As I walk toward the two cases, a pair of muffled voices crescendo into fervent bickering.
Kneeling down, I begin to overhear the conversation within.
"I bet you he's gonna pick me."
"No way. It's concert day. He's not taking you to Severance."
I chuckle. If instruments could speak, this dialogue might mirror the banter between my two violins, Coco and Cheri. I side with the latter statement, offer a silent apology to Cheri as I leave, and sling Coco over my shoulder.
In the music community, naming instruments is a contested debate. After years of avoidance, I settled upon names that both reflect individual identities and resonate with my own life. Like the delicate duality of Yin and Yang or the necessity of scientific equilibrium, I live through a daily duet between Coco and Cheri, finding their distinct yet overlapping voices in various disciplines.
Coco exhibits a bold sound with a bite of bitterness, resembling the dark chocolate hues of his wooden frame. His chipped edges, like battle scars earned from concertmaster solos and recitals, display a side of me for all to see: a love of expression.
Through music, the euphoria of creation captivates me on various stages. As part of an English project, I composed sprawling staves transcribing the fantastical dreams and ugly dissonance of Toni Morrison's writing. In the sanctuary of my room, I find satisfaction in audio editing, experimenting with the combination of jazz vocals with violin and trumpet harmonies. Under the brilliant lights of Severance Music Center, where a thousand pairs of eyes and ears witness my vulnerability, I surprisingly find belonging.
My musical explorations mirror the same voice I sharpen through the canvas of journalistic storytelling. When Photoshopping satirical images and providing a platform for a Santa vs. Elf debate through publication, I believe in the power of language to amuse, educate, and electrify.
Cheri's sound, in juxtaposition, blends luscious sweetness with the nuanced rosy tones of her varnish. Like subtle tartness breaking through a cherry, I derive comfort from indulgent curiosity and the triumphs of discovery.
Amid the rhythmic deluge of evening rain, I dive into research from esteemed professors, aiming to comprehend the intricate interplay of bio-printed organs, nanoparticles, and immune cells, each combating the same cancer cells I grow in the laboratory. While experimenting on mice in the sweltering lab, I am delighted to find a tart breakthrough: my carefully chosen protein is a successful candidate for a lymphoma vaccine. Like the explosion of 3D-printed models on my desk perfected for optimal function, I am also drawn to refining my vaccine project, resculpting my voice to mirror the scholarly papers I enjoy.
Wedged between Desmos and the New York Times, my bookmarks tab houses the latest scientific updates from Science News, enriching my morning with developments in pharmacotherapy. Within this realm, my educational blog BioBlab springs to life, echoing the spirit of exploration propelling me toward Quizbowl packets detailing scientists, philosophers, and royal dynasties.
Although my violins cannot form actual words, their voices are essential to my voice: one I have honed throughout my life experiences. With each lyric I pen, every crescendo and decrescendo of research, and the cadences marking critical shifts in my life's symphony, I strive to share an opus of my passions.
Everyone has their own internal conversations appearing on two sides of a lustrous, diverse coin. Just as my violins create a harmonious unity of expression and exploration, I look forward to meeting those with different passions who write their own vibrant symphonies, testaments to the beauty of embracing every aspect of their identity.
For me, these sides are bursting with a sonorous sound and a soft pastel of sweetness. They communicate through music, words, and journals. They are named Coco and Cheri, and they are part of my every conversation.
Now, back to the bickering…
A roar of brass fills the concert hall as the symphony's first movement comes to a close. The sound reverberates from the stage to the back wall, entrancing the audience. For a moment, time stops. A clap breaks the silence. Then another. Shushes dart across the hall before the orchestra resumes, drowning out the unwelcome applause. The audience has just committed a great sin of classical performance: clapping between movements.
Most likely, the perpetrators are first-time concertgoers. For these listeners, the rules of classical concerts are mind-boggling: don't clap between movements, but clap when the concertmaster or conductor walks onstage. In fact, clap each time the conductor leaves the stage and returns at the end of a performance, which can total four times or more. For jazz listeners, this becomes even more confusing, where applause after well-executed solos is expected as pieces are performed.
