’s singer clicked around on a laptop to initiate mellow drum loops while his wingmen plucked at the strings of their instruments with unswerving focus and fury. River Tiber creates a vibe that’s both mellow and intimate, but their intense instrumentality ultimately links the band to alternative rock: The guitars whine, like those in the most heavy-handed songs by The xx, as their players spew with the solo skills of veteran instrumentalists.
Around 10:00 P.M., River Tiber was relieved by Ari Lennox, a twenty-five year-old soulful vocal performer from Washington D.C. She came on stage wearing ripped leggings, black Vans and a “Stranger Things” t-shirt, but she didn’t emerge until after her DJ set the tone, spinning songs by Lauryn Hill and Erykah Badu.
Lennox led off with “GOAT,” then sat down to belch out the slower, more heartfelt “La La La La.” Before singing the intimate tune, she blamed it on a former eviction or two, explaining that she wrote its lyrics back when she was “running around L.A. and being crazy.” In the final moments of anticipation, just before the guitarist began jerking tears from the crowd through his articulately-capable fingertips, Lennox warned the crowd: “Don’t be afraid to look in my eyes, y’all!” Personableness is her great asset. 
Having just released her first commercial EP “FOH” in November, Lennox is on a fast-track toward female figurehead status. On Thursday, she maintained effortless control for thirty straight minutes, her voice and charisma proving capable of carrying the crowd’s attention, and though many attendees might have been unaware of her prior, there were still audience members singing along, knowing every word.

Many hip-hop heads shared a unanimous epiphany when Lennox, setting up for her second to last song, asked the crowd if they had ever “gotten it” in a “backseat.” Immediately, I recalled where I knew her from: “Backseat (feat. Kozz)” — a standout track from Dreamville’s 2015 crew project, “Revenge of the Dreamers II” — came blaring through the speakers as Lennox’s addictive twang planted seeds for fandom in hundreds of ears, seeds that are certain to blossom with deep roots and longevity. She finished her set with “Yuengling,” then left the stage, the room in awe.
At 10:45 P.M., a new DJ came onstage, eventually followed by a three-piece live band. D.R.A.M. is a rare musician, having conquered the largely untouched intersection among pop, rap, R&B and childish giddiness, so it’s only natural that his show’s introduction is equally unique: Rather than walk out singing his own song, D.R.A.M. came out humming and whispering along as his band jammed to Drake’s recent hit, “Fake Love.” Perhaps I’m overthinking it, but the appropriative move might’ve been a fun, subtle way of taking from Drake as he did from D.R.A.M. After all, “Fake Love” does sound ironically like “Hotline Bling” (*cough* “Cha Cha”).
But D.R.A.M. gets serious. Wearing a white denim jacket from the KITH x Coca-Cola collection, he kicked his set off with album-intro “Get It Myself,” a soothing ode to autonomy, dedication and self-reliance that acts as a sort of synopsis on his pre-Big-Baby-D.R.A.M. career, then dove into “Misunderstood,” a high-energy croon-tune with serious rock influence. “Detroit, what’s good?” he asked at the song’s end, met by excited cheers, then proceeded naturally into some of his most defining moments on the microphone: “If you love your momma, let me hear you say yeeeeah yo!” The crowd reacted at maximum volume.
“Signals (Throw It Around)” from his Gahdamn! EP came next as a nod to older fans, followed by “Outta Sight” — a high-tempo, dance-floor-ready anthem about forgetting your ex. It turned El Club’s small, rectangular standing room into a bouncing castle and set a perfect mood for “Cute,” a slept-on hit from 2016 that’s sure to explode in the new year. Then things slowed down again. D.R.A.M. asked for some help from his lady fans as he dove into his Queen-Erykah-Badu-assisted song, “Wifi,” on which he wrestles with the generational struggle of searching for a digital connection while a real, potentially romantic one is already right there, then eased into “Caretaker,” one of the most intimate and impressive songs from Donnie Trumpet & the Social Experiment’s Surf, which also appears on D.R.A.M.’s Gahdamn! EP.
After a brief recess from the stage, during which his band carried the crowd’s energy with improvisation, D.R.A.M. returned to introduce his instrumentalists. Beside the DJ, there were superb players on the keyboard, bass and drums, jamming in and out of songs in a profoundly musical, seemingly cohesive manner. They shared the spotlight for just a moment as D.R.A.M. explored his reflective deep cut, “Sweet VA Breeze.” Then he jumped into an inevitable series of hits that put the room at its absolute rowdiest.

