To open the show, a long, somber instrumental section came through the speakers — so long that the audience’s cheers faltered. Then band members and, finally, Samuel Holden Jaffe hopped on stage. The upbeat introduction to “NFU” started playing, and Jaffe ran and danced across the stage. 

The first thing my friend said to me was, “Oh my god, he is so drunk right now.” Sure enough, he had a sway in his step, and when he started singing, he clutched the microphone like a lifeline. Sometimes he leaned at an angle, and other times he’d point at the audience with a limp, awkwardly outstretched hand. Whether or not he was actually under the influence is impossible to know, but be that as it may, his stage presence suggested that he was quite intoxicated. 

The first few songs he played were fine and the crowd reacted appropriately. However, there wasn’t that feeling of being one living, breathing organism that I long for at concerts. The reason I go to concerts is because it feels magical to hear hundreds of voices echoing my favorite songs, to feel like I’m a part of something larger than myself. Initially, I didn’t get that from the DWG show. Of course, the reactions of the crowd are not entirely caused by the singer, but there was a disconnect that I think both parties contributed to during Monday’s show. 

The most profound disappointment I had was when Jaffe performed “Chastain.” It’s one of his older songs that resonated with me when I was a senior in high school. I listened to it on repeat during the pandemic — it both brought me to tears and comforted me at the same time. But I just wasn’t that impressed with seeing it live. Up until then, I was a firm believer that the live version of a song is always better than the recording. Jaffe, unfortunately, proved me wrong; it was choppy, offbeat, and the instrumentals quickly became way too loud for a song that is slow and melancholic. I couldn’t hear the same emotion in his voice at the show; his singing was stoic at best, slurred and messy at worst. One of the most powerful lines in the song, “I don’t wanna be a ghost when I’m dead / I think I’m tired of jumpscares,” didn’t feel like a gut punch at all ­— they were just words. It most certainly did not have the cathartic effect I had expected.

The show continued, and I was feeling pretty sour. The song I’d looked forward to most had come and passed, and I was unimpressed. A turning point was marked, thankfully, when Jaffe gave a speech between “Alone Together” and “Glitter & Honey.” The speech was somewhat eloquent, somewhat predictable, and can be summarized along the lines of “I wrote these songs when I was doing pretty poorly, but hey, it got better for me, so if you’re doing poorly, don’t worry too much, it’ll get better for you too.” It was simple but sweet, and it resonated.

From then on, the atmosphere steadily improved. Jaffe’s vocals began to shine through more, and I remembered the reason I like DWG so much. So many of his songs have a desperate sense to them — they are dramatic in the best way possible. There is an urgency to his ballads about love and heartbreak, I listen to his songs and I feel like I’m on the cusp of something big. He stacked the last part of the set with some of his most upbeat songs, which I think worked to his advantage. He had a bit too much energy for some of the slower, sorrowful numbers, but this energy was what ultimately engaged the crowd with his last five or so songs before the encore. Finally, the crowd had seemed to warm up. During “Perfume” and “All We Ever Do Is Talk,” the whole audience was jumping and singing along — we felt like one connected being. The end of the show is what I’ll remember the most, and with quite a bit of fondness. 

For the encore, Jaffe finally seemed to get the note of desperation that is so prominent in his recorded music with “We Will Never Be Like Anybody Else.” As he belted out the impassioned lyrics, I wondered if, perhaps, he was just nervous at the beginning of the show. Maybe that was why “Chastain” felt rushed, and this one was so gripping. The finale of the show, “Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat,” was strong. I left the venue, bought the obligatory band T-shirt, and overall, felt satisfied. 

Everything starts with communication. 

“At first, we send emails to management,” Abrams said. “We look up any musical artists that we want. We look up their websites or social media and get in touch with their booking person or to them directly.”

The conversation then goes on to cover any financial aspects. 

“We ask how much they would want — money-wise — from us,” Abrams said. “If we get a response, we then start communicating logistics about the date, maybe trying to lower the price. Then we get contracts from them.” 

Once the day of the concert arrives, we get to Abrams’ favorite part of their job.

 “When I get a good crowd for a show that I put on, it means the world to me,” Abrams said. “It’s a total community-building activity, and it makes me realize how many people love the music that I listen to as well.” 

