We recently learned that the Kardashians have what is, essentially, their very own church. While we were mildly surprised to discover this fact, we were even more surprised that Kanye has not taken over this whole operation and named it the Khurch of Kanye. However, we feel that this is inevitably on the horizon and we at Schenkerian Gang Signs want to be prepared. So we have culled 10 Kommandments, made up primarily of Ye's deleted tweets. Now we also know why he deleted them all: so that he could reissue the ten most important as gospel.
Incidentally, if you missed Josh Groban performing Kanye tweets, you should listen to this before reading the Kommandments:
THE TEN KOMMANDMENTS (with kommentary):
1) “I'll say things that are serious and put them in a joke form so people can enjoy them. We laugh to keep from crying.”
Here Kanye encourages his followers to find a way of finding the 'jokes' in life. Life is so serious that otherwise we would cry. It is incumbent upon the followers of Kanye to instead find joking ways of expressing serious ideas.
2) “If you admire somebody, you should go ahead and tell them. People never get the flowers while they can still smell them.”
Here Kanye borrows from another (lesser) prophet of his time and encourages us all to YOLO--in fact, this quote has been misattributed to Drake. In the Khurch of Kanye, you only get one chance at this life, so you should live it to the fullest by sharing flowers with those closest to you. That way you will bring joy and happiness to the world, plus everything will smell a little better.
3) "Do you know where to find marble conference tables? I’m looking to have a conference…not until I get the table though."
Followers of Kanye must be precise and meticulous in all details. After all, is there any point in having a conference without marble conference tables? Surely that would be a conference in joke form (see Kommandment 1).
4) "I ordered the salmon medium instead of medium well I didn’t want to ruin the magic."
Is this magic? No, of course not. But we should follow Kanye's model and seek the magic in the mundane for lo, even salmon can be magical when prepared medium.
5) "You may be talented, but you’re not Kanye West."
This Kommandment crosses over from the more traditional Judeo-Christian ones, for thou shalt have no other gods before him.
6) "I hate when I’m on a flight and I wake up with a
water bottle next to me like oh great now I gotta be responsible for
this water bottle."
Responsibility can be seen as a challenge and a burden. You should not take on more responsibility than is your due. For truly, it is the job of the flight attendant to take away the water bottle, and not Kanye (or you).
7) "I just threw some kazoo on this bitch."
This Kommandment should be understood as a metaphor, of course. What that metaphor means remains opaque.
8) "Sometimes I get emotional over fonts."
Fonts are not merely decorative. They inform what we read, how we read, and--in this day of electronic communication--our entire perspective. Fonts should not be chosen haphazardly and, indeed, the choice of Comic Sans is grounds for ex-communication from the Khurch of Kanye. Choose your font wisely, for your font is your avatar in written form.
9) "IF YOU COULD FINISH MY SENTENCES THERE WOULD BE NO REASON TO START THEM."
Listen closely to each and every sentence that Kanye imparts. You cannot predict what he will do or how he will finish his thoughts.
10) "Ever since I was at preschool I had little kids following me around. The
teacher just said I was a natural born leader. But I’m always going
left until everyone is going left, then I’ll go right again."
You should follow Kanye in all that he does, but keep a close eye out, for he may dodge right when you are expecting him to go left.
For the record, I did not change my name. I always have been and always will be PUFF DADDY! :) Be cool Man lol #MMM#BigHomie RT!!!!
— Diddy (@iamdiddy) March 25, 2014
With this recent announcement, P. Diddy morphed back into Puff Daddy, and what better way to celebrate this momentous occasion than reconsidering his role in producing the works of Notorious B.I.G.? This topic will be the subject of at least two (maybe more) posts, particularly how we view the role of the producer and his relationship with the artist--or perhaps, if these two roles should be separated. In fact, it is a complex problem that, I think, can be understood in a number of ways. While this situation is more common to the world of popular music, which depends heavily on collaboration, I would suggest that older notions of the artist and work continue to predominate--and that there may even be parallel situations in classical music that have caused difficulties for scholars and performers alike.
This post will consider the role of the producer more generally and how these roles contribute to the work. In a future post, I intend to look more closely at specific tracks from Ready to Die and analyze what exactly Puff Daddy does on them--but honestly I have not had the time or energy to do that. So let's start with producers as a general phenomenon and go from there. Actually, let's start by making fun of one particular producer, Lil Jon. I feel pretty confident that readers of this blog are familiar with this video:
(Ed. note: I also feel quite confident that readers of this blog are familiar with this parody of Lil Jon, but it really is super funny when watched immediately following a video with Lil Jon. I think that the only possible way that this sketch could have been better would be if after receiving his ticket, Lil Jon had yelled, 'LET'S GO.')
