There’s a dramatic moment in David Lynch’s “The Elephant Man” when a crowd of curiosity seekers corners the pitiable protagonist, John Merrick, in a London train station. The canvas sack Merrick wears over his head to conceal his deformity is snatched away. Exposed and in danger, the “Elephant Man” cries out in defense of his own safety and personal dignity:
“No! I am not an elephant! I am not an animal! I am a human being. A man. A man.”
The London crowd does not appear overly chastened in response. But presumably the audience in the movie theater, or watching at home, experiences feelings of empathy with Merrick.
We’ve watched him endure incredible abuses on his flight from bondage as a sideshow freak. We’ve marveled at his resilience; despite his cruel treatment, his heart still holds love for and faith in the ultimate goodness of the world. We wonder if our hearts would hold up so admirably if put to a similar test.
The film’s moral takeaway is clear. Society puts certain labels on people to give itself permission to treat them as things, rather than as human beings deserving of dignity. “Freak” is an especially atrocious label that permits especially atrocious treatment. If John Merrick was a freak, it was because he held onto his humanity in the face of a society that was so quick to trade away its own in exchange for cheap, voyeuristic thrills.
Believe it or not, I’m reminded of this constantly when researching, interviewing and writing about artists. They hate labels and they’re not bashful about telling you.
You know what? I hate labeling. Writing is difficult, and writing about music comes with its own set of challenges. I find myself situated between the artist and general public, trying to bridge the gap in a way that illuminates, rather than darkens, the landscape of aesthetic sensibility. Sometimes that involves labels, be it genre, style or a musical trend.
Let it be known, musicians, I recognize your humanity, respect your dignity and I will endeavor to write up your music in a way that acknowledges the untethered scope of your creative expression. But if you’re an artist (1) performing at a [fill-in-the-blank genre] fest, who’s (2) self-described their sound as [fill-in-the-blank genre] in the past and (3) has appeared on multiple bills with [fill-in-the-blank genre] bands, I’m not going to lose sleep at night advertising your music as a contribution to [fill-in-the-blank genre].
You’re not a freak, I’m not a voyeur, the sun will come out tomorrow and we’ll all march happily along. RIP David Lynch.
Hit this
Thursday through Saturday: Boston Bitdown (various, Somerville and Arlington)
The inaugural edition of the three-day Chiptune fest lands all over Somerville (plus one night in Arlington). Loads of bloops and bleeps. I’ve been advised by sources deep within the Chiptune Industrial Complex that it’s less a genre, more a “sonic aesthetic.” As in “Sonic the Hedgehog.”
Saturday: Tembembe Ensamble Continuo (John Knowles Paine Concert Hall, Cambridge)
Conversation overheard deep within the bowels of the Harvard Music Department in late 2024: [inaudible nattering] Voice 1: It’s that time of year again. We’ve got to pick an artist for next year’s Christoph Wolff Distinguished Visiting Scholar Residency. Voice 2: Let’s bring back Sir John Eliot Gardiner. Voice 1: Oh Jesus fucking Christ, no more “sirs.” Voice 2: Fine, you make a suggestion. Voice 1: Latin music seems hot right now. How about Bad Bunny? Voice 2: Yeah, but the European canon. Voice 1: Okay, okay. How about Tembembe Ensamble Continuo? They combine the music of the Spanish and Mexican Baroque guitar with today’s traditional Mexican sones. Voice 2: So they’re kind of the musical version of the New World celebrating its subjugation to Old World colonial powers? Voice 1: Trump’s in office and we’re Harvard. Feels right. Voice 2: But can we afford them? [room explodes into laughter]
Sunday: Ray Bull (The Sinclair, Cambridge)
Ray Bull is prolific. Musically, sure. But also in terms of “content.” The Brooklyn indie rockers are the kind of band that other bands see and despair of ever making a dent in the collective public attention span. “You mean we have to be from one of the five boroughs, put out a podcast, maintain an entertaining library of YouTube clips, all while surfing the major social media channels? Fuck this, I’m taking up golf.” One of their video clips is a polished piece of clickbait titled “100 Songs That Are The Same,” in which they ding artists for “borrowing” popular melodies for their own songs. The first comp dings our local popster Clairo for “borrowing” from the Strokes. Hey, Ray Bull’s “Better Than Nothing” sounds like Horatio Sanz’s “I Wish It Was Christmas Today.” What goes around, comes around.
March 13: Ethan Setiawan and the Fine Ground (Club Passim, Cambridge)
Pulled from the event page: “Ethan Setiawan & Fine Ground is visually a bluegrass band.” If you can figure out what work the word “visually” is doing in that sentence, I’ll buy you an ice cream cone. As far as I can tell, this band is a bluegrass band. Visually, musically, whatever you like. Setiawan leads the way with a strong mandolin, joined by BB Bowness on banjo, Julian Pinelli on fiddle, Alex Rubin on guitar, and Brittany Karlson on bass. The ice cream offer must be redeemed before the first crocus blooms.
Live: Copilot at The Rockwell
The sweet and soulful pop of Copilot at The Rockwell on Saturday was nearly enough to take the sting off seeing $13 listed as the price of a Narragansett tallboy. Nearly. I mean, yowza, even if it’s an extra “tall” boy at 24 ounces. Even if it’s the state of Massachusetts. Even if it’s inflation. Even, even, even. What are we doing here? Did Doge just cut a domestic beer subsidy that I’m unaware of?
If the new beer prices lost you, maybe the house lighting will win you back. The black box theater, home to music, drama and comedy, has always shown a more profound respect for artful stage lighting than your average music-only venue. But lately it’s like looking at a work of high art. Rothko, to be exact. Color fields of deep orange, rich violet, luscious pink and electric blue bathed the stage. Beautiful. I don’t just want to attend concerts in that light – I want to be buried beneath the stage and soak in the ambient glow of the stage lighting for eternity.
But before I die, let me catch one or two more shows by Copilot. The retro pop six-piece inhabits an atmosphere of perpetual joy, each member daring the next to live, laugh and love to ever more perilous extremes. Am I crazy, or is there a faint whiff of soft-coded Christian rock to the proceedings? The audience couldn’t care less about which tent is being revived as long as the life-affirming playlist of “The Voice”-ready balladry keeps on trucking.
Speaking of “The Voice,” there are three voices: Maggie Hall, Ry McDonald, Jake Machell. The trio packs a harmony-laden wallop few local acts can match. Ry is big on stage banter and splits time with a guitar. Maggie and Jake, on the other hand, are pure vocalists, and they focus their whole mind, body and soul on squeezing every last syllable of the lyrics for meaning. It’s impressive. And no surprise that Boston Calling booked the band to perform this year. The three-part harmony will take magisterial flight on the big stage in May.
Steve Rondo opened with a distinctive laptop guitar-slapping method that will make you want to experiment at home on your own six-string. Just remember to take your rings off.
Michael Gutierrez is an author, educator, activist and editor-in-chief at Hump Day News.
A stronger
Please consider making a financial contribution to maintain, expand and improve Cambridge Day.
We are now a 501(c)3 nonprofit and all donations are tax deductible.
Please consider a recurring contribution.