Mac Dance’s annual showcase carries on despite COVID-19

Performing arts have the power to, for a brief moment in time, bring people together in a shared experience. This year’s Mac Dance showcase The Show Goes On is a reminder of the students’ ability to come together, albeit online, to share their love of dance. The group features a range of styles: from jazz and tap, to musical theatre and Bollywood.

Last year, Mac Dance’s annual showcase was held at Mohawk College and was almost entirely sold out. This year, the show will be held virtually as a YouTube live stream on Feb. 27.

“We want to make it feel as much like a typical show as possible, so we made a show order, a virtual program, we’re having an intermission and we’re having raffles. Chance [Sabouri, Mac Dance president] is going to do a little speech at the beginning. The biggest difference obviously is that you’re not going to be sitting in a chair screaming at people on stage in front of you,” said Lauren Shoss, a fourth-year health sciences student and secretary of Mac Dance.

In September, choreographers and dancers began the process of preparing dances for the showcase. Each piece is two to three minutes in length and it is up to the choreographer to choose the music and set the choreography for their group.

Dance classes this year have been taught over Zoom, posing its own unique set of challenges, from half of the choreographer’s body getting cut out of the frame to dancing in cramped spaces to getting kicked out of the call due to unstable internet connections. However, through mutual support, everyone moved past these challenges together.

“We've heard from a lot of our dancers that people are just so thankful. They see dance as a break and escape from the stress of school. I know that's how people feel in a typical year — you go into the studio and you kind of leave the rest of the world behind [to] focus on dance for a bit and just let yourself really get into your movement, so it's really nice that people are still able to get that from the year,” said Shoss.

The Silhouette interviewed some of Mac Dance’s choreographers to get an in-depth look at some of the pieces that will be performed this year.

Going Home by Kevin Vong

Vong described his piece’s style as a type of hip hop fusion that blends contemporary and hip hop styles.

Choreographed to Sonn and Ayelle’s Lights Out and Vance Joy’s Going Home, the piece pushes traditional definitions of hip hop. Where hip hop is typically defined by its hard-hitting movement, Vong brings out the texture and subtlety with particular attention to emotion in his piece.

“Especially during the pandemic, [I was inspired by] going home to reconnect to what is important to you instead of looking out to the material world. Sometimes family, home, is what you should rely on and it’s really important,” explained Vong.

For Vong, dance has become a form of home and he hopes that the audience will feel that through movement. Currently in his fourth year of linguistics, Vong said dance will forever remain as a source of inspiration and for all intents and purposes, his second home.

Got It in You & Grave Digger by Lauren Shoss

Shoss roots her dance pieces in storytelling. Drawing from her personal life experiences, her two pieces Got it in You and Grave Digger are two halves of a whole, with antagonistic but related storylines.

Got It in You, a lyrical dance set to the song of the same name by BANNERS, is based on the idea of finding the strength and power within yourself to overcome life’s obstacles and challenges.

Complimentary to Got It in You,Grave Digger is a contemporary piece exemplifying the feeling of being weighed and held down. Set to the song by Matt Maeson of the same name, Shoss described the piece’s darker and more aggressive tones as a welcome challenge, as she branched out of her comfort zone to create the more intense piece.

Now in her fourth year of the health sciences program, Lauren is considering pursuing a master’s degree in sports psychology, with the intention of working with athletes from a mental health perspective.

“I think [work with athlete mental health] is really needed in the dance world. I've seen a lot of my teammates suffer from body image issues, low self-confidence, perfectionism and eating disorders . . . It is a very neglected population, but they're in need of support,” explained Shoss.

Burlesque by Hannah Armstrong
Armstrong’s jazz group is channelling their inner Christina Aguilera in her piece entitled Burlesque, inspired by the film. In her first year choreographing a jazz piece, Armstrong decided upon the theme of burlesque as a fun and uplifting dance concept.

“The biggest challenge was probably just trying to envision how I wanted the routine, while also trying to make it [conducive to] online [viewing] . . . What can make a jazz routine really great are the transitions, group formations, interaction between dancers and just the energy on stage, so trying to replicate that online was probably the biggest struggle for me,” explained Armstrong.

As one of two co-vice presidents for the recreational dance team, Armstrong admires that Mac Dance connects diverse individuals by their mutual love of dance. In the spirit of The Show Goes On, she detailed how the Mac Dance community has impacted her as a dancer and as a person.

“I did competitive dance throughout high school and I always assumed that that would be the end of my kind of dancing career, but coming to university and then finding this team [allowed me to] keep doing what I love. . . I'm very thankful that everybody is here because they want to [dance] for fun and because they're invested,” Armstrong said.

