Close your eyes and picture Afghanistan; the one that the media has been obligated to describe to us for the past eight years as we bombed the nation. It’s unbearably hot, of course, like any other Middle Eastern country. Minarets are visible on every horizon. Everyone is Muslim and Arab. What other ethnicity is there in the Islamic world anyways?

The men casually wear guns strapped to their backs, using them occasionally to demonstrate their support for the Taliban. Women are nowhere to be seen—they only sit around at home, bored and uneducated in their black burqas. And children? Do they even exist in this glee-barren land?

Though it may not be its primary purpose, Afghan Starr certainly debunks the Afghan media myth in this American-Idol-style documentary. Filmed in late fall and winter, snow blankets the streets of Kabul. The attention is on the majority—60 percent—of Afghan population under twenty-one years of age. These youth, outfitted in trendy G Star Raw puffers and embellished jeans, spend their time shooting pool, clowning each other, chilling and listening to music.

Afghan Star stresses that music and singing remain popular in Afghan culture, as they always have been. Assuming that the Taliban and Mujahadeen crushed Afghanistan’s love for music is akin to believing that religion died in the Soviet Union or that Americans don’t do drugs. Appreciation for music and talented singers is what makes the pop idol television show Afghan Star so successful. The process is analogous to American Idol: 2000 people audition around the country, the judges cringe when most open their mouths, and a handful get the golden ticket to Afghanistan’s Hollywood, Kabul.

The documentary follows the story of four young Afghans in particular as they all vie for the $1,000 prize. The two male contestants are Rafi, a 19-year-old from Mazar e Sharif, and Hameed, a 19-year-old from Kunduz. The film focuses differently on the lives of the two female contestants: Lima, a 25-year-old from Khandahar, and Setara, a 21-year-old from Herat.

The sensationalized advertisement for Afghan Star reads: “In Afghanistan, you risk your life to sing…”

Then you watch the movie, and realize that it is really only Setara, who dances and allows her headscarf to slip from her head, that is threatened.

Men interviewed in the street felt she should be killed for this behavior, and even her fellow contestants on Afghan Star thought she had crossed the line. Of course this is upsetting, and no one’s life should be threatened for dancing (or anything, for that matter). But was this really the point of Afghan Star? Was the fact that Afghans cannot dance in public what we should take away?

A Sundance Channel interview with host of Afghan Star Daoud Seddiqi and Director Havana Marking exemplifies this mistaken point. The interviewer asked what Seddiqi’s goal was with the show. He replied, “You know, at first we need peace. I want to bring peace to my country with my show, with my work, with my everything. I hope my people, after that, don’t think about war and weapons; after that, they choose a good life, and music…” The interviewer cut in, asking, “And maybe a little dancing. Just a little bit?”

What a juxtaposition of priorities. The Afghan singer wants peace for his country, while the American interviewer wants to see Afghans dance in public. Is this what we derive from a presupposed stereotype of Afghanistan? Does that lessen our guilt and justify the U.S. invasion? Does Setara need the U.S. military to save her because she cannot dance on public television?

Perhaps it is this obsession with saving the women of Afghanistan that caused Lima and Setara to become the focus for most viewers and reviewers. Afghan Star gives us a chance to move beyond criticizing the gender dynamics of Afghanistan, enabling us to de-exotify the country and better understand their culture.

Martin Scorsese’s visually stunning film Kundun (1997) depicts the life story of the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet, spanning from his discovery as the Buddha of Compassion in 1937 to his exile from Tibet in 1959 due to the violent Chinese invasion. New York Times’ film critic Stephan Holden writes, “[Kundun] unfolds like a sustained hallucination.”

Fittingly, this screening comes at a relevant and exciting time as talks between Tibetan officials and global leaders have been going on in recent months. By the end of January, envoys of the Dalai Lama resumed talks with Chinese officials after nearly 15 months of silence, leading a positive step towards solidifying open communication between both parties. However, the upcoming talk between US President Barack Obama and the Dalai Lama on February 18th has remained highly controversial. The Chinese government, which views the Dalai Lama as a separatist, has warned the US against such a meeting, claiming it will further damage relations between the U.S. and China. President Obama, however, has chosen to overlook the Chinese’ warnings and has continued with the meeting as planned.