“When you look at that paycheck you just acquired…I just want this song to be the soundtrack to your celebration,” D.R.A.M. explained, adding some weighty meaning to his latest hit, “Cash Machine,” before working through “Cha Cha” and “D.R.A.M. Sings Special” (a track turned interlude on Chance the Rapper’s Coloring Book, after the Chicago-emcee allegedly begged D.R.A.M. for it). And finally, there was “Broccoli,” the Lil-Yachty-assisted former-number-one song in America, which D.R.AM. told Billboard he originally expected to only be “lit for the culture, lit for Soundclound, for the internet.” Rather than move swiftly into the giddy, summertime smash hit, he tiptoed through a singsong rework, then exploded into the original version for one final hoorah, which included a dive into the crowd.
It’s tough to decide where D.R.A.M. belongs exactly within music, but it’s even tougher trying to define his live show, as it merges sounds and traits from almost every type of performance: he can turn up like a rapper, slow down like a neo-soul singer or even just freestyle aside his band, like the charismatic emcee of a great jam band might. If anything is certain, it’s that D.R.A.M. has everything necessary to succeed. He’s already shifted the culture by inspiring some of the biggest artists in the world. Now, he has his own number one hit in the rear-view mirror, a studio LP in his discography and a headlining tour on the horizon.
Expect D.R.A.M. to keep stockpiling his clout, one puppy-dog smile at a time. Hip-hop will only be a brighter, happier culture if he does. "
NOT CAROLINE,"Long Beach, CA — Agenda Show arrived in annual fashion this past weekend, uniting industry-insiders from streetwear and performance gear for two days of flaunting at the Long Beach Convention Center, but this year the SoCal trade-show came with added muscle and extra events, opening its doors publicly on Sat., Jul. 15th for a concert headlined by Tyler, the Creator. At the inaugural Agenda Festival, attendees could shop at or interact with hundreds of booths by skateboarding, surfing and lifestyle brands before hitting the show, which also included sets from Ludacris, Cam’ron and Lil Dicky.
The pop-up mall’s roster of exhibits spanned from buzzy fashion labels like Rip N’ Dip, Staple and The Hundreds all the way to record shops, Rainbow flip-flops and indoor skateparks. Some booths offered souped up shopping opportunities while others set up simple, inoperable photo-ops. At Champions, custom embroidery was available on purchased items and at Herschel, a limited number of festival tote bags were given out. Yet, the flashiest finds were at nationally-acclaimed vintage collectors like Versus ATL — that’s where I saw a Louis Vuitton x Supreme sweater marked at $2,000 and some vintage rap t-shirts with not-so-distant price points.
It’s foolish to shop lavishly at an Odd Future fans’ get-together though, especially if you plan on standing anywhere close to the stage. At Agenda, Tyler, the Creator’s fans flocked to the pit immediately after Lil Dicky’s set ceased, Golf Wang garb acting as a nearly unanimous uniform and foreshadowing their impartialness towards other upcoming acts. While festival organizers seemed intent on curating a truly multifaceted experience, it became progressively apparent throughout the afternoon that Tyler was the main attraction.
Cam’ron came out next, but even with his figurehead-status in hip-hop fashion offering an apparent bridge to the youth, he failed to ignite the crowd of teens and 20-somethings to its full potential, a key sign of the afternoon’s disjointedness. Opening track “Killa Cam” and other dated hits like “Down & Out,” “Oh Boy” and “I Really Need It” earned somewhat emphatic reactions, as did the Diplomats songs “Bout It III” and “Dipset Anthem.” Yet, beyond their hooks, few audience members seemed familiar with the songs’ lyrics, as was the case on deeper cuts “Wet Wipes” and “Get It In Ohio.”
Dressed in baggy designer jeans and a careful combination of black and yellow, from his sneakers to his Simpsons t-shirt and backwards hat, Cam’ron looked like an artifact left over from a former era of hip hop, especially while performing the sexually aggressive “Suck It Or Not,” which fails to translate overall in 2017. He couldn’t truly connect with the audience until he landed on “Hey Ma,” the crowd-favorite singalong from his otherwise macabre discography, and by that time, his set had ended. Next up was Ludacris.
“Where the real Ludacris fans at?” the rapper-turned-actor asked the crowd after opening with “Welcome To Atlanta” and his verse from the gimmicky DJ Khaled hit “All I Do Is Win.” “They probably just ‘Fast & Furious fans,’” he told his DJ. “I think we gotta test them out!” Throughout the next 40 minutes, Ludacris tore through a series of hits that spanned across three decades and two genres — pop & hip-hop. “Act A Fool,” “Southern Hospitality,” “Area Codes” and “Roll Out” appeased his oldest fans, while hits like Usher’s “Yeah” and his own “Pimpin’ All Over The World,” “Money Maker,” “How Low” and “My Chick Bad” excited the entire audience.
Ludacris engaged with the crowd endlessly between tracks, his big-screen charisma on full display, and by the end of his set, it was wholly apparent how he’s managed to remain so relevant — hit after hit, smile after smile, he is impossible not to appreciate. After “Move, Bitch” and “Get Back,” two of his rowdiest tracks, Ludacris left the stage for Tyler to claim. Finally, the crowd was ignited.
With his new album Flower Boy (formerly Scum Fuck Flower Boy) due out later this week (it already leaked and had been heard by many), Tyler’s set seemed bound to bring an extra kick. Of course, that would only come after his DJ, Taco, played Drake and Playboi Carti songs off his MacBook for 30 minutes, but finally, Tyler arrived right around 7:00 PM. By this time, his fans had already been warned by security more than once to relax, yet they thrust forth regardless, likely incited by his re-doing of the set’s introduction because he wanted to see more excitement.
Dressed in a peach-colored jumpsuit to match his new signature Converse, Tyler went through a series of songs from his last two albums before arriving at “Who Dat Boy,” one of two lead singles off his upcoming project. The song is teasing but eruptive, and halfway through it, he whispered into the microphone, “I’m gonna take a break,” only to introduce his pal A$AP Rocky onstage to cover for him. The crowd roared as Rocky recited his verse, continuing on stage as Tyler and him went through the A$AP Mob track “Telephone Calls,” but when Rocky said the pair “might need to drop an album or something soon,” grinningly dropping the explosive line on his way off stage, fans absolutely lost it.
Tyler followed this high-point with some mellower melodies, playing “911,” a softer single off his new album, before rapping his verse from Frank Ocean’s recent single “Biking.” Odd Future fans’ favorite mosh pit anthem, “Tamale,” came next, but it was oddly followed by “Mr. Lonely” and “She” — two more softies. Before his breakout hit “Yonkers,” Tyler reminded fans that the song is now a steep six years old, an apparent sign of their cult’s mortality, then finished his set with “I Ain’t Got Time,” a song off his new album, claiming to hope we liked it but also to not really care if we didn’t, still pretending that we hadn’t all already heard the entire album and loved it, like, absolutely loved it."
NOT CAROLINE,"I’ve been obsessing over A. Boogie Wit Da Hoodie for quite some time now. His trademarked sound (a natural yet unexpected blend of post-Drake era harmonies with gritty horror-core subject matter) has made him a fixture within hip hop’s emergent generation — the rare youngster who’s neither wholly resistant to nor blindly acceptant of old school practices. For this reason, I employed the Bronx-raised crooner as a centerpiece in my ode to New York hip hop last winter, and in February, I drove all the way to Columbus, OH for his concert (which turned out to be a lousy club walkthrough). I even eagerly anticipated the late September release of his debut album, The Bigger Artist, which enhanced production value and earned the number one spot on Billboard’s hip hop/R&B chart.
However, last week, when news began circulating that A. Boogie had physically attacked Lil B “THE BASED GOD” at Rolling Loud Music Festival, I consequently unfollowed him on multiple social media under an assumption that I would no longer be able to root for his success.
So, what was I to do when, on Sunday evening, I got offered a 10 minute phone conversation with A. Boogie in promotion of his upcoming concert in Detroit? I instinctively accepted then constructed a mental strategy in which I expected to transition from casual small talk to a more combative discussion about the BASED GOD. (“Shouts out to a boogie,” Lil B wrote on Twitter, publicly diffusing tensions after the altercation; “Is it really all love?” I imagined myself inquiring.)
This plan almost actualized too, until exactly two minutes prior to my Tuesday conversation with A. Boogie, when I received a confirmation from his team bearing exactly one condition: “Heads up has been given and no questions about LIL B,” the email read.
Immediately, I found myself navigating a journalistic semi-crisis, weighing the pros and cons of agitating a newly-platinum rapper who’s bragged of having “shooters beside (him).” Even whilst speaking with A. Boogie, I remained undecided on the issue and suppressant of my intrinsic desire to surge for the story. I was finally convinced not to, though, by A. Boogie’s genuine likability: Throughout our conversation, he displayed both a focused work-ethic and passionate belief in loyalty; he simultaneously presented the unapologetic attitude of a street-raised business bull (think Jay Z, one of his idols) aside the softer, calmer tone of a sweetheart big brother.
Who is A. Boogie? That remains up for interpretation (much like the circumstances that led to his controversy with Lil B). What’s known for certain, though, is that he won’t allow himself to be boxed in — not geographically, generationally or even by the “BASED GOD.”
* * *
You’ve had a wildly exciting year: Between the birth of your daughter in February to the recent release of your debut album, a lot of milestones have been crossed. How do you manage to stay grounded amidst such consistent growth?