Vienna by Abby Buller

When finding inspiration for her piece, Buller found that she clicked instantly with Billy Joel’s Vienna. As a tap choreographer, she liked the song for both its musical elements in combination with tap sounds as well as its message.

As tap dance is largely dependent on dancers’ timing of tap sounds with each other and the music, creating a tap dance in an online environment poses its own set of challenges. With technical difficulties in teaching over Zoom, Buller pointed to the timing of intricate steps as one of her greatest challenges.

Buller described her creative way of splicing dancers’ videos together for her dance’s showcase performance.

“When I get dancers to send me their videos, I want [to coordinate] their feet sounds, but I need to [overlay the] music in with it. I was so happy when this worked out — the [entire group] has Bluetooth headphones, so they're going to listen to the song through their headphones, film out loud so the can get their feet [sounds] and then I'll put the music in over top,” explained Buller.

The Mac Dance team hopes that The Show Goes On will bring people together in an otherwise distant time, reminding them that even though we are physically distant, we are still all in this together.

“Mac Dance reminded me of what the dance community is supposed to be just like. A bunch of people coming together to have fun, to share a common passion, to create something really beautiful and meaningful together and just having a great time,” said Buller.

Hamilton’s sole hip-hop dance studio takes strong precautions to ensure the safety of its patrons.

Before 2009, not many studios in Hamilton focused on hip-hop and street dance; it was not until Josh Taylor co-founded Defining Movement Dance in 2009 and opened the studio in 2010.

“The point of it was to offer something different than other studios were offering at the time, with a focus on hip-hop and street dance, alongside Latin dancing,” said Taylor.

As of now, DMD has shifted its focus from Latin dancing to hip-hop and street dance.

“The point of it was to offer something different than other studios were offering at the time, with a focus on hip-hop and street dance, alongside Latin dancing,” said Taylor.

The studio has a varying number of programs for all individuals. Dance programs for the children consist of: breaking classes where they learn how to “breakdance”, funk styles classes where they learn the technique “popping and locking”, hip-hop classes where they learn basic hip-hop dance moves and all styles class, where students are introduced to various street dance styles and eventually freestyle and participate in dance battles with fellow students.

For the younger members, there is also a competitive team, Megacrew, in which the students would usually compete against other dance studios. The students learn multiple dance styles and undergo training and conditioning, while under the guidance of the artistic director.

“This year is a little different given the COVID-19 situation,” said Taylor on the cancellation of competitions this year.

For adults, they have both drop-in classes and registered programs. The drop-in classes consist of choreography and contemporary classes, where the former takes a focus on incorporating a variety of dance styles while the latter looks at personal expression within dance.

The registered programs consist of a heels class, where individuals exhibit beauty within their techniques, and street dance training classes, where street dance, popping and locking and hip-hop dance styles are all incorporated. On an occasional evening, the studio offers salsa dancing pop-up classes.

Now with the COVID-19 pandemic, DMD’s functions have taken quite a hit, just like many other small businesses. Before the pandemic arrived in March, classes were up to 30 children, running for two hours straight where they underwent training, conditioning and participated in small freestyles and dance battles.

“That was one of the largest classes at the time, where we could operate classes without worrying about numbers, in terms of how many people are in a room,” said Taylor.

Once the pandemic hit, classes immediately went online — utilizing platforms such as Zoom, YouTube Live and Instagram Live — to keep people moving while stuck indoors. The length of the programs was also limited to about an hour to adjust for the online transition and learning curve.

“That was one of the largest classes at the time, where we could operate classes without worrying about numbers, in terms of how many people are in a room,” said Taylor.

When the government allowed the studio to re-open in September, the studio created a comprehensive plan to keep all of its patrons safe. The first item on the list was to create a 4.5 square-foot taped box on the floor, each three meters apart.

There is an “x” placed in the middle to give the students a visual of where they need to be stepping. Due to these wide boxes, the class sizes had to be reduced in order to keep up with current government regulations.

“From a dance educator perspective, what really is exciting is working with six students in that class and really just focusing on each student’s needs. From a business standpoint, [the reduction in students is] not as great; we want to have more numbers in the studio. But it is where we are,” said Taylor.

“From a dance educator perspective, what really is exciting is working with six students in that class and really just focusing on each student’s needs. From a business standpoint, [the reduction in students is] not as great; we want to have more numbers in the studio. But it is where we are,” said Taylor.

The studio has also taken a variety of steps with regard to cleaning. They implemented a fogger which takes a disinfectant and makes it into a mist to disinfect the entire studio. There is a 15-minute gap at the end of each class to allow the disinfectant to spread over the studio before beginning the next class. Aside from this, wipes and hand sanitizers have been also placed around the studio. 

To ensure comfort for the dancers, they are allowed to take a break from wearing their masks as doors are open to allow for greater air ventilation and quick breaks.

