Pop Culture Cannibalism

One of the fondest memories of my childhood is a simple one. It’s not a surprise trip to Disneyland, or my first kiss, or the unboxing of a brand new video game console at Christmas. No, in fact, it’s more banal than almost anything you could ever imagine. In reality, one of the most saccharine and amber-coated memories of my pre-teens involved sitting in my family’s living room with my best friend on a lazy summer day watching VH1’s I Love The… Series. We sat there lethargically sprawled out on my family’s couch, pacified by the television as we killed an entire bag of those cheap grocery store fudge pops and gleefully watched early 2000’s actors, comedians, and musicians warmly reflect on the pop culture events of yesteryear.

It feels like such a small thing. It wasn’t a “big” event, there was no defining moment, and if you asked me, I probably couldn’t even remember which season of the show we were watching at the time. If you asked my friend, he probably wouldn’t even remember this happening in the first place. It’s lost to time, one of the dozens of other nameless summer days that we all happily wasted enjoying our reprieve from of middle school.

I remember this day because I remember the feeling. I remember appreciating it in the moment, and it’s something I think of often, especially during the summer. I spent the rest of that summer playing video games, running around with friends, and watching as much as of the “I Love The” series possibly could. Luckily my family had just set up our first DVR, so I was able to methodically record every episode of each season and watch them all sequentially.

It felt good. Actually, it felt incredible. It was like a self-imposed history lesson. I felt like I was doing homework that I actually enjoyed. In my mind, I this show was a comprehensive look at every year of pop culture before I was born. It was the first time I was ever “pop culture woke,” and I realized that a lot of important stuff happened before I was born. I made it my duty to study it. This was my first step toward becoming a pop culture historian.

A couple years later in 2008, I listened to my first podcast. That’s a topic deserving of its own post somewhere down the line (it’s something I’ve been working up to for years). But in 2011 that podcast spun-off into its own show and subsequent network: Laser Time. Laser Time is a topic-based podcast that covers the hyper-specific happenings of our pop-cultural landscape. The show has covered everything from bad Beatles covers, and dirty Christmas songs to surprisingly pervasive concepts like 80’s rap commercials and celebrity vanity projects. The network is also home to a comic book show, a video game podcast, a chronological exploration of The Simpsons, and much more.

Amongst the days and days worth of programming on the Laser Time Network, there is a slightly higher-concept show titled Thirty Twenty Ten. Thirty Twenty Ten is a “pop culture time machine” podcast that looks back at the music, movies, TV, and video games of this exact week 30, 20, and 10 years ago. It’s a blast to listen to, and it just recently clicked that I love this podcast for the same reason that I watched I Love The… series as a kid: it’s a fast-paced, unrelenting, and (relatively) comprehensive look back at our own pop culture history. It’s a carnivorous approach to media, one that doesn’t discriminate, and talks about these bits of the past with an absurd amount of reverence… well, as much reverence as you can have with a fart joke every episode.

I mean what other show would take the time to describe the beauty of the 1986 Transformers movie with an earnest and loving 30-minute discussion? And speaking of earnest, what podcast would care to break down the surprisingly-complicated history of Ernest P. Worrell? Hell, what other piece of media would jump from Predator, OK Computer, Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, and the finale of The Sopranos all within in the same episode?

Thirty Twenty Ten is a blitz of pop culture past. Like a train whizzing by at 50 miles an hour where each compartment is a great forgotten album or hilariously-shitty TV movie. The conflux of the host’s knowledge and anecdotes from the audience (like yours truly) combines into a beautiful listening experience that’s unlike anything else out on the digital airwaves right now.

When I sat down to start writing this it was a warm sunny summer afternoon that brought to mind that one day I spent with my friend watching low-budget VH1 programming. Now as the sun sets over the trees I’m grateful that I have a new weekly fix that emulates the same experience, improves upon it, and gives me a 90-minute trip down memory lane every week.

It’s a pop culture geek’s dream.

We’re blessed to live in a world where we can find anything we want in an instant. From childhood recipes to old commercials, to half-remembered lyrics of some distant song. The thing is, most of us don’t take advantage of that resource because these memories aren’t on the forefront of our consciousness. Both I Love The… and Thirty Twenty Ten are great because they capitalize on this information in a way that nobody else is. They’re diving into the rich mine of our shared cultural touch points, and emerging with something from the listener’s own memory. Something that reflects who we are.