Kundun encapsulates this ongoing tension between politics and intercultural progress in recent Tibet. It poignantly expresses the struggle between oppressors and the oppressed, the conflict between the traditional Buddhist ideal of nonviolence and basic human necessity of self-preservation. The Dalai Lama remains conflicted between his upbringing as a devout Buddhist and his duty to protect the Tibetan people by any means necessary. In one instance, he discusses the Chinese invasion with one of his guards and states that “nonviolence takes a long time,” and he does not know if he has enough time to accomplish his goals by abiding his principles.

The Tibetan invasion, which led to a massacre of monks and civilians, brings this moral dilemma to focus as the Dalai Lama questions his role and the responsibilities that come along with it.

He is ultimately forced to abandon his people or risk becoming another Tibetan casualty. Overall, the film elicited great emotional response from viewers, due in part to its sublime cinematography and Philip Glass’ entrancing musical score.

Although the Dalai Lama has remained in exile for nearly 50 years, the film’s message still resonates with audiences. At the conclusion of the movie, many audience members still remained in their seats, entranced, straight through the closing credits.

While it is a great film, Kundun would be even more spectacular if it had extended further the history of the Dalai Lama. The film ends abruptly after the Dalai Lama arrives safely as a refugee in India, and the closing shot is one of him staring off at the Himalayas wistfully through a telescope.

It may be cinematographically beautiful, but the ending leaves the viewer feeling somewhat cheated in the otherwise epic grandeur of the film. The film leaves no hints of his life in exile and the Tibetans’ eventual fate. Ultimately, Kundun’s moving portrayal of the Dalai Lama’s life is unfortunately weakened by what the film is missing: how his decisions as a young leader continue to resonate today.

On Thursday, January 28, it seemed the roof of the Spaulding Auditorium was on the verge of collapse over a largely unsuspecting audience.

Fortunately, the brilliance of the Grammy-winning Vanguard Jazz Orchestra stopped at shaking the dust off of Spaulding’s rafters. The band’s potent concoction seductively combined sultry modern jazz with the sounds of the city, as their thin tendrils of smoky sound snuck through the audience like the mist on a cold mountain day.

The Vanguard Jazz Orchestra was formed in 1966 by jazz legends Thad Jones and Mel Lewis, and they’ve never looked back. When Lewis died in 1990, they changed their name to honor their favorite night club, the Village Vanguard. In 2009, they won the Grammy for Best Large Jazz Ensemble Performance in recognition of their album Monday Night Live at the Village Vanguard.

Vanguard’s set kicked off with a stirring rendition of the jazz standard “Mean What You Say,” an upbeat composition to start the audience’s journey. From there, the band slipped into “Eye of the Hurricane.” Keyed by Gary Smulyman’s frenetic baritone saxophone solo, the performance was so riveting that the floor shook with the vibrations of two thousand tapping feet. The trumpets spoke the truth of life itself. After this, Vanguard waltzed into the highlight of their performance, “St. Louis Blues.” The band started out with a slow march, which gradually picked up into an up-tempo weave of passionate, triumphant swing. Replete with joy, the fast section sank into Jim McNeely’s poignant piano break, retrieving the main theme once again closing the great circle the group had painted for us.

The performance was remarkable for a variety of reasons. Each member of the band had clearly reached the absolute height of their craft on their respective instruments, and expertly displayed all of their incredible skills throughout the entire show. They tore through some incredible passages—whether improvised, fixed, or a little of both—without missing so much as a note, and what’s more, they did it with emotion. The highlight, however, was the onstage chemistry and the connection the group forged with the audience. The group would laugh and joke amongst themselves onstage during the songs, and then cue the audience into becoming as much a part of the act as they were. They reached out to us, asked us to give feedback, and acted out their music. They danced, they bobbed, and they made funny faces, making this performance as memorable as possible.

Good performances lead to a sense of happiness and a sort of satisfaction. Great performances sweep the brain’s folds—a housecleaning for the mind. The Vanguard Jazz Orchestra put on a truly great performance.

Its uncut version is longer than any of the Lord of the Rings movies. Its spectacular battle scenes boast impressive combat shots, with CGI flyovers and lush scenery rivaling any of James Cameron’s films. Its rich plot is anchored by an exhilarating chess match between rival generals hailed by historians as military geniuses.