I just keep positive people around me, I keep the same, same day ones around me, you feel me? And I just keep doing what I’m doing plus more. As long as you keep doing what you’re doing plus more, you always gonna succeed and be successful.

How did it feel to have The Bigger Artist debut as the number one album on Billboard’s R&B / Hip-Hop charts?  Was that something you were striving for?

Yeah, man, that’s something I feel like, I checked it off my checklist and I’m on to the next one. Now, I’m trying to win a Grammy, feel me?

One of the album’s most deep-cutting songs is its introduction, “No Promises,” on which you rap: “Lifestyle getting out of control, lifestyle getting ludicrous / I made a mili in less than a year and I blew that on stupid shit.” What were some of the first things that you splurged on after initially becoming successful?

Man, some of the first things I bought, I went right to Avianne, copped mad ice, got my mom a crib, gave my mom some bread, I gave a lot of love to a lot of family when I first got money.

What’s different about being in New York City now, as a celebrity, versus being there before as a regular kid from the Bronx?

Man, being from New York City, first of all it’s hard coming out of NYC, making it though. So, I’m just, I feel like I could do a lot, just ‘cause I did that. It’s a blessing, you feel me, and I feel like I got that prince, I feel like I’m in that prince spot right now.

You told Complex that growing up, you rarely traveled out of Highbridge because: “The Bronx really don’t get along like that.” Is it all love everywhere when you go back now?

Yeah, I feel like that’s everywhere though. Like, when you go to Brooklyn, people in Brooklyn don’t get along with Brooklyn people, Bronx don’t get along with Bronx people, just cause like, you’re all too close to each other and everything I feel like though. It’s different.

As you head out on this world tour, headlining concerts in Europe and different countries, what are you most excited to see or do for the first time?

Um, I don’t really know, I’m just looking forward to learning new things and seeing new things, and knowing what the whole overseas thing is about. Everywhere you go is always different, so you never know what to expect … I’m excited to perform in London. I sold out in London.

Are we ever going to get those collab projects with Don Q or PnB Rock that you’ve been teasing?

Man, I’m good at those, but … I got everybody’s songs. I’m gonna release a whole bunch of music out of nowhere, so…

How did it feel to be a part of the XXL Freshman Class? Do you feel connected to that new wave in hip hop that’s emerging, or are you kind of like an old head within that crowd?

Nah, I still fuck with the old heads, but I fuck with my generation too. I’m learning. Like, my generation is still new to me, so I’m still learning new things about hip hop these days. That XXL part right there was just like, man … I’m glad I did that ‘cause my whole teenage life was just looking at the XXL (and) who was on it on the next year, on the next year … So, me being on it for last year was just a blessing bro.

