Another school year is about to begin. And as a student with a commute of roughly 45 minutes one way, it is absolutely imperative that I (or any of my fellow drivers) have good music to listen to in my car.
One of the bands that I can’t get enough of is Passion Pit, best known for their 2009 hits “Sleepyhead” and “The Reeling”. But after essentially wearing out my copy of their cd “Manners”, I discovered that this one-man band does not merely produce catchy, keyboard-ridden jams. He also DJs and remixes alternative songs into mellow dance grooves.
Not that the original songs are bad.
It’s like the age-old what-movie-is-better, Willy-Wonka-vs.-Charlie argument: They are both good, but they are definitely different.
Example: Marina and the Diamonds’ “I Am Not A Robot”. Here’s the original:
And here is the Passion Pit remix:
I also highly recommend P. Pit’s mixes of the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s “Heads Will Roll” and LED Street’s “Blank Canvases”.
And this band is not alone in their adventurous takes on music. Other alt/indie bands, rappers, and individuals with YouTube accounts continually release these collaborations of tunes both old and new. No longer is two turntables and a microphone necessary to make your name known. Nowadays, DJ-ing can be as simple as creating a playlist on iTunes, or can be as complicated as taking twenty different songs and mashing bits and pieces of them together. The coolest part is that, quite literally, anyone who possesses the music library (and the computer savvy) can become a DJ, producing their own original mash-ups and uploading them online for all to listen.
Here’s one of my favorites, Girl Talk (who is STELLAR in concert, by the way) making a mix for Elvis Costello Radio:
But I don’t believe that becoming a great DJ is as simple as it seems. One needs a spot-on sense of rhythm, good timing, and (perhaps most importantly), one has to make their music easily available to the people.
Case and point: Download Girl Talk’s latest album “All Day” here for free.
As an anthropologist, one of the questions I find myself asking while I shamelessly dance in my car concerns the culture of this certain type of music. Disc jockeying has been around for decades (Grandmaster Flash, anyone?). Why the sudden popularity?
Obviously, technology is a factor. Laptops, MP3 Players, etc., are becoming stronger, faster, and cheaper, which means they are more easily available to the general public. And, whether the songs are acquired legally or illegally, music is also more accessible via the internet. It’s not about scratching records as much as it is about finding a good wi-fi connection.
But I believe that there is more to this cultural investigation than this obvious answer.
Life as we know it is continually transforming into something that is fast-paced and ever-changing. Thanks to the internet, people read less, surf more, and (consequently) have shorter attention spans (see article “Is Google Making Us Stupid?”) Perhaps, as a society, we are beginning to demand a new kind of melodic noise that fulfills our craving for faster beats and innovative sounds.
Think about it. Have you ever been listening to a song and realized that you really only enjoy a certain verse, the chorus, maybe even a simple sequence of notes? DJs do this all the time. Then they take these separate parts of songs and smush them all together into a conglomerate containing only the creme de la creme. Or, like Skillrex (“Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites”), they might just take sounds and morph them into haunting electro-funk.
Has the speed and power of the internet altered us to the point where we can no longer listen to 3-4 minutes of just one song in its purest form? No, I don’t think so (at least, I sincerely hope not…). But I think that this era of disc (or rather, file) jockeying represents how reliant on technology we have become.
It’s definitely something to think about.
Or at least to listen to.
I leave you with a classic. Because some things cannot be left behind in the dust of history while we hurdle ever faster into the future.
I recently spent a lovely weekend in Algonac with a very close friend, who knew that this was just what I needed - a break from the constant work, one last hurrah before the school year begins.
As I meandered down the long and winding road leading from the freeway into the heart of the small town, I found myself wishing I was riding shotgun rather than piloting my beloved Buick. The scenery was THAT gorgeous. Most of the road bumped right against the water, and with an azure sky sprinkled with Simpson clouds, it could not have been more beautiful.
Although the Jay Z I was blasting from my car probably didn’t mesh well with the wildlife.