Red Cliff is an epic film that succeeds in its grand ambitions of bringing to screen one of the most complex battles of Imperial China. Director John Woo recreates the famous Battle of Red Cliffs of 208 to 209 A.D.—a David vs. Goliath affair that pits Chancellor Cao Cao’s (Zhang Fengyi) Imperial army against the allied forces of Zhou Yu (Tony Leung) and Zhuge Liang (Takeshi Kaneshiro). Interlaced between massive battle scenes on land and water are romantic subplots and the exploration of rapport between military generals. Earlier on in the film, Zhuge Liang approaches Zhou Yu in hopes of forming an alliance against Cao Cao, and the two perform a duet on the stringed zither-like qin instrument, which USC’s Asia Pacific Arts calls “one of the most bromantic scenes in recent cinematic history.” To top it off, they each deduce, merely through their duet, each other’s intentions to enter into war with the Northern army.

Despite this unfamiliar setting, film buffs and casual film watchers will still be able to find solace in the themes and tropes of Red Cliff that are similar to today’s epic films—men fighting over women, for instance. Cao Cao starts his all-consuming war in pursuit of Zhou Yu’s wife Xiao Qiao (Ling Chi-ling), similar to how Menelaus started the Trojan War to reclaim his wife Helen in Troy. In addition, the Southern alliance’s severe troop disadvantage is similar to King Leonidas’ predicament at the Battle of Thermopylae in 300, albeit without Gerard Butler’s chiseled cobblestone abs.

Yet, where Red Cliff marvels most is when it is least predictable. Drawing from Chinese historical texts, the movie is chock-full of “wow” moments, especially for those unfamiliar with either the battle or ancient Chinese culture. From the use of the ba gua battle formation, which resembles a tortoise’s shell, to the execution of melee combat scenes that would impress even a sober frat brother, Red Cliff has a full platter of enthralling eye and brain candy.

Unfortunately, the North American cut of Red Cliff runs only two and a half hours long (in comparison to the five hour original cut). Thus, while it has received praise, there has still been criticism of the film being action-heavy and lacking character development. While true, especially since the movie presupposes a shared cultural lore that American audiences lack, the shorter version is well paced after a descriptive opening narration that might confuse some and alienate others.

Instead of nitpicking, John Woo and Red Cliff should be commended for providing a different flavor to the war epic genre that consistently falls under the spell of Hollywood’s Eurocentrism. For that, it deserves emphatic praise.

Rhiannon Giddens (above) is one of the three members of Carolina Chocolate Drops, which performed at the Hop on Jan. 16. Photos by Kenficara.

Under the gaze of a projected moon, the sparse twang of a banjo resonates through Spaulding Auditorium interlaced with the sounds of the fiddle, jug, and snare. A distinctive Appalachian air graced the Hop, one that seemed out of place in Northern New England.

It was nothing short of revelatory.

The Carolina Chocolate Drops are an old-time string band consisting of Phoenix, Arizona-native Dom Flemons and Piedmont, North Carolina-natives Justin Robinson and Rhiannon Giddens.

Besides the group’s ostensible technical skill, versatility and range in instruments, the trio is undeniably unique as one of the few remaining African-American string bands.

Old-time music has its roots in the traditional music of Great Britain. But with the migration of immigrants to the United States that sound mingled with others in the proverbial American “melting pot”. In this case, this British music merged with traditional African music to create an entirely unique, distinctively North American, sound.

Despite its roots in African-American music, old-time music has generally been characterized as white. For instance, The New Lost City Ramblers is an old-time string band formed in 1958 consisting of Mike Seeger (Pete’s brother), John Cohen, and Tom Paley, all of whom are white. There’s also the contemporary Old Crow Medicine Show—again, all white.

But aside from merely their race, what made Carolina Chocolate Drops so exhilarating was the enthusiastic audience participation in the music. Giddens and Flemons encouraged the audience to sing along, clap and dance.

Giddens was particularly engaging; she flirted shamelessly with the audience, imploring members to holler when they knew a particular artist or song they were about to play. Her vocals carried many of the songs performed; far beyond soulful, Giddens’ voice is gravelly and powerful—perfectly suited to the songs, many of which were originally performed in the 1920s and 1930s.

One particular standout was “Old Black Annie”, an extraordinarily fast-paced banjo tune; Giddens’ vocals were ideal for its frantic pace. Another great song was the powerful “Arkansas,” performed by Flemons, featuring no instrumentals. The silence that accompanied Flemons’ voice only enhanced the melancholy of the song. Its starkness stood out among the more involved and frenzied stylings of other songs.

