Last week, we reported on “Blackstar Rising & the Purple Reign: Celebrating the Legacies of David Bowie and Prince,” the four-day conference dedicated to the lives and work of David Bowie and Prince held here at Yale. The event featured screenings, panels, “critical deejay sessions,” and a TV on the Radio concert. Among those included in the festivities were pioneering filmmaker D.A. Pennebaker, cultural critic Greg Tate, former Prince collaborator Sheila E., and, Solange (!!!). It was a blockbuster event, filling venues all over campus. But the conference’s main venue was the recently renamed Schwarzman Center—the 88,300-square-foot complex comprised of Memorial Hall and Commons Dining Hall that will become a student center in 2020—and its chief financier was the eponymous donor. Last weekend’s conference was the second of three events funded by and partially held at the Center during the 2016-2017 academic year. October’s “Food Conversations” brought four world-renowned chefs to campus, and “Jazz: A Celebration of America’s Sound” will be headlined by Wynton Marsalis in March. It’s pretty exciting stuff, the type of stuff that might prompt you to look up from your laptop, turn to your roommate, and say, “Wait, the Schwarzman Center is actually kind of dope,” to which your roommate might reply, “Yeah, but isn’t Stephen Schwarzman a Trump advisor or something?… Also can you Venmo $12 for the gas bill?”

***

As of Feb. 3, Stephen A. Schwarzman, DC ’69, has an estimated net worth of $11.5 billion, a figure that likely played a role in his being number 52 on Forbes’s “The World’s Most Powerful People” list last year. He is the CEO of Blackstone Group, a private equity firm that specializes in buying and selling high-profile public companies for astronomical sums. Schwarzman founded the company with business partner Peter Peterson in 1985 after leaving Lehman Brothers. In 2007, Schwarzman’s 23 percent stake in the business was worth an estimated $7.7 billion. Blackstone has come under fire for some of its business practices, most notably after a 2014 SEC examination into its “monitoring-termination fees,” a loophole through which the company collected an extra consulting fee when selling or taking public companies. In regard to his business decorum, Schwarzman was quoted in 2007 as saying, “I want war, not a series of skirmishes.… I always think about what will kill off the other bidder.”

Schwarzman has made a name for himself as a poster-boy for Wall Street’s “greed and conspicuous consumption,” as James B. Stewart described it in his 2008 New Yorker profile of the billionaire. Schwarzman lives in a $37 million, thirty-five room triplex on Manhattan’s Upper East side—the most expensive apartment in New York’s most expensive building. Despite his exorbitant wealth, he has shown aversion to the possibility of it diminishing even slightly. In 2010, while addressing the board members of a non-profit organization, Schwarzman famously likened President Obama’s plan to increase taxes on wealthy private equity firms like his to Nazi Germany, saying it was “like when Hitler invaded Poland in 1939.”

Schwarzman also likes having his name on things. In 2008, he made a $100 million donation to the New York Public Library. In 2011, the library renamed its historic midtown main branch the “Stephen A. Schwarzman Building.” He actually attempted to name Commons after himself in the late 90s, but failed after the university realized that the $17 million he proposed would only be an investment on Yale’s behalf, not a direct donation.

Schwarzman is a conservative Republican. He voted for John McCain in 2008 and Mitt Romney in 2012. In December, he was selected to head then-President-elect Donald Trump’s “Strategic and Policy Forum,” a group of sixteen prominent CEO’s—including the heads of Disney, Walmart, and General Motors—that will “provide direct input to the President from many of the best and brightest in the business world.” So yes, he is a “Trump advisor.”

But what exactly does all this mean? What bearing might this have on me, a student sitting in the “Commons at Schwarzman Center,”  listening to Questlove talk about Purple Rain? By going to an event that he funded in his building, am I somehow complicit in, as Eva Branson, DC ’18, once argued, Yale’s burdening yet another campus edifice with the legacy of a white benefactor of ill repute? Or, did “Blackstar Rising & the Purple Reign” show us a way to employ these “dirty funds” to noble, perhaps radical, ends?