Right before I turned into my friend’s sub, I drove right by a nature preserve consisting of mostly marshes. I kept waiting for dead bodies to jump out, as that’s what I imagine lives in marshes after watching Lord of the Rings several times.
Shortly after arriving at my friend’s residence, we packed up her boat and headed out for the day. I had never been in a neighborhood where there’s literally a canal in the backyard, so I received quite a shock upon sliding open the back door and encountering a floating pontoon amidst a fleet of jet skis and motor boats belonging to the neighbors. I found myself thinking “If I lived here, I would be out here every day.”
I was gratified to find out that most people who live out there do just that. Or at the very least, they go out every weekend.
As we rode the boat out through the canals and made our way towards the lake, I was continually fascinated by the houses lining the shore. As a metropolitan girl used to cultivated backyards and sprawling suburbia (and as an aspiring architect), I fell in love with the 2-story shotgun style houses, where the front of the house faced the water and the deck sat in 4 feet of water. Trees hung down their branches and skimmed the water, providing shade for the well-worn wooden docks reaching out to the bay.
It was very picturesque, and, besides the purr of the boat engine, so tranquil.
And then we got to the lake.
WOW.
Picture 2 parallel lines of boats, all tied together with about 30 feet of space inbetween them, stretching into the distance as far as the eye can see.
Got it?
Now add in some hundreds and hundreds of people wading in the chest-deep water inbetween these two lines.
Okay, still doing good? Awesome.
Now throw alcohol into the mix.
Things just got a little more interesting, didn’t they?
Although as we pulled up I was a little (well okay, MORE than a little) overwhelmed, I was also very excited. I had never even imagined an event of this size and caliber, and truly could not wait to experience it, especially in the company of my friends.
Embarking from the vessel, we began to walk down the row of boats. But this was not merely a continuous stroll through the lake water; we constantly stopped as my friend encountered fellow boaters that she knew. I can not even tell you how many people who I met that day as she introduced them to me; there was just too many to count!
Music blared from boats of all makes and models, from the zippy purple two-seater to the two-story yacht with a roof-top deck.
And the names of these boats! How could anyone not smile (whether genuinely or ironically) while riding atop the majestic “Fuhgetaboutit” or “Tequila Princess”, or my personal favorite, “Pole Dancer?” (side note: “Pole Dancer” actually had a life-size Barbie doll straddling the flag pole).
As the afternoon wore on, the antics and the amount of people in the crowd only increased. We made it almost to the very end of the seemingly never-ending row before we threw in the towel and slowly made our way back.
Upon returning to the boat, we made the shocking discovery that we had been gone for almost four hours. It felt like 45 minutes.
Sunburned and sleepy, we piled back onto the boat and headed back to the house for some much-needed pizza.
As an anthropologist, I could not resist analyzing the culture of this small lakeside town while within its limits. Everyone knew everyone, and they knew what everyone was doing. Everyone ate at the same family-owned restaurants several times a week. Everyone waved at everyone as they passed each other on their watercraft, whether they were close friends or mere acquaintances. And while they love summer, they hate the tourist season (who doesn’t though?).
There existed there a sense of camaraderie that suburbia so often lacks. And the environment was one of total relaxation; everyone just seemed completely unplugged. I loved it.
As someone who lives so close to a large city, it was an introduction to a completely different lifestyle. I enjoyed it though, I really did.
And while everyone in Algonac now knows me as “that girl who fell of the boat at the gas docks”, I had one of the best weekends I have had all summer.
Could I live there full-time? Probably not. I’m an urban girl at heart.
As part of my current internship, I have the fortunate privilege of attending exclusive events and writing articles about them for the company website.
The most recent event/article tandem was a General Motors Intern Ride and Drive on July 22, 2011 at the Renaissance Center in downtown Detroit.