The humor here lies in the fact that the only obvious audible contributions by Lil Jon are these little, short phrases that are ultimately throw-aways and seem almost meaningless in comparison to what Usher and Ludacris do (and the pimp cup. Let's not forget the pimp cup. If you want your own, they are available on Amazon). But without Lil Jon, would the title of the song be rendered as yellingly throughout? Doubtful.
While I kid somewhat, Lil Jon here is more like a rousing DJ, a person who typically yells a variety of lines to the crowd to get everyone pumped. Lil Jon takes on that role at the end of the video, when he gives out a series of dance steps to perform--this part often gets cut for the radio/club edit of this song. In essence, then, he is closer to a DJ Kool in his contribution:
Is this great art? Maybe not. Does it have a beat and make you want to dance around? I would submit that indeed, it does. And that is the purpose here.
But what we are not witness to, in the Lil Jon example, is his actual production of creating beats, mixing the sounds, and putting the whole together. This is significant, because there is a disconnect between his self-stated contributions (which include on 'Yeah,' 'Okay,' 'Let's Go' and other quick phrases) and what he has actually done for this track. We hear Usher sing (and in the video, see him dance). We hear (and see) Luda rap. We hear Lil Jon yell 'YEAH' and see him walking around with a pimp cup--there are no intense scenes of him in a studio selecting beats, putting them together, and mixing them. While those who are aware of the intricacies of making this kind of music would undoubtedly appreciate the contributions of Lil Jon within this process, more popularly, he becomes reduced to the parody seen on the Chappelle Show.
There is perhaps no better producer than Puff Daddy in terms of adding 'Yeahs' to a track (there are, in fact, multiple 'Yeahs' by all three artists--Puff Daddy, Biggie, and vocalist Total--in the first 20 seconds of this track):
In this case, Puff Daddy is far less in the DJ Kool mode of rousing the crowd and instead seems to be some kind of Biggie echo to the verse. However, his contribution was vital for making this track palatable for radio and this was the first hit single from the CD. This is no mean feat. Many of the tracks on this album were in no way suitable for radio, in terms of language, subject matter, and even sound. In fact, it was Puff Daddy who changed 'One More Chance' from a track that verges on X-Rated (and is on the CD) to the remix that most people are familiar with today:
The original track
The remix, aka the one you know
These are, ostensibly, two entirely different songs, and this example may even call into question what constitutes a remix in the first place (there are a few shared lines, but very few). Here is where the problem comes in, for me. What are we valuing as Notorious B.I.G.'s contribution here? Is it the verse? If so, what does it say that the original verse is almost wholly absent in the remix? Because surely that must have, to some extent, been the influence of those around him. And if it is, then that leads to the question of, ultimately, who authored this track. Maybe the guy who loves yelling 'Whoo' in the background (he also did in 'Juicy') is the real creative force here.
In a piece that reminisced about the creation of this album that appeared in the March 9, 2004 issue of XXL, the various contributors to Ready to Die (and writer Adam Matthews) characterized Puff Daddy's contributions in a number of ways (from this point forward, Puff Daddy is PD and Notorious B.I.G. is NB). While Matthews credits PD with providing the vision for this production, he also labels PD as perhaps the first 'overbearing executive producer to hip-hop.' This characterization infers that Biggie's art was compromised by what PD did on the tracks, even though the success of the album was highly dependent on these precise songs. In his discussion of the track 'One More Chance, producer Digga also remembered PD as apart from the rest of the crew, a person who changed the atmosphere when he entered the studio:
Puff was in my ear every 10 seconds in that session. When me, Big, Cease
and Klept and some of the crew was in the studio it was all good. But
once Puff came on the scene everything got tight. At the time, Puff was
still learning about production and he wanted to show that he knew
something about music. He wanted certain arrangements. And I was looking
at him like, “What the hell is this guy talking about?” We’d listen to
him for half a second, then we’d be like, “Yeah, whatever.”
Digga's anecdote suggests not only that PD was new to the business, but that he was less knowledgeable than those already working on the track. The commercial success of the remix, however, suggests precisely the opposite.
In his discussion of the track 'Juicy,' which got to #1 on the US charts, producer Jean 'Poke' Oliver gave credit to PD for identifying Mtume's 'Juicy Fruit' as a good sample and seeking to make a more radio-friendly track for the album. If you are not familiar with the Mtume video, I must insist that you familiarize yourself, because it is something else:
Poke also recalls that NB felt he was working in a style that was not natural to him in creating this track:
Big thought it was a popcorn record. He wanted to make all gangsta
records. But Puff knew at the time radio wasn’t into that gangsta rap
stuff. Big was like, “Yo, this guy is trying to make me an opera
singer.” But Big was going to do everything that Puff asked him. He was
at least going to try it. Once it became a hit, he realized: “These are
the records I need to make.” When you get into this game you want to be a
hardcore rapper, but those records only go so far.