Abrams’ love for The ’Sco is certainly shared among the Oberlin student community. Thanks to the efforts of Abrams and their five current co-bookers, The ’Sco continues to flourish as a popular evening venue. Promoters rotate to take on individual shows with the musical artists of their choosing and follow them through that process. Abrams is proudest to have personally booked Jeffrey Lewis and Dear Nora last year, among many others.

“There’s no downside to putting on these shows,” Abrams said. “Even if it’s not a huge crowd, we can all just get a little personal concert.”

The bookers also get to meet some of their musical idols in person. One of Abrams’ favorite artists, Jonathan Richman, founded the proto-punk band The Modern Lovers and is a successful solo rock ‘n’ roll singer-songwriter.

“We were able to have a really nice conversation,” Abrams said.

Though Abrams had seen Richman in concert before, this night was special, as the two were able to talk after the show about growing up in the Boston area. However, it’s not only after the concert that bookers get to spend time with the artists.

“We are there when they arrive, and we welcome them,” said Abrams. “We show them around the town if they have time before soundcheck, and sometimes they stay at the hotel. It’s always nice when they do because then they’re close by. We do soundcheck, and they get to chill for a bit before they actually put on the show. Then it’s the show, and it’s very exciting.”

This past Thursday, The ’Sco brought in Suzzy Roche and Lucy Wainwright Roche, with an opening act by Conservatory fourth-year vocalist Sehréa N’dayu. Next week, there’s even more to come. On Nov. 14, The ’Sco will be welcoming Lealani, a multi-instrumentalist all the way from Pomona, CA, along with student opener Whaleshark. This is all the manifestation of the impassioned efforts of our bookers — seeing the process through from paperwork to performance.

Abrams encourages any interested Oberlin students to become involved in the booking process. Otherwise, head on over to the basement of Wilder and enjoy the incredible music and community brought right to your doorstep.

“I think that it’s overall one of the coolest jobs that I will ever get in my life,” Abrams said. “Being able to create such a special space for students is a really amazing opportunity.”

Laufey trained as a classical musician, graduating from Berklee College of Music in 2021, but has cited jazz musicians such as Ella Fitzgerald and Chet Baker as some of her biggest influences. In an article for Vogue Singapore, Janice Sim described how she is popularizing the genre among teenagers. 

“In today’s zeitgeist, the role Laufey plays is a monumental one,” Sim wrote. “Gen-Z’s answer to the renaissance of jazz. In a time where memetic sounds inundate the Top 100 charts, her sound is an invigorating reprieve. Her take on modern jazz swings between pop and classical, while unabashedly serenading her wide pool of fans with personal encounters that speak of love, self and identity via her lyrics — almost her way of journaling.”

Laufey’s appeal to Gen Z is in part thanks to the impact of her popularization of jazz and classical music within the “sad Wasian” community. The way she blends genres is reflective of her experience growing up with a blended identity as one of the only Asian kids in her community in Iceland. She represents a greater opportunity for Asian artists to forge their own styles and make music that reflects the environments that they’ve grown up in. There’s no single lyric or genre that can properly describe the pain, loneliness, or isolation of that experience, so Laufey uses multiple. For instance, her songs “Let You Break My Heart Again” and “Nocturne (Interlude)” are both classical pieces and have been performed in large symphony orchestras such as the Iceland Symphony Orchestra and the Los Angeles Philharmonic. However, she can also express her feelings of jealousy and inadequacy with a simple bassline in songs such as “Magnolia” or “Second Best.” 

In general, her music is empowering younger audiences, Asian or not, to talk about their own feelings, whether it’s imagining a future with a stranger on a park bench or appreciating the joys of having a best friend. It’s important for Asian artists to be represented in mainstream music after decades of erasure, and it’s special that Laufey is able to embrace her identities as a musician and as a person with her own style, lyricism, and genre. 

Editor-in-Chief Nikki Keating and I attended her concert at the House of Blues in Cleveland this Tuesday. In her encore, she sang “Letter To My 13 Year Old Self,” and before singing, she stated that the song was a reflection of her childhood experiences and what the future would later hold for her. Alone on stage with nothing but her bass and illuminated by spotlights as the starry night effect from the main show dimmed, Laufey delivered her letter to Cleveland, singing, “I’m so sorry that they pick you last / Try to say your foreign name and laugh / I know that you feel loud, so different from the crowd / Of big blue eyes, and long blonde hair, and boys that stare.” 