Over a decade ago VH1 programmed me to be an absolute dork of a pop culture sponge. Someone who collects, categorizes, and memorizes obsessively. Someone who values the history of art both high and low. It changed my life and made me into the person I am today.

And now Thirty Twenty Ten is reinforcing that. Giving me weekly satiation for my pop cultural hunger. And as my life becomes busier and busier, I can’t be that kid anymore. I can no longer be that middle schooler who spends an entire summer day sitting on his couch downing half a bag of fudgsicles. And as I’ve felt my post-college life whirring into place over the past year I’m grateful to have something like Thirty Twenty Ten there for me when I’m too busy or too tired to do it myself. It’s an absolute joy to have this program and its hosts in my life, and I hope that they continue the show until its logical conclusion. Podcasts have changed my life, and Thirty Twenty Ten is proof that this is all worth it.

Issa Grocery List: Every Reference to Food on 21 Savage's Issa Album

21 Savage is a man of few words, even fewer topics. Like most mainstream rappers in 2017, his songs tend to revolve around the modern day rapper’s delight: money, drugs, jewelry, and women. Of course, the only way to talk about these subjects with any sort of uniqueness is to discuss them in in a Tamarian-like language of punchlines and similes.  

On his latest release Issa Album 21 Savage uses food as a common reference point for many of these tropes. For a guy that makes “murder music,” he seems to have an affinity for common grocery store items to the point where it’s almost jarring. Issa a fantastically-produced album that’s full of bangers and exciting to listen to, but these lines stuck out like a sore thumb on first listen. I’ve compiled every food reference on the album here for your enjoyment.

#1

For those unaware, “cookie” refers to marijuana. A quality play on words and subversion of expectations by 21 here.

#2

Despite some criticism that Pringles aren’t produced or sold individually, this line acts as more of a reference to this common “dad joke” rhyme.

#3

An aggressive allusion to the fact that 21 Savage will unflinchingly shoot you in the head. Either that, or he’s a cartoonish high school bully dumping the nerd’s sodium-laden lunch in the cafeteria.

#4

A crass reference to fellatio. While I imagine “gumbo” is meant to be a clever reference to meat, I would personally find a comparison between my genitalia and the southern comfort food less than flattering.

#5

21 Savage is known for being a true street rapper with a troubled past. In contrast to many of his peers in the genre, his personality stems from experience while others tend to merely put up a facade of savagery.

#6

In one of the more braggadocious food-related similes on the record, 21 compares his style and essence to the freshest garnish in the kitchen: mint.

#7

A surprisingly-veiled and localized lyric referencing an Atlanta-based prison where 21 (presumably) consumed a great number of meals consisting of soup.

#8

I’m not even sure what this one means.

#9

A shoutout to this bakeware brand whose glassware is commonly used in cooking crack cocaine (or wrapping up leftovers.)

Thanks for reading

Japanese Breakfast – Soft Sounds From Another Planet | Album Review

Oh her sophomore album Michelle Zauner stretches the boundaries of space, time, and love.

Japanese Breakfast began as therapy. An outlet for Michelle Zauner to stitch together scraps of feelings and lo-fi pieces of self-help as a way to cope with life. Initially conceived as a solo spin-off from the Philadelphia-based Little Big League, Japanese Breakfast soon grew into a full-on meditation of death, guilt, and humanity that culminated in 2016’s unparalleled Psychopomp. Clocking in at a blazing 25 minutes, the album tackles life from every angle, directly contrasting the bliss of love with the impenetrable grief of loss. It’s a raw view of life that can only come from losing a parent.  

In her second album as a solo act, Michelle turns her focus toward what comes after death. At its core, Soft Sounds From Another Planet is an album about intimacy. Real intimacy. Love that is complicated, and modernized, and imperfect. It’s not quite as heavy of a listen as Psychopomp but manages to address the broad subject in an equally honest and poetic way.

Soft Sounds opens with the absurdly-groovy “Diving Woman.” A spaced-out bass-driven 6-minute epic that sounds like a track off of a Breeders album or a forgotten Sonic Youth b-side. Based on pre-release interviews, this song seems to be the album’s “thesis” drawing parallels between relationships in 2017 and the Korean tradition of female sea divers called haenyeo.