“It's really important for everyone's mental, emotional and social health with dance, but it's really important as our responsibility to ensure they do it safely. A business is not worth more than anyone’s health,” said Taylor. 

“It's really important for everyone's mental, emotional and social health with dance, but it's really important as our responsibility to ensure they do it safely. A business is not worth more than anyone’s health,” said Taylor. 

Screenings and temperature checks have also been implemented in order to minimize the amount of risk for students and staff to contract coronavirus. While these listed precautions are not ideal for any business when they are trying to carry out their daily operations, they are a necessary step to ensure everyone’s safety. For Taylor, he is unsure as to how the studio will continue to operate in the current pandemic climate.

“It's hard to say, I think what we will do is follow the advice of the experts and continue to do that. If it gets to a point where businesses are asked to lockdown, then we will lockdown. We have to play it by ear and go from there. I think that's all we can do. We can hope that we make it to the other side. Small businesses are what make up communities. The corner store, then dance studios, the small gyms, the bookstores — all of those places are so important. We hope we continue to offer our services and be a part of the community and eventually, people feel safe to continue coming out,” said Taylor.

“It's hard to say, I think what we will do is follow the advice of the experts and continue to do that. If it gets to a point where businesses are asked to lockdown, then we will lockdown. We have to play it by ear and go from there. I think that's all we can do. We can hope that we make it to the other side. Small businesses are what make up communities. The corner store, then dance studios, the small gyms, the bookstores — all of those places are so important. We hope we continue to offer our services and be a part of the community and eventually, people feel safe to continue coming out,” said Taylor.

Photo C/O Matt Barnes

I fell in love with hip hop around 2013 when I listened to my first rap album, Drake’s Nothing Was the Same. To me, hip hop is an art of storytelling, rooted in struggle and triumph. It has its haters and it is not perfect, but it has also saved and changed countless lives.

In the tradition of the 1970s New York City DJs and MCs that founded the genre, the guardians of modern hip hop are innovative, creative and heartfelt. Anyone can pick up the mic and tell their stories. As fans, we just need to turn up the volume on game-changing artists.

Buddah Abusah is a Hamilton-born and raised creator spreading a message of peace and love. He began writing at the age of 11 and rapping seriously at the age of 16. Haviah Mighty is a Toronto-born, Brampton-raised musician who is also a member of the rap group The Sorority. She began rapping at the age of 12, combining her seven years of singing lessons with her newfound interest in hip hop.

I spoke separately to these two local rappers about their thoughts on hip hop. Both artists spoke about the importance of the genre not only because of the music, but because of the culture.

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bo7s8IlnRTJ/

Is there a message that you like to convey with your music?

Buddah Abusah: My inner city message is letting all artists know that no matter where you're from, [as] long as you put your mind to it, you can be successful in your way. [I want to] show people [that if you] put your mind to it and indulge yourself properly, you can get yourself to that gold, platinum status [that] Canadians are doing more often now. Also… the message I want to give out is that all my music is to peace, love and equality. No matter what goes down, just treat it with peace and love because at the end of the day that's what everybody needs.

Haviah Mighty: I definitely like to pull from the rawest, truest points of my life to try to create the most effective message possible, which is usually the things that are most important to me. The narrative will always change based on the shifting of the energies around us and things that are happening. But I would definitely say… just being a Black female, I am political in nature. The hair that I have, the skin tone that I have, the gender that I am and what I chose to do for a career are to some people very oxymoronic. I think naturally just my look and my delivery and my vibe is a little bit of an empowering, stepping out of your element, believing in your true self kind of message before even opening my mouth. I don't think that's something I can really escape or run from and I'm actually very happy to naturally represents that. I feel that people around me resonate with that.

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What’s the best part of the hip hop artist community?

BA: Best part is the growth. For me I love seeing individuals or an individual put their mind to something and watch it come into fruition. Right now I'm doing that with a couple people/groups. I've worked with some of them in the past and just watching them help the culture of [Hamilton] is the best part because I know this city will get there. Like everybody knows the city is growing. And it'll be interesting seeing Hamilton have their own culture and their own sound like how Toronto has their own sound. Hamilton is far enough where we see Toronto and we want to be like the [greater Toronto area] and be included like the GTA, but we still want our own.

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HM: The best part of the hip hop community is the community. I think hip hop is very cultural and the community is very culture-based… [W]ithin hip hop in my experience, you can go to different venues and it's like these are people that you've grown up with because at the cultural level, you guys are so connected. It might be the same for punk music and rock and stuff [but] I'm not as embedded in those communities to know. I think for me it's the beautiful marriage between the sonic vibe of hip hop and then just like the community of hip hop and how different yet similar those two things are.

What’s next for you?

