It’s time to do something scary for Halloween.

Read.

Instead of watching a horror movie or searching for clowns, read some poetry. There are plenty of poems and books out there that can send chills down your spine beside Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” Skip your old stuffy literature class and find some spooky poems by contemporary and classic poets below. 

Read these with candles lit and some Halloween music playing — or if you’re daring, maybe even in the Pioneer Cemetery. You are in for a good scare or maybe just a good cry when poetry is involved this Halloween.

“Autumn Equinox and the Harvest Moon” by Anne Champion

This poem is about two spooky things: growing up and death. Both of these things are very scary to college students in relatable ways, but they become very real in a poem like this. Instead of cemeteries and funerals, it deals with images of empty playgrounds and full hospital beds. Champion writes,

“Now, the world hurls
itself at us instead.
The sky’s a royal
purple cloak tonight,
draped over the lake
at the old playground”

With every passing midterm bringing us that much closer to the real world, Champion’s poem is an oddly comforting reminder that this stress too shall pass.

“Lanat Abad/The Place of the Damned” by Solmaz Sharif

Solmaz Sharif’s poem might be a more quintessential Halloween poem than Champion’s because of its dark imagery, but the real-life impact still hits home. Sharif, who recently spoke to the Kidd Tutorial program at the University of Oregon, writes political poetry about war and surveillance. Her first book of poetry entitled Look uses terms lifted from the Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms to talk about the human cost of war. “Lanat Abad/The Place of the Damned” twists your gut with lines like:

“Peepholes burnt through the metal doors
of their solitary cells,
just large enough
for three fingers to curl out
for a lemon to pass through.”

“Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath

For anyone who has read “The Bell Jar” or “Ariel,” Sylvia Plath stands out as a dark but incredibly important figure in American poetry and literature. Her poems deal with depression and death in a twisted, smart manner. Lady Lazarus is frightening because of the way Plath writes about death, comparing it to odd images with her dense wording. She writes:

“Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me.”

Plath articulates her emotional struggles with her own specific poetic cadence. Her visceral poetry seeks to redefine how people perceive death.

“Poem [Your breath was shed]” by Dylan Thomas

Welsh poet Dylan Thomas is the most similar to Halloween favorite Edgar Allan Poe on this list. Thomas’s poems are full of rich, veiled imagery, with references to monsters and the night. Reading any of Thomas’s longer works is like being shrouded in a velvet cape. It is not grand, but it is all encompassing. This poem is clearly based in a graveyard. Why not read it at Pioneer Cemetery and try to conjure up a monster of your own this Halloween?

Minnesota-based band Communist Daughter takes its name from a Neutral Milk Hotel song, but on its newest release, The Cracks That Built The Wall, the band created a name for itself beyond NMH and beyond the Saint Paul, Minnesota music scene it calls home.

On previous releases like Soundtrack to the End, the indie-folk band has stayed on the acoustic introspective side with songs that explore memories of childhood and returning to places once known.

Lead singer Johnny Solomon formed the band after returning home from prison and up until now Communist Daughter’s albums have reflected the start of a healing process and the challenges included with mental health issues.

On “Speed of Sound,” a song from Soundtrack to the End, Solomon sings, “I still live for sound/But, lately all the people seem to talk too loud/And my feet are on the ground/But, all the words I say are coming out like crowds.” But the crowds that Solomon sings about in Soundtrack To the End are different in The Cracks That Built The Wall; this time they are outside of Solomon’s own experiences. There are no longer crowds in his mind, but all around him.

Though the album’s sound is still the quiet, whispered folk of Soundtrack to the End, The Cracks That Built The Wall begins to exist outside of Solomon’s pain and takes a look at other people’s pain. His introspection becomes outside observations about the world.

The basic Communist Daughter structure is there: the indie folk and lyrics that read like journal entries or even simple poems are apparent, but this time are more universal than before. This is especially evident in tracks like “Strange” and “All Lit Up” which feature Molly Moore, a member of the band and Solomon’s wife, singing whole verses alone. On past albums, Moore and Solomon often sing together, but in “All Lit Up,” Solomon steps back and lets Moore do the talking, except for a couple harmonies where he floats along behind her. 

Moore’s milky voice is front and center on this album. In “All Lit Up” she sings, “Anyone can make your body break/climb the stairs past your front door/maybe you can live with what it takes/to pick yourself up off the floor.”