***

“This weekend we welcome all in attendance to use the lessons and sonic wisdom of two pathbreaking artists,” said Daphne Brooks, Professor of African American Studies and Theater Studies and the chief organizer of “Blackstar Rising,” as she addressed a groggy crowd in the auditorium of the Yale University Art Gallery last Fri., Jan. 27. In this welcome address, she referenced Prince and Bowie’s ability to empower “the strange,” “the “powerless,” and “the dispossessed.” To Brooks, the weekend’s events were meant to come in direct conversation with our current political moment.

In an email, Brooks explained that she began organizing what became “Blackstar Rising” when Susan Cahan, Associate Dean for the Arts, “generously offered [her] the opportunity to put together an event under the aegis of the new Schwarzman Center.” She explained that the conference was originally meant to be a smaller celebration of Bowie’s legacy; Brooks and her colleagues had even “thought of Prince as the perfect headliner… [but] you know how that ends.” Brooks, who often invokes the word “radical” to describe the artists she discusses in her lectures, is one of the more visible organizers of high-profile arts events on campus. Since her arrival in 2014, she has arranged an advanced screening of an award-winning Nina Simone documentary, a Gina Prince-Bythewood film screening, and a discussion with former White Stripes frontman Jack White. Brooks, however, was unaware of the “political affiliations of certain figures associated with the Center” until she was well into the yearlong process of planning this event. The conference’s mission to recognize the cultural legacy of two artists who redrew the lines of gender and sexuality sits in a disturbing juxtaposition with the banner it falls under––Schwarzman, and all he represents, on the one hand, and Brooks’s love of the Purple One and Ziggy Stardust on the other.

This star-filled event was no small undertaking. Though the Schwarzman Center was the most significant donor for the event, ample funding flowed from many other sources as well. There are 17 Yale academic departments and study centers listed as co-sponsors in the program, including the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library; Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, & Transgender Studies Program; the Yale Center for British Art; and the Program in Women, Gender, & Sexuality Studies.

With “Blackstar Rising,” the Schwarzman Center seems to offer an opportunity for members of the Yale community to put on events that spring from their own interests and reflect the rich, kaleidoscopic world that Yale occupies. But as valiant an endeavor as it was, “Blackstar Rising” did not come without its hiccups. The Tuesday before the conference began, the New Haven Register ran an article in which Trey Moore, a New Haven resident, chastised Yale for the lack of publicity the event received in the Greater New Haven Area. He also lamented his inability to get tickets to Thursday night’s keynote with Solange. For her part, Brooks said that she was “moved by Trey Moore’s comments,” and that she truly hopes “that Yale will keep its doors open to our neighbors so that our scholarly work can spread and… improve by way of engaging with our local world.” She was also quick to note that “all of us need to stay curious (and ‘woke’) to events other than the ones featuring particular celebrities,” and that there were more than a few events featuring notable, though lower-profile, guests that were wide open to the public and easy to get into.

Brooks closed out the conference’s welcome address by coming back to the example set by NEXT YALE, the “multiracial, multi-ethnic, crossgender coalition of students” who demanded institutional change in the wake of the events of the fall of 2015: “[They are] bold, rigorous and creative thinkers who keep pushing this institution forward toward a more inclusive horizon.” Like Prince, NEXT YALE decided to free themselves of the shackles of a name, christening “The College Formerly Known as Calhoun” last spring. It was a timely reference for a moment when the inner-workings of universities around this country have come under increased scrutiny. It is well-documented that Yale’s labyrinth of institutional funding is essentially an ethical minefield. And the effort to right that ship is ongoing. With “Blackstar Rising & the Purple Reign,” Brooks and the Schwarzman Center have shown that for now, we can take that cash and invest it.

The majority of the specific information on Schwarzman in this article came from Stewart’s 2008 profile; the remainder comes from statistics listed on Forbes, and article on Newsweek.