Here’s the link to the article I co-wrote with a fellow intern:
So this post stems directly from the deep frustration I feel concerning the fact that I cannot watch a FIFA Women’s World Cup soccer game without constant comments stemming from people about how butch the players are.
Hasn’t anyone in the blogosphere seen the Nike commercial with Hope Solo leading the team onto the field? It practically gives me chills.
I cannot tolerate these kind of put-downs towards female athletes. So kids, the theme of this post, for those of you who skipped reading the title, is the true beauty of women athletes.
Now I will admit, I am not highly versed in women’s studies, having only taken an “Intro to Women and Gender’s Studies” class this past semester. However, as a female, and especially as a female who considers herself to be a feminist, I have a lot of thoughts and feelings on this subject.
But do not fret, this will not be a raging tirade against men; trust me, I have done my research for this article.
Today’s women have a lot on their plates. Not only do they have to be proper, polite, and pulled-together, but they also have to find time to go to school, meet their soul mate, have children, and manage a household all while working a full-time job to supplement the family income. And while the U.S. women’s team claims that pressure makes them, I believe that the pressure to be a women today is just too much for any one to handle.
Example A:
Scary, right? But true, more true than many of us are willing to admit.
But it’s different for women athletes. The members of the United States Women’s Soccer Team, and any professional female athlete, should be loudly applauded several times a day. For starters, they are being paid to do what they love (not getting paid very much though…check out their salaries set by a 2006 contract here). And, icing on the cake here, they are doing what they love and simultaneously breaking into a field (excuse the pun) that is primarily dominated by men.
These women are working – HARD. And they are essentially obligated to; this sport, purely fun for some, is their job. Why is it that the simple act of doing their jobs well automatically slap a derogatory term on them?
I mean, how many of you out there are pulling 3-a-day workouts?
I refer again to the most popular definition, courtesy of urbandictionary.com:
Butch: “an overtly/stereotypically masculine or masculine-acting woman. can be used to denote an individual, or the dominant role in a lesbian relationship.”
Working out three times a day, seven days a week, is going to render one rather muscular. More muscles mean less fat. Guess what? Breasts and buttocks are fatty tissue. Female athletes are skinny and have small breasts and butts mostly due to their extreme fitness, NOT because they are “overly masculine”.
And if I was running around and sweating that much, I know I would chop my hair off as soon as I could get my hands on some scissors. Short hair is quick and easy to wash, requires extremely minimal styling, and IS NOT LIMITED TO BEING A BOY’S HAIR CUT.
A short list of stunning women who have/had short hair: Audrey Hepburn. Twiggy. Emma Watson. Robyn. Rihanna. Halle Berry. I could go on.
Abby Wambach and Megan Rapinoe look fantastic AND practical with their cropped ‘do’s, in my opinion.
And if members of the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team are homosexuals: so what? That doesn’t change anything about them as a soccer player, except that now they are role models for both the female and the homosexual athletic communities. U.S. coach Pia Sundhage openly came out last year on Swedish television; double kudos to her.
Additionally, no matter how “masculine” these athletes may appear, they are still built different from men. Emily Sohn of Discovery.com asserted that, due to their smallness and a lower likelihood of faking falls, women’s soccer games are “slower, less explosive, easier to follow, and more pure.” (I recommend reading the full article here.) How about them apples?
In truth, I wish I possessed the rockin’ bod all 21 members of that soccer squad currently representing the United States have. Unfortunately, I make my living doing something I don’t quite enjoy (Translation: exercise is not my legitimate profession).
I just do not understand why the general population does not join me in finding these players beautiful. They are working their non-existent butts off to become a source of pride for our country by winning the 2011 World Cup, and all we can do is say they look like men? C’mon, people.
It’s time to break the stereotypes so often thrusted on female athletes. And perhaps more importantly, it’s time to stop using the term “butch”. Because who says that “butch” can’t be beautiful?
Even though it’s been a week since I drove down Michigan Avenue and out of Brooklyn, Michigan (the complete opposite of its famous counterpart in NY), I still cannot stop thinking and talking about my short sojourn among the NASCAR fans of the Midwest.
