Musicians like Jason Aldean love to glorify ‘small-town’ America. It’s embarrassing | Jill Filipovic

[ad_1]

According to the country music star Jason Aldean, you’d better not use your first amendment rights in small-town America, unless you want to be attacked by a vigilante mob. That’s the message of Aldean’s controversial song Try That in a Small Town, which includes the lyrics, “Stomp on the flag and light it up / Yeah, you think you’re tough / Well, try that in a small town / See how far you make it down the road / Around here, we take care of our own” and “Full of good ol’ boys / raised up right / If you’re looking for a fight / Try that in a small town.”

Critics have pointed out that the song glorifies the kind of vigilante justice that has led to lynching and extra-judicial killings, and that the song feels like a very loosely veiled reference to Black Lives Matter protests. They also point to the conspiratorial thinking behind the line “Got a gun that my granddad gave me / They say one day they’re gonna round up / Well, that shit might fly in the city, good luck / Try that in a small town.”

Aldean and his supporters now claim he’s a victim of “cancel culture”.

The US supreme court has, notably, found that flag-burning is a protected first amendment activity. In my personal experience, city-dwellers are less interested in burning American flags than having the right to let our own freak flags fly. And there is no mainstream effort, from either the left or the right, to round up and confiscate firearms.

But setting aside Aldean’s apparent disregard for the constitution and reality itself, his message is unfortunately all too familiar. Small-town America – which is often code for conservative white America – is routinely treated as the “real America” by politicians, pundits, writers and culture-makers. Nearly all of those people choose to live in urban America, but cities don’t get the same kind of credit for being authentically American, or deeply good.

Aldean’s song is right, just not in the way he thinks it is: small-town America can be cruel, brutish and exclusionary. And cities are the United States’ beating hearts – they are places that make America great, and city-dwellers shouldn’t hesitate to defend them.

I have lived in, and truly loved living in, both the largest American city and an itty-bitty town. Small towns can be lovely places. What they aren’t, though, is inherently better than larger, more cosmopolitan locales. Small towns don’t have more of a claim to Americanism than the large urban areas in which most Americans actually live.

Part of the fetishization of small towns is fantasy and nostalgia. Small towns are symbols of imagined simplicity and moral goodness – life in a largely made-up “before” world when society was ostensibly less polarized, life was less complicated, and everyone lived in neat little single-family houses and gathered in church on Sundays. American life was, of course, never this simple, and always much more varied.

But politicians, pundits and culture-makers romanticize small-town life for the same reason they talk about the 1950s as an idealistic time, despite racial segregation, stifling gender roles and post-war trauma: it’s a comforting illusion, an invented history that suggests an ease and predictability most of us would love to feel.

“You are morally superior to these big-city folks” is also a convenient political message: it makes an important group of voters feel good about themselves (rural Americans, after all, have an outsized say at the ballot box), and I suspect it doesn’t really alienate city people because (a) we’re used to it, and (b) it’s so obviously untrue.

The truth is that cities are actually excellent places to live. Cities are the traditional hubs for immigrants, who routinely bring with them a tremendous work ethic and an entrepreneurship that drives the US economy and betters all of our lives. (Not to mention food – immigrants are a big part of the reason why cities like New York, Los Angeles, Houston and Chicago are such phenomenal places to eat.)

Cities tend to be racially diverse; the people who live in America’s biggest cities span a much wider range of religions and ethnic backgrounds and socioeconomic levels than those who live in the country’s small towns. We hear a lot about “liberal bubbles” like New York or San Francisco when, in fact, it’s small, rural towns that are much more ethnically and ideologically homogeneous.

Cities are magnets for the ambitious, the creative, the young and the adventurous. The same politicians, pundits, journalists and musicians who extol the virtues of small towns rarely live in them. Aldean lives in Nashville.

And the diversity of cities also makes for more innovation. Human beings are more creative and generative when we are in diverse groups and interact with people who live, think and believe differently. Cities are fertile grounds for creativity to bloom.

They’re also offering more literal fertile ground. Globally, many cities are getting greener, and some American ones are following suit. Perhaps unexpectedly, life in a concrete jungle is better for the environment than rural life, and much better than life in suburban sprawl.

Cities also tend to be more liberal and more open-minded than smaller, more insular places, and that’s a good thing. A place where newcomers can try on new ways of being, and express themselves genuinely? That’s authenticity – not adhering to the narrow social codes that some small towns demand.