(Ed. note: an opera singer? Paging Renee Fleming, again). Again, this calls into question how we should view this work. Of course, the lyrics should be credited to NB. But would this track exist without the influence of PD? Would NB have achieved the same level of success?
Lord Finesse, who also assisted with the album, suggests that without PD's contributions, there would not have been the same level of artistry:
When I first worked with Big, he was as street as you can get. You
couldn’t get any more street than what Big was rapping about and what he
was bringing to the table. But him and Puff were both growing at an
incredible rate, between Puff being at MCA getting ready to go to Bad
Boy, and Biggie just being able to absorb what Puff was sending him like
a sponge. Biggie watching and learning Puff was like Payton and Malone,
ya know? Puffy dishing it and Biggie capturing and scoring, dunking.
That combination was incredible.
Puff was at a point in his career where he was growing at an enormous
rate; he had Craig Mack, and he’d just come off Mary and Jodeci. He was
ready to show the world. He was able to sculpt Big to not only be an
underground artist, but to be well rounded. To not just dunk, but be
able to finger-roll, crossover dribble, to be the best player he could
be in the game. And Big learned it real, real quick! When Ready To Die
was almost done, Big had all the raw street incredible songs, and Puff
said, “Okay, you got to do what you wanted with the album. Now let’s do
what I want to do with the album.”
Big was like, “Puff said to do this, so I’m going to do it. Puff let me
do what I want to do, so I’m going to do what he wants too.” Because of
that, putting his ego to the side, like, “I’ma try this,” that gave him
the edge. And after that, he tried everything and it all worked! It was
crazy.
The basketball simile here that compares Gary Payton and Karl Malone to PD and NB is one of the most generous in this article. In this sense, PD is working with NB to set him up to score points; they need each other to succeed, and could not replicate the same success on their own. I like this version much more than the image of the overbearing, inferior producer that is so prevalent in this article--or the 'yeller of phrases,' Lil Jon model. Lord Finesse's recollection is that it was NB that provided the raw material, but that PD also had a vision for it. In this version, both are working on the same level and contributing in the same way. In fact, there is more of a mentor/mentee relationship here, with NB learning from what PD can teach him.
Yet despite all of the collaboration that took place on this album, at the heart of it, NB remains the artist most generally acknowledged. This suggests that we are still stuck in the idea of authorship/work, and while the audible presence of PD forces us to acknowledge that he is at least somehow involved, it is worth noting just how many other, less acknowledged people worked on this project as well. This is not to say that NB's contributions are not unique and valuable; the fact that the lyrics for the song 'Things Done Changed' are included in the Norton Anthology of African American Literatureconfers the idea of authorship upon him in the most traditional sense. But perhaps things have done changed, at least in the sense of whose artistic product this album truly is. Without the heavy hand of PD, it is almost impossible to imagine what the ultimate sound would have been. Of course, this influence will only become more acute with later NB tracks, particularly when only raw materials remained after his death, but that is the subject for another post.
Includes actual handwriting, with something about an alligator (?)
(Why yes, that was in the Wagner Etsy post)
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Kira's posts on the recent collaborations between Nas and the National Symphony Orchestra brought up a number of provocative questions. To me, one of the most interesting was the balance of power: who is benefiting from this arrangement or, to paraphrase Kira's wording, who needs who? Do the benefits fall more heavily toward Nas, in the sense that he is being validated by 'high-brow' musical culture? Or is the orchestra as an institution moving in a new direction, perhaps one necessitated by the current state of classical music? Alternatively, are such collaborations ultimately (and equally) beneficial to both sides? I'm not sure that I have the answers to any of these questions, but I am dedicating this post to a consideration of an earlier collaboration that brought up similar issues, which was that of George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue (1924) and its subsequent history.
(Before I get started here, I would like to mention two important sources for Rhapsody in Blue research. The first is the Cambridge Music Handbook by David Schiff, which offers a great, succinct introduction to the work and contemporary criticism to it. The second is the work of Dr. Ryan Raul Bañagale, whose 2011 dissertation from Harvard examines this piece in considerable detail. His book on this topic will be in print later this year from Oxford University Press. Many thanks to Ryan for sharing material from his book to aid me with this post and, more generally, for his vital contribution to musicological blogging as one of the founders of amusicology. Lastly, thanks to Dr. Andrew Berish for consulting with me about jazz on film; his book on this topic is available from University of Chicago Press).
The premiere of Rhapsody in Blue is heralded as a watershed moment in the history of American music--a topic of considerable debate at the time, since there was no clear vision at the time of what constituted distinctly American music. By fusing together more popular styles, such as early forms of jazz, Gershwin's piece was thought to incorporate an American vernacular music with the venerated symphony orchestra. Prior to Rhapsody in Blue, Gershwin's fame had primarily come from his contributions in more popular forms, such as Broadway reviews and Tin Pan Alley songs. In other words, he was not seen as a composer of high art music, even though he had been trained in this style. Rhapsody in Blue, though, was thought to be a successful example of mixing together high and low art, categories that were significantly more stratified than they are now.
