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Soulja Boy Predicted COVID-19?

by Laurel Dernbach // April 15, 2020

As we continue to isolate and lean into the uncertainty that is COVID-19, there is a lot of talk about coping mechanisms. I don’t know about you, but nothing takes the edge off like a throwback banger—it’s impossible to be quiet, impossible to be still. I am taking notes about romance during social distancing with Soulja Boy’s “Kiss Me Thru The Phone.” I am embracing every cringy, middle-school flashback as I dance shamelessly in my bedroom to Flo Rida and T-Pain’s “Low.” Whoever the baddie was in the baggy sweatpants and Reeboks with the straps was way ahead of her time.

I spent a larger part of my weekend deep-diving into the pop songs that defined the late 2000s and early 2010s. These songs have led me down two different trains of thought. First off, I cannot fathom being in my late teens/early 20s when these songs were at their peak. The mere thought of it being 2011 and “Party Rock Anthem” tearing through the speakers of fraternity parties across the nation—exhilarating. I refuse to accept that being a young adult in that era was anything less than a Kesha music video. Regardless of how untrue that notion is, I can’t help but feel sad for the ragey, care-free youth I feel I am missing out on right now.

Fantasies of past and present adolescence aside, the reality is that I was in middle school when these songs were their most iconic. For every fond memory I have of this time, I have about 10 embarrassing ones. But what a simpler time it was! Now that I have a sexual education beyond American Girl’s The Care and Keeping of You: The Body Book for Younger Girls, I can much better appreciate all the innuendo and wit of these songs. It’s also funny to think about how realistic these tropes once seemed, and how they’re actually just the same sometimes-effective-sometimes-not clout grabs that transcend all eras of music. Considering 3OH!3 and Kesha’s song “My First Kiss”—that’s not AT ALL how my first kiss went, but how could I have known that when I was ten, yelling the lyrics at the roller rink with my other ten-year-old friends? All it took was some living and learning to shed new light on an ENTIRE ERA of music.

I found these reflections to be a subtle lesson in perception—there is much to be learned from the present even if we can’t understand it now. The way we feel about this moment in time is not static. In times as frustrating as these, I find comfort in the reminder that time and clarity are often tightly correlated. It may be months, years, or even decades before I can rationalize why the universe (and effectively, my life) seems to be in such disarray right now. Until then, I’ll be bopping unabashedly to Black Eyes Peas and Gwen Stefani. 

Here’s my playlist of late 2000s/early 2010s pop that fueled this article:

Discover Meekly: Let’s Get Confessional

by Tom Bosworth // April 10, 2020

I woke up this morning with several songs stuck in my head, as I often do. I don’t know how they get there. I don’t listen to music when I’m going to bed, and I remember enough of my dreams to know that they aren’t soundtracked. But as I was rinsing my retainers of all the nasty things the human mouth does while its host is asleep, the two songs were wrestling each other in and out of my brain-folds. I couldn’t think about anything else until I wrote a multi-part, confessional post for my new music blog. I hate that sentence. Quarantine rots the brain.

I listened to the first song, “Heartbeat in the Brain”, a lot in high school when I was going through an ugly, prolonged heartbreak, where the boy in question was straight and therefore painfully inaccessible. The song is pretty “edgy” and does feature some screaming, but part of it really resonated with me. And I’d often play a 20 second or so clip over and over again while staring at the ceiling, high on angst and hormones.  

The second verse builds up to this really difficult moment where the speaker is trying to hold onto someone that’s already gone: “I know a few chords that could make you miss me. / They ring and decay in this garage every few days. / Just trying to figure out this beat. / So if you want to come back east, then maybe you can help me find it.”

There’s an essay by poet Jenny Zhang about Tracy Emin’s work that’s part confessional essay, part aesthetic statement, and part criticism. She uses a couple instances in her life and her encounters with Emin’s art to defend art that’s considered “too sentimental.” There are a couple paragraphs that I think about all the time, but this is one that’s really stuck with me. It comes after she observes that we’re eager for poetry during extreme times: death, loss, grief, suicide and yes, heartbreak.

“But I want elegies while I’m still alive, I want rhapsodies though I’ve never seen Mount Olympus. I want ballads, I want ugly, grating sounds, I want repetition, I want white space, I want juxtaposition and metaphor and meditation and all caps and erasure and blank verse and sonnets and even center-aligned italicized poems that rhyme, and most of all — feelings.”