BA: I'm going to be releasing new material spring, summer time. I've just been working with other artists, doing some production, audio engineering. And other than that, I'm just taking my sweet, sweet time. I'm not trying to [give] you the exact same trap sound that you're always hearing on the radio or that your friends play. I'm here giving you something completely different. I'm giving you good vibes, I'm giving you vibes for strictly hippies… My goal with this is creating an entirety of a sound for the city.

HM: I have an album coming out. I'm hoping that this can really open up some interesting conversations. I'm really hoping that we can see some shifts in female hip hop and what we expect from being a female in hip hop and what we expect from I guess just the gender expectations. I would love to see some of those surpassed with some of the stuff I'm coming out with. But definitely just trying to contribute positively to the hip hop community and that hip hop culture and to tell good, impactful stories that can make some good change.

 

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bp-dJixASg6/

 

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What a time to be alive indeed. If you’re not a corny old-head who thinks the height of rapping is astute grasp lyricism, your favourite rappers right now are probably Future and Drake. With the pair coming off of absolutely massive years in which their only competition has been each other, it makes sense that they’d pool their star power together link up for a full-length project.

Although Drake was effusive in his praise for Future at OVO Fest, no one could have seen this one coming and the internet was thrown into a frenzy by the announcement. Recorded in a week in Atlanta, What A Time To Be Alive bears the marks of its impromptu creation, but still boasts a fair bit of quality.

Whenever Drake has linked up with Future on tracks like “Tony Montana” and “Shit,” the pair’s joint efforts have always seemed a tad disjointed. While getting in the studio together may have brought them closer as friends, it hasn’t helped their scant chemistry in the booth. Certifiable stars in their own respective lanes, when the two get together on a track it can sometimes feel forced.

Take the mixtape opener, “Digital Dash.” Future immediately entrances listeners with some mumbled lyrics and ad-libs, but we’re left waiting for Drake’s verse, which is slotted into the last minute. “Big Rings” is quite awkward at best, with Drake drowning in the swells of the beat and his own shoddy hook.

Things pick up on “Live From The Gutter,” where the two MC’s seem to find their rhythm before they absolutely crush the next song, “Diamonds Dancing.” It’s the first track that seems them working in tandem rather than just tacking on their own bars to the end.

Perhaps an ode to Drake’s deal with Jordan, “Jumpman” is the clear standout of the mixtape and not just because of Metro Boomin’s insane production. The song boasts amazing one-liners like “chicken wings and fries, we don’t go on dates” and “jumpman” is really fun to say consecutively.

WATTBA is not without its flaws, but they are more ideological than technical. Both rappers will remain problematic favourites for their fans, with the pair still degrading women to no end. In many a way, they have both risen to mainstream fame via their misogyny; Drake with the boo-hoo nice-guy simping that has made millions of bros believe the friend zone is a thing, and Future with more rampant hatred like the pettiness found on Monster, the mixtape he made following his very public breakup with Ciara (see “Throw Away” for a brilliantly tortured five-minute summary of their relationship).

We must also must have willingness to listen to the black male experience and attempt to understand where there pain is coming from rather than just critique how it is expressed. Very often, the angst that they are misguidedly dumping upon the women in their lives is motivated by familial and financial loss. One only has to look to “Blow A Bag”, a single from Future’s Dirty Sprite 2 to grasp this. On the anthemic track full of boasting, Future takestime in the first verse to expose some of his personal demons: “I know I came from poverty, I got my name from poverty, I know for sure, for sure, if my granddad was livin’, I know he be proud of me.” That said, one can always hope that artists would find a better place to dump their frustrations than on the backs of women who suffer enough at the hands of patriarchal society.

If you can excuse the cringe-worthy chauvinism, you’ll be able to appreciate the few really good bangers that the tape yielded. Think of it less as an album and more of a stocking stuffer to compliment the massive presents that Future and Drake’s full-length solo projects were to music fans this past year.

When I first met Jazz “Jacuzzi La Fleur” Cartier in 2014, he was still relatively unknown to those not tapped into the Toronto rap scene. In the crowd waiting to get into the A$AP Ferg show, my eyes would have been drawn to Cartier even if a mutual friend hadn’t quickly introduced us. The rapper was sporting a murdered-out fishing vest with what I think were Gucci loafers, and naturally stood out from the masses.

At age 22, Cartier comes off as a man beyond his years both in his lyrics, and in casual conversation. The son of two parents whose nomadic careers led them across the world, Cartier moved around a lot in his youth. By the time he was 16 Cartier was living on his own in his native Toronto, and dealing drugs to get by. A club connoisseur, Cartier could be regularly seen enjoying the nightlife downtown.