Last week, Laker guard Kobe Bryant played his last professional basketball game. He capped off a 20-year career marked by five league championships, 18 all-star selections, and countless other accolades with a dazzling 60-point performance in a come-from-behind win against the Utah Jazz. To commemorate Kobe’s last game and the end of his career, Kanye West released a limited edition “I FEEL LIKE KOBE” t-shirt on his website. The shirt is a variation on the “I FEEL LIKE PABLO” shirt he wore at the YEEZY SEASON 3 premiere/The Life of Pablo listening party at Madison Square in February. But in lieu of the red and orange motif of the original shirt, the Kobe version is in Laker yellow with purple lettering. It’s a fitting gesture to a man whose behemoth imprint on basketball is rivaled only by the influence he has had on music, specifically late ’90s to early ’00s hip hop. Bryant was at the vanguard of an era of athletes and rappers whose admiration for and emulation of one another created cultural legacies that are being cashed in today.

Kanye’s Kobe shirt is an emblematic encapsulation of the aesthetic symbiosis that hip-hop and popular American sports have shared for the last twenty-plus years. Around the time of Kobe’s selection as the 13th pick in the 1996 NBA draft, the affinity for luxury and opulence that had began to—and continues to—dominate hip hop culture was just starting to take shape. It was a time in which a premium was placed on “ballin,’”—in other words, emulating the lavish life of the wealthy professional athletes who at that timewere the first people like them (primarily young black and Latino men) to penetrate the upper-class. Kids like Stephon Marbury went, in the span of two years, from walking the humble halls of Brooklyn’s Abraham Lincoln High School to being on the receiving end of a multi-million dollar contract with the Minnesota Timberwolves.

Nowhere is this aesthetic more perfectly exemplified than in the masterpiece that is the music video for P. Diddy’s 2001 single, “Bad Boys for Life.” In the video, Diddy and his posse descend upon a quiet suburban neighborhood —“Perfectown, USA”—and unmitigated revelry ensues. The video shows just how tightly American sports culture had already woven itself into the hip hop oeuvre. It features: Diddy playing a game of pick-up basketball with Shaquille O’Neal, a fleet of boys in sweatbands and oversized Allen Iverson jerseys blazing down a street on motorized scooters, and an ending shot of the entire Bad Boy crew on a stage wearing matching Bad Boy basketball uniforms. It’s a visual formula common to the era: one that meshes images of upward social mobility with American sport culture to symbolize the “ballin’ lifestyle.”

Flash forward to 2016. While you’ll be hard pressed to catch Drake in an XXL Raptors jersey, you might notice that the colors of the Toronto Raptors 2015/16 alternate jerseys are the same black and gold as his October’s Very Own music collective’s. You might also recall that the Toronto-native was named the Canadian, NBA franchise’s “Global Ambassador” back in 2013; a year that also saw him sign a deal with Nike’s Jordan Brand.

The longstanding connection between hip hop and sports culture is steadily becoming a more explicitly commodified one. Hip hop has arrived, hip hop is selling, and if Cam Newton and the Carolina Panthers “dabbing” their way to an undefeated regular season is any indication, sports’ interplay with hip hop culture is as present as it’s ever been.

Kanye’s “I FEEL LIKE KOBE” shirt and Kobe’s departure from professional basketball both, in a way, mark the end of an era. During the early to mid-00s—peak Kobe-dom—the hip hop aesthetic pose could be described as somewhat of an upward gaze. From lyrical allusions, to drinking Cristal, to Kanye’s iconic Louis Vuitton backpack, rappers signaled their desire for wealth and elite status through their lyrics, their videos, and the way they dressed themselves. Now, the conversation is about whose gated community mansion has a larger pool. Gone are the days of rappers worrying about infiltrating “Perfectown.” They live in “Perfectown” now, and they’re setting up pop-up shops.

I, a long-time Kanye West fan—a man who once owned and wore “Shutter Shades” in a non-Bar/Bat Mitzvah context, a person who counts Late Registration’s “Heard ‘Em Say” among his earliest truly emotionally salient music-listening experiences – waited with baited breath for the release of The Life of Pablo, the Chicago rapper-producer-designer’s seventh studio album. In fact, I was so eager to hear it that I came frighteningly close to spending 309 Kc (the equivalent of about $14) to stand in the dank basement of a music hall in Prague’s city center at 2 a.m. where West’s YEEZY Season 3 clothing line premiere/album listening party would be projected on a wall.