The show culminated in the Carolina Chocolate Drops’ rendition of “Genuine Negro Jig.” Gidden elaborated on the purported origins of the jig, which is attributed to Dan Emmett, but may in fact have been written by an African-American family living in Emmett’s Ohio town. Nevertheless, the song, which features Giddens on the fiddle, is haunting. Like “Arkansas,” the song is melodic and somewhat mournful, with long lamenting fiddle strokes.

The trio ended the show with a rendition of 2001’s “Hit ‘em Up Style (Oops!)” by Blu Cantrell, perhaps an improbable anachronism, given the group’s focus on 70- and 80-year-old music. However, the ending seemed rather appropriate—it highlighted the importance and relevance of old-time string music in the modern age.

Lady Gaga at one of her sexified concerts. Sexy costume included. Photograph by Stephan Carlile.

Thanks to Lady Gaga, quality pop music is still alive in the 3rd millennium. If you are an anti-radio purist who claims that pop perished sometime in the 90s, there’s now a way to redeem yourself—for Lady Gaga has resurrected pop in the form of the macabre and the uncanny, the oversexed and yet threateningly asexual.

And while she may not be restoring life to popular music, Lady Gaga is instead drawing on our fear of its demise by taking what is passé and reanimating it as the culturally undead.

If you were to ask me what I mean by “uncanny,” I would ask you to hit up YouTube and watch Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.” That shit is FREAKY. If you want a definition of the “undead” in Gaga’s work, just watch the video of her sanguinary performance at the VMA’s, in which she looks like Sissy Spasek in Carrie and eventually hangs herself from the ceiling.

Just as she writes and produces all of her own music, Lady Gaga herself choreographed this figurative murder and rebirth of Pop. She later commented to shocked reporters that to the performance was a way of “say[ing] something honest and real.”

Amidst Lady Gaga’s cryptic responses to news reporters—she told one that the only thing she looks for in a man is “a big dick”—and rumors of her being a hermaphrodite, you can’t help but wonder if she is hiding something.

When an MTV reporter commented on her heavily stylized persona and asked her if he was speaking with “Lady Gaga the person or Lady Gaga the character,” she passionately responded, “For the last 10-15 years there has been an absence of theater in Showbiz.

There is an assumption that unless I am showing you myself with no makeup and a t-shirt on, doing no dance moves and strumming on a guitar … that I am artificial, and I’m not. I am simply a performance artist … and my life is my art.”

As for her being a hermaphrodite, the sources of those rumors have all been proven unsubstantial, though Lady Gaga has not commented on the issue. All publicity is good publicity, as they say.

Yet if Lady Gaga’s untamed art is her life, then we should also assume that her life is her art. But what is the life of Lady Gaga like?

Well, a starting point may be what Lady Gaga claims as her deepest conviction and primary inspiration: the gay community. According to Gaga, the single most important moment of her career was when she spoke in Washington D.C. for the National Gay Rights Rally. As usual, though she has refrained from any comment on her sexual orientation.

Then there is Gaga’s method of work. The so-called “Haus of Gaga” is the nexus of all production and collection of props, sets, and clothing Lady Gaga uses in performance, and everything is manufactured there, in-house, by Gaga and a team of close friends. In a warehouse reminiscent of Andy Warhol’s “Factory” (admittedly, Warhol is one of Lady Gaga’s main influences), Gaga evades the limelight in order to focus on her creative endeavors. The Haus of Gaga, given its self-referential and self-aware concentration of creativity, is likely one of the keys to Gaga’s success in a world of otherwise impersonal collaboration.

Considering even this romantic image of Lady Gaga as a rogue, anti-social burlesque-dancer-gone-celebrity, there are still many who believe she is undeserving of both critical and mainstream attention. She possesses neither the sex appeal of Britney Spears nor the vocal chords of Celine Dion, so what is it she has—beyond pop-art savvy and a derivative, self-conscious public image—that no one else has?

The answer is this: Lady Gaga is a mistress of covert suggestion. Take a closer glance at her music videos and lyrics (which, I am ashamed to admit, I have done obsessively), and you will notice a slew of hidden linguistic, visual, and formal meaning. I am no psychologist, and certainly don’t find Lady Gaga to be all that attractive, but perhaps that detachment is exactly why the red flags go up so easily for me.