His first album, Marauding In Paradise, is an expression of these dark influences. The cover artwork references the Adam and Eve creation story, and in many ways the album’s release saw Cartier reinvent himself from a guy people knew for his drug-induced debauchery to a promising musician. It was a difficult path, with the album taking many different shapes since work began on it in 2011, but one that saw Cartier come into his own as an artist. Cartier wasn’t alone in his development, as his long-time friend and executive producer of MIP, Lantz, has been working with him since they were teenagers.

While I wanted to profile him before the album dropped, things never seemed to pan out. When I finally get the chance to reconnect with him, it’s through a FaceTime call he takes from a studio in Toronto. While Cartier is polite throughout and eloquent in his responses, he shows little interest in reflecting on past achievements for too long and seems to be itching to finish up press and start recording.

Aware of the platform Marauding In Paradise has given him, Cartier exudes a businesslike urgency about what needs to be done to take his career to the next level. The discipline he’s shown in this past year is something he sees as a product of the maturity that he picked up living alone and continually working towards something that he takes seriously, unlike some people who take up rapping as a hobby after they’re done school and stuck in their parent’s basements.

“A lot of people still live at home with their moms. Not to discredit them, but you can’t really flaunt independence or exude some kind of character when your whole support system is based on the fact that you have stable living conditions at home. I think living on my own since I was young has given me a bigger perspective on life. I see things a lot differently now,” said Cartier.

Much has been made of Drake, who lived with his own mom in Toronto’s opulent Forest Hill neighbourhood during his early days as an artist, so one can understand why Cartier would seek to subconsciously distance himself from the so-called “6 God”. While Toronto is now a household name thanks to Drizzy’s exploits, the picture many have of the city is at odds with the grittier version Jazz has been living, far from the reaches of the city’s north end.

One similarity that Cartier has with Drake is a close relationship with his favourite producer. Where Drake had 40, Cartier has Lantz. The latter duo can be assumed to be on much more personal terms as they’ve been working together since they were 15, and it shows. With MIP coming off as a polished debut, Cartier is eager to see where their professional relationship takes them.
“If something were to ever happen to Lantz, it wouldn’t be the same. As long as he’s breathing and I’m breathing, I think we’re gonna be working together. It’s even hard for me to work with other people now because I’m just so used to our relationship and how fluently we work… He’s the furthest thing from a yes-man and I’m the furthest thing from a yes-man, so we get at each other a lot. He’s the kind of guy I can text at 5 a.m. with a random idea.”

Keeping things in-house is the utmost priority for Cartier at the moment. In an era where rapper’s personalities are normally diffused throughout a massive homogenous crew, Cartier’s brashness and single-handed commitment to his own vision is refreshing. You know that when he tweets something, it hasn’t been watered down and you can appreciate him for his willingness to stick his own neck out.

Given the nature of his songs, where crazy parties and ensuing late-night trysts figure prominently, one could wonder what his recording process is like. Cartier is quick to denounce the idea that he indulges in any drugs while behind the mic or on stage.

“Everything I talk about is usually just from going out at night. In the studio, and when I perform, I keep things one hundred percent professional. I don’t drink before I get up on stage so I can keep a clear mind. Now, I’m in the studio every day, so I don’t have time for parties. I’m like full straight-edge,” said Cartier.

The music industry is fickle in its propensity for casting aside artists as quickly as it hypes them up, but Cartier doesn’t appear to be putting himself under pressure to release a quick follow-up only to sacrifice losing the fans he gained from his intense first-person narratives.

“This year I was just starting out, but next year I’m gonna snap and I’m gonna make sure the wave is felt, because I’m not content with staying where I’m at right now.”

Unwilling to speak on a solid release date, Cartier simply smiled and said his sophomore record would come out “when it’s ready and the time’s right.”

Cartier often calls his own number on tracks and says his own name in the midst of spitting bars like he does on MIP-standout, “Switch.” If he continues to thrive at the same quick pace, he’ll soon have arenas full of people shouting along with him.

Aside from watching Chelsea thrash their Premier League competition, writing is easily  one of my most sacred rituals, in that I let nothing get in the way of my enjoyment of it. Such was the case when my little brother’s impassioned mini-sticks game with his friend disturbed my writing-induced revery two weeks ago, so I packed my things up and walked to a nearby Starbucks to continue my article. Irritated that I had been displaced, I grew even more perturbed when my book review musings were muddled by a conversation that refused to be blocked out by my headphones.

Two bros were having a conversation about the state of music and how the current day output was inferior to that of the past — a point that boring, lazy people make all the time and one that reminds me why I try to never stay in coffee shops long enough to hear others like it.