In the end, I managed to wait until the album was made available for streaming on TIDAL. For the past week, I’ve devoted a fair amount of time to listening to and mulling over Pablo, and, as I feel it is my duty to say, it wasn’t really what I expected nor wanted. *DISCLAIMER*: This won’t be one of those reviews where the saddened critic expresses grief at the creative trajectory their once beloved artist has taken and explains why the artist’s most recent contribution is emblematic of all the things that have gone wrong with said artist. This won’t be that at all. There are a lot things I like about Pablo, and though West’s sonic tastes have shifted somewhat since Late Registration (I’d venture to say, fewer people would still be listening to him if they hadn’t), it is every bit as much a “Kanye” album as the previous six were. In fact, Pablo might be the most “Kanye” album of all time—paranoid, self-obsessed, full of braggadocio, and rife with contradiction. 

In the lead-up to Pablo, one of the myriad of obtuse, perplexing, and flat-out strange things West tweeted was that “Waves”—what he, at the time, had intended to title the album—was “a gospel album.” Strangely, though, it has somewhat lived up to the billing. “This is a God dream,” West proclaims on the album’s opener, “Ultralight Beam.” Within the 58 minute album, there’s a sample of what sounds like a child preacher sermonizing; a lively 40-second cut of seven-time Grammy Award-winning gospel artist, Kirk Franklin, praising the power of faith; and a song called “Lowlights,” in which a female voice can be heard thanking the Lord for being “the joy of her life.” Much of it is weirdly, if earnestly, very spiritual. Where West complicates this (and oh, we knew there would be complications) is when, in the midst of these pious proclamations, he says things like, “What if we just fucked at the Vogue Party?” This, after all, is the West we had been expecting, right? Crude in his sexual proclivities, unabashedly nouveau-riche in his excessive employment of wealth and status signifiers, and kind of funny. It would be reasonable to assume that the album’s two “Kanye’s”—altar boy and playboy—would clash uncomfortably when placed in such close proximity, but on Pablo, that tug-of-war is just the name of the game.

The album essentially functions as one large pastiche of trap, electronic, backpack rap, gospel, and a Max B-prison-phone-call. In a way, it mirrors a lot of contemporary visual art—highly referential, with a diverse set of influences that combine to make something challenging and unorthodox. On “Pt. 2,” a song that will likely be in heavy rotation at rap clubs in the months to come, Brooklyn-rapper and recent GOOD Music signee Desiigner’s head-banging verse evaporates into thin air, as Caroline Shaw’s (MUS’07) ghostly, robotic vocal—“How can I find you? / Who do you turn to? / How do I bind you?”—floats in. “Feedback” includes allusions to Colombian drug lord, Pablo Escobar (“Pablo bought Roley and a Rottweiler”); commentary on police brutality (“Hands up, we just doing what the cops taught us”); and a reference to West’s apparent financial woes (“Even if the money low, can’t pay me”)—all uttered within the same breath. Pablo is all over the place, and, upon repeat listen after repeat listen, still hard to make sense of. He’s warning himself against jeopardizing his marriage “for one of these hoes” (“FML”), while inquiring about the “freak” status of “all the bad bitches up in Equinox” (“Highlight”).

Still, the album’s stark tonal shifts and occasional lyrical dissidence manage not to overshadow what is an exciting, surprising, and singular listening experience. Pre-released jams like “No More Parties in LA” and “Real Friends” make their return. With Kid Cudi in tow, “Father Stretch My Hands Pt.1” is a triumphant standout that features what will probably be the most memorable anal bleaching reference ever put on wax.  The Chris Brown-assisted “Waves” is ripe for a drunk sing-along. A new version of “Wolves,” the song West premiered at his YEEZY Season 1 New York Fashion Week show last year, is underscored by another haunting, Caroline Shaw vocal performance and capped off by Frank Ocean’s cryptic closing verse (which sounds like it was recorded in an attic).