Why was I suddenly immersed in that kind of culture shock, you ask?
Long story short, my cross-country club at college makes most of our year’s funding by ushering at the races every summer.
Whatever last weekend was, it was definitely an experience.
Urbandictionary.com defines “redneck” as a ”mildly offensive term for a lower class white person from the southeastern states of the USA.” Well, I can tell you from first hand experience, they also exist in the Midwest.
Most people probably call to mind an image along the lines of this when they encounter that term:
Tasty, right?
And while as an anthropologist (and as a non-judgemental person in general) I hate to enhance stereotypes, I cannot help but to lend a hand to this one.
The NASCAR races at the Michigan International Speedway was not merely a one day event, but a 4-day weekend extravaganza that folks from all over Middle America (and Canada) came to see. Dawning their most patriotic of clothes, they flocked to the stadium loaded with firewood, fireworks, and plenty of beer.
Picture the movie Cars, only a little bit…dare I say…trashier? I mean, the infield of the 2-miles-in-circumference track was full of painted school buses, RVs, and decades old Winnebagos a la Lone Starr in Spaceballs.
And for those who were truly roughing it (us), there was ample open grassy areas in which to pitch a tent. We were lucky enough to be located right by the johns (Note to readers: if you ever go into one of those, don’t look down. Just don’t.).
Things to know about the MIS: you don’t need a shirt (and why would you want one when it would cover up your tattoo of an alien smoking something illegal? True story). Shoes are not required. And, as long as it’s not in a hard cooler, you can bring in your own booze! But don’t worry, if you forgot your 12-pack of Bud Light, there are several places to purchase some refreshing alcoholic beverages on-site.
C’mon. Why would you NOT want to watch cars drive around in a circle for 3 hours when some of society’s standards are thrown out the window?
Okay, time to put the brakes on the sarcasm, and the non-ethnocentric attitude. Because that’s not the point of this post.
Slightly racist tattoos, freely flowing alcohol, and shirtless sunburned overweight individuals aside, I actually had a fantastic time last weekend. While I am not a country music person, nor do I particularly love sleeping on the ground, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
Being immersed in almost a completely different kind of culture is, quite literally, a life-changing experience, especially as a born-and-bred suburbanite.
Say what you will about them, but I maintain that there is no such thing as a mean redneck. Alright, time to stop using that term as well…I mean rural person. There’s no such thing as a mean rural person. Some of the race fans whom I directed to their seats proved themselves to be overly friendly, but that was mostly due to over-intoxication.
Even as I told people over and over again that they could not smoke under the grandstands, they were all extremely polite and apologetic. As someone who has worked in the food service industry for 4 years now, I cannot stress the fact enough that a little politeness and common courtesy goes a long way. These people were nicer than most of the quote-unquote “classy” guests that I wait on every day of my life. Who would have known?
And for the record, watching the race from the grandstand entrance was one of the coolest experiences of my life. Every time the cars rushed past, I got a face-full of tire shreds and track dirt. Dirty little secret: I loved every bit of rubber that ended up stuck in my hair. Standing only a few yards from cars that are traveling at 190 miles per hour is purely indescribable. And even though it lasted over 3 hours, it almost never got boring (although it did get very messy).
As I left, I could not help composing a mental note to myself to bring my future children here. In this day and age, it seems as though life moves at 190 miles per hour. People need their space. True human interaction has become more and more obsolete as the internet social media sites gain more and more power. Outings center on viewing the main event, then getting out as quickly as possible. What happened to “getting there is half the fun?”
Puppets get it. Why don’t we?
No, I will definitely be going back there in the future, as more than a worker. Father’s Day weekend at MIS was truly a humbling experience, to say the least. Being surrounded by people who all share a passion for an event and are forced into such close quarters, but still manage to maintain a cheerful disposition, is something I would not mind living through again.