Yeah, the song is emotional, emo even. It makes me want to grow bangs that cover my eyes It makes me want to smoke cigarettes behind GameStop. It makes me want to crack open an ice cold mountain dew and dew a couple kickflips. But it has a lot to say about letting go. I came back to it after breaking up with my partner and found that verse just as potent. It reminded me of a poem that a friend had shared, a short ekphrastic piece with its lines cut so short it reads wound up and breathless: “I hope / you won’t / need pills / like I / do.” The ending is also a sort of “come back east” invitation: “Please forget / your scarf / in my / life and / come back / later for / it.”

Rilke writes to the young poet Franz Kappus, 

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

I am often so critical of high school Tom, who didn’t have all the tools he needed, didn’t have the fancy English classes to be able to explain his angst. His poems weren’t good. He didn’t have a confessional music blog. He didn’t have such beautiful friends. But god, I love him for trying anyways. I love him for asking questions with no / bad / ugly answers, but also the questions with so much joy, so much possibility in their blooming “?”.









Here’s a link to Jenny Zhang’s gorgeous essay. I think everyone should read it, but I also wanted to give content warnings for descriptions of self harm and suicide.

Discover Meekly: Is Everyone OK?

by Tom Bosworth // April 4, 2020

It’s a weird time right now. I don’t mean “wow, things sure are whacky,” I mean things are changing so quickly in such strange and often bad ways that my already troubled brain cannot read the news without thinking “Huh!” As in “Huh!” I can’t seem to finish the NYT daily mini. “Huh!” the neighbors want to trade a bottle of wine for hand sanitizer. “Huh!’ it’s from Tuscany. “Huh!” the bottle is empty. “Huh!” the bath bubbles are gone and it’s just me, Joan Didion and yes, the pencil I bring to annotate with in the bath.

I’ve been talking to friends about what music they’re listening to. The answers are all over the place and looking at spotify’s “friend activity” is like looking at a dozen SOS fires burning on a beach. One friend is only listening to “sad Radiohead.” One is listening to a playlist called “aries…. Oh?” Another is listening to “90S RUNNING MUSIC.” I think when times are fucked up, we’re extra sensitive to art. I can’t listen to several artists that my ex introduced to me— Sylvan Esso, Sir Babygirl, Doja Cat. Three notes from “Funeral Singers” and I have to climb in bed and call it a day. If a song mentions kissing, I skip it. Calvin Harris, for some reason beyond the understanding of me or my therapist, is unavailable to me at this time.

Taking the airpods out (I know, I know) is just as bad. Most of my neighbors seem to be retired men holding leaf blowing contests. Sean Hannity is constantly screaming from the living room, I swear even when the TV is off. My ceiling fan is not balanced and clunks every few rotations. Small complaints, yes, but the mind needs a beautiful place to live and we get there with art.

My most listened to album of 2018 surprised me. (Yes 2018 was two years ago but as I was explaining, time is weird right now.) I was just getting into Bon Iver and 22, A Million was on anytime I was in the car. But Music for a French Elevator and Other Oddities still managed to take the top spot. Like many of the songs in it, the album is pretty much what it says on tin. It’s for going up or down in a whimsical, made-up fancy-land where things are weird in another direction. I don’t mean weird like when a straight guy takes two hits from the bong, says he’s going to put something “pretty weird” on the aux and then plays Modest Mouse.

The Books is (was?) a band consisting of just Nick Zammuto and Paul Je Dong who met in New York, recorded in an old Victorian house in Massachusetts, and then ended the project some time in 2009. The music is built around “found sound,” that is, existing audio, haunted and all about mood, tone, and atmosphere. “Meditation Outtakes” is a clip of someone saying “meditation” about 200 times. “Ghost Train Digest” sounds like out of order dialogue from an audio drama. But there are more traditional, listenable tracks too. “Mars, OK” is just two guitars in a familiar, comforting duet. 

The album is full of puzzles. Some tracks seem like jokes, others feel earnest and true. Some tracks feel rural and homely, others feel like unwatched chemistry experiments. I’ve listened to it for so many hours because it’s strange but not unlistenable. It is not sad. It does not remind me of someone I love. It’s fine in the background, the foreground, anywhere in between. It’s not often on repeat, but it’s something I can comfortably, consistently reach for when I need something there.

I’m interested to hear what you’re listening to or unable to listen to. What albums got you through difficult times? What albums instantly conjure up memories?

2020 First Quarter Notable Albums

by Laurel Dernbach // March 31, 2020

Even in the midst of uncertainty, 2020 has been a powerful year for the music industry. The following albums have set themselves apart as some of the best releases of the year so far.

01/10: Alexandra Savior, The Archer

As a sophomore album, Alexandra Savior’s The Archer tightens up her brand as an ethereal, crooning, desert-rock princess. Psychedelic swells and dreamy baselines create a sense of sonic liminality, which Savior describes herself as the feeling of being alone in a bar or stranded in the desert.