You told Billboard that you’re considering going back to school. Would you ever consider coming here, to the University of Michigan? I can give you a tour if you need.

Who knows? Who knows where I end up man, you’ll probably catch me somewhere in the cut with a hoodie.

"
NOT CAROLINE,"Ask any kid on campus who was raised on classic rock who their favorite upcoming artist is. I can almost guarantee they’ll tell you Greta Van Fleet.
A friend of mine recently took a networking trip to Los Angeles with a music-oriented student organization. According to him, our excitement is shared with record label executives and talent agents alike.
It may seem strange for a Frankenmuth-raised group of twenty-somethings to be the music industry’s most talked-about newcomer. Yet, Greta Van Fleet has been earning endless attention for lead-singer Josh Kiszka’s unmistakable similarity to Led Zeppelin frontman Robert Plant. His twin brother Jake and their younger brother Sam contribute to the shtick by donning shoulder-length hair as they play electrifying guitar and bass by his side. Along with drummer Danny Wagner, the group released a highly-acclaimed double-EP in November, From The Fires, through Lava and Republic Records. Its accompanying tour is sold out in all 14 cities, including three late-December stops in Michigan (two in Detroit, one in Grand Rapids) upon which the band will conclude its current United States run. Something about this band has people chatting.
On Thursday, Nov 30th, I arrived in Chicago for the first of this tour’s 14 shows and rushed promptly to the 500-person capacity Lincoln Hall to assure my credentials were in order. Outside, dozens of gray-haired men awaited strangers who they’d negotiated with online to bypass the venue’s strict no-scalping policy, so naturally, the atmosphere was plagued by their fatherly conversations. For two hours, only half distracted by craft beers from the venue’s tiny bar, I suffered through proud quips like, “I haven’t been this certain about a band since I saw The Black Keys play back in 2005!” Clearly, the crowd wasn’t new to this.
Around eight o’clock, the crowd’s eagerness was (slightly) relieved by opening act Skywalker Man, a quirky group of piano, acoustic guitar and brass whose hipster, whispering frontman (using an antique telephone as a microphone, mind you) bore an uncanny resemblance to Ezra Koenig of Vampire Weekend (particularly on “We Both Have Nothing To Fear”). Skywalker proved, quite predictably, to be more indie than rock ‘n’ roll, an ironic pick for the sole opening act of a band boasting retroactive flare. I mainly used their time-slot to secure a front-row spot on the floor. Judging from those around me, such indifference was far from rare.
An hour later, the stage was finally cleared for its headliner, the venue at its maximum (though miniature) capacity, with one spotlight dramatically illuminating a logo on the head of the bass drum: “Greta Van Fleet,” written in the famous font of Netflix’s “Stranger Things” series. As band members took the stage, cloaked in carefully-selected floral blouses over skin-tight leather pants that aesthetically complement their 1970s sound, dozens of photographers finessed their ways towards the brothers. Their urgency offered a fleeting symbol of the band’s still-promising buzz, yet it was outdone by the few over-ecstatic female fans who promptly followed suit to plea for a glance from the Kiszkas.
Greta Van Fleet opened with “Talk On The Street,” an explosive jam that immediately shocked the room awake and allowed Jake and Sam to flex their superstar skills on strings. Starry-eyed Josh stood calm and collected at center-stage, half-slouching but barely moving as he reached deep into his throat to release roaring high notes. His lax choreography persisted throughout “Black Smoke Rising” and “Edge Of Darkness,” the former (a breakout smash) earning such an emphatic response from the audience that it became difficult to hear him. Josh then offered space for his brother, Jake, to explode on electric guitar.
Jake’s entire body sways with his guitar strums, the instrument seeming something like a natural extension of his body, so it was hardly unbelievable when he picked it up and played it behind his head. The stunt offered both further confirmation of the artist’s young-Hendrix status and a razor-sharp warning of his plans to be the band’s central focal point during performances. His brother, Josh, current frontman, is already defending the position, honing his emcee skills by employing weak humor between songs. However, it’s worth betting on Jake to become the Julian Casablancas of this gang — that boy and his guitar are one in the same.
“This song is about peace, love and unity,” Josh announced with a chuckling grin as the band led into their softer tune, “Flower Power.” When not singing, his voice is dry and almost unrecognizable, but as the song takes flight he adopts a lazy, bluesy drawl: “She is a lady, comes from all around.” Mere moments later, with Danny Wagner climaxing on the drums, Josh instantaneously switches to his shocking nasal screech that’s by now made the band famous: “Heeeeeeey! It turns to night, fire light.” It’s a roar in eerie parallel with artists who peaked well-before his own lifetime. “Star shines in her eye / Make me feel like I’m aliiiiive!” It’s what everybody in the sold out crowd come out to hear for themselves.
Greta Van Fleet’s setlist also included a series of unreleased originals that have become staples of their recent performances, such as the extra crunchy “Mountain Of The Sun,” the mellowed-out ballad “You’re The One” and the eruptively rockin’ “Lover, Leaver (Taker, Believer).” Upon their completion of the latter, the band departed from the stage to prepare for an encore, their brief absence earning a mass beg for more, the audience’s chanting “Greta! Greta!”
The band saved fan favorites “Highway Tune” and “Safari Song” for last, so when they returned onstage, it was truly to reach for the night’s maximal energy level. Josh hit vocal peaks on the latter song’s introductory screams and, with their parents in the crowd, his twin brothers continued to shine by his side. At the drums, Wagner played them out in appropriately epic fashion.
The show concluded, and all 500 attendees surely set out to tell their friends about the band they’d just seen — a band that sounds “exactly like Led Zeppelin” and is “totally about to blow up.” So goes the story of Greta Van Fleet. At least for now."
NOT CAROLINE,"It’s been five years since Tyler, the Creator famously threatened to “stab Bruno Mars in his god damn esophagus,” catapulting himself toward celebrity status and labeling the starry-eyed singer as an enemy of the internet’s subcultural angst. Mars was an ideal target for Tyler’s anti-establishment rhetoric back then: a clean-cut songwriter and music industry insider who walked into the spotlight with a catchy hook and a string of radio hits. He sang tongue-in-cheek love songs to win mothers’ hearts everywhere — eventually claiming enough of them to headline the Super Bowl — but his lyrics felt more like parts of a grand, romantic shtick than genuine emotional offerings. Bruno Mars was another one of those pop acts that “hip” people loved to hate. Talented? Yes. Successful? Absolutely. But it seemed impossible for him to be cool.