Solomon’s step back in songwriting shows important progress. What started out as a healing process for him and the band has transformed into that for their listeners.

While past Communist Daughter albums have plenty of Minnesota references with lyrics about uptown Minneapolis and songs like the aptly named “Minnesota Girls,” The Cracks That Built The Wall stays away from images of snow and Minnesotan living. Sometimes home isn’t always a universal concept and the band begins to play with that in this album where no Minnesota references can be found.

With The Cracks That Built The Wall, Communist Daughter have become so much more than the scene they originate from, but an indie folk band that could easily be from Portland or Seattle. It is no longer a band of catharsis, but a band of wisdom from those who have lived. The Cracks That Built The Wall is a step towards stability and calm. For Communist Daughter, this album is where the work actually starts.

Listen to their song “Roll a Stone” below:

In this episode of Emerald Recommends from the Emerald Podcast Network, Frankie Kerner and Nathan Stevens join Emerald staff Sararosa Davies and Emerson Malone to discuss the best songs to study to during midterm week.

Listen to the podcast and check out the Spotify playlist below.

Featured songs include:

“Angelina” by Pinegrove

“Requiem For Dying Mothers (Part 1)” by Stars of the Lid

“Floe” by Phillip Glass

“A Walk” by Tycho

A cover of The Replacement’s “Skyway” by Jeremy Messersmith

A remix of Solange’s “Cranes in The Sky” by Kaytranada

“A Moonlit Love” by Boys Age

On Sunday night, Oregon’s own pride and joy of indie-folk, Blind Pilot, came to the HiFi Music Hall with banjos, upright basses, guitars and lead singer Israel Nebeker’s resonant voice in tow.

With its warm and vibrant sound, Blind Pilot made the venue feel like a big family gathering somewhere on a coastal plain, despite the sticky floors grounding the crowd in reality. If only for a moment, Nebeker’s winding voice made the fall night feel like late summer, sunsets and breezes included. The lights on the band switched from blue to orange to purple, making a bonfire of sorts from the stage.

Opener Margaret Glaspy began the show with only her voice and her guitar. In some ways, she sounds like a contemporary version of Joni Mitchell. Glaspy’s voice ranges in versatility and warmth like Mitchell’s, but her songs are more sour and acidic.

Glaspy’s voice is one that moves from raspy to smooth and back again, all in the course of one song. Though her recorded songs are backed by a full band, Glaspy’s stage presence was solitary: just her, a guitar, some lyrics and that damn voice.

The warmth and raspiness of Glaspy came together at the best of times, like during her cover of Lauryn Hill’s “X Factor” when her voice held out during the word ‘crazy.’ The word extended into the audience, hovering over the room like a storm.

Dressed in a black jumpsuit and red lipstick, Glaspy played songs from her most recent kicker of a release, Emotions and Math. Glaspy often closed her eyes as she sang, almost as if she was trying to keep her voice caged inside her throat. Glaspy remarked that despite feeling ill, she was glad to be in Eugene. Except for the slight hesitation in her belting, it was hard to tell that Glaspy was sick.

The best moments in Glaspy’s set were ones like “X Factor” where she fell into the song, not the other way around. Glaspy’s cover of Lucinda Williams’s “Fruits of My Labor” was also a standout of the night. As she leaned into the song, Glaspy let loose and her voice rang throughout the room. Ending on the snarky “You and I,” Glaspy had finally found her groove just in time for Blind Pilot’s set to start.

Blind Pilot’s lead songwriter and singer, Israel Nebeker, sang every song like a lullaby — perfect for a Sunday night show where work lingers on the morning horizon. There is a sense of ease in the way Nebeker sings. His voice is smooth like a stream of water or a conversation with longtime friends.

There’s something entirely familiar and comforting about Blind Pilot’s music, even for those who may be unfamiliar with the band. Songs like “3 Rounds and a Sound” warm up a cold night, and the band’s live presence serves a similarly comforting purpose.

Shifting between acoustic and electric guitars, Nebeker moved through the band’s discography with ease. The band shifted instruments every so often to accommodate this change in sound with members playing the banjo, upright bass and accordion. The rendition of “Half Moon” from We Are the Tide was crystalline despite all the instruments involved.