Contrary to perception, cities are also safer than rural areas by a variety of measures. Death rates are much higher in rural America than in urban America, by just about every cause, from heart disease to cancer to suicide to accidents (which includes overdoses and firearm and traffic accidents). Despite Aldean’s claims, small towns, it seems, are not doing all that great when it comes to taking care of their own.

And violent crime in urban America is frankly often fueled by conservative values: if the gun-snatching government bogeymen of Aldean’s paranoid fears were actually real, we’d live in a much safer nation. But the conservative demand that Americans have nearly unfettered access to deadly weapons means that a lot of Americans die unnecessarily – and a lot of those Americans are city-dwellers who have voted, again and again, for commonsense gun laws.

The idealization of small towns by politicians and culture-makers like Aldean also does a disservice to the places they claim to love. Rural America is not solely southern or midwestern; it is not entirely white; it is not universally conservative. Small towns are varied, and there is no singular way to live a small-town life. Most people who live in small towns are not “good ol’ boys”, gun-toting conspiracy theorists or vigilantes. Flattening small-town America into a stereotype is just as reductive as positioning cities as dens of crime and vice.

Cities shouldn’t need defending. Much of the country lives in them. They are the country’s economic, political, technological and artistic power centers. Most Americans, I would hope, can read the condescension and dishonesty in paeans to small-town life by people who have chosen to leave those very places in pursuit of cosmopolitanism, or never actually lived there in the first place. Aldean is from Macon, Georgia’s fourth-largest city.

But cities do need defending because, despite their popularity and obvious benefits, there’s little social cost to trashing them, or suggesting that the people who live in them are somehow less American. That has real consequences, including the hesitancy from our elected officials to make sure that every American has an equal say in the political process, and that “one person, one vote” is the reality of American democracy.

People should live where they like, and there are all kinds of benefits to both small, sweet towns and big, vibrant cities. Conservatives and liberals alike have not hesitated to sing the praises of small towns and small-town values, typically reducing those same places to a set of tired “real America” stereotypes. But it’s American cities that represent the best of American values: creativity, diversity and open arms to immigrants and innovators and all those looking for their people – and open to people who are different than them.

[ad_2]

Source link

Read More

Burt Bacharach’s Death Inspires Symphony Of Twitter Tributes

[ad_1]

Songwriter Burt Bacharach may have died, but his music will live on, if the reaction to the news is any indication.

As of Thursday afternoon, neither of Bacharach’s best-known collaborators, Elvis Costello and Dionne Warwick, has officially commented on his death.

However, Costello posted a tweet on Jan. 10 promoting an upcoming album of their compositions that honored him and his work just the same.



[ad_2]

Source link

Read More

Collapsing Time • VAN Magazine

[ad_1]

A pioneer of modern electronic music, Morton Subotnick not only encouraged technical innovations but defined new sonic paradigms for the creation of electronic music. Approaching his 90th year in April, he remains as energized and dynamic as ever. As a tech geek and extreme music fan during my high school years in the late 1960s, I liked the idea of electronic music more than the actuality of what I was hearing from such places as the Columbia-Princeton studios. Listening to Subotnick’s “Silver Apples of the Moon” exploded everything in the best way. The work made it clear that Subotnick understood pulse and physicality as many academic composers never could. His followup album, “The Wild Bull,” was a powerful anti-war statement, visceral and exciting. I continued to follow Subotnick’s work and our paths crossed many times over the years. In March 2022, he performed a monumental concert with the Berlin-based video artist Lillevan at the Abrons Art Center in New York’s Lower East Side. I spoke to him after the performance. Subotnick has an exceptional memory, and our talk was extremely detailed.  

VAN: How would you describe your approach to performing with live electronics?

Morton Subotnick: My metaphor for the live performance is a conductor. I’m the conductor and the composer and the orchestra, and the orchestra is already playing. I don’t play the orchestra, I conduct them. I play at the highest level: who is gonna play what, when and how. And I can do that and think and process, but if I’m doing this or that with a button, my brain is now located at the end of my finger, not on the whole score.

It’s taken me a while to figure that out, to get that metaphor straight, and it’s very clear now, so I prepare my work that way. That’s where the whole notion for the Buchla was [speaking of Donald Buchla’s first synthesizers, made in 1964–65—Ed.]. It was this machine that was more like an analog computer than a musical instrument. The big change was after I did “The Wild Bull.” I realized with all the ability to move your fingers and do all that, I left a very important control voltage out: my voice. So I called Don and told him I needed a control voltage from my voice. He said, “Oh, I can do that.” And I think it was less than two weeks, and I had an envelope follower so I could turn my voice into a control voltage: I could do real-time control of files and started to build control tracks.  So now I could make a thing where I was going, Ooo, Uh, Ooo, a, and it would go, Trtrddtrde.  