Fortunately, Bruno Mars’ latest album, 24K Magic, which released on Friday, Nov. 18th, is unrecognizable in almost every way from his hearty, Radio-Disney-aimed debut, “Doo Wops & Hooligans.”  On “Doo Wops,” he used soulful affirmations like, “You’re amazing just the way you are” and “I think I want to marry you” to frame his pop persona as caring, considerate and, above all else, approvable, but 24K Magic is more fit to score a cocaine bender than an innocent first date. Bruno bursts out into shouts over thick, feverish strumming and hard-hitting percussion, strutting across groovy synthesizers for sport and boasting like a true Atlantic City gangster to further construct his 1980s-nightclub persona.
At just nine tracks long, 24K Magic almost never stops bouncing, its excited vibrations seeping through headphones and blaring out of speakers as a personal assault on all those standing still. On the first song, which is also the title-track, Bruno declares,”Pop! Pop! It’s showtime!” as if to warn old fans that something different is underway. Then, on “Chunky,” he walks across one of the thickest, funkiest bass lines in recent memory, announcing on the hook: “If you ain’t here to party, take your ass back home. “Perm” is defined by frantic strumming, blaring brass and James-Brown-like energy, while “Finesse,” a second-half standout, is a coolly executed experiment within the ‘90s boy-band soundscape.
Perhaps Bruno’s transition from swooning lovebird to hyper-masculine fun fiend was somewhat predictable: his second album, 2013’s Unorthodox Jukebox, indulged in a diverse set of styles while last year’s enormous hit “Uptown Funk” — produced by Mark Ronson — teased his tapping into boogey-down eras. Still, aggressive demands like, “If I ring don’t let it ring too long,” which appears on the purring, slow song, “Calling All My Lovelies,” seem strikingly out of character for a man who once promised to “catch a grenade” for his loved one. This attitude change is a good thing though, as it adds a layer of spice without intruding on Bruno Mars’s seemingly trademarked soft side. “That’s White I Like” achieves perfect synergy with his two tones, but album-closer “Too Good To Say Goodbye” lets the lovebird take the microphone.
It’s impossible not to compare 24K Magic to Michael Jackson’s classically groovy album Off The Wall, especially when considering that MJ’s longtime musical director, Greg Phillinganes, delivered a synth solo for the new album’s most intimate offering, “Versace on the Floor.” Bruno Mars was so obviously inspired by Off The Wall’s exuberance and structure, its clean, brief length and unswerving focus on quick-footed fun, its ability to squeeze bubblegum teen-pleasers like “Girlfriend” and “It’s the Falling in Love” into an otherwise disc-jockey-ready track-list. There’s influence from every swag-having, heterosexual pop star in history stamped somewhere on 24K Magic, but Bruno Mars seems most intent on chasing Jackson’s legacy, probably because it is one of the few lanes diverse enough to host all of his shapes. It will be fun to watch what he evolves into next.
In the meantime, though, 24K Magic is sure to shock the world with its rhythmic precision and timeless sounds. Bruno Mars has created a project that should prove capable of moving parents, twenty-somethings and teenagers alike, one of those ultra rare pop records that is painfully fun to listen to, one that is both masculine and caring, indulgent and emotional, but not too much of either. Remember “Get Lucky?” Or “SexyBack?” There is no greater phenomenon than pop music being good — not carefully-constructed or well-marketed, but actually fun, creative and exciting. Bruno Mars is trying to usher us into a new golden era of pop. I’m sure as hell rooting for him to pull it off."
NOT CAROLINE,"Gone is the era of EDM dominating the American mainstream — a period in which seemingly any Swedish club DJ could simply catch a flight from Ibiza, size up his sound (from deep house to progressive) and instantly become a Hot 100 sensation. This year — largely thanks to streaming services — the most commercially successful tracks have come from rappers like Kendrick Lamar and Drake, or singsongy crooners such as Shawn Mendes and Ed Sheeran. Finally, the Molly-fueled teens of the early-2000s seem to have developed a desire for instruments in their music, a fact that’s reflected in megastar Calvin Harris’s recent switch from big room house (“Summer”) to rhythmic funk (“Slide”).
This doesn’t mean the market for catchy synths is gone entirely though. In fact, for anyone who’s recently spent a Football Saturday on Hill Street, it may even be difficult to believe that EDM’s clout is shrinking. Of course, dance music is still — and probably will forever be — the preferred sound of drunken college tailgaters, and at the forefront of these students’ admiration for the arts is their ongoing appreciation for Galantis.
Ah, yes, Galantis — the DJ-duo that burst on to the scene in 2015 via the overnight success of their breakout single, “Runaway (U & I).” Despite spending the past eighteen-months overshadowed by The Chainsmokers, this bubblegum pop team has officially re-emerged with their sophomore offering, The Aviary. Simply put, the LP is a forty-minute attempt to reclaim their spot on the playlist at Skeeps, but it’s not all bad: “Tell Me You Love Me,” an instantly catchy collaboration with frequent EDM-vocalist Throttle, is one of the best dance pop songs in recent memory.
“Tell Me You Love Me” opens with deep keys and a suspenseful entrance by its singer. Apparently, Throttle has been “up all week,” struggling to decipher indirect signals from a potential romantic interest. This is no heartbreak tale though — it’s a celebration of all that could still be. Snapping fingers arrive during her lead-in to insinuate as much, and just in case this wasn’t enough, the song’s bridge (appropriately packed with ever so deep pleas such as, “Tell me what’s on your mind!”) connects at the chorus with enormously hyper synths, pulsing bass, perfectly manipulated vocals and a meticulously inserted “Woo!” on every couple of kicks. This is where the real party begins!
Already evolving into The Aviary’s biggest hit, watch out for “Tell Me You Love Me,” which could turn into Galantis’s next runaway success."
NOT CAROLINE,"“I hope you take some inspiration from it and I hope you like it. We about to get this shit poppin’.”
Those were some of the last words before Big Sean premiered his fourth studio album, I Decided., on Sunday night among friends, family and some limited press at the Museum of Contemporary Art in his hometown of Detroit, Michigan.
Despite having been born in California, the twenty-eight year-old emcee went on to explain that, in reality, he “spent [his] entire life in Detroit,” reminding the small crowd of the names of his old streets and schools. He affirmed: “Anytime you see me on Jimmy Fallon, or Saturday Night Live, or anywhere,” it’s for the city.
“This is my fourth studio album: I Decided.,” he concluded. Then it began.
* * *
Apparently, Big Sean has never before been allowed to premiere one of his albums in Detroit, as record labels favor bigger marketplaces (think New York and Los Angeles), a fact that added extra weight to the live debut of his newest lyrical nods at the city, the first of which appear no longer than thirty seconds into his first verse.