01/17: Mac Miller, Circles (Deluxe version release 03/19)

A posthumous album sent directly from heaven—Circles is a beautiful cap to a stellar, gone-too-soon career. Polished but not over-produced, the album feels like Mac Miller’s way of saying “I’m going to be okay and you are too.” Co-writes by Disclosure and baselines by Thundercat in the deluxe version, Circles is a healthy dose of melancholy and a must listen for the year.

01/31: Frances Quinlan, Likewise

Philadelphia indie/folk/rock band Hop Along’s vocalist Frances Quinlan takes a dive into the deep end and sets a remarkable example of social distancing with her first solo project, Likewise. With unbounded creative freedom, Quinlan enhances her beloved emotional, witty lyricism with experimental instruments and synthesized sounds.

02/07: Against All Logic, 2017-2019

Against All Logic is an alias for Chilean-American musician Nicolas Jaar. An eagerly anticipated follow-up to the project’s previous, critically acclaimed record, 2017-2019 is equally as impressive in composition. The first few songs of the album include seamlessly sampled hooks that Jaar does so well, and flows unhurriedly into a series of syndicated, percussion-heavy beats that clearly reflect his technical skill and deep understanding of electronic music.

02/14: Tame Impala, The Slow Rush

The Slow Rush is Tame Impala’s fourth album, released five years after Currents—an album that made the project a household name for any modern psychedelic rock fan. Writer, singer, musician, producer Kevin Parker explores the enigma that is time all while putting refreshing, nothing-short-of-genius twists on the sounds and rhythms that are so uniquely Tame Impala.

02/21: Grimes, Miss Anthropocene

Marking the end of another five-year hiatus between albums, Miss Anthropocene includes some of Grimes’ most sentient, but nevertheless ethereal, works to date. The album sonically reflects the range of her discography—from experimental ambient to speed-fueled benders to vibrant hyper-pop.

02/21: Kamaiyah, Got It Made

Oakland rapper Kamaiyah gives us Got It Made with Missy Elliot-esk attitude and 90s hip-hop nuances. She commands attention effortlessly—the album is full of high energy bangers that are just waiting to be played at your next pregame, workout, or mid-day dance break.

02/21: King Krule, Man Alive!

Genre-bending, emotional, and expertly crafted, Man Alive! reflects an upward trend in the career and maturation of 25-year-old English musician Archy Marshall. Moody and angsty tones nod toward his previous work, but this album is one of his most cohesive yet and demands introspect—sometimes gently, others not—of its listeners.

02/21: Moses Sumney, græ: Part 1

græ: Part 1 is another example of artists rejecting the idea of genre—angelic vocals, chilling monologues, and a variety of sounds. This album comments beautifully on identity and resistance, all while seamlessly weaving jazz-style instrumentation and experimental synthesization.

02/21: COIN, Dreamland

Nashville indie band COIN tackles the idea of duality with Dreamland: to live with and without, to perceive and be perceived. With over half the album’s songs out as singles before the official release, COIN continues to surprise their audience with an organized narrative about disillusion, complete with punchy pop hooks and ethereal interludes.

02/21: Banoffee, Look at Us Now Dad

Look at Us Now Dad is Banoffee’s debut album in the modern pop scene. Club-ready swells, alluring interludes, and vulnerable lyrics combine to create a well-rounded first album.  The only thing left is to wonder: what will she do next?

02/28: Bad Bunny, YHLQMDLG

Puerto Rican artist Bad Bunny takes the trap scene by storm with YHLQMDLG, an acronym for “Yo Hago Lo Que Me Da La Gana”, or “I do whatever I want.” With deep roots in traditional reggaeton sound, Bad Bunny moves the genre forward with this feel-good, club-ready record that challenges some of the misogynistic and homophobic themes so commonplace to the style. 

02/28: Caribou, Suddenly

Canadian musician Dan Snaith, also known as Caribou, is not new to the music scene, but Suddenly is surprisingly current and intentional. Blanketed under the electronic genre but more specifically named “folktronica” or “dream pop,” the album begs the listener to decide its identity—or wonder if it even matters.  

03/06: Megan Thee Stallion, Suga

The rushed release of Suga is Megan Thee Stallion’s middle finger to her former,  restrictive record label. The release in itself echoes the theme of the album and Megan’s brand as a rapper: I do what I want, when I want. Her iconic phrase “hot girl s***” continues with the album’s high energy beats and (positive) sexually charged lyrics.