Every Blind Pilot album was well represented, but the set did lean heavily on fuller sounding albums like the end of summer release, And Then Like Lions. Songs like “Packed Powder” and “Go On, Say It” brought some darkness to the room lyrically, but Nebeker prefaced them by saying, “We are all in this moment together.”

Just like the weather this weekend, Blind Pilot brought summer back to Eugene for a night.

Each school year brings a new season of theatrical productions to the University of Oregon theatre department. Past pieces have included classics such as Shakespeare, the French playwright Moliere and musicals like the notorious Bat Boy. Last year, Michael Malek Najjar directed Scorched, a contemporary drama about the conflict in Syria. 

(Left to right): Mary Unruh, Samantha Lee and Jerilyn Armstrong in the University Theatre production of ‘Scorched’ by Wajdi Mouawad, directed by Michael Malek Najjar. Photo: Ariel Ogden.

According to its website, the 2016-2017 university theatre season features a showcase of new student playwriting, a musical based on James Joyce’s Dubliners and a play that uses The Simpsons episode “Cape Feare” to explore larger cultural themes. Audiences have plenty to choose from, and behind that abundance of choices comes hard work from the people making the pieces.

While UO’s theatre department may be humble, it has produced notable actors and writers  such as Kaitlin Olson from It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia and Jeff Whitty, co-writer of Tony Award-winning musical Avenue Q.

Najjar, assistant professor in theatre and UO director, says that the theatre department here is thriving and consists of much more than musicals like Cats. He is currently working on a production of the off-Broadway musical James Joyce’s The Dead at the Robinson Theater.

“Anybody who comes to watch a jazz hands, Fosse [style] musical is going to be a little disappointed,” said Najjar. “What you will get in return is a beautiful evening of theatre where music, dialogue, dance and acting all come together.”

Najjar is interested in political theatre and the way literature and performance interact. This is especially apparent as he is immersed in the rehearsal process for James Joyce’s The Dead.

“Theatre is a very communal experience, sitting in a room with others and experiencing this thing together,” said Najjar. “And when you transfer something from a novel, like The Dead, into a play you have to ask yourself ‘What are we losing?’ and ‘What are we gaining?’ ”

Najjar’s journey into theatre arts began during middle school in New Mexico. It wasn’t until later in life that he realized theatre could affect people on a political level. While reading an article about Indian activist Safdar Hashmi, something changed in him. Hashmi, known for his political street theatre, was killed while performing in 1989.

During an interview with the Emerald, Najjar said reading about Hashmi, “stood out as a time when I started thinking theatre matters on a real level. It’s not just entertainment, as wonderful as those [type of] things are.” According to Najjar, theatre in general can have a real impact on the world.

According to Zeina Salame, a graduate student advisee of Najjar’s, a book that Najjar published follows in a similar tradition as his influences.

In an email, she said his book Four Arab American Plays (2013) “offers an anthology of new plays by a variety of Arab American artists. Part of what this does is challenge stereotypes by offering an insider perspective on representation of the Arab and Arab-American image in theatre and beyond.”

He also published Arab American Drama, Film, and Performance: A Critical Study, 1908 to Present (2015). Najjar, born to a Druze family, is Arab-American. Just like Hashmi’s work was important to Indian workers, the theatre Najjar makes is relevant concerning what is happening in society today.

Along with Najjar’s work at the university, he also works in the community. This work reflects many aspects of theatrical art including directing, acting and playwriting. 

He will be a featured director in the Semitic Commonwealth reading series located in Chicago this February. The series is presented by a nonprofit called Silk Road Rising. The nonprofit is dedicated to making live theatre and creative videos from an Asian-American and Arab-American perspective.

Najjar said the series’ name, the Semitic Commonwealth, reflects something he hopes one day can be achieved in the Middle East: a place where the Israelis and Palestinians can see each other as human and move between the spaces they claim as their own.

“I think it’s important for all of us talking about this issue to take a moment and step into the shoes of the other,” said Najjar in reference to the Israeli-Palestinian hostilities.“I think empathy is the biggest loser in this entire conflict. We have no empathy.”

Salame spoke about both her and Najjar’s relationship to Arab-American theatre. Someday, Najjar, Salame and other Arab-American theatre artists hope to create a Middle Eastern theatre conference.