After a tense intro featuring a seasoned male voice boasting about having worked the same job for forty-five years, Sean raps over rich, moody keys, with his voice as the only percussion on the beggining of “Light (Ft. Jeremih).” He eventually arrives at a heartfelt hook (“Even if you take away my life / They can’t take away my light”) and, finally, an iconic grin at his family members (“Got the whole city on fire / This the flow that finna have my whole family retire”), many of whom happened to be present in the room.
The third track on the album is “Bounce Back,” and Sean added a more localized flair to the song by cooly announcing, “Detroit’s gonna bounce back!” The salute was warmly received, and it acted as a seamless transition into the fourth song, which is guaranteed to become a staple Detroit anthem. “No Favors,” which features Detroit-native and rap legend Eminem, turned the room up to another level and even inspired someone in the crowd to yell out, twice: “The whole city been waiting on that!”
The fifth song, “Jump Out The Window,” is bouncy, so Big Sean started walking around the room — shifting the crowd’s attention away from the carefully-illuminated area where he had rapped the first few tracks aside an artificial tree — and greeted attendees, most of whom he seemed genuinely personally excited to see. He wore all black, including a blacked out Detroit Tigers cap and a discretely branded I Decided. hoodie. But three diamond Michigan mittens, dangling from his neck and decorated in different shades of gold, brightened up his entire ensemble.
Next up was “Moves,” and once again the room became a full-fledged party. People were crowding around Sean, obviously, but the energy was still more intimate and recreational than business-fueled. When the album’s singles — which were released beforehand and have already turned into monstrous hits — came on, the room became particularly excited as attendees rapped every single word, myself included.
“This is my favorite song on the album,” Big Sean whispered to me and a few other fortunate journalists standing beside him as the seventh song, “Same Time Pt. 1 (Ft. TWENTY88),” which includes lines about someone acting “out of line,” queued up. Trapped in complete awe as he spat, it looked as if he was still, even at the debut of his fourth album, nervous everything could all go wrong on any note. It never did, but Sean writes, performs and lives like it might. It’s what keeps him grounded, humble and, above all else, driven. That attitude is stamped all over I Decided.