However, Gershwin did not complete this endeavor alone. His work was premiered by Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra on a program that was described as 'An Experiment in Modern Music.' Whiteman had led various dance bands, but retained a more symphonic style in his sound, in contrast with contemporary jazz ensembles, which had not yet entered the big band era. His music was popular and circulated widely on records in the early 1920s.
(YouTube's guess is that the instrument starting at 1:00 is a musical saw. Experimental sounds were a feature of much 1920s and 1930s jazz).
Whiteman, then, was retaining a sound that was closer to the symphony orchestra as integral to his music, so perhaps it is not surprising that he would seek to find a composer/collaborator who could work fluidly in both worlds. After all, a success in the classical sphere could only extend his influence beyond that of the dance-music hall. This blend between these two styles is apparent even in his choices of orchestration. While his orchestra mostly sounds like a standard symphonic one in 'Whispering,' you can also hear instruments that reflect new, jazz-influenced sensibilities, including the banjo (the banjo will come back).
The importance of Rhapsody in Blue for Whiteman's orchestra was not limited to this first performance (ed. note: be sure to check out Ryan Bañagale's forthcoming book, which details the many arranged versions of Rhapsody in Blue that were generally available for the market, as well as a comprehensive documentation of record sales). Whiteman also performed it in two different film versions: one for the 1930 revue King of Jazz and the second for a 1945 fictionalized biography of Gershwin's life entitled (of course) Rhapsody in Blue. The King of Jazz performance emphasizes the modernity of this 'experiment.' Prior to hearing the piece, a narrator explains that Gershwin has successfully fused together not only jazz and classical, but music stemming back to ancient origins, since jazz is a form of 'primitive' music. In fact, to become the 'king of jazz,' Whiteman had already battled against primitive forces, as depicted in the film through a cartoon scene that features him 'in darkest Africa' on a safari trip. However, he does not wind up killing the various animals that he sees, but instead puts all beings in the vicinity under his spell as he plays jazz violin. 'Beings' in this sense includes two human beings, in the form of two 'African' tribesmen. The music in this scene ranges widely, including military-inspired fanfares, a brief clip from Rhapsody in Blue (0:57), and even a moment (1:37) from the second movement of Dvořák's Twelfth String Quartet ('American'). When Whiteman breaks out his violin at 1:51, he is accompanied by banjo, a distinctive aural marker for a jazz section; it is worth noting that prior to this point, the orchestra has played very little that resembles jazz, making a better case for the orchestra as a traditional ensemble rather than what would be expected in a dance hall:
The lion's 'Mamie' (2:02) references Al Jolson, since this song was one of his enormous hits when he performed in blackface and was prominently featured in the 1927 film The Jazz Singer. The scene with the snake (2:22) can best be summarized by a phrase that esteemed anthropologist Dr. Heide Castañeda coined yesterday in describing another exotic moment that made no sense: 'Because the Other.'
That Whiteman conquered this 'primitive' Africa is a theme that returns in the preamble to Rhapsody in Blue, heavily emphasized in an extended drum solo that opens the number--and that is not typically performed when hearing this composition. The audience sees a silhouette of a figure dancing on a drum. There can be no question that this is a 'primitive' dance, seeming to descend from a tribal ritual with an elaborate headdress. The dancer is extremely darkly colored, particularly because of the dark blue set. This is the 1930s depiction of 'deepest, darkest Africa,' at its most primitive:
I will give you a moment to collect your thoughts, which I'm sure stem mostly in the 'WHAT ON EARTH WAS THAT????????' direction. In case you need a palate cleanser:
So: we had primitive with our dancer at the start. Then we had modern, and a very classy, feather-filled version of modern it was, complete with chandeliers and headdresses (non-tribal variety). If you are curious, the film was in color using an early duo-tone technique, so the 'blue' in the piano would have been seen by early audiences. I am still not quite sure what to make of the multiple pianists playing the giant blue piano, but for that matter, I am still not sure what to make of the giant blue piano--or, perhaps more importantly, the gargantuan electric fern tree to its right. I do like that the orchestra fits neatly inside. From the primitive, then, we transcended to the modern in a most formal appearance, one flanked with tuxedos, classy dames, and so very many feathers.