03/06: U.S. Girls, Heavy Light

Heavy Light is yet another topical and soulful release for U.S. Girls. Don’t be confused by the phrase “yet another”—the record is still as refreshing and unique as one might expect from the pop project. The sounds, lyrics, and spoken word interludes alike pack an emotional and nostalgic punch.

03/06: Lil Uzi Vert, Eternal Atake (Deluxe version release 03/13)

Lil Uzi Vert’s Eternal Atake defines a new decade of rap. The sonic narrative emulates a journey into space, and the Philadelphia rapper flows with energy and dexterity. The deluxe version, subtitled LUV vs. The World 2 (signaling a sequel to his 2016 album Lil Uzi Vert vs. The World), contains a full EP’s worth of extra songs and a multitude of powerhouse features.

03/13: Four Tet, Sixteen Oceans

Seasoned English electronic artist Kieran Hebden surprises and intrigues his audience yet again with Sixteen Oceans. The 16-track album ranges widely and fluidly, some tracks short and melodic, others long and electronic, and many in between.

03/13: Vundabar, Either Light

Either Light is a perfect example of indie rock excellence—the three-piece Boston band effortlessly delivers the sounds of a carefree and ephemeral youth. With this record, Vundabar practically invites the listener to roll down the windows and take the long way home.

03/20: The Weeknd, After Hours (Deluxe version release 03/23)

Fourth album by The Weeknd, After Hours is another solid collection of sexy, soulful, R&B ballads. Even though much of his career has been shaped by features and collaborations, the entire EP is just himself and his beats, reflecting a degree of vulnerability that is apparent in his songs.

03/22: Childish Gambino, 3.15.20

Musician-entertainer-creative extraordinaire Donald Glover’s latest album 3.15.20 rejects the typical aesthetics of an album, with almost entirely numeric song titles and solid-colored cover art. While not exactly a cohesive collection of songs, the record still emanates all the funk and ardor Childish Gambino does so well.

03/27: Pearl Jam, Gigaton

Twenty years after tearing through the Seattle alternative rock scene, Pearl Jam’s unbeatable musical energy continues on Gigaton. With guitar riffs sent from the gods and grungy ballads, the album feels current but not without strong nods towards the band’s roots—an incredible feat for a band so far into an incredible career.

03/27: Waxahatchee, Saint Cloud

Folksy and pungent as ever, Saint Cloud is arguably Waxahatchee’s magnum opus. Jovial guitar and crystal clear vocals are the name of the game—this album sounds like “a-long-time coming” but also “I’ve-been-here-all-along.“ Her youthful croons make one wonder what they might have missed, even when it is right in front of them.

03/27: Dua Lipa, Future Nostalgia

Her sophomore album, Future Nostalgia is Dua Lipa’s lunge at the pop throne. She has succeeded, with the album being arguably the best, through-and-through pop record of the year so far. High energy disco motifs and powerhouse vocals, Future Nostalgia was made to be belted and danced to, in anywhere from packed clubs (not now though #StayHome) to the living room.

03/27: Nicolas Jaar, Cenizas

Cenizas, which translates from Spanish to “Ashes,” is a fully fleshed out album of the dark, ambient themes Jaar has explored in his previous work. The contrast between this album and his alias Against All Logic’s 02/07 release is stunning, to say the least. Although Jaar is well known for his complex synthesization, Cenizas explores silence, simplicity, and weight, but not without his familiar musical prowess.

03/27: Little Dragon, New Me, Same Us

Swedish alternative electronic group Little Dragon delivers pungent lyrics over groovy tracks on New Me, Same Us. The album gracefully touches on several different genres like electronic, indie, and R&B, but it never fully embodies one—a reflection of their maturation and experience as a band.

Some albums to look forward to:

04/03: Yves Tumor, Heaven to a Tortured Mind

04/03: Thundercat, It Is What It Is

04/03: TOPS, I Feel Alive

04/03: Peach Pit, You and Your Friends

05/01: Car Seat Headrest, Making a Door Less Open

History Lesson

Dartmouth Broadcasting began in the 1920s due to the ambitions of a few Dartmouth College students that decided to try out the new technology called radio. The first broadcast occurred over copper wires linked in all the dorms.

The station used the call letters WDBS (Dartmouth Broadcasting System). The name changed to WDCR (Dartmouth College Radio) when it became an officially licensed station of the Federal Communications Commission and its first official broadcast at 1340 AM was in 1958. Dartmouth Broadcasting began operating our FM rock station, WFRD 99.3 FM, in 1976.

To our listeners: thanks for listening us scream into the unending void that is radio for all these years. We couldn’t have done it without you.