To highlight what is going on beneath the surface of Lady Gaga’s work, let me point out a few things that require no embarrassing Lady Gaga YouTube sessions. Some background: the two events that first catapulted Lady Gaga into stardom were her hit singles “Poker face” and “Just Dance.” The pronunciation of this former song’s title is essential; if you listen to phrasing of “p-p-p-poker face, p-p-poker face” when sung, it sounds exactly like “fuck her face” the second time.

During the bridge of the song “Just Dance,” the lyrics “half psychotic, sick, hypnotic, got my blueprint, it’s psychotic” sound exactly like the words “have sex” repeated over and over when she says them. During this sequence in the music video there is also a clip of Lady Gaga humping a whale and a flash of the word “join” for no apparent reason.

To be fair, Lady Gaga does not necessarily hide the smoke and mirrors, and she may consider subconscious influence a part of her art—something half-concealed that lends entertainment value and intrigue. In an another interview with MTV, a reporter suggested that the death of Princess Diana was a direct result of her fame (“the fame” was the name of Gaga’s first album) and that fame may place Gaga in a similar position of undoing. Gaga calmly responded, “You know, it’s actually interesting you say that, because I speak that way too.”

If Gaga is so keen to recognize and critique an attempt at unconscious emotional persuasion, we can imagine the role it might play in her work.

Sometimes Lady Gaga’s attempts at leading her audience into a trance take the form of explicit, self-conscious comedy. In the music video for the song “Paparazzi,” one scene has Lady Gaga falling into a whirling black-and-white spiral while a voice in the background says the word “beautiful” repeatedly.

Maybe it’s just me, but Lady Gaga’s absurdist and deliberately derelict style reminds me of Mugatu from Zoolander, only instead of getting you to relax, she just wants to turn you on.

Any critique of Lady Gaga’s powers of suggestion begs the question of whether she is really something unique, or if she is just a more “manipulative” version of countless other musicians in the past.

After all, there will always be verbal ambiguity when words are spoken instead of written—we have all gotten song lyrics wrong before. And doesn’t music, by pairing sound with the written word, inherently imbue words with extra-lingual meaning?

At its end, music is about making the listener feel a certain way. How, exactly, that feeling comes about isn’t always relevant to the person experiencing it.

So, if you are a born-again conservative, Lady Gaga is probably what you would call (as many bloggers have) the “antichrist.” However, if you are an intelligent person who is willing to look deeper into the inspiration and methods of her work, you will notice that she is, quite likely, a genius with an overactive sex drive.

Go Lady Gaga!

If you thought you knew all that’s in the small town of Hanover, I have a surprise. I, too, thought I knew all the nooks and crannies of this small town until a few days ago. I took a shortcut between Eastman’s Pharmacy and The Gap, and I noticed for the first time an inconspicuous underground art gallery. Hasse Gallery, to be exact.

People like to say that you can run into fellow Dartmouth alumni across the globe. When they say this, I don’t think they expect you to meet one just across the street in Hanover. While the sentiment still holds as true, I’d like to add that you can meet some of the most interesting people—people such as Eric Hasse—right near campus.

Established in October 2006 with the support of friend and fan Paul Olsen, Hasse Gallery has been the gallery and studio space of Eric Hasse ’80. Hasse has early onset Parkinson’s disease, and is unable to talk or hold a brush. However, through his newly digitized method of artistic expression, he is still able to practice visual arts on a daily basis.

Unlike a “usual” art gallery, where exhibition openings are held with wine, cheese, and artsy schmoozers throughout trying to make superficial conversation and win facetime, Hasse Gallery looks—and is—anything but that. With several pieces in a store display window, a “for lease” sign for a home taped on the window, and the interior of the gallery containing as many artworks as Beast’s Library in Beauty and the Beast, Hasse Gallery is more of a secluded oasis and trove of discovery than just another pretentious art gallery. At Hasse, all that is important is art and the free-flow of expression. Fortunately, the gallery was open that day, and I finally had a free afternoon to check it out.

Born in Palo Alto, California, Hasse moved to Connecticut when he was 7 years old, where he adjusted to life on the East Coast. An English major who graduated Dartmouth in three years (to save money, he wrote, to which I agreed), Hasse has also been committed to literary arts, particularly poetry. Even though he has not continued writing poetry, he continues to publish his work—one of which was through an International competition published in 2008 and was on display at Oxford.