[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLnPWzDSfNs[/embed]

Do you think that a particular use of electronics in contemporary music was inevitable?

Talking 1959–61: At that time, all of us, including myself, imagined music as marching on, all the way back to Schoenberg and the first part of the 20th century where he was saying, “Now that I’ve made the 12-tone technique, I’m assuring the grandeur of the German composer for 100 years.” Boulez and those guys, Berio and all, they started with Schoenberg and then they discovered Webern. Boulez wrote an article that starts “Schoenberg is dead—long live the king!” The king was Webern, and that was the beginning of the post-Webern movement. When you look back, that’s like 30 years after. [Webern] didn’t even make it to 100 years, but they thought that was the future! So when you get to the beginnings of electronics, even Stockhausen and his earliest [electronic] work, the “Studies,” were all basically post-Webern technique. The only thing he changed is that he did it with oscillators and made fresh tunings. But they’re really dull. 

There was no concept of rhythm or meter either.

They got rid of the name! I don’t use meters either, but they got rid of the concept of a meter and said “duration.” Time was duration, not beats. I don’t use meters either because I don’t like dance music, but I do use pulse, and the resulting beats have more wildly varying meters than Stravinsky. They’re regenerating new beats all the time, new accents. When I did “Silver Apples,” I was after a new era, with a new new music, not a new old music. You couldn’t do it; you can’t do new new music with an instrument that already exists. You can say, Play whatever you want on a piano, but the tuning and its sound and the way it operates, it belongs to an older time. You need a new instrument for it, and so the only way to do that was to create something where you could make new instruments for every piece. I was trying to figure out what the fuck new new music is…and I realized I didn’t know.

What I know now that I didn’t know then is that it’s not possible. We’re not geared to it, because music is part of us—we get it so early in life that we’re not geared to something new. When I started “Silver Apples,” I began to make new metaphors for music, and I said, A piece of music is not a piece of music, it’s a record. There’s Side One and Side Two, and you could do either side. Side One will be about pitch, Side Two will be about time. 

The very opening of it is an excellent example, where there’s scat singing. That’s where you get the jazz, it was bebop [scat sings]. And I called that  “pitches which are disjointed,” they’re not connected to each other. Then I had another take which was “pitches which are close to each other.” They were scalar, but they weren’t in scales. I had nothing that could make a scale so I was doing it all by ear. Then the second side. I said, “Well, where do I go? This would be a good place for a sequencer: I’ll get a kind of groove going.” And I got it set up and then I played it. It took me from two weeks to a month-and-a-half for each section, it took me 13 months to make “Silver Apples.” And in each of these little recording sessions, I would have a patch that would be going continually, because if I turned it off, I didn’t know what would happen. I had the little groove pattern going that was different to start with, but it didn’t have an absolute meter until after about two or three days and I then pruned it down. It blew my mind! I couldn’t get my body off of it, it was just great because it was not just a beat and not just a groove, I mean I grooved it, so it was just the right tempo and I played with it, so it was all there, plus I had another sequencer that would just bring in another beat, a low note. Anyway, so there it was…but it wasn’t the end.

[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HoljsO22qA[/embed]

How did you develop  “As I Live & Breathe” with Lillevan?

We never had a strategy because the whole idea of the piece was very short and simple: I start out with a breath with the light on me, and as I actually breathe, the first sound, there’s silence and darkness. Then he makes an image. Silence, darkness, and then I do it again and so does he. Then as we repeat we begin to collapse the time until there’s no time at all between our actions. He takes a cue from me when I interrupt him as I’m beginning to do it. I’ve added more material now because it was rather crude the first time. But that’s the only strategy we have between us: I give him what I’m doing when I think of what I’m doing. He develops his stuff separately and then we come together. 

ADVERTISEMENT

Did your work intersect with that of John Cage and David Tudor?

At the Tape Center we did a Cage & Tudor Festival in 1963 because the University of California-Berkeley had decided you couldn’t use John Cage’s name in a music class—because it wasn’t music and it took away from what they were doing! So we got hold of Cage and Tudor. I’d never met Cage. We did a six or seven day festival with a concert every night, and Pauline Oliveros and Ramon Sender and I traded off, running the Tape Center. It was Pauline’s turn to do publicity and she did it like mad: We were on CBS television. When we got to concert time, our auditorium only sat 100 people, and people were in line around the building, so we had to repeat it at 11 o’clock at night. We filled the auditorium six or seven nights in a row, two nights, two concerts, and the second concert started at 11:30 at night, because David was so slow setting up. We were just going crazy. 