Whiteman would record Rhapsody in Blue again for film, this time as part of an eponymous (fictionalized) biography of George Gershwin:
My favorite part of this clip--apart from the dramatic pan-out--is at the end, where an audience member declares that the piece is 'fourteen minutes and five. A very important piece'--in other words, a legitimate composition instead of a dance number. Earlier in the film, we did see that Gershwin's music was popular, but that it commanded little respect in part because it was from a 'lower' genre. In fact, Gershwin was fired for playing his own music when he should have been promoting the works of others. However, its intrinsic value was recognized by Al Jolson--appearing blatantly in blackface--who was enchanted by the melody from the first time he heard it:
There is a lot to untangle here. 'Swanee' was, of course, one of Jolson's big hits when he was a stage performer and I am certain that one of the primary reasons that this scene would have been included in the film was as a token of nostalgia for older audience members, who would have grown up seeing Jolson perform this number. That he was in blackface might have been less shocking then, even though by 1945 the practice had abated in live film, but Jolson was already known for his performances in this role. The popularity of 'Swanee' is immediately evident from the applause offered by the audience, although Gershwin remains stoic in the face of his success, claiming that he will write 'something better than that.' The 'something better,' of course, is Rhapsody in Blue, which becomes the focal point in the film for Gershwin's ability to conquer classical audiences at long last.
Undoubtedly, you have picked up on the very bizarre race relations that are emerging in this film, particularly concerning the appropriation of jazz by a bunch of white guys (including one white guy who is wearing blackface. Because the Other). While this post is not the place to address the complexity of the blackface topic (don't worry, there will likely be a follow-up), the fact that the audiences are exclusively white for both performances is noteworthy--although not surprising, considering that this was still the age of segregation, through formal and informal means. Regardless, jazz, in this case, is being elevated. It can join the rank of prestigious music, so long as it is presented in a Rhapsody in Blue-type manner. Indeed, by doing so, Gershwin transcends the 'mere' dance music that he wrote before, winning over even the concert-goers with his very important fourteen-or-so minute composition.
Looking more closely at both performances, I would argue that Whiteman is, in fact, privileging the classical over jazz. In some respects, jazz elements are present, such as the extremely prominent banjo literally sitting front row, center. The seating for the Rhapsody in Blue film performance is quite similar to how a big band would sit, featuring the musicians on risers (although they lack fancy music stand monikers). Even more jazz-like is the focus on soloists, who not only rise when they play, but are also featured in the spotlight. However, one crucial classical feature remains, which is the conductor. Whiteman's baton is particularly prominent in this scene, demonstrating that he is in charge of the ensemble. The same can be said of the 1930 King of Jazz performance; in this case, the whole scene is based on his preeminence as the 'king of jazz' who fought off the savage 'beasts' in the African jungle. While Whiteman does not emerge until later in this scene, when the orchestra rises up from the piano (2:52), he is raised even further above the ensemble and his (possibly oversized?) baton can be seen.
Whiteman's leading of the ensemble as a classical conductor differs from what audiences would have seen from African-American band leaders at the time. For instance, in Black and Tan Fantasy (1929), Duke Ellington leads from the piano when we see him with his band. Even from the very beginning of the clip, Duke is not the 'king of jazz,' but is seen collaborating with Arthur Whetsol, his trumpet player:
Count Basie, too, performed at the piano and had those fancy monikered music stands that immediately scream 'jazz band' to me. This example is from the 1943 film Reveille with Beverly:
Whiteman, then, is presenting his ensemble as an orchestra, not a band, since he retains control as its conductor and leader. I would argue that this distinction is an important one. An orchestra, after all, is a marker of a prestigious cultural product, an association that I feel is still present today. It was the orchestra that allowed Gershwin to present his 'very important' piece, for instance. Why the orchestra? It has a long history of being the premiere ensemble, going all the way back to the nineteenth century in German writings. I find it noteworthy that Nas' collaboration was with an orchestra; you don't often hear so much about collaborations between hip hop artists and a prestigious string quartet, for example, or Renée Fleming providing the vocals for the latest 50 Cent track (Dear Renée and 50, Get. On. This.). No, it is the orchestra that conjures up an image of high art almost instantaneously, and I think that this is part of its cachet when it comes to collaborating with more popular forms of culture. In the Whiteman example, it elevated his ensemble beyond the dance hall. In Nas' case, I like to think that we have moved beyond these distinctions of high and low art, and where these types of arts can and/or should reside. However, it is difficult to ignore the fact that yet again, the (prestigious) symphony orchestra was called into play for a collaboration.
Thanks to the magical powers of facebook and to the generosity of friends reposting our blog posts, the conductor of the National Symphony Orchestra concert that featured Nas named Steven Reineke responded to our blog post on this performance via facebook. How exciting is this???