After outlining her aim to be a “woman of regimen” Michelle repeatedly sings her desires: “I want it all.” After flashes of faded drugs and dead animals Michelle addresses a third party “When I get back there, baby / Gonna make it a home” which is followed up with “You’ll have it all / We’ll have it all.” It’s still a song about insatiability, but also wanting somebody to share it with. The tracks’ jangly 3-minute outro provides a meditative period for the listener to reflect on the tracks’ reassurances that “We’ll have it all.”  

From there Michelle ventures back into the grimy and dark word of modern day Philadelphia with “Road Head” where she recounts the visceral sex scene of a failed relationship over a dreamy soundscape. It’s a sexy but unsettling song, especially when paired with the song’s self-directed video. The outro of this song finds Michelle toying with her own vocal samples on a loop board over the now-familiar beat.

As a side note: I’ve had “Road Head” stuck in my head since seeing the band live in June. Witnessing Michelle improvise this song’s extended outro on her loop board was one of the musical highlights of my year so far. I still haven’t been able to make it through the album without rewinding to listen to this track at least once.

From there the “Road Head” bleeds warmly into the swirl and artificial air of “Machinist” which serves as the album’s lead single. When played live, Michelle introduces “Machinist” as ‘a song about falling in love with a robot.’ The track opens with a calmly-delivered monologue by Michelle that sound as if she’s talking to you directly. “I don’t know how it happened / Was it always this way, and I just couldn’t see it? / Heart burning hot enough for the both of us / I never realized how much you were holding back.” It’s a painful set of lines that immediately launches into a dancy explosion of instrumentation and distorted vocals.

“Machinist” concludes with a chorus that calls back directly to the album’s first track: “Can’t speak / You wanted it all / Let go a piece of your heart / All the pleasure it gives / Leave me, lost in the night / Shadows go in and go by / I just wanted it all” This brings back up the concept of wanting “it all” with some unknown force standing in the way.

When asked about the recurring use of space as a framing device on the album Michelle explained: “I used the theme as a means to disassociate from trauma.” The remainder of Soft Sounds’ tracks revolve around Michelle’s relationships large and small. From meeting her husband at a smoke-filled bar to her bassist who took a break from their previous band to write on Jimmy Fallon. In jumping between all these different people that have filtered in and out of her life, Michelle reveals a little bit about herself piece by piece.

And while I don’t think we’ll ever know all there is to know about Michelle, I’ll happily study each breadcrumb that she lays down. People come in and out of our lives every day. Sometimes it’s a sudden painful shock, sometimes it’s a gradual fade over time. Japanese Breakfast is proof that life continues. And through all the obstacles and cosmic unfairness, there are still people out there for you.

Even as loved ones die. Even as celebrities pass. Even as cruel men continue to win. Happiness can flourish. Sometimes all it takes is a chance encounter at the bar down the street. Or battling through multiple terrible relationships to arrive at the right one. It’s about sharing life and sharing trauma. If you truly want it all, that means good and bad, but you’ll emerge from the other side a more whole person.

Weekly Obsessions | 7/10/17

I listen to a lot of music. Sometimes looking back at my Last.fm or Cymbal and wonder what the fuck kind of music fan I really am. But that’s mainly because I jump from genre to genre so often that I never stay in one place for too long. I’ve been obsessed with a handful of disparate tracks over the past week, and I wanted to take some time to discuss them here. Hopefully, there’s a little something for everybody.

Snail Mail - “Thinning” | Emo

I saw Snail Mail perform live with Girlpool back in May. I’d never heard of them, but they were middling the show, so they were probably quality, right? To say I was blown away by Snail Mail would be an understatement. I was beyond floored watching this band. The lead singer Lindsey Jordan is a transfixing frontwoman, and I’m amazed at the small collection of excellent songs she’s already created by age of seventeen. “Thinning” is a rumbling emo track that flawlessly captures the lethargy of a warm, lazy summer day in suburbia. It’s a track about the simple pleasure (and displeasure) that comes with wasting time.