Everyone in the crowd, whether they were college students looking for something to do with a school night or older couples celebrating their love, felt the impact of her words. By giving voice to the sadness and nostalgia of her youth through the variety of genres that she navigates, her music sheds light on the progress and hope that Asian artists can have in the industry to fully express their emotions and spirit in their work, and in preparation for the next heartbreak, depression, or grief that fans of the “sad Wasian” archetype will inevitably live through.

As I listened to some of their hit songs while hastily making my way over on Saturday, I was immediately struck by the trill of the lead singers’ voices. This was especially clear in their most popular song, “I Wanna Prove to You,” in which the singers repeatedly croon the same lyric. Despite my slight aversion to their vocals, I could see how their upbeat sound, which clearly had passion behind it, would make for a lively concert experience.

I arrived right when the show began, and as the band came on, I could tell my prediction was correct: unlike the overpowering droning of the vocals in their recorded tracks, the D’Addarios had pleasant voices which meshed well with the talent of the additional members of their touring band, Danny Ayala on bass and Reza Matin mainly on drums. With the band, The Lemon Twigs were able to create a much more holistic sound. It felt less like vocals over a track and more like separate pieces of a whole coming together.

An essential part of The Lemon Twigs experience was watching how they were able to engage the audience. At the beginning of the set during “The One” and “In My Head,” students were still trickling in. However, even after about 10 minutes into the show, there wasn’t much of a dynamic between band and audience. It seemed like Oberlin was skeptical. Maybe they were all thinking what I was thinking — Is this band any good? Or is it just another variation of every other indie rock group with sub-500,000 Spotify listeners? Students are known to have high standards for what they consider to be good music, but they’re also known to keep an open mind and take advantage of all the opportunities to hear free live music provided to them.

It seemed that The Lemon Twigs were picking up on this apprehension and somewhat contributing to it themselves. For the first half of their set, the band performed stiffly and didn’t often address the audience between songs. There was a mutual unsureness between audience and performer, with The Lemon Twigs appearing uncomfortable with Oberlin and Oberlin not knowing if they were spending their Saturday at the right place.

However, about halfway through the set, there started to be a noticeable vibe change, in large part due to bassist and singer Brian D’Addario. When not singing, D’Addario started to loosen up with the crowd, jumping around, kicking his legs up, and coming up to audience members in the front rows and playing right at their cameras. D’Addario earned a loud cheer from the audience every time he interacted with them without fail.

As audience and band developed a rapport with each other, the quality in music started to increase as well. There was a particular shift after they played “I Wanna Prove to You” and then introduced themselves with a little back and forth with the audience. After that halfway point, the enthusiastic head bopping of the audience spread beyond just those in the front row, the cheering after each song became increasingly louder, and in return, The Lemon Twigs’ passion which had been so present in their recorded tracks started to appear live as well.

By the end of the set the crowd was fully invested, with the final two songs on the setlist, “Rock Dreams” and “Leather Together” getting nearly the whole room dancing along. It was jarring going from the high energy of the closing song to the band’s awkward goodbye when they left before the animated cheers of the audience had died down.

As I left, what stuck with me most was not the music I had listened to but the feeling of observing the relationship between crowd and band grow so much over the course of just ninety minutes. The Lemon Twigs proved to the audience that they were more than just a pair of brothers whose dad is hyperlinked on their Spotify page. Instead, because they could actually engage with their audience, concert-goers were able to get over their skepticism and enjoy the sound and energy of musicians embracing their passion

During the opening track — arguably the best on the album — Rodrigo has found her voice. She begins the song in a soft way, her tone sincere. It is only with her lyric, “I’ve got sun in my motherfuckin’ pocket, best believe,” at the end of the first verse that she starts to hint at the underlying anger she soon releases in the chorus. From then on, the song becomes an anthem, her singing becoming sharper and the instrumentals sounding edgier. It isn’t until the end that she regains her softness, calming down her fury. This is when she asserts that she is “grateful all the time,” composing herself in a way women are all too familiar with. The journey of “all-american bitch” reminded me of America Ferrera’s monologue in Barbie — both women are making points that barely scratch at the surface of feminism, yet need to be said. In other words, I don’t think Rodrigo is saying anything groundbreaking, but her vocal critique of how society treats female celebrities and women in general is highly necessary. Not to mention, the song is a bop. 