At the last concert, we did Cage’s “Concert.” It’s all the instruments, we had about 11, 12, 13 instruments. His view was that you take a task on, you do it the best you can, and as truthfully as you can. He changed the instructions from time to time because they didn’t work, but that was because they were incomplete. When you get to something like the one with the electronics in it, “Cartridge Music,” that’s really complete. You would do exactly what he says and nothing else, not because he’s imposing himself, but he’s making instructions that will allow…he just hated the idea of improvising. 

Articles like this, straight to your inbox

Processing…

Success! You're on the list.

Whoops! There was an error and we couldn't process your subscription. Please reload the page and try again.

So did Morton Feldman. 

Yeah, I was with him when he did “Piano,” I think that was one of the first, if not the first long piece. I was staying with him in his little apartment in Buffalo for a couple of weeks when he was writing it. I would go in and he would be playing and have his cigarette dangling with the ash falling on the keyboard, and he would play over and over until he could get each chord—tuung!—just the right dynamic so that he was really happy with it and then put it in the score. That started him on this approach. He had done the open form pieces where he just did numbers and things, and he was one of the first to convert to writing everything down.

He was really important to us at that time. I got to know him extremely well. At one point when I was teaching at CalArts, I was starting to pull away. I was going to go to half-time, and my relationship with the school was always such that I was close to the president and they would listen because I had helped start the place. I said, “I want my contract to remain intact, but I’m not gonna be here the second term. I want to choose who comes in.” They agreed to that. So I think the first person I chose was Morty and I got a call from him, and he said he’d just found out that I had wanted him to be there but I wasn’t gonna be there when he was coming. He said, “Can we have lunch?” He said it was very important. So we went to lunch and he started talking as he did, and I said, “Morty, you just wanna tell me something important, you better do that now, before you forget,” and he looked at me and said, “Why aren’t you coming in to teach?” I said, “Well, I don’t have to. We’re living cheaply and I’m making enough from my work that I don’t have to come in and teach.” Then I mimicked him: “And why are you coming in to teach? You don’t need to.” He said, “I’m lonely.” 

[embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88Qn64Z5vhQ[/embed]

Even at the time, I’m still touched by the way he said it. These are not words you would think would come from him, right? It was such a shock, a kind of an impulse, just a reverberation, and it went through my body. That just brought tears to my eyes. 

When we first brought him to CalArts, we had Cage and Feldman and Lou Harrison, and that was our first festival, that’s when Joan La Barbara and I got together. Cage would only come if we brought Joan. We were doing [Cage’s] “Winter Music” with like 25 pianos scattered all over the place in the main gallery, and Joan was on one side singing the solo for voice. It was really gorgeous, [with] long silences, and we were all playing piano, and every once in a while, these little flutters, like a bird, coming from Joan. The audience was on pillows between all the pianos. It went on for about 45 minute. At a certain point, we begin to hear a [imitates snoring]…Morty Feldman was sound asleep! 

Subotnick and Joan La Barbara performing “The Last Dream of the Beast” at The Kitchen in New York • Photo © Carlo Carnevali

What about your New York stories?

Going back to my New York days, my original idea was to stay in the studio and never leave, and once a month people could come in and listen to what I was doing, though I thought that probably was not a good idea. In fact, I might have ended up doing that, staying at home, if Jac Holzman hadn’t come in and given me that commission to make “Silver Apples.” I didn’t believe that it happened and I couldn’t believe it was a success either.

I wanted to buy [a copy of the] record. So I went into 8th Street Records in a basement on 8th St. I said to the clerk, “I hear there’s this record ‘Silver Apples Of The Moon.’” He said, “Yeah, but it’s shit.” He then said, ”We’ve sold it out, I don’t know why they’re buying it. I can show you some really good stuff.” And he brings out the Columbia-Princeton records… I said, “No, I really want the ‘Silver Apples Of The Moon.’” He said, “Maybe we have one more copy,” so I bought it. I walked in a giant, I walked out a midget. It really put me in my place. I really love him for that. I don’t think he did it on purpose, but it was good. ¶

Update, 2/11/2023: A previous version of this article omitted the name of composer Ramon Sender, who ran the Tape Center along with Subotnick and Oliveros during the Cage & Tudor Festival. VAN regrets the error.

Subscribers keep VAN running!

VAN is proud to be an independent classical music magazine thanks to our subscribers. For just over 10 cents a day, you can enjoy unlimited access to over 650 articles in our archives—and get new ones delivered straight to your inbox each week.