After bemoaning how music that people make on computers couldn’t rival that made with “real instruments” — at which I stifled a yawn — one of the two, who I understood to make music on his own with a guitar (what a compelling narrative), went on to say that he wasn’t a fan of hip-hop anymore because it had ceased to be a “voice for the oppressed” and was instead littered with references to girls, money, and violence.

While his critique was obviously snobby, what irritated me more was that he cited Public Enemy’s “Don’t Believe The Hype” as a barometer for what good hip-hop should sound like, and even rapped the title to his friend, eliciting an eye-roll from me. This song, he said, was important in how it implored the public to see that things weren’t as great as the government would have everyone think. Rather fittingly, he had no modern-day example to support his point.

Aside from the fact that I consider these kinds of hip-hop “fans” a great bore and a negative influence on the genre, his sweeping generalization still angered me as I walked back home. While I greatly enjoy Public Enemy, I understand that they are so idolized because they broke away from the norms with their gritty production and lyrics (Chuck D’s hatred for John Wayne and his conservative agenda is something I wholeheartedly share). Maybe the guy had written a thesis that dealt with the “oppressed,” but that didn’t give him licence to posit what’s best for them.

I was also angry at how he swept all modern rappers under the rug. Much of the rest of his conversation with his friend dealt with his distaste for capitalist society; maybe if he hadn’t been wanking off into the pages of his copy of Walden for the entirety of 2013, he wouldn’t have missed the release of Kanye’s vehment critic of the same capitalist society in Yeezus.

Kanye is a decidedly mainstream artist based off the length of his reach alone. While Yeezus wasn’t a groundbreaking album for those who already followed the producers that ‘Ye gathered in Paris to make it, the Middle America that he referred to on “Black Skinhead” was put off by both the grating electronic production and angry lyrics that confronted them. Yeezus took the seething anger that white media castigates Kanye for and turned it up “a whole ‘nother level” (*Pusha-T voice*) to a decibel rate that you couldn’t ignore.

The video for “New Slaves” literally premiered upon the face of establishments that didn’t serve to further black status, with it being projected onto the walls of places like Toronto’s Royal Ontario Museum. While Kanye’s Watch The Throne compatriot Jay-Z has dealt with racism in passing — “put some coloured girls in the MoMa” — Kanye’s effort was less intent on cleverness and more on getting his message across. The video was sparse to the point that its straight-on view of Kanye resembled a mugshot. The fact that some of these video installations were shut down by police before they could happen was an ominous foreshadowing of the violent turmoil that would come in 2014.

Perhaps the guy might point to Bobby Scmhurda as an example of how rappers today glorify violence. Schmurda’s single “Hot N*gga” was one of the biggest of 2014 and featured the New York MC bragging that he’d been selling crack since the fifth grade. While I enjoyed the one-liners that the song produced — “bout a week agooooooo” — I was also struck by the chilling nature of Schmurda’s revelations about his GS9 gang’s exploits. The lyrics apparently weren’t all talk, as Schmurda was arrested by the NYPD last December. Although Schmurda may have promoted illegal activities with his music, he was rapping what he knew in the same ways that white boys who idolize Hemingway write what they know. Schmurda’s music was a hard-hitting depiction of the life that he was confined to in the hood, and he confessed to knowing no other way of lifting himself out of it than through music.

To take rappers just looking to craft a hit song to ensure a record deal and ensuing escape from their surroundings and hold them up as a detriment to the progress of their genre is unfair and more than a little misguided because many of them use their status to help those still suffering in the conditions they rose up out of.

Perhaps deterred by how his angry comment against George Bush brought the conservative media down upon him, Kanye didn’t show face at Ferguson. But there were other rappers like J. Cole who did. While I don’t harbour too much affection for Cole — his lacklustre bars don’t prove him to be the lyrical messiah some people say he is — there is no denying that his appearance in Ferguson gave its citizens a boost and his subsequent album, 2014 Forest Hills Drive, was a reflection of Cole’s life and thus immensely relatable to African-Americans.

Supposed music lovers need to take a step back in 2015 and reassess their feelings towards rap as a genre in order to understand whether their distaste for it is due to an issue of lack of quality and depth (my bone to pick with country music, but that is for another time) or a form of racism that has become subconscious. While we all want to impress our friends, a general rule of thumb if you don’t know anything about what you’re talking about is to just shut up and educate yourself when the opportunity presents itself.

When Nicki Minaj announced her third studio album, The Pinkprint, she declared it to be Jay Z’s The Blueprint for female rappers. While the album is by no way a classic, it actually should be seen as the gold standard for a female rapper looking to make it big. It’s not blatantly pop (Iggy’s The New Classic is neither rap nor a classic), and doesn’t feel the need to prove itself, unlike Azealia Banks’ Broke with Expensive Taste.