Pablo is as much a strange reflection of where Kanye West is as an artist, husband, and man, as it is a rap album. It’s the fitting musical byproduct of taking a stubborn, confident, fringing-on-sociopathic creative tour de force and granting him over a decade’s worth of critical acclaim, tabloid notoriety, and French fashion house cultural currency — “I feel like Pablo when I’m working on my shoes / I feel like Pablo when I see me on the news.” West is the world’s most famous “38-year-old eight-year-old with rich nigga problems,” who believes he can “shift the paradigm.” As to where he’s shifting it, I’m not sure (and I’m not entirely sure he is either). But with Pablo, West has somehow gifted us both an opportunity to stop and consider if and why we like Kanye and a pretty good reason to do so.

Sia Furler is the forty-year-old Australian woman credited for writing the hits of artist like Katy Perry, Beyonce, Adele, and Rihanna. Much has been written in recent months about her transition from highly-sought-after pop songwriter to hugely successful pop singer (her 2014 release,1000 Forms of Fear, has gone platinum in 4 countries). The popular narrative about Furler is a feel good one: background player finally takes the lead and becomes star. In a way, that narrative feels a lot like the songs from Sia’s seventh studio album This is Acting: cheesy, trite, yet often overwhelmingly irresistible.

The LP is comprised of twelve songs that Furler originally wrote or co-wrote for other artists. “Alive,” an Adele-reject and the album’s lead single opens with “I grew up in a thunder storm / I grew up overnight” and triumphantly crashes into a chorus of “I’m still breathing, I’m still breathing / I’m still breathing, I’m still breathing / I’m alive / I’m alive / I’m alive/ I’m alive.” Kitsch little gems like this are spread uniformly among the album’s monumental drum kicks and roaring choruses. “House On Fire” was originally intended for Rihanna, and though its tale of deliciously destructive romance has RiRi written all over it, when sung in Furler’s fluttering, mid range rasp, it has a particularly tragic and affecting quality. “Reaper,” an immediate foot-tapper with an attractive bass-line as the requisite Sia drums is a story of hitting rock-bottom but managing to fight one’s way back, escaping death’s grasp — “Oh no baby, no baby, not today.” Only a few times, Sia veers too far into well-tred pop territory as in the dance pop jam “Move Your Body” (a song so obviously written for Shakira, I thought I had clicked on one of my sister’s “Party” playlists by accident). But outside of that, Sia sticks to feel-good jams about overcoming adversity or the tragic and inevitable lure of love.

In a December interview with Rolling Stone, Furler told Brittany Spanos, “It really seems the general public responds to songs about salvation or overcoming something… So yeah, I think my skill is more upbeat curating.” Though, “upbeat curating” sounds like something a man in clear-framed glasses and an emerald turtleneck would mutter to himself during a tour of The Whitney, it’s a shockingly accurate description Furler’s new album.

In that same Rolling Stone interview, Furler told Spanos quite frankly, “I think my visual work is art and my music is definitely commercial.” In an era where there is an ever-increasing discourse around “authenticity” in the music industry, it feels unusual to hear a pop performer admit something like this. Should that change the way I view her work? What does the fact that I enjoy her music say about me? I think it saysthat I, like many, am a person who enjoys a good pop song. Furler may not be an “authentic” pop singer, but if This is Acting is any indication, pop is about being willing to play the role.

Thursday, October 1, 2015 12:00 AM

Pray for me….Pray for us all.

Now, I’m not a coffee drinker, nor do I spend very much time in coffee shops, but my experience this past Tuesday night with New Haven’s (the world’s?) friendliest barista may very well have changed that. Taryn, of Starbucks on High Street, is an immensely pleasant brunette from Texas who moved out east to pursue a teaching degree from Southern Connecticut State University my Aunt Carol’s alma mater, a fact which we bonded over. In her five years as a barista at Starbucks (and previously at Book Trader Café) she has encountered a host of characters; naturally, she has developed some favorites.

I learned about a “dapper…dapper, dapper gentleman” named Bob who’s always “very kind and nice.” (Bob’s hot). There’s John, a multiple-latte kind of guy, who indulges in the occasional bagel when his wife is out of town. And Felix, who, due to doctor’s orders, had made the trying journey from days of Iced Vente Vanilla Lattes to modest Grande No Vanilla Non-Fats. “It’s amazing what you learn about people’s lives!” said Taryn, as I stole a glance across the room at Felix, pounding notes on his Macbook Air. No fat, no nonsense!