Alex Mentzel, a theatre major and lead in James Joyce’s The Dead, added that recently Najjar tried to bridge the cultural gap by bringing in Middle Eastern theatre professionals to the department for a panel discussion.

Najjar explained that when music, dialogue and other theatrical elements are added to a production, the experience becomes deeper and different.

“There is something to be said for experiencing Joyce,” Najjar said about James Joyce’s The Dead. “The musical and even Joyce’s book talk about life as being on this frozen lake and one day a crack appears and we realize that beneath us is an unimaginable depth. I think that, for anyone, anywhere, is something that we are dealing with.”

(Adam Eberhardt/Emerald)

The rehearsal process is also deeper and different with Najjar, according to two students in James Joyce’s The Dead. Mentzel said that the rehearsal environment with Najjar is collaborative, enlightening and non-restrictive.

For Mentzel, theatre is not just an art at the UO, but instead a full team endeavor. Najjar says university theatre productions collaborate with the theatre arts department and sometimes the School of Music and Dance.

The theatre arts department at UO often goes unrecognized by other students despite the talent, said Najjar. During interviews with the Emerald, his eyes lit up at any mention of James Joyce’s The Dead or his work with the Semitic Commonwealth, but they turned even brighter when he mentioned his students and their hard work.

“[Najjar] pares it down to this almost sacred communion between performer and audience,” Mentzel said. “That is his guiding philosophy. You have a story to tell; you have to create that live connection that is unique to theatre.”

Bon Iver’s new album, 22, A Million, is an album for insomniacs rustling in their sheets in early morning; the ones who wake up and feel surrounded by heavy air. Never quite asleep, never quite awake, 22 floats and drops from one song to the next.

22 is an obvious departure in sound from previous albums like For Emma, Forever Ago and the self-titled Bon Iver. It’s been a couple years since Bon Iver has released new music, so there’s been room for Justin Vernon’s sound to change and develop through different projects. 

In 2013, Vernon’s side project Volcano Choir released an album called Repave. A year later Vernon released the choral “Heavenly Father” for Zach Braff’s indie flick Wish I Was Here. Both of these releases and their general ambience pointed towards 22, A Million’s change in sound, but that change didn’t fully hit until this album was released.

One may think that because of the broken capitalization of the track titles and its mysterious release that 22, A Million is too fragmented to be considered a logical step forward in Vernon’s discography. On first listen, it appears that way; it switches from folksier songs to tracks cloaked in darkness without warning.

22, A Million is similar to Sufjan Steven’s Carrie and Lowell, being intimately emotional in a way that Vernon’s other albums and releases aren’t. The best of Bon Iver lies in full albums like For Emma, not one-off songs.  22, A Million might just become the real turning point in Bon Iver’s discography.

There’s certainly a rougher texture to 22 than the indie folk of songs like “Towers” and “Holocene.” Listening to 22 is like drinking cough syrup with tiny rocks in it: It goes down slow and sweet, but scrapes at the side of your throat. This album gathers and layers like a ‘regular’ Bon Iver album, but because of its electronic and experimental sounds, it has more impact.

The single and its wild track title “22 (OVER S∞∞N)” caused a ruckus online. Twitter broke out in collective confusion when the rest of the track titles were released. “What has Yeezus done to Justin?” we all asked while reading the list of songs with infinity signs in their titles. And though some of these Kanye comparisons ring true, 22, A Million is fully Bon Iver. It’s something only Justin Vernon could make.

“8 (Circle)” could be a song off of For Emma with its trickling piano, but instead it chooses to linger in the heaviness of its own existence.  It’s a song that puts its full weight on you lyrically and vocally. Vernon sings, “Too much for me to pick up, no/Not sure what forgiveness is/We’ve galvanized the squall of it all.” The way Vernon’s voice and the horns intertwine is murky and brown, like you can’t see past the next couple tracks.

While the rest of Bon Iver’s albums are perfect for the morning with their broad, meadow-like folk, 22, A Million takes a step toward the shadows. There’s a movement away from clarity that’s totally disorienting and intense. It’s perfect to listen to during a sleepless night. Maybe 22, A Million is a little more Kanye-ish than initially thought. It’s overwhelming in the way that My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is. As long as “I love Kanye like Kanye loves Kanye” doesn’t suddenly replace Vernon’s lyrics, that new sense of mystery fits Bon Iver perfectly.