Minaj has polarized her fans throughout her career. Her mixtapes were great showcases of her hip-hop sensibilities, but were so lyrically aggressive that it came off as a girl trying too hard to join a boys club. Her studio albums represented the other end of the spectrum, as her ear for pop hooks and playful raps launched her into Top 40 stardom to the dismay of her early fans. The Pinkprint finally lands the sweet spot; it’s a cohesive, if overlong, album about heartbreak where “Super Bass” and Minaj’s verse on “Monster” could coexist.

The most impressive aspect of The Pinkprint is Minaj’s success in pulling together a roster of very different genres, productions, and features. “Feeling Myself” is a swaggering highlight that sees Beyoncé taking her riskiest dabble in hip-hop. “Get On Your Knees,” featuring Ariana Grande awkwardly smudging her squeaky-clean image, provides subtle commentary on gender expectations in that its sexually aggressive lyrics feel uncomfortable simply because it’s from a woman’s perspective. “Want Some More” sees Minaj at her most lyrically dexterous and is a great showcase for her ability to move effortlessly between flows. Then there’s “The Night is Still Young,” a sequel to “Starships” that’s lyrically darker and much catchier than the pandering original.

Surprisingly, her singles contextualized in the album are its weaker tracks. “Pills and Potions” is impersonal when compared to cuts like “Bed of Lies.” “Anaconda” is still only a banger when you’re drunk at a party. “Only,” despite featuring Drake in his most unintentionally hilarious and thirsty verse, is underwhelming when compared to the far superior “Truffle Butter,” which also features Drake and Lil Wayne.

The Pinkprint is the standard for female rappers because it is authentic. Minaj is vulnerable and honest in a genre that demands bravado. She is firmly in control of her presentation as a brand, but also shows that she is more than that. The pink wig is gone, and we’re all the better for it.

This time, Childish Gambino spared us the full-fledged multimedia attempt at bringing together his writing, rapping, and social media skills that made Because the Internet the clunky and confusing mess that it was.

Still, he didn’t spare us all the drama. STN MTN / Kauai was released as a dual-sided concept album, following the same character from Because the Internet. It begins with Gambino dreaming that he’s running Atlanta and the last track, “Go DJ”, transitions into Kauai’s first track, “Sober”.

In STN MTN, the storyline is hard to follow and other than in the first and last tracks, the dream motif fails to give the track the dream-like and surrealist feeling you would hope for. If anything, Kauai sets a much more surrealist and mellow vibe than STN MTN. In STN MTN, Gambino’s style and lyrics sound like nothing more than mainstream rap with its misogynistic lyrics and not-so-subtle bragging, which don’t always fit with his voice or tone.

It’s clear that Gambino wants to be different, and his creative endeavours are appreciated, but STN MTN’s generic lyrics won’t serve him well in this pursuit.

Despite STN MTN’s shortcomings, Kauai sounds like what Gambino fans (or at least this fan) expect from him. “Sober” is a beautiful and soft R&B song. “Retro” combines some of Gambino’s best musical talents: his singing, his falsetto and his witty lyrics. “Pop Thieves” is a great example of Gambino finally finding a cohesive way to explore different artistic mediums, featuring spoken word by noted mathmagician Jaden Smith.

Overall, Kauai is gorgeous. The recurring beach sounds do what STN MTN couldn’t in maintaining a theme throughout the album. While it definitely has some questionable choices (did I mention Jaden Smith?), it’s worth listening to, if only to experience Gambino’s musical progress since Because the Internet.

Shane Madill
The Silhouette

Pusha T’s My Name is My Name and Danny Brown’s Old should be your front-runners for hip-hop album of the year. It is honestly that simple. Contrasting both, however, provides perspective on two entirely different experiences and styles that operate on opposing sides of the hip hop spectrum.

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Pusha T’s My Name Is My Name is classic hip hop lyricism with modern production. He balances being faithful to the streets that raised him and his new found prosperity, a classic dichotomy for rappers. These themes are further supplemented by the production from a more established tier of artists, primarily Kanye West and Pharrell Williams.

Pusha T raps about his place in the music scene and how this is his time to rise up to greatness. He raps about women and, more often than not, with surprising emotional sincerity. He raps about pushing drugs to get by in the streets and how these drugs affect strangers and friends. Though these are all relatively common themes in hip hop, the overall polish of his craft and the production leave this album achieving relative greatness.

Danny Brown’s Old, however, combines alternative lyricism with alternative production. XXX, his previous mixtape, was essentially about his personal experiences with hardcore drugs and his realizations about what these seemingly positive experiences were actually doing to him.