Not ready to commit to a full year?
You can test-drive VAN for one month for the price of a coffee.

[ad_2]

Source link

Read More

Rihanna Returns at the Super Bowl Halftime Show: What’s at Stake?

[ad_1]

Seven years later, that has all fallen away, and its reputation has solidified as a modern pop classic, highly influential for opening the doors for major stars to make looser, stranger and more ambling records that weren’t overly retrofitted to radio play. SZA — who appears on the mood-setting opening track of “Anti” — certainly followed in its footsteps with “CTRL” and her current smash “SOS.”

But the most thrilling part of “Anti” was Rihanna’s voice, which had a new, bluesy huskiness; songs like the doo-wop-tinged “Love on the Brain” or the libidinal croak of “Higher” reveled in its raspy grain. She’d transcended the drama and placed the focus back on the music. And then, it stopped.

AT THE GOLDEN Globes last month, the host Jerrod Carmichael couldn’t help but speak to Rihanna directly when he spied her in the audience. “Rihanna, you take all the time you want on that album, girl,” he said. “Don’t let these fools on the internet pressure you into nothing.”

She was there, actually, because she did have new music — the lilting ballad “Lift Me Up” from the “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever” soundtrack, nominated for original song. “Lift Me Up” is soulful, elegiac and gently haunting. It’s also an underwhelming, relatively tepid comeback. Movie theme songs don’t always knock audiences’ hair back; but for Rihanna, the expectations were high.

In its current, hypothetical state, R9 is perfect. It could be (as she hinted years ago now) an uncompromisingly sprawling reggae album. Perhaps it’s a tight, no-filler return to Rihanna’s days of aerodynamically engineered pop bangers. Maybe the guest list is stacked; maybe the album has no features at all. It’s everything to everyone, because it is not yet anything at all.

Her Super Bowl performance, too, is currently charged with a similar sense of dazzling possibility. Will Rihanna’s live comeback be a tantalizing introduction to her next era, or a nostalgic look back at her history-making hits that leaves people wanting more? All that’s left to do is, well, exactly what we’ve been doing all along: wait (a little longer) for Rihanna.

Audio produced by Kate Winslett.

[ad_2]

Source link

Read More

Oslo Jazz Band review – the perfect antidote to Norwegian somnolence

Ronnie Scott’s, London
Norway’s minimalist jazz reserve takes an elegant swerve into snow-swept atmospherics and funkiness

Of all the locations to acquire exalted stature in the story of European jazz emancipation from the US since the 1960s, the most iconic has been Norway; for the influence of its minimalist reserve on an art-form renowned for excitability, most famously through the haunting saxophone sound of Jan Garbarek.

For the 30th anniversary of the Oslo Jazz festival, the specially formed Norwegian quintet, the Oslo Jazz Band (60-year-old pianist and Magnetic North Orchestra founder, Jon Balke, and 29-year-old double-bassist and singer Ellen Andrea Wang represent its generational extremes), played their first-ever gig together at Ronnie Scott’s. The two elegantly merged traditional, soft-stepping north-European delicacy and snow-swept atmospherics with a cool funkiness, reflecting the post-90s innovations of Oslo’s dancefloor scene, playing for each other and for the ensemble with a cohesion that implied they were halfway through a tour rather than launching one.

Continue reading...



SOURCE: Music | The Guardian - Read entire story here.

Read More

A Whole New Generation Of Hot Italian Conductors Is Taking Over

20160109_bkp502

“Italian conductors are everywhere. The fact that Italians a generation younger than Mr Abbado and Mr Muti have followed in their footsteps may not be surprising. What’s more remarkable is that men in their twenties and early thirties have chosen conducting as a career, given that Italy’s opera houses—the bread and butter of the country’s music-making—are in such poor shape.”

SOURCE: MUSIC – ArtsJournal - Read entire story here.

Read More

Should The Arena Di Verona Get A Roof?

Arena di verona

“Northern Italy has been pounded this summer by rain and thunderstorms. About 25 opera performances have been soaked … Determined to bring an end to this unpredictability, mayor Flavio Tosi says that he’s planning to launch an international competition to draw suggestions for how the massive architectural task should be accomplished.”

Email this to someoneShare on FacebookTweet about this on Twitter

SOURCE: ArtsJournal» MUSIC - Read entire story here.

Read More

How pop pinches from classical

If you believed that concertos and chart hits were entirely separate beasts, think again. BBC Culture picks five pop songs that betray their classical origins.
SOURCE: BBC Culture - Music - Read entire story here.

Read More
TOP