When I asked her if she has had other memorable interactions with customers, she recounted the story of a particular lanyard-clad teenager from EXPLO (a summer program for high school students hosted at Yale). The girl was lovely, especially compared to her EXPLO peers (they’re the worst). On the last day of the program, when her parents came to help her move out of her dorm, she brought her dad, who worked at Starbucks corporate office in New York, into the shop. His daughter had told him so much about how nice Taryn was that he decided to personally thank her.

As we parted ways, Taryn gave me a list of her favorite things on the Starbucks menu. Next time you’re there, be sure to pick up some tasty favorites hand-picked by the realest barista this side of the Mississippi.

Sandwich: Turkey Pesto

Pastry: Iced Lemon Loaf

Hot Drink: Eggnog Chai

-Graphic by Kai Takahashi

Last month, I learned that “Smooth’s”, a black-Yale haircutting staple notorious for its cheap cuts, dim lighting, and regularly high barbers, had closed its doors for the final time. What may have seemed like a minor causality in the volatile world of local New Haven enterprise, was a devastating blow for many of us here on campus. Though its cuts poor and its barbers unreliable, “Smooth’s” was one of the few remaining black barbershops in the immediate downtown area.

In the world of black male hair-upkeep, the barber-client relationship is something akin to a cosmetological marriage; one in which there are ups and downs, occasional misunderstandings, and a hairline who’s integrity is constantly hanging in the balance.
As you can imagine, the closing of “Smooth’s” shook our world. It’s like you’re a 75-year-old in a 40-year marriage, and suddenly your wife up and leaves you for her younger, more exciting shuffleboard partner down at the Y. Now you’re on Tinder, swiping right like your life depends on it! (I’m sure you’ll find someone, Grandpa Joe!)

Luckily, Trevorn “Trev” Lewis, or “@supertrev711dibarber”, has emerged as black Yale’s last hope. The Jamaican born hair artist and crown jewel of “Allure Beauty & Barber Concepts: Hair Salon” on State Street has single-handedly picked up the slack of the defunct “Smooth’s” and turned cross campus into a display of his portfolio. Nowadays, one can’t traverse Beinecke Plaza without spotting a “Trev”.
So what if our cuts look a little similar? What does it matter if we literally all have the same haircut? Who cares if my English professor continues to confuse me with the other black kid in my seminar? At least now I can go to bed knowing I have hair security.

It’s on you, Trev! The fate of black Yale’s well kempt “line-ups” rest in your hands! Good luck and God speed.

Nah I’m playing, but you believed that shit right? Like many things at Yale, the weeklong audition process for Yale’s 15 different singing groups is absurdly intense and vaguely cult-like. Hordes of aspiring freshman and a handful of (not yet disillusioned) upperclassmen put their vocal prowess on exhibition for the likes of the Society of Orpheus and Bacchus, The Baker’s Dozen, Living Water, and a host of other potential Illuminati sub-sets whose n­­­­ames I can’t remember. Though they boast an array of stylistic differences and have varying membership types (single-sex, co-ed, gay, less gay) the rush processes for all of these groups have one thing in common, THEY DON’T  STOP… EVER!

If you have spoken to a member of an acapella group in the last week , 90% of that conversation probably centered around how little sleep they’re getting and/or how long they were at rush for that day. You may have even heard about a host of Rush related “injuries” (e.g. broken snapping finger) that they’ve suffered during the arduous process. Though you will sympathize, chiming in with the occasional “I can’t even imagine!”, the truth of the matter is YOU DON’T GIVE A SINGLE FUQ! NOT EVEN A THIRD OF A FUCK!

So let’s make a stand, people!

When that suitemate of yours enters the common room in the same t shirt they were wearing three days ago with that tired look on their face, practically begging you to ask how they’re doing, just divert your eyes back to your laptop cause you three episodes deep into Cycle 4 of America’s Next Top Model and this is the episode where that girl faints.