Accidents such as untimely clapping shouldn't be viewed as an unforgivable sin of classical performance; rather, we should applaud new listeners for attending concerts. It is the gatekeeping, the shushing and the glances, and the association of classical with elegant, privileged snobs in suits and ties or the association of jazz with "mature" adults in clubs that turns listeners away from these art forms in the first place. Clapping between movements, as annoying as it can be for experienced listeners, is a sign of exploration.
So how do we keep bringing new listeners into performance venues? Some believe listeners must take charge by actively seeking atypical listening genres. Others say concert programming is the issue, and that orchestras and clubs must perform contemporary musical styles to attract new audiences. However, both of these ideas lack notable influence on online platforms, where most young listeners consume music. The real plea should be to modern streaming artists, who must embrace their musical styles while venturing into different genres.
It is easy to stick to a cycle of what works, as today's top artists have defined styles that garnered them critical acclaim or skyrocketed them to popularity. If Taylor Swift started singing progressive rock in her next album, it would be jarring, given that her style is well-established and recognizable. Instead, it falls on the responsibility of up-and-coming artists currently discovering their styles to find uniqueness beyond the traditional four-chord harmonies of popular music.
Fostering a connection between classical, jazz, and contemporary culture is essential, and composing across genres can bring a fresh perspective to these musical forms. For a genre aging like jazz, hybrid sounds can appeal to younger audiences, showcasing music's adaptability and relevance in today's pop landscape.
One of these innovators is Laufey, an Icelandic-Chinese singer. Trained in classical cello and piano performance and graduating from the Berklee College of Music for jazz studies, Laufey cites her inspirations from two unlikely sources: Ella Fitzgerald and Taylor Swift.
Consequently, Laufey's musical identity is varied. From classical-inspired collaborations with London's Philharmonia Orchestra to piano ballads and traditional jazz standards in each of her albums, Laufey has built a musical style unlike any other mainstream singer — and fans love it. Laufey's sophomore album "Bewitched" garnered 5.7 million streams on its first day of release, winning Laufey 10 million monthly listeners on Spotify and earning a 2024 GRAMMY nomination for Best Traditional Pop Vocal Album.
"Jazz music was created in the first place as kind of like a deviation from rules, and something that was meant to be free and for everyone" - Laufey emphasized. Though Laufey's musical style attributes itself more to mid-century pop, her intention to draw listeners to jazz through her covers of standards is clear. By directing listeners to classic jazz influences like Ella Fitzgerald, Laufey can break down the gates of "adult standards" for an audience made up of teenagers and adults in their younger 20s.
Compare Laufey's success to Samara Joy, an up-and-coming jazz singer also heavily influenced by Ella Fitzgerald. Joy not only won Best Jazz Vocal Album but also took home Best New Artist at the 2023 GRAMMY Awards. Yet, Joy's listening statistics on streaming services pale in comparison to Laufey's. Joy's albums mirror what we've come to expect from jazz artists: a gatekept, jarring experience for new listeners who need a gentler transition into true jazz. The need for different music is clear, and Laufey's success story paints a clear picture. To expand the classical, jazz, and pop communities and encourage listeners to delve into new genres, artists have the responsibility to innovate and to share.
The solution to bringing new listeners is an online presence, where listeners can listen anytime, anywhere. Orchestras have seen the most success with increasing audience diversity through streaming, both during and after the COVID-19 pandemic. Streaming services provide an endless world of creation and recreation, opening countless rabbit holes of musical tastes, from Mahler to Miles Davis to Michael Jackson.
The efforts of artists like Laufey should provide a sense of hope for bridging these musical communities through online platforms. For new artists out in the world, keep at your dream. Make something new, and dig into your influences, because that is where your listeners will find uniqueness. If genres like classical or jazz are to avoid their "deaths," it falls upon artists like you to innovate in each of your releases.