I loved Rodrigo’s previous album SOUR. Pop is not necessarily my go-to music genre, but Rodrigo just did everything right in her debut album. It was cohesive, honest, and featured her stellar vocals — how she hits those high notes in “drivers license” is beyond me. That said, the songs that intrigued me most on SOUR were those that were a bit punchier than the rest, particularly “brutal,” “good 4 u,” and “jealousy, jealousy.” These songs stood out from the rest for their brutal — pun intended — honesty about who she is and how she perceives the world. It is this style — the gritty, incisive power-pop — that I’m so glad she carried forward into GUTS. Alongside the opener, “bad idea right?”, “ballad of a homeschooled girl,” and “get him back!” all struck me as a continuation of what she’d hinted at in SOUR: she has more to her than somber heartbreak ballads. This is where Rodrigo shines. 

Sometimes her lack of longevity in the music industry is obvious. I wasn’t impressed with the central metaphor in “making the bed” and the lyric “skin like puff pastry” in “lacy” irked me to no end. Maybe I’m just a snob who has worked in a pastry shop before, but I simply can’t picture skin being like puff pastry. Those two songs got stuck in my head — not in the fun, upbeat way the others did, but in how many times she repeated the title during the song. On the other hand, Rodrigo demonstrates that she does know how to produce compelling lyrics in songs like “vampire,” with its fast paced rhymes and imagery, or “the grudge,” with its show-stopping line “your flowers filled with vitriol.” 

Despite my critique of certain songs, Rodrigo has done what I believe all good writing should do: she has taken the individual and made it universal. When SOUR came out, the story of her heartbreak with Joshua Bassett was horrifically publicized; there is no denying that her privacy was shattered. She made the best possible thing she could out of that situation with SOUR, and has subsequently elaborated on it with GUTS. She has a remarkable ability to make girls her age feel heard. 

The final song of the album, “teenage dream,” is an apologetic, gut-wrenching song about failing to live up to expectations. Rodrigo is speaking from the perspective of a pop-star, yet simultaneously as a teenager/young adult. She vocalizes what was certainly my long-time fear, and what I imagine plagues teens in general: “They all say that it gets better / It gets better the more you grow / Yeah, they all say that it gets better / It gets better, but what if I don’t?” She repeats these lines four times in the outro of the song, allowing them time to really sink in. Here, she doesn’t sugarcoat, she doesn’t pretend to be cheerful and optimistic. She is honest, and in that, she is defining herself. 

Originally from Singapore and Malaysia and currently based in New York, FIG made memories and bonded with students. Her latest single, “Seeking for Connection,” describes a desire to rid oneself of a lingering loneliness. A line in the chorus repeats “are you seeking for connection?” These words seemed to be a personal inquiry by FIG, asking each individual in the audience to disregard their supposed role of a distant crowd member and instead actively partake in the process of performance. 

“Let’s see who can sing the loudest,” FIG said before splitting the audience in half. 

Her 2022 single, “Pair of You,” consisted of two distinct lines in the chorus she assigned to each half of the room. FIG led the right half to repeat after her “I don’t wanna love you like that, no,” while assigning the left half “I don’t wanna love you like you love you.” After a couple practice rounds, it was on. Knowing that she was a small indie singer whose songs were likely unfamiliar to most Obies, FIG had clearly prepared a plan to cultivate as much engagement as a rising artist could. In this singing competition that occurred each chorus, she successfully sought and gained connection with the wide-eyed audience members, laughter arising at each lyric slip-up.

Unconventionally structured, the most shocking addition to FIG’s setlist was perhaps the trivia break. Featuring three rounds of common knowledge questions, the choice of prizes was more unpredictable than the trivia itself. Awaiting FIG’s instruction with both their pride and bragging rights at stake, a hush fell over the crowd.

“Who can name all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?” FIG announced as the first question, and the crowd’s silence quickly transitioned into eager screams and jumping hands. “What do you call the longest side of a triangle?” she asked as the second. “How many hearts does an octopus have?” 

Following each question was a flurry of panicked remarks, excited cries, and desperate glances at friends to get them to team up and rise to victory. FIG had managed to create an environment of passionate participation. Most artists do this by developing a large fanbase that knows the lyrics to each of their songs by heart; FIG did the same thing by presenting elementary-level trivia to a room full of college students. Imagine the enthusiasm you and your classmates convey when the professor displays a Kahoot on the screen in the midst of a typical lecture. Multiply that by 10. To the victors, FIG handed out the following prizes: a box of raspberries, a bag of carrots, and a graphic t-shirt depicting herself dropping a bagel. Each prize was received with the same level of cheering as is given to a sports team when they secure another win.