A super-cool person who's also the conductor of the New York Pops, Reineke provided more context on the performance. Here's our exchange: Steven Reineke: Nice article Kira. I was the conductor of the NSO concerts with Nas as I'm the Pops conductor of the NSO. We are always trying new things with the National Symphony at the Kennedy Center and this years opening of the annual festival was a unique and exciting challenge since this years theme was Hip-Hop. Nas was a pleasure to work with and he was involved in the creative process all along as we re-imagined Illmatic. The purpose was to make it a true collaboration between the worlds of symphony orchestra and Hip-Hop. I thought the end product was astounding, due in no small part to the orchestrators and arrangers, Derek Hodge and Tim Davies. Technically, this was an NSO Pops concert. We are always offering concerts true to our roots as well as finding ways to explore and collaborate with new artists and different types of music. You can check out our upcoming NSO Pops season online. I'm glad this has people talking! I think Nas and the NSO helped to both "legitimize" each other, not that we need each other to do that since both are already legit in their own right. It was simply another exploration of American Music. I really do appreciate your post. All the best!
Kira: Holy crap! I wasn't expecting someone from the NSO to actually read this and comment on it! Thank you so much! And may other orchestras start adapting the same techniques you guys are doing. Let's celebrate contemporary music in all its different forms and guises. And if it gives orchestras a chance to reach new audiences then all the better.
Kira: P.S. Kudos to the orchestrators and arrangers of the music. How cool are they?
Steven Reineke: Agreed! I'm just happy that it opened a dialogue about what can, can't, should, or shouldn't be done in these settings. I'm all for the orchestra coming down from it's ivory tower and bringing music to ALL people, not just old, rich, white people. Also, I will do everything I can to showcase great American music in all of it's genres.
Kira: Um, you have a new superfan over here, Steven. How lucky are the NSO and the New York Pops to have you as a conductor??? Clint: thank you for introducing me to my new personal hero. I'm seriously going to be floating on cloud nine for the rest of the day...
So the rapper and hip hop extraordinaire Nas performed two sold out shows with the National Symphony Orchestra the weekend of Friday, March 28th at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC:
And this performance has been heralded as "historic" and a "victory" by the press. Perhaps it was. For one, Nas performed at the Kennedy Center - the organization that sanctions various facets of American culture and sanctifies them, enshrines them, embalms them for the future consumption of generations of American citizens. Perhaps the Kennedy Center's anointment of Nas in this manner shows how much hip hop is now part of the American canon.
Another reason why, I think, people are excited about this performance has to do with the nature of the collaboration. When was the last time a major symphony orchestra performed hip hop? I'm not really sure. I spent a little bit of time googling but didn't come up with much. Perhaps this signifies a shift in some way in the American orchestral landscape?
There have been plenty of orchestra musicians who have performed with hip hop artists before. They've long served as the accompaniment or backup crew to American popular and hip hop musicians' croonings in concerts. And hip hop artists have also incorporated western art music into their tracks as well (more on that in a later post!).
But the National Symphony Orchestra might very well be the first time a well-established orchestra, a large classical institution, took on the mantle of hip hop and sought to perform in a collaborative sense with a hip hop artist. (This leads to all sorts of interesting questions: how did they orchestrate Nas's music? Who orchestrated it? How much was Nas a part of this process?)
The funny thing about this collaboration between the National Symphony Orchestra and Nas is that their performances occurred mere days after the National Symphony Orchestra announced its 2014-2015 season. And, much to the outrage of contemporary American composers, their season will feature not a single note of American music.
So what's going on here? I'm not sure, but I can give you a couple of ways to "read"or "listen" to this performance. I'm wondering how much of this performance has to do with legitimation politics. On the surface, it might appear that classical music is legitimating hip hop. And there might be something to it. Here, for example, is an image of Jay-Z and Alicia Keys performing together with an orchestra behind them at Carnegie Hall:
I think it's important to note what kinds of spaces we're now seeing rappers like Jay-Z, Nas, and others performing in. Carnegie Hall, like the Kennedy Center, is another sacred space. It's another venue that legitimizes the performer/performance. In these spaces, both the performer and the listener dress in a certain (upper-class) manner (tuxedos, dresses) and observe/participate in certain rituals (being quiet before a performance starts, dimming down the lights, etc.)
Are hip hop artists performing the politics of respectability in these spaces? Are they demonstrating that they, too, are everywhere on the spectrum of American music-making? There have been plenty of excellent articles on the evolution of hip-hop, the mainstreaming of hip-hop, and, to some, how hip hop has sold out because of all of this. Here's the classic image of Nas from the early-mid 1990s:
Nas isn't simply placed in this urban landscape; he's a part of it. And unashamedly so. This photo is staged, right? But this is how he wants it to be staged. But here's Nas at the Kennedy Center:
One hip hop site marveled that this performance (tuxedo and all) demonstrated how Nas had "matured into a revered intellectual." And, as my friend, Lauron pointed out, Nas reception in recent years has celebrated the rapper as an intellectual. He has a fellowship named after him at Harvard University, after all. If the National Symphony Orchestra was interested in working with a rapper, perhaps it's unsurprising that they went with one of the most elevated, "legit" ones in the hip hop world.