“Halfway Off the Balcony,” the heartfelt third single off the album, came next. When it ended, a slow, eerie, bass-heavy beat came on, and Sean began rapping along, building around the motivated, conscious hook: “Voices in my head saying I can do it better / Voices in my head saying better do it better.” On first listen, the track, “Voices In My Head,” somewhat parallels “Deep (feat. Lil Wayne)” from Sean’s third album, Dark Sky Paradise.
“Stick to the player hatin’!” warns Sean later on the song. On the tracklist, there appear to be two parts — “Voices In My Head / Stick To The Plan” — and the latter half has a turnt-up, trap-like beat led by long, thick bass kicks. Though it acts as the most telling predictor of the rowdy surprise to come moments later, its debut was particularly unique, as it is placed right before “Sunday Morning Jetpack,” a thankful, even spiritual, reflection that Big Sean premiered on “Saturday Night Live,” and the hyper-personal twelfth track, “Inspire Me,” during which Sean walked across the room to seek out his mother, then proceeded to rap the lyrics to her.
The thirteenth song, “Sacrifices (ft. Migos)” is positively guaranteed to be a monster hit. I wrote that assumption down immediately, as soon as I heard its explosive drums and the intensity in Big Sean’s voice. But once Offset came in, first teasing fans with his famous ad-lib, then delivering a quintessentially charismatic verse before, inevitably, passing the microphone to his bandmate Quavo, the radio potential for this deep cut multiplied immensely.
And finally, the closer, “Bigger Than Me.” It features a meditative, reflective, monologue-like verse in which Sean reminisces about growing up in Detroit, going out to see the world and, eventually, returning home as an older, wiser man. “That’s when I realized, shit’s bigger than me,” he admits, expressing his spirituality through the chillingly real confession: “God talking to me telepathically, like it only happen if you let it.” Maybe that’s what Big Sean Decided.
Eventually, the collective voices of the Chozen Choir from Flint, Michigan arrived, adding purely childish ambition to the track. But even this inspiring feature doesn’t distract from the album’s emotional grand finale: a voice recording I expect belongs to Sean’s mother. In the final moments of I Decided., Myra Anderson tells her son she loves him, and expressing her pride before concluding with a humanizing anecdote. All of the above things are still true, she says, “even when you do stupid things that I warned you about…”
* * *
In his short speech following the premiere, Sean called it, “By far my best album,” and then again emphasized his unswerving loyalty to Detroit, noting: “There’s not a lot of people in my position, so I’ll keep kicking down doors.”
He is dead serious. On first listen, I Decided. comes across as his most finely-tuned, thematically cohesive project yet. Its tracks bear the wisdom and maturity of an aging, well-experienced man, but still prove unwilling to sacrifice energy and hunger.
As far as the whole Detroit thing goes — Sean has already done almost everything but run for mayor. He has been vocally representing it for years with localized slang, and even named his critically-acclaimed mixtape from 2012, Detroit, after the city.
Now, Big Sean finally premiers a studio album in his hometown. Michiganders can return the favor by listening to I Decided., out this Friday."
NOT CAROLINE,"On Sunday night, after almost twenty years of consistently committing mortal sins against the gods of hip-hop, the Recording Academy attempted to repent with the culture at the 59th Grammy Awards by decorating Chance the Rapper and his latest project, Coloring Book, which wasn’t distributed by a major record label, with golden trophies intended to symbolize a new understanding of, and appreciation for, underground music.
Having spent months campaigning to make his freely-distributed music eligible for awards, Chance seemed to have all his wishes granted, professing unswerving thankfulness to the Lord before blessing the stage himself with a soulful performance. But for hip-hop at large, this meager victory is not enough: Iconic figures are still not being invited into the room.
In 1989, DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince won the first Grammy for rap music, but they, like all other nominees in the category, refused to attend the ceremony, as they felt overlooked by programmers’ decision not to air the award’s reception. Five years later, Tony Bennett took home the trophy for best album in the same year that revolutionary hip-hop classics illmatic, Ready to Die and Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik had been released.
In the early 2000s, breakout sensation 50 Cent lost Best New Artist to Evanescence and the Black Eyed Peas won best Rap Duo/Group two-years running. Finally, most painfully, Lil Wayne’s Tha Carter III lost Album of the Year to a Robert Plant/Allison Krauss collaboration, a tough triumph that any reasonable person who owned a radio in 2007 should be willing to admit was a mistake.
Sure, the Grammy’s took some relevant steps towards taste-making this year, such as enlisting Anderson .Paak to perform alongside A Tribe Called Quest, as well as including De La Soul and ScHoolboy Q in its rap nominees. But still, Drake’s Views, an articulately-marketed package of music that’s been largely deemed stale by rap fans, was the genre’s only representation in the top category, and its singsong single, “Hotline Bling,” which is now eighteen-months-old, won best rap song.
Sure, Lil Yachty was on scene, having snuck himself into the commercial realm through a four-times-platinum guest-feature on D.R.A.M.’s hit single, “Broccoli.” But Young Thug, Travis Scott, Gucci Mane, Lil Uzi Vert, 21 Savage, Migos and Metro Boomin’, all populist champions who have indefinitely defined the most recent era in hip-hop, both sonically and aesthetically, don’t seem to have received their invitations to the ceremony, which still, despite all its shortcomings, labels itself with the notoriously cringe-worthy title: “Music’s Biggest Night.”
Two weeks ago, TMZ reported that neither Kanye West, Justin Bieber nor Drake would be attending the Grammy’s ceremony, following the leadership of cult-icon Frank Ocean, who didn’t even submit his platinum-selling, critically-acclaimed LP blonde for nominations.
“That institution certainly has nostalgic importance. It just doesn’t seem to be representing very well for people who come from where I come from, and hold down what I hold down,” Ocean said in a statement.
The news was particularly noteworthy as West, Bieber and Drake combined were nominated for 20 awards and, honestly, carry half of the internet’s attention around the world with them. But these male, pop figureheads don’t think the Grammys are getting things right, a complaint that’s too common to ignore, even after the Academy’s 59th attempt at awarding great art.
Last February, Kanye West sent out a string of tweets that trolled the Academy for its blatant lack of appreciation for Black culture.