As the trivia break came to a close, FIG encouraged the audience to find a place to sit, whether it was on a couch or the floor. This marked the humble transition to a set of four slower acoustic songs. Although there was no physical bonfire, the same effects persisted. I was a child again, warmed by the crackling fire, with sparks reflected in my dilated pupils. The buzz and rush of trivia settled down into a calm feeling of unity. We were no longer standing, stretching out our necks and lifting our heels to catch a glimpse of the stage. Our heads were level, and there was no competition to achieve the highest status in the room. 

This sweep of modesty covered not only the audience but FIG herself.

 “I want to shout out the openers, Madhav. They were so sick.Round of applause!” She redirected the crowd’s attention to the six performers sitting several feet from the stage. Madhav opened the night with a set of four songs finished off by a cover of Bruno Mars’ “Finesse,” featuring solos from each member and the main vocalist’s rich, jazzy tone. 

For one unreleased acoustic song in particular, FIG provided a sentimental backstory, allowing the audience to personally relate our own experiences while swaying to the slow melodies and guitar strums. She took the audience members back to our high school days, recalling old friends that we may have lost contact with.

 “We were friends in that moment and it was really special,” she said. “I can look back at pictures and memories … but it’s okay to move on from those friendships.”

As the evening neared its end, I soaked up the last bits of indie harmonies, orange lighting, and chocolate-chip cookie aromas. I left but at the same time took things with me — the comfort, the warmth, and the unexpected moments of amusement that this small venue was able to hold. 

The opening song, “De Selby (Part 1),” has a dark, dreamy quality, highlighting the overall feel of the album, but after this introduction, the story shifts. “First Time” talks about Hozier’s repulsion to hearing his own name, referencing drinking from the river Lethe, a mythological river in the ancient Greek underworld that causes the drinker to forget all of their memories. This combination of classic and modern storytelling continues throughout the album, creating several layers of meaning for the listener to dissect.

Hozier brings us deeper into his religious references with “Francesca,” a song about Francesca da Rimini, a character from Dante’s Divine Comedy who is trapped in eternal damnation with her lover after they were discovered and murdered by her husband. The song highlights Francesca’s commitment and unyielding love for her partner with a chorus of “If someone asked me at the end / I’ll tell them put me back in it / Darling, I would do it again.” 

Hozier’s transitions from songs demonstrates the story of this album as a cohesive unit. From “Francesca” to the devastatingly gentle “I, Carrion (Icarian)” followed by “Eat Your Young,” each song adds to the overall meaning he is trying to convey. Francesca “flew too close to the sun” with her affair, as it were; then, in “I, Carrion (Icarian),” Hozier weaves the myth of Icarus into a love story, the Earth being held up by the “you” referenced in the song and falling away from the speaker. The song is filled with dreamy lines and clever wordplay, such as “If these heights should bring my fall / Let me be your own / Icarian carrion.”

In referencing Icarus, “I, Carrion (Icarian)” brings to mind the myth and how Icarus’ father Daedalus was the one who gave him the wings. This brings us into “Eat Your Young,” a song about the ways in which the adults of the world have sacrificed the lives and futures of their children by creating weapons and destroying resources. With lyrics like, “Skinning the children for a war drum / Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns / It’s quicker and easier to eat your young,” Hozier makes a graphic argument against the military-industrial complex and the ways in which the previous generations have cursed their successors.

Hozier continues his critique of society with the song “Damage Gets Done” featuring Brandi Carlile. The song is about the ways in which it sets people up to fail, particularly people who struggle financially. The lines, “Wish I’d known it was just our turn / Being blamed for a world we had no power in” demonstrates the helplessness of the situation and the ways in which society blames the victims of financial oppression rather than helping them.

“Who We Are” has similar themes to “Damage Gets Done,” describing the feeling of giving your life to an intangible dream, only to struggle to define yourself and slowly lose what made the dream worthwhile. It also continues the focus on nighttime and dreamscapes, with lines like “We’re born at night” and talking about how pushing through the dark to get through life is just part of who we are. 