Call me a cynic, but this celebration of "high" hip hop still makes me suspicious. Maybe I'm a die-hard but what's gravitated me to hip hop like a moth to a flame (as an outsider and a newbie to all of this still) is its insistence on not obeying the social order and following the status quo, its subversive politics, and its refusal to be swallowed up into the mainstream. Some of hip hop's messages were never intended for mainstream audiences, and screw you for suggesting they should be. That means, of course, that I don't understand or identify with some of them. But I'm fascinated by the inherent subversive nature of many of the classic works in hip hop's canon nonetheless.
Anyway. I'm digressing. Even if this is a form of legitimation somehow, I'm not sure that the NSO's collaboration with Nas is necessarily that important for hip hop. Hip hop, as I've mentioned already, has already picked at/poked at/joined with high culture for some time. Kanye's forays into fashion (however visually unappealing and disastrous they might be), his use of ballerinas in music videos, and deep and abiding love for expensive persian rugs are all examples of that.
What I'm more intrigued by is the notion that Nas might be legitimating the National Symphony Orchestra. That even though the NSO is refusing to perform any contemporary American classical composers like this guy on their program, they still thought it was a good idea to perform with Nas. Some might call this mere pandering. And I suppose it probably is. But I think it's still pretty revealing.
Have we reached a moment in American music where the National Symphony Orchestra needs Nas more than Nas needs the National Symphony Orchestra?
I'm not trying to fall into the "classical music is dying!" trap. Because it is a trap. But I do wonder if the NSO sought out this collaboration in order to support their (really traditional) programming of mostly 19th century European concert music. This Nas collaboration is a sign of the modern American orchestra's schizophrenia.
To an outsider, the fact that Nas performed with a classical orchestra might suggest Nas's elevation in American culture. But I think Nas's performance instead symbolizes the state of the American orchestra. As the historian William Weber points out in his book, The Great Transformation of Musical Taste: Concert Programming for Haydn to Brahms, by the early 20th century about 75% of most orchestra's concert programming was comprised of music that had been written decades if not centuries before. Lydia Goehr's blasting critique of contemporary classical music-making (called The Imaginary Museum of Musical Works) argues pretty much the same thing. As orchestras seek to become adaptable to today's musical climate, I wonder if collaborations like the NSO's and Nas will become increasingly common. Might this be the direction some large institutions take? And if so, will it be to the detriment of contemporary American classical music?
Slate has been running a feature that analyzes pop music using actual music analysis, like the kind that professional music theorists do for a living (and yes, some people do this for a living). We posted the Katy Perry one a couple of weeks ago on the Facebook page (and yes, you should 'like' our Facebook page). Recently, author Owen Pallett examined the music of Lady Gaga, declaring 'Bad Romance,' as her masterpiece and her greatest accomplishment so far. As Pallett points out, Gaga is relatively formulaic in most of her songs, which adhere to set principles. Some of these help ensure their international success, such as Gaga's habit of repeating the song title ad nauseam--helpful for those who are not native English speakers. 'Formulaic' should not be understood as 'bad' or 'hackneyed' or 'trite,' as Pallett also points out, and rightly so. In fact, he hails Gaga as the modern genius of our age in terms of pop music, claiming that she is in a league by herself in terms of what she produces.
This article appeared at a nice time for me, in a way, since I had been planning to write a blog post about why I believe that Gaga is the greatest pop artist working right now--yes Kanye, I went there. While I enjoyed Pallett's analysis, for me, what makes Gaga great goes beyond the conventional topics that are discussed in music theory and can be explained instead as the experience that she creates. I first saw Lady Gaga in April of 2009, back before she was mega-huge, although I can't claim that it was back before she was big since she was already getting national radio play. This is where I first heard 'Poker Face' and 'Just Dance.' I liked 'Just Dance' from the get-go, in part because of musical parameters that I can explain using conventional theory terminology. For instance, the beginning of the song is ambivalent about being major or minor, and this ambivalence remains for most of the song. The very start, the 'Just Dance' part that has a relatively thin texture, points to a major key. It isn't until the accompaniment comes in that the song reveals itself to be minor. I am never a fan of hearing major as 'happy' and minor as 'sad,' but I think in this case the ambivalence between these two modes works well. There is a bit of cloudiness that surrounds our protagonist, but I don't think that we are supposed to take it seriously. That is the section in major, which proclaims that we should 'Just Dance,' because everything is going to be okay--whatever else happens during the course of the evening.