Half Waif - “Night Heat (Audiotree Live Version)” | Synthpop

Half Waif is the synthy spinoff helmed by Pinegrove’s Nandi Rose Plunkett. The outspoken frontwoman tackles issues of relationships, changing moods, and love in this haunting 3-minute track. It’s a song about losing your sense of self in the face of a relationship. Plunkett’s delicate, layered vocals intertwine over careful drum taps, cymbal crashes, and keyboard swells. It’s an enchanting track from someone that has more to say than words will ever allow.

Phillipa Soo - “Helpless” | Show Tunes

While it’s best experienced in a single sitting as a two and a half hour journey, I’ve recently started listening to individual cuts off Hamilton just to experience flashes of the show’s brilliance in quick, digestible chunks. “Helpless” is a goosebump-inducing track sung from the perspective of Alexander Hamilton’s love interest and soon-to-be-wife Eliza Schuyler. Backed by a chorus of female background singers, this is a love song that recounts the early stages of the historical relationship. It culminates in Alexander asking Philip Schuyler for permission to take his daughter’s hand in marriage. The song explodes in Eliza’s “I do, I do, I do, I do” as the background singers and Hamilton sing different refrains.

21 Savage - “Thug Life” | Hip-hop

While 21 Savage is usually known for overly-dark street music (or “murder music” as he calls it) “Thug Life” off of his recently-released Issa Album is perhaps the brightest and most summery song in his entire discography music. This shimmering ode to 2Pac explodes over a chopped soul sample that peaks with the song’s chorus “I’m thinking to myself you ain’t gang, nigga, fuck you / Feel like 2Pac, Thug Life, nigga, fuck you.” These lyrics provide quite a contrast between the song’s uplifting beat, but somehow it all comes together beautifully in a song that only 21 could have made.

Japanese Breakfast - “Road Head” | Indie Rock

While I have a full review of Japanese Breakfast’s sophomore album Soft Sounds from Another Planet coming up soon, I just can’t stop playing the album’s third single “Road Head.” In the self-directed video, Michelle Zauner finds herself in a toxic relationship with an imposing dark figure. The song itself is a dark but lush depiction of sexuality that ends with a spliced samples of a loop-board-interpolated Michelle placed over an absolutely hypnotic groove.

Vulfpeck - “Cars Too” | Funk

In this Pixar-punned funk song, Vulfpeck finds themselves in their most tripped out and relaxed state yet. It’s an absurdly groovy song, and slower than almost anything else in their repertoire. It’s proof you don’t need to be fast to be funky. In fact, you can slow things down to a snail-like pace and still find room for a bifocal-displacing guitar solo. A choice cut off of a near-perfect debut.

Julien Baker - “Go Home” | Folk

While she’s been on my radar for a while, I’m embarrassed it’s taken me until 2017 to discover Julien Baker’s Sprained Ankle. It’s a heavy-hitting and heartfelt 30-minute listen in which “Go Home” serves as the album’s stark final track. It’s thought-provoking, deflating, and gorgeous all at the same time. A ballad of pure, raw beauty that escalates without warning as Baker sings about skipping her medication and contemplating suicide. I can’t believe it’s taken me two years to discover this record, but I can’t describe how glad I am now that I have something this beautiful in my life.

Bad Clients

I rarely ever talk about “work” on here. I prefer to use this site as an outlet to share music and art… but sometimes life creeps in too. The following is a cover letter that I wrote for a job application. The prompt asked for a “short story about a marketing campaign gone bad.” Unfortunately, I’ve experienced this enough to write candidly on the topic. Fortunately, I can also find the cosmic humor in these experiences, and each one has helped me grow as a writer and a person. I just enjoyed writing this, so I wanted to share it here too. 

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Sometimes clients don’t know what they want. Sometimes clients don’t know what they need. Most of the time they don’t know either. In my experience, that’s been because they see their competition’s work and say “let’s do that” as if it’s that simple. Clients are also extraordinarily risk averse. I recognize a fellow penny-pincher when I see one, and I get it. Especially when we’re talking thousands (or millions) of dollars, month’s worth of development, and something that might put your job on the line, I can understand why you’d be apprehensive.