Old represents the relapse and breakdown of Danny Brown into the person he used to be. The escapism that drugs provide from his struggles, such as near-suicidal depression, takes control and consumes him. Unlike the beginning of XXX, he is fully aware of the consequences of taking these drugs, but does not care because the benefit of temporarily forgetting his experiences keeps him in the vicious cycle of dependency. It is a harrowing experience to hear him speak from his heart about all of his conflicting emotions and experiences. Fear, depression and pain are the core of this album, though they are masked under the veil of drugs and the resulting trip.

The contrast between these two albums demonstrates how hip hop can achieve greatness through multiple approaches, and how the genre allows for a wide variety of stories to be represented. If you are just a casual fan of hip-hop, the recommendation is that you experience and attempt to internalize both of these albums.

4.5/5 each

By Edward Lovo

Rumour has it that hip-hop is not dead, that it’s been buried alive, and if one presses their ears against the ground they can hear the sounds from the underground. Hip-hop emerged in its spirit as an art form; its voice was an artistic expression of marginalized people. At its present state hip-hop has lost that spirit for another - the spirit of capitalism. Its voice is sweetened with the honey of bourgeois consciousness.

Hip-hop’s transformation into a commodity reflects an almost invisible but very powerful force in the system imposed by advanced industrial society. Industrial society imposes a technological order, a rationality that seems sensible - where the individual worker disappears from socially necessary but arduous labour in its mechanization - where individual enterprises are integrated into corporations to boost productivity and effectiveness - where free competition among unequally equipped economic subjects is regulated. All of this reflects the rationality behind technological progress, which has the promise of rendering individual autonomy possible. “The technological processes of mechanization and standardization might release individual energy into a yet uncharted realm of freedom beyond necessity.” However, with the advancement of this technological rationality comes a price.

Theorist Herbert Marcuse says, “Independence of thought, autonomy, and the right to political opposition are deprived of their basic critical function in a society which seems increasingly capable of satisfying the needs of the individuals through the way in which it is organized. Such a society may justly demand acceptance of its principles and institutions, and reduce the opposition to the discussion and promotion of alternative policies within the status quo. In this respect, it seems to make little difference whether the increasing satisfaction of needs is accomplished by an authoritarian or a non-authoritarian system.”

Non-conformity with the system, then, appears to go against rationality. Conformity is encouraged and develops a pattern of thought that rejects aspirations and ideas that do not conform with technological rationality — a pattern of thought which is essentially uncritical.

The art form of hip-hop was a vehicle for communicating the ideas, the emotions, and the aspirations of marginalized people which were repressed and stifled by the everyday reality — through hip-hop, people found an outlet where one’s voice discovered the expression it hungered for. Hip-hop held up a mirror to the social reality of urban life, not refracting its light but reflecting its rotten core which reality has numbed us to in our daily lives.

Hip-hop set itself against society, pushing the concealed realities of racism, black poverty, and urban ills past the bounds of sanity into absurdity. The rationality of the higher classes that everything is in working and established order was refuted by the ideals espoused by hip-hop.

Rappers such as Sticky Fingaz of Onyx expresses, in a single lyric, a poignantly distorted perception of reality: “They call me nigga so much, startin’ to think it’s my name.” Infused into his experience as a human is a sense of rupture from humanity — and though this isn’t a colonial situation, Theorist Frantz Fanon’s description of dehumanization of the colonized by the colonist is pertinent here. The oppressor (white people) has distinguished him/herself from the oppressed (black people) who bestialize the latter, which so much media in the ‘90s can testify to. This is what Sticky Fingaz conveys with this lyric. Regrettably, articulation of the black experience in America is entirely lost in the millennium’s hip-hop.

Rapper A.G. paints a frighteningly vivid picture of poor urban areas — ghettos — in the song “Runaway Slave,” not to mention the powerful symbolism invoked by the song title. A.G. is “livin’ in the slums with the bums” where at every corner can be found a crack vial, drug dealers, crack-heads; where “babies are having babies” and “juveniles act wild.” These are ugly truths that hip-hop used to convey about poor urban areas mainly populated by people of colour, truths which have been substituted for dreams of riches that no one but a very few will be able to attain.

Hip-hop of the millennium has substituted the spirit of art with the spirit of capitalism. In songs such as J. Cole’s “Dollar and a Dream III,” Jay-Z’s “So Ambitious,” Lil Wayne’s “Make it Rain,” and Rick Ross’s “B.M.F. (Blowin’ Money Fast)” resentment at poor socioeconomic conditions, the wish for social conditions to be different in urban areas for the betterment of the community transforms into individualistic dreams of prosperity.

This ideology of prosperity that has taken a hold of hip-hop stems from the slow systematic transformation of social reality that advanced, industrial society has incurred on it. Few show interest in hip-hop that does not obsess with prosperity or materialism. Hip-hop has been killed, and capitalism wedded to a technological rationality is the culprit, annihilating all opposition to it.