I also liked 'Just Dance' because it is kind of a club-kid stream of consciousness that might have resonated with me 15 or so years ago, when I went out and had fun at clubs. 'Just Dance' describes a night of madcap drinking where you can't find your keys or your phone and you aren't quite sure which club you are in, but it's all fine. I can't say that we've all been there, but I sure have been, and it did turn out to be all okay:
Since I mostly listened to this song on the radio, though, I realized that I was missing one of its most crucial aspects: its sound. This is club music at its best, and you can tell even when you are listening in an imperfect format. In fact, the whole reason that I purchased a ticket to hear Lady Gaga perform at a hip and cool club (venues that I no longer frequent) in the hip and cool part of town (which I mostly only go to now because there is a good pizza place there, not for clubs) was that I wanted to hear that bass blast out at 0:16 seconds, and I knew that the only way to really appreciate the spectacularity of this moment was to hear it played on proper club speakers. I was not disappointed.
Beyond conventional analysis, this is, to me, the genius of Lady Gaga's music. She not only takes the conventions of pop, she makes them even better, and she makes you understand that they are best appreciated in their proper venue. For me, the most important convention of pop is that you find yourself following multiple lines/events in the music. This is true all the way back to the 1970s, as evinced by this famous BeeGees track. Listen carefully at the beginning for the catchy little rhythmic hook, then follow that as the rest of the song begins:
(Related: FAB. 70s. VIDEO.)
Gaga gets this, as her music is populated with multiple events. One of them in 'Just Dance,' for instance, is that bass drop. Another is in 'Dance in the Dark,' where Gaga screams 'Make it stop' from somewhere in the 'back' of the track (1:00)--I didn't hear this until I had listen to the song dozens of times:
(This is a fantastic song, and I view it as Gaga's masterpiece. I think she feels the same way, since it was all over the Monsters' Ball tour, including as filler between numbers. I'll save my discussion of it for another post though).
Going back to 2009: while I enjoyed 'Just Dance'--and felt that my experience of it was worth the price of admission, even though we did all have to wait for a while until Gaga showed up (as she does)--it was 'LoveGame' that blew me away in terms of live performance. I did not know the song before I attended her show, but it was easily my favorite afterward. It's pretty unusual, I think, for that to happen. We tend to go to shows expecting to hear and enjoy our favorites; hence the stereotype about new material being the most boring part of an event. However, it was hard not to be entranced by 'LoveGame,' at least in my opinion. This performance is a pretty close replica (I don't like the official video, which went for more obviously titillating moments and to me, lost some of the rawness):
This is angular, distinct, and visceral movement, and it contrasts with the types of 'boy bandified' movements that had become commonplace in music videos. Certainly there is a great deal for your ear to follow, like those low drums that show up every so often, but don't come through very well unless you happen to be in a club and have amazing speakers. If you start paying close attention, you notice that it becomes difficult to follow the rhythm: the melody is syncopated with the accompaniment, and neither one lines up with the other very well. Gaga's guttural insertions, like the 'huh's right at the beginning, emphasize the angular qualities of the dancing. In fact, if you start tapping your foot along at the beginning, you will notice that she comes in 'off the beat' with her first 'HUH' (0:34), which marks the start of the song. To me, there is very little that is lyrical or catchy (the melody is hard to sing), apart from the melodic part around 2:50. But even that moment is interrupted by one of the very striking 'HUH.' In this case, the 'HUH' serves either as a form of censorship, or allows our imagination to fill in what she was going to say. If I had to characterize this song, I would say that it is a disco march--maybe even a disco imperative--and Gaga is leading the way.
And did I mention that glowy stick thing? Because it was awesome in a dark club. It's missing something in this live version because it's during the day.
If you're curious, this was the same tour where Gaga performed acoustic 'Poker Face' with the bubble piano:
What I find most impressive about Gaga, then, is her ability to make you want to attend the show, because the show will give you something that you can't get from being at home. You probably don't have club speakers. You probably won't hear the music the same way. In this, she is creating a version of pop music that needs to be viewed live for full effect. In this day and age where we can hear anything from the comfort of our living room, I am genuinely impressed that she has found the right timbre needed to draw you to her shows--or at least to get me in a club for the first time in years.
You might be wondering why I was thinking about writing this post now, about a concert I attended around five years ago. It's her new song, 'G.U.Y.' To me, it's her first song in a long time that re-creates this 'I want to go to the club' sense. In fact the timbres that she uses here are quite fascinating, such as the maybe voice near the beginning (is that a sampled voice? Electronic? It's not clear). The video is great, and has been explored in detail by Aylin Zafar in an article for Buzzfeed--that outfit at 2:46! But mostly I want to hear that bassy-line in a club. In fact, I want to hear the whole thing in a club, because I am absolutely sure that my computer speakers are not doing this song justice:
In fact, the bass drop of the chorus took me right back to 'Just Dance,' and has captivated me in the same way. Guess I better get tickets for the next tour.
Also, can she just write a musical already? This, I think, is her ultimate destiny.