Especially in advertising where you’re viewed as an outsider, a meddler, someone playing within a realm that the client eats sleeps and breathes. The truth is, you’ll probably never know their product as well as them. What you bring is yourself. You bring an outside perspective that can approach their product (and their obstacle) from a different viewpoint. The problem is, that outsider perspective is scary.

Another problem is clients want something smooth. Something non-threatening. Something amorphous and ethereal. And that’s not bad in theory, but it’s rarely ever the most effective solution. Advertising (and creativity as a whole) is about building something that’s the polar opposite. It’s about creating something pointy, and sticky, and jagged that stays with the viewer. This is the fundamental “battle” carried out in advertising. A war of settling. With our side wanting to create something special and unique, and the other viewing that effort as an artistic wankery, a waste of money, and a risk in every sense of the word.

A few weeks back I met someone at an event who worked for a small boutique advertising agency here in town. They had been working with a local theater to produce a city-wide campaign trying to get people to come in and see live plays. Their current audience is the stereotypical theater-goer: well-to-do middle-aged couples, so this campaign (like many others) was designed to bring in a younger millennial audience that falls outside of their typical age range. Cool, right? He showed me some early-stage mockups of a few executions they were working on, and they looked incredible. And keep in mind; I’m the audience here. I thought these were eye-catching, interesting, and inspired me to read the copy for more info. When I asked him what the client thought, he replied: “Oh, these will never get produced.” I was at a loss. In his words, these were too “extreme” for the client. They looked great, but they were essentially too scary for this client to invest any amount of money into. They wanted something more traditional.

There’s the dichotomy.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. It’s a cliche used by daytime TV psychologists, but that doesn’t make it any less true. This particular client essentially wants to retread the same ground they’ve covered in the past in lieu of something new because that traditional approach what’s familiar to them. But you’ll never attract a new audience by retreading old ground. You know who you’re going to attract with that old campaign? The same people who are already in your audience. In their mind, this older idea is a “safer bet” than a scary new campaign. They are at odds with their own goal.

I’ve experienced this myself when working with a local sports team attempting to achieve the same goal as my friend’s theater client. They wanted to attract students and young Portlanders to come to their games. Simple enough. We spent weeks concepting, narrowed it down to the strongest one and got approval. Great! We liked the executions, got approval for the budget, etc. We jumped through all the hoops. Then somewhere along the line, the client got cold feet. They explained that they thought they were going to “pick the best” of our executions and run with those not understanding that this was a full campaign. They basically wanted to cherry pick their favorites, change some copy, change some design, and then running with those.

Man.

I think it’s easy for a client to see a finished product and say “what if we change this word to this?” or “what if we make the logo bigger?” or “why don’t we write this entire thing ourselves?” because at that point the hard part is done. We, as creatives, have designed, written, and carefully pieced together each element of every execution. We’ve done days, weeks, or months worth of work founded on strategic research. Now that the client has something concrete in front of them, it’s easy for them to say “change this word” without knowing how purposeful of a process it’s been up to that point and how long you’ve agonized over every single word of that headline.

It’s an interesting relationship, and at the end of the day they’re the ones paying, so they have final say. It’s a hit we copywriters and designers have to take; we’re ultimately at the whim of the client. That’s the difference between art and advertising. Artists create art for themselves. Advertisers create art for someone else.

I’ve had concepts killed for no reason. I’ve had an ad killed because the client didn’t know what an anvil was. At the end of the day, you have to ride it out and find the cosmic humor in things like that. There’s a reason we sit down and write hundreds of headlines. Not only because the first few are always warm-ups, but because the whole thing is exercise. It’s about digging hundreds of one-foot holes, not one 100-foot hole. There’s beauty in advertising, and I’ve come to adore the entire creative process, flaws and all.

I think some compromises have to be made on both sides of the equation. And not every client is bad, far from it, but if you want to do something new, you’re going to have to try something new. You’re going to have to trust me as someone who eats sleeps and breathes writing the same way you eat sleep and breathe your product. Sometimes the new thing is scary, but it’s better. Sometimes it takes an “out there” headline written by a 24-year-old to strike gold. But trust is a two-way street, and you won’t know until you venture out of your safe zone. A bad client can become a good client, but it takes an attentive account manager to make that happen. It takes a skilled creative team to walk that line. And it takes a client who wants to change.

The ones that do are worth their weight in gold.