As a musical world, we can never truly avoid the shushing during a classical symphony, or the mistimed whoops for a jazz solo. We shouldn't. Instead, we must welcome these accidents: sins, maybe, but also a sign that innovative artistry is bringing new listeners to concert venues.
squirm
like the earth around you
has turned to mud
squirm
like you've been cut open
by unforgiving hands
squirm
like you're caught, gasping for air
which will not save you
squirm
like you're pouring rubbing alcohol
on a wound
squirm
like you're fighting
to stay alive
Imagine spending three days in the wild jungle, evading a murderous game hunter through trickery, knowledge, physical power, and dangerous survival tactics. Losing the game means only one thing: death. Richard Connell's "The Most Dangerous Game" explores this experience through Sanger Rainsford, a famed game hunter, as he navigates the deadly Ship-Trap Island. Upon exploring the island, Rainsford discovers the extravagant chateau of fellow hunter General Zaroff, which serves as an apparatus of Althusserian Theory. When Zaroff interpellates sailors as prey on Ship-Trap Island, he uses repression and violence of the elite class to subjugate his captives; the only way to break this ritual is to kill Zaroff, seemingly eliminating the primary condition of reproduction.
Louis Althusser's "Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses" reflect greatly within Connell's story. The key Marxist idea of reproduction sets Althusser's ideas in motion, forming an endless chain of productive forces to maintain the conditions of production. One method of reproduction arises through the repressive state apparatus (RSA), which primarily functions through repression and violence of an elite class to create order. Through a final idea known as interpellation, the acknowledgment of existence or the recognition of an idea is established by hailing an individual.
Interpellation functions to strip sailors of their identities as they arrive on Ship-Trap Island and assign them new ones. Zaroff comments, "I hunt the scum of the earth: sailors from tramp ships—lascars, blacks, Chinese, whites, mongrels—a thoroughbred horse or hound is worth more than a score of them." These uncompromising categories generalize groups of individuals as one common subject: prey for Zaroff's pleasure. Althusser summarizes Zaroff's relationship with inherent characteristics by writing that "[Ideology] interpellates around it the infinity of individuals into subjects in a double mirror-connexion such that it subjects the subjects to the Subject."
Zaroff's control over the sailors functions only within the Repressive State Apparatus of his chateau. Zaroff's RSA "functions massively and predominantly by repression, while functioning secondarily by ideology." Through his glamorous quarters and organized hunting schedule, Zaroff illustrates a clear sense of elite privilege, which he exploits to exterminate random sailors. Stating, "God makes some men poets. Some He makes kings, some beggars. Me He made a hunter. My hand was made for the trigger," he emphasizes his belief that his development and financial status attribute themselves to a divine influence.
Consequently, Zaroff's role in "The Most Dangerous Game" roots itself in the conditions of reproduction. Frantic, Rainsford declares, "The general was playing with him! The general was saving him for another day's sport! The Cossack was the cat; he was the mouse." In Althusser's note on Marxist theory, he writes, "The process of production sets to work the existing productive forces in and under definite relations of production." After Rainsford supposedly kills Zaroff, he rests comfortably in the chateau's best bed, alluding to his integration into Zaroff's world. Connell writes, "Rainsford did not smile. 'I am still a beast at bay,' he said, in a low, hoarse voice." Having transitioned from huntee to hunter, Rainsford hunts Zaroff to survive but falls in danger of becoming the man he despises.
Richard Connell's "The Most Dangerous Game" explores the complexities of power, ideology, and the roles of hunter and hunted. Through General Zaroff, Connell incorporates Althusserian concepts of interpellation, violent repression, and the overlapping moral lines between Rainsford and Zaroff. The complex relationship between hunter and hunted serves as a reminder that the cyclical reproduction of power and rituals can ensnare even the most vehement perspectives, painting a blurred portrait of the human condition in its most dangerous game.