Hozier’s identity crisis continues in the gut-wrenching lament “Butchered Tongue” and the successor “Anything But.” The first verse of “Butchered Tongue” shows the ways in which language connects people and cultures, as well as the connection between language and identity. The last lines of the chorus, “A butchered tongue still / Singin’ here above the ground,” foreshadow the song’s direction. The lyrics go on to describe young men with their ears chopped off, being punished for speaking their native languages, and the ways that oppressive societies have used language to fuel cultural genocides. Emphasized by the use of Gaelic throughout the album, this song is a scathing criticism of the treatment of these communities and a defiant statement that the language is still here — while the tongue may be butchered, it still sings aboveground. In almost direct contrast, “Anything But” describes escapism in its truest form. With lyrics such as “I don’t wanna be anything / But I would do anything just to run away” we see the desire to escape the corporeal self and disappear.

“Abstract (Psychopomp)” is about a memory Hozier has of a child saving a half-dead animal from the road. The song is about small acts of gentleness and also an acceptance that this animal will die, as all things must end. This continues the theme of acceptance and change created in the song “All Things End” earlier in the album. The alternate title of this song, “Psychopomp,” is a term for Greek spirit guides in the underworld.

“Unknown/Nth” was one of the singles that came out before the full album, like “Francesca” and “De Selby (Part 2).” The song describes how the worst part of a heartbreak is being unknown, particularly the chorus. This alternate title, “Nth,” is a continuation of the theme of religious or classical references by bringing to mind the ninth circle of hell, treachery. This is the worst punishment a soul can face and is the final element of darkness before the triumphant and cleansing “First Light.”

“First Light,” the final song in Unreal Unearth, wraps the album up spectacularly. With clamoring instrumentals and a pulsing rhythm, Hozier demonstrates the feeling of waking up after a disturbing night of dreams and visions. The triumphant feeling woven through the song brings the listener a sense of completion, that the ordeal is over.

This Thursday, musicians from Oberlin and other areas of Northeast Ohio performed at the Allen Memorial Art Museum to conclude the year-long Shared Art program. In the courtyard behind the museum, the group of musicians debuted an original composition by Caleb Smith, OC ’19, inspired by this year’s shared artwork; “These Urban City Streets” by Cleveland-based artist Michelangelo Lovelace.

The Shared Art program started in 2021 as a way to introduce incoming students to the Allen and engage them in conversations around a piece of art in the museum’s collection. During orientation, first-year students look at and discuss the shared artwork in their PAL groups and attend the Shared Art Block Party hosted by the Allen, where they can enjoy snacks, crafts, and other activities while viewing the art and exploring the museum. Thursday’s event emerged from the Shared Art program organizers’ desire for another event to bookend the program and conclude the year-long conversation surrounding the work.

“We thought it’d be really fun and exciting to bring in some artists from the Cleveland area since Michelangelo Lovelace, the painter, was born and raised in Cleveland and lived his whole life in Cleveland,” Curatorial Assistant Julia Alexander, OC ’22, said. “So we were thinking, ‘What artist can we bring in?’ And then we kind of landed on music as something that’d be really exciting.”

According to Alexander and Curator of Academic Programs Hannah Wirta Kinney, featuring artists from Cleveland was important because the work, like much of Lovelace’s art, was centered around the city. ‘These Urban City Streets” colorfully depicts a bird’s-eye view of a Cleveland neighborhood, stressing both the vibrancy and the grittiness of the environment and community. The artwork chosen for the program always involves the theme of place and how it affects who people are and the art they create.

“Lovelace has this way of depicting Cleveland in a very honest and raw way but very lovingly,” Alexander said. “I think it really has opened up conversations on what is a hometown and especially for incoming first-years [because] they’re coming to a new place and suddenly Oberlin is their new home.”’

When Alexander reached out to Smith, who grew up in Cleveland, about finding local musicians, Smith said he would not only be willing to perform and assemble an ensemble, but he would also like to write a piece inspired by Lovelace’s work, which the Allen agreed to commission.

While composing, Smith said he listened to recordings of Lovelace, who died in 2021, to better understand Lovelace’s artistic process and the experiences that informed his work. Smith said he also focused on the textures in the artwork and tried to recreate that musically.

“A lot of [Lovelace’s] pieces you’ll see are kind of a bird’s-eye view,” Smith said. “He wanted to gather the entirety of the landscape. A lot of his pieces use rough things like sand and whatnot. So, [I was] thinking about music that spans a wide range of different textures. … You think about the basic textures involved with the piece and then you try to do that musically.”

Alexander and Kinney expressed that including both music and visual art was important to connect to different audiences. Kinney says she feels that the two art forms together can allow for greater engagement from everyone.