After graduating from Dartmouth, Hasse was a chef at the 5-star hotel The Breakers in Palm Beach, Florida, ran Jesse’s Restaurant in 1980-1981, and toured Europe, North Africa, and Greece for 10 weeks. After his time working professionally in the culinary arts and traveling, he came back to the Upper Valley to work in various aspects of finance and ultimately raising capital for Internet start-ups. Despite his life on the fringes of the corporate world, as an artistic person, Hasse continued to write poetry, read all of Carl Jung’s works, and picked up visual arts (sumi ink drawings) in the 1980s, the decade before his diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease at age 35. He continued to work in finance until 2003, when the progression of Parkinson’s put him “at death’s door.” He writes that his health is “far better today since my deep brain stimulation neurosurgeries.” Still, the uncertainties of Parkinson’s causes him to be particularly vigilant of taking “each day as it dawns.”

Despite his condition, Hasse works at his gallery most days, creating giclées on canvas. Hasse defined a giclée as a French term meaning “ink spraying” to define the technical process of printing digital files. Currently, he scans different objects such as fabrics and combines different images into a single image. He particularly focuses on creating images from mundane objects I scan. Images from this series are extremely colorful with layers of texture, each seeming to accent the beauty of the objects within.

In some of his earlier works around 2003 with a focus on visual arts, he applied saturation to the black and white sumi ink drawings he made during the 1980s to produce color and create new works of art. Each digital image is made into a print, of which Hasse displays throughout his large gallery space. This entire process is done right in Hasse’s gallery, allowing him to be fully self-sufficient in making art. “I can’t imagine returning to paint. The possibilities for print series are huge,” writes Hasse, with a smile.

Besides displaying his work at the Hasse Gallery, Hasse is not interested in seeking fame or fortune, or to “fill the void with my visions in the usual careerist sense of narcissism.” He is most interested in “conveying my joy and wonder in the world of living,” especially his consideration of “the life immanent in all things and their luminosity—an outpouring of the spirit.” Carl Jung is one of his primary influences, particularly Jung’s idea of the Collective Unconscious. He also believes in the “Zen/Taoist concept of living in the present moment,” which is constantly apparent in his work.

Since The Dartmouth’s reporting of the opening of his gallery in 2006, Hasse has created 5,000 new prints. His goal is to make “10,000 digital images in honor of the Taoist ‘ten thousand things’ [their way of saying infinity] by my 30th reunion in June.”

Besides working at his studio, Hasse continues to “devour art books from the Sherman Art Library, make repeated visits to the Hood Museum of Art, and listen to and absorb more fully the Tao Te Ching of Lao Tsu.” With the help of his friends and family, he hopes to “continue my quiet work in the gallery space beneath The Gap…providing an oasis of contemplation in a boogie woogie world upstairs, outside, and far, far away.”

Amidst the countless aspiring artists and gallery owners, Hasse is indeed one of the most successful, though he may lack the grandiosity of more celebrated artists. Shedding the superficiality, prima donna attitudes, and unnecessary glamour associated with the arts, what Hasse conveys through his art and space is genuine curiosity and loyalty to the arts—a rare find these days with the loudness of the contemporary art world. In the manner he makes and presents his art, Hasse does have a unique voice to contribute to the contemporary art canon that should not be missed.

Finally, as I usually do with all Dartmouth alumni, I asked Hasse about how to make the most of one’s college years, and how to prepare for what’s to come after college. With that, I’ll leave you with his words:

“If you seek fame and fortune, I am not your counsellor. If you are in quest of a life comparatively contented and at peace with your modest place in the grand scheme of the Tao, I would encourage you to start your journey of a thousand miles with your first footsteps here at Dartmouth. Learn all you can from courses, experiences, and folks you meet along the road about the lessons of compassion and tenderness and let them ripple out from your center in the life ahead.

Finally, in the words of T.S. Eliot: ‘Teach us to care, and not to care. Teach us to sit still.’ …tough advice in our hustling world, but still the best if we are to survive as individuals, and as a species.

Oh, and have fun!”

The Barbary Coast Jazz Ensemble plays. Photo courtesy of the Hopkins Center.

I grew up listening to the Pat Metheny Group, Thelonious Monk and the Yellowjackets. I am no foreigner to the world of jazz, yet Big Band Now: The Sound of Young New York was a necessary addition to my jazz education. Don Glasgo and Dartmouth College’s Barbary Coast Jazz Ensemble put their best foot forward with special guest, Jason Lindner at the Hopkins Center of the Arts. Pianist, composer, arranger and producer Lindner “is a musical universe” according to prolific pianist and composer Chick Corea. The New York Times takes it a step further, describing him as “only partly interested in jazz’s idiomatic customs. What matters to him is groove.”