“I think the Grammys are super important!!!” he began, diving deeper into his frustrations by noting, “I know so many cool artists whose hearts have been broken by the politics including mine,” before finally speaking on behalf of almost four decades of misunderstood rap brilliance.
“You like your Black people a certain way also. You wouldn’t have Future perform and that man owned the clubs last summer,” Kanye tweeted, going on to use the Atlanta-raised trap-rap sensation as a symbolic marty for the culture. “Has anyone at the Grammys ever heard “March Madness”??? Yes I have a problem with the Grammys,” he wrote, before finally proposing a perfectly reasonable, tangible solution: “We need to see Young Thug at the Grammys.  Not just me and Jay in a suit.”
* * *
“All us artists here, we fucking adore you. You are our light, and the way you make me and my friends feel, the way you make my Black friends feel, is empowering, and you make them stand up for themselves,” Adele confessed to her apparent idol, Beyoncé, in the final moments of the 59th Grammy Awards on Sunday night.
This was during her acceptance, or, more accurately, denial speech for Album of the Year, an award that her 25 won over Beyonce’s Lemonade in what will surely be remembered as another time the Grammy’s chose conventional excellence over difficult, breathtaking, truly trailblazing Black art. Adele’s praise also came just moments before she snapped her trophy in half, seemingly to give part of it to Beyoncé.
As tough of a fact as it is may be for some to swallow, Kanye West’s February 2016 Twitter rant about the Academy bears significant weight.
“I feel the Grammy awarding system is way off and completely out of touch,” West wrote, something that even its most decorated victor of 2017 seems to agrees with. But of course, that was before he packed in some signature Kanye-isms, such as: “If I’m not at the show next year then there is no show.”
Yes, the Grammy ceremony happened, without Kanye West, Justin Bieber or Drake in attendance; without awarding Beyoncé her hard-earned Album of the Year trophy; without accrediting the most important hip-hop figures of the year; but once again, we’re unsure if the Academy’s opinions are relevant in the first place. Once again, its disconnection from the culture, the listeners, those who stay awake at night awaiting their favorite artists’ releases and line up for blocks when those stars’ whereabouts become known, is too apparent to ignore.
Sure, Chance the Rapper, underground champion and indie-darling, has been anointed a figurehead of the mainstream, having won Best New Artist and a couple of hip-hop Grammys without ever selling a single album. But it’s important that he had influential online outlets like Complex, illroots, Fake Shore Drive and Pitchfork pushing his music for years, and also had to reinvent himself into a family-friendly, colorful rap figure before ending up on stage.
* * *
Chance the Rapper absolutely deserves all the success that he’s gotten; I don’t think there’s a single hip-hop head in America who would say otherwise. But right now, Chano is one in a million, a rare mixtape rapper who managed to maneuver his music onto official streaming platforms and establish a network of committed fans to campaign for his success. Finally, after every other tastemaker in the game deemed him an icon, the Academy did the inevitable by acknowledging his existence. They didn’t break down any walls though, if you think about it.
Chance the Rapper’s 2017 decoration is a victory for hip-hop somewhat like Lauryn Hill’s in 1999, when she won Album of the Year with her classic LP The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. It was a remarkable feat for the culture, but the Academy’s late realization that Ms. Hill was an iconic talent becomes less honorable when we consider that they awarded Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On the trophy for Album of the Year just two years prior, when The Fugee’s masterpiece The Score would’ve been eligible to claim the prize.
Right now, it’s fine to celebrate the victories of our favorite Chicago superhero, Lil Chano from 79th, a.k.a. Chance the Rapper. It’s also okay to watch his Coloring-Book-mash-up performance on repeat all day, then proceed to replay the album all week, constantly realizing you missed many important details on all of your former listens. But it’s equally, if not more, important to mourn Beyonce’s devastating loss. It’s equally, if not more, important to keep hoping that next year will be different.
Until a ceremony can finally conclude without a winner apologizing to the populist-elect, the Academy has work to do. I won’t allow them, or the mass media, or even Chance the Rapper himself, to claim their recognition of one, single mixtape rapper as sufficient acknowledgement of worldwide scene.
Sure, the Academy squeezed Lee “Q” O’Denat, who founded the vital online platform WorldStarHipHip.com and passed away this month, into its annual eulogy reel, but they still left out Shawty Lo. Sure, they’ve now declared freely-distributed music eligible for awards, but Chance the Rapper hardly had time to shout out “DJ DRAMA for doing it first” before the music cut his speech off. What about DJ Esco, DJ Whoo Kid and the rest of the unawarded figureheads?
I, much like Kanye West, want to see Young Thug at the Grammys. Here’s to hoping next year that might become a reality."
NOT CAROLINE,"Migos have a lot to celebrate at the moment: after years of fighting their way through hip-hop’s underground and trekking toward a commercial peak, they finally seem to be on top of the world. Next week, the rap supergroup will release its second LP, “Culture,” while the album’s first single, “Bad and Boujee (featuring Lil Uzi Vert),” will hopefully continue its reign as the number one song in America. So, it should be no surprise that amidst their current hype, Quavo, Takeoff and Offset are celebrating like kings, and in the new visuals for the third single off of “Culture,” entitled “T-Shirt,” the three emcees do so in high, wintry style.
The music video for “T-Shirt” finds Migos towering atop a snowy mountain and dressed in full-fur wardrobes that seem to take style tips from both Cam’ron and Leo’s Revenant. Quavo, Takeoff and Offset, who are also wearing royal amounts of jewelry, dance, bounce and floss in their quintessentially braggadocios ways while each delivers an ice-cold verse in the group’s staple start-and-stop flow pattern. Eventually, attractive women and race-ready snowmobiles arrive without any precedents at all, as do brief glimpses of a luxurious cabin, all of which seems to insinuate that the rap group has conquered the wilderness and turned it into their own comfortable playground, much like they did with the streets, then the rap game.
“T-Shirt” and its extravagant visuals might have arrived just in time to prolong Migos’ residency in pop’s spotlight. It also is pretty random, as it never explains why they’re on that mountain, like at all. But that’s okay. Quavo, Takeoff and Offset standing there in all of that fur — that’s iconic. That’s culture. Digital culture at least. That’s why “T-Shirt” is perfect."