“I think when we bring in these different ways to get at questions or ideas that artists are grappling with, we can all find our own entry point,” Kinney said. “So maybe someone who knows how to listen to music much better than me can listen to that composition tomorrow and suddenly see something in the Michelangelo Lovelace that they never saw before. Or the alternative is, I look at the Michelangelo Lovelace, [while] I’m listening to this music, and I can suddenly be like, ‘Oh, so that sound, that rhythm, that pattern is what this is like in paint,’”

Given its accessibility to both music and visual art lovers, Kinney and Alexander said that they hoped that this event would attract people from all parts of the Oberlin community, including both community members, those affiliated with the College, as well as act to help connect Oberlin students to the greater Northeast Ohio region through the participation of local musicians. Alexander added a major goal was to make people feel comfortable in a museum setting.

“I think that it’s easy for the museum to be seen as a quiet space or a space that’s kind of one dimensional, a relationship between a viewer and an object,” Alexander said. “But I think that we’ve been trying to kind of turn that narrative on its head in a lot of ways. … So I think the multimedia approach that we’re trying to use is really just a way of making people feel really comfortable in the museum setting.” 

“I feel like we’re definitely being a little bit insane,” College fourth-year and ADC Public Outreach board member Anokha Venugopal said. “With how we’ve been planning it, there [are] so many moving parts.”

Those moving parts can partly be attributed to the ways RADIANCE is unique from prior ANMs. The venue, Heisman Club Field House, is larger than previous locations and, on top of the typical vendors and the addition of Solarity performances, RADIANCE will introduce a temporary gallery space showcasing the work of Asian student artists.

This is the first time ANM has been a collaboration between organizers of distinct events, and the practice is off to a strong start with RADIANCE poised to host two headlining artists. The first headliner, Red Baraat, is a band playing “a merging of hard driving North Indian bhangra with elements of hip-hop, jazz, and raw punk energy,” according to its label. The second headliner, TiaCorine, is a rapper of Japanese heritage.

“We were really intentional about wanting at least one Asian artist headliner — and we got two,” Venugopal said.

If the pair of artists seems to be opposites, it’s not just you. College fourth-year and chair of the Asian Diaspora Coalition Zack Lee said that the two headliners were intentionally chosen to be as different as possible.

“[Solarity] … definitely used to have this stereotype for being just not an inclusive space for everyone,” College fourth-year and Solarity co-chair Tali Braun said. “I think there were lots of complaints even in the years prior about people moshing too hard and not really being respectful of the space and also just being kind of more of a white space or more of an athlete space,” “And I think hopefully by collaborating with more organizations, we can show that Solarity isn’t just for certain people.”

The choice of headliners also reflects a bid for diversified narratives within AAPI spaces on campus.

“We’ve been thinking a lot more about trying to decentralize East Asians in this sort of space and trying to find more diversity amongst all of the Asian cultures and traditions that we can represent,” Lee said. “Night market is not just for Asian students, but it is a way of highlighting our culture and our lives and the things that we love to do. That includes singing and dancing and making food and making art and making crafts and spending time together and all of those things which can all happen in this one place.”

The theme of RADIANCE was chosen in part to reflect the vast cultural palette represented in the event’s offerings.

“I think light is an integral part of a lot of cultures, especially Asian cultures,” Venugopal said. “RADIANCE felt like a good encapsulation of that.”

RADIANCE is also a fitting name in the sense that the event is a light at the end of the semester’s tunnel.

“Solarity has just always been a really good time in my experience, and just especially as being the last day of the semester, I think [it] would be a really great opportunity for people to let loose and have fun,” Braun said. “I hope that people are able to have a positive experience and association with Solarity moving forward.”

One of the goals for the leaders of ANM and Solarity was to create a space to celebrate all the work of several cultural organizations on campus.

“I’ve noticed in my time here at Oberlin that some students can feel uncomfortable showing up to cultural events that they do not personally identify with,” Braun said. “At least for ADC, sometimes the events can be purposefully all Asian-identifying people, but sometimes we also want to include other people. Also just encouraging that people show up and out for cultural orgs and then events that they hold, support them financially or in terms of attendance, and in general just raise awareness that they exist on campus and that we want people to be participate.”

Proceeds from the event will be split between Marigold Seeds Collective, a collective for LGBTQ+ South Asians and Indo-Caribbeans; Red Canary Song, a collective for Asian and migrant sex workers; and ASIA, Inc., a health and human services agency for Ohio Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders.