The journey began with “Song for Jason,” a piece written for Lidner by his friend and colleague, Israeli bassist Avishai Cohen. Grant Neubauer ‘13’s nostalgic piano solo brought me back to busting afternoons on 34th Street, the notes rushing past me like a line of taxi cabs at rush hour. “Rumors” was supercharged with angst and grit. Lindner spilled his soul all over the keys in an improvisation that sent chills down my spine. Yet overall, the sound was silky and smooth. Alan Gottesman ‘13 lent the smoky sound of his tenor saxophone to the contemporary collage. For me, the piece embodied the rich flavor and glamour of New York, from Greenwich Village, to DUMBO, to the heart of Flushing. “Freak of Nature” was by far the classiest piece, evoking elegance in the midst of hustle and bustle. Trumpet and trombone solos distilled the sweet essence of the music. The saxophones swayed in a group solo reminiscent of mambo. Graduate student Patrick Barter’s drum solo moved the piece to its powerful climax.

“Aquarius,” originally called “Self-Portrait,” is the only piece Lindner wrote in the A key. In an intersection of music and astrology, each of the twelve music keys are assigned their own astrological sign. It just so happened that Lindner’s astrological sign, Aquarius, corresponded to the A key and the name stuck. The piece began with a floating flute solo from Stephanie DeCross ‘13. The song was not only a portrait of Lindner, but a portrait of a sunny autumn afternoon in Central Park, at times soft and warm but a bit melancholy at others. In contrast, “Space” had a cool, blue sound of the city at twilight. The piece listed back and forth like a more traditional 1950s big band song.

Lindner also gave tribute to John Coltrane in his arrangement of “Giant Steps.” While most of the music of the night came from his 2007 album Live at the Jazz Gallery, this piece came from a 2009 album of Linder’s more experimental works, Now vs. Now. “Giant Steps” began with the refreshing sound of an electrical keyboard, and Lindner interwove the keyboard’s unique sound into the waves of energy emanating from the band.

The final piece was “U Near Blew” which started out with a piano piece by Lindner that evoked gospel and 1930s blues. Suddenly the song swelled into a powerful big band number with Katie Pine ‘11 and her lean, mean tenor saxophone at its helm. Then there was a soulful interplay of trombone solos with Chris Martin ‘10 and Erin Michet ‘13 on trombone and Paul Finkelstein ‘13 on bass trombone. Lindner’s piano spoke back and forth with Neubauner’s organ before the meat ‘n’ potatoes of Andrew Lohse ’12’s bass solo. And of course there was a spectacular big band finish.

Lindner’s, Glasgo’s, and the Barbary Coast Jazz Ensemble’s music was a pleasure to listen to. It was also a pleasure to play. Grant Neubauer will never forget trading solos with Lindner: “Playing in my first Coast concert with Jason Lindner was a truly amazing and humbling experience. He is so talented, and at the same time, friendly, down-to-earth, and an all-around great person. It’s clear that instead of showing people his music, he would rather share it with them… Everyone was so inspired and played with such passion that I was just swept up in the musical energy. I can’t wait for future shows!” Katie Pine also enjoyed having Lindner as a special guest: “Being a part of Jason’s compositions and playing for an attentive, excited audience was thrilling. I’ve never been part of a musical experience so magical.”

Playing Lindner’s “Live at the Jazz Gallery” a day later, I reflected on the fact that he is a native New Yorker as I am. I feel his music did the city justice. The soul of his jazz embodies the soul of the city, an essence easily recognizable to anyone who’s been there. His music pays homage to the big band tradition going back to the “young New York” of 1920s Harlem and Sinatra’s 1950s. Yet it also speaks to the modern feeling of youth and freedom in a world of opportunity—a city like New York, or a college like Dartmouth—where anything is possible.

Ornaments made by Claflin Jewelry Studio staff for sale. Photograph by Candais Crivello.

This past weekend several DFPers and I took a trip to the jewelry studio in the basement of the Hop. For most of us, it was our first time stepping into the studio, much less making jewelry.

If you’re curious about the jewelry studio, now is the time to go. Schedule a time in your planner and go with some friends. If you’re like me and don’t get around to it until senior year, you may regret passing up the jewelry studio for watching YouTube or playing Farmville all afternoon—save that for your 2 a.m. procrastination.