It’s time I talk about my problem with that sentence. And with Tony nominations being released, I feel it is timely to speak on the hate for musical theater. I acknowledge this sentence is often said to me in an attempt to thwart me from playing Hamilton on full blast in the Review office or during a car ride. But even so, as a resident musical theater fan, I must point out the opportunity being missed in refusing to give musical theater music a chance.

To say you don’t like musical theater is to ignore an entire medium with so many subgenres. Musical theater has a true gift in being able to do whatever it wants when creating and producing music. While there are certain common types of musical theater, such as your classical shows like The Phantom of the Opera or The Sound of Music, a plethora of musicals implement all types of music from around the world. For example, The Band’s Visit, which centers around Arabic classical music and traditional Middle Eastern styles, utilizes instruments such as the oud and the darbuka. The sound is completely different from Les Misérables, a pop operetta full of string instruments and woodwinds. The Band’s Visit and Les Mis provide two completely different music
styles that you can enjoy. And much like other genres, there are songs you like from certain artists and shows and songs you don’t particularly like. But you don’t say to someone, “I don’t like rap music,” because you just aren’t a fan of Wiz Khalifa.

It’s also the case that musical theater can change and innovate within its music. Unlike most music that centers on one main singer throughout an album, musical theater showcases individuals and ensembles. Hadestown, for example, utilizes its ensemble as a live machine mimicking sounds from a production line. A Chorus Line is purely composed of ensemble numbers, as each actor generally gets the same stage time and functions as a group in most numbers. Musical theater tells a story through music in a new and exciting way every time. No music is truly ever the same and there is something to love for everyone. I also find it hard for someone to claim that they’ve seen all that musical theater could offer them and still decide not to like it. This is because even I, a musical theater fan of ten years, have yet to listen to every musical. I find myself discovering a new musical every month. And there is a musical for everyone to enjoy at least a little. While I know Hamilton is popular, many others deserve the same chance to shine. Love Percy Jackson? You’re in luck because The Lightning Thief: The Percy Jackson Musical cast album is on Spotify. Want a more serious mu- sical expanding on important issues and experiences while having a unique sound? Take a chance to listen to Next to Normal or Ragtime. Too slow? Queue up Rent. Do you want to listen to a musical based on funk and hip-hop? “Bring in ’da Noise, Bring in ’da Funk fuses the two. Do you hate how people break out into random songs in dance in musicals and find it offputting? Then you should tune into The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals for a laugh.

Even the most obscure situations can be found — for example, Fun Home has a song set in an Oberlin College dorm as the main character comes to terms with her sexuality under Oberlin sheets. Much like movies, anime, and any large form of media, there are so many options to choose from, and to cancel out the entirety of the art is hasty. The list goes on. Every year, musicals are being renewed, reinvented, and created, each with a different and new story to tell. Did you know that Usher appeared in the musical Chicago, starring as celebrity lawyer Billy Flynn? Queen Latifah starred in the movie version of Chicago and was nominated for Best Supporting Actress at the Academy Awards. We seem to forget that many of our favorite celebrities enjoyed theater as performers long before they got recognition. Tupac Shakur was an actor and rapper; Hugh Jackman played the character Wolverine and also played the circus ringleader in The Greatest Showman. I remember how excited I was to see Beyoncé perform in Dreamgirls because it was two of my favorite things appearing together. You’d be surprised how many people enjoy musical theater. Musical theater is open to everyone and not just consumed by that one friend who belts show tunes in your ear. While it’s not played on the radio, and the cast of Hamilton will never perform for Coachella, it still deserves the same respect as the music you listen to.

I think the most important thing to remember is that if you don’t love musicals, I can’t really do anything about it. I acknowledge that people bursting into song and dance at random moments might just be too hard of a pill to swallow. It’s not for everyone, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t treat it respectfully. Everyone has something they are dying to talk to their friends about or blast in the car while speeding down the highway. And if that subject is the new Tony nominations or the revival of the musical Parade, then that is just as valid. Ultimately, being a musical theater fan is just liking a certain type of music like everyone else. There have been many moments where my friend will gush about the new Tyler, the Creator album or Mac DeMarco’s new album with 199 songs. And I would never make fun of someone who looks so happy while talking about it or listening to it as they walk down the street. Give musical theater a shot. You might be surprised.