The jewelry studio offers much more than expected. You can make beaded bracelets and earrings, but metal engravings, rings, and soldering tools also (with supervision). Not everything that comes out of the jewelry studio is girly and froo-froo, either. It can be anything whatever you imagine. It doesn’t even have to be jewelry. Just check out some of the samples that are by the window or inside the studio; there’s a wide array of styles you can make.

You can also come in and fix broken jewelry or take apart your old jewelry to create new pieces. And, if you’re feeling really creative, you can probably bring in normal objects to turn into jewelry. That way, you can not only make something cool, but can also take pride in being sustainable. By using things you already have, you not only recycle and give use to your broken pieces, but you also save money on material costs. The studio accepts cash or DA$H for any costs, which are pretty reasonable. A simple silver ring, for example, only costs about three dollars.

Although I realize I’m waxing poetry on the jewelry studio right now, I know it’s not for everyone. First, it can be difficult to schedule a time to go to the jewelry studio while you’re busy with classes, organizations, hanging out, and living the Dartmouth life. Although the jewelry studio is open on Saturdays, it isn’t open on Sundays. The hours are pretty flexible during the week though it might become difficult to keep going to the studio during midterms and afterwards.

Secondly, if you want to make a super-amazing-extravagant-detailed-10-years-of-skill-necessary jewelry piece, you can’t do that if you only go to the jewelry studio once or twice. Generally you start with something simple, like a band ring or simple beaded jewelry, though you can elaborate on the first piece of jewelry you’ve made by adding a stone or engraving on it. If you want to get serious about making really stylized jewelry, you need to make going to the jewelry studio a commitment. You get what you put into your time at the studio. Like everything else, you’ll benefit the most when you do put in that effort.

Lastly, jewelry making isn’t for everyone, and that’s O.K. You might find that you absolutely hate making jewelry, that it’s too cumbersome, or your appreciation for jewelry stops at wearing it. Still, if you’re curious about the studio, it doesn’t hurt to try it. Find out if you enjoy it and spend a few hours in the afternoon or evening. At worst, you’ll come out with a shiny new ring, bracelet, or pair of earrings. You might even find that the woodshop next door or the pottery studio across the bridge in Norwich may be more your thing. Finding a new passion can be a fulfilling lifetime joy.

I had never heard of The Rocky Horror Show before watching the Dartmouth College Theater Department’s production. I bought my pre-season ticket because I was attracted to the show’s unique name. But even when I saw the exciting decorations heralding Rocky Horror all around the HOP, I refused to Google the show, anticipating that which was to be delightfully unknown and grand.

The opening night exceeded my expectations. From the time the usherette, Chiara Klein ‘10 introduced this remarkable “Science Fiction Double Feature” to the starry light of a gorgeous disco ball, I knew I was in for the most extravagant, flamboyant and fun show of my life. When conservative 1950s couple, Brad (Jay Ben Markson ‘10) and Janet (Talene Monahon ‘13) enter Frank ‘N’ Furter’s (David Mavricos ’10) mysterious, out-of-this-world castle, I knew they weren’t ready for this sweet transvestite from Transexual Transylvania’s world of extravagantly sensual surprises.

So much effort went into recreating Richard O’Brien’s powerful story of sex, rock ‘n’ roll, pleasure and freedom. Evan Ross ‘13, who played Eddie, described his experience with the Dartmouth Theater Department as “incredible. They’re wonderful, kind, talented—everything you could hope for. The show was a blast.”

There was Dan Kotlowitz’s psychedelic lighting, Laurie Churba Kohn’s colorful costumes and Georgi Alexi-Meskhishvili’s spectacular set design. Dazzling special effects breathed life into the magnificent floorshow and even a rocket ship take-off. Gregory Daniel’s choreography and the Louis Burkot’s music direction brought the rock ‘n’ roll era to the stage. All of this was guided by director Carol Dunne, who expertly channeled O’Brien’s genius.

And who could forget O’Brien’s genius? Musical numbers like “Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me” and “Rose Tint my World” carried the cult midnight movie classic and the internationally acclaimed theatrical performance through more than three decades. His same-sex couplings, and Frank’s maxim of “Give yourself over to absolute pleasure,” pushed the gender and sexuality boundaries of the time.

Granted, Frank, the supercharged AC/DC of the story, is killed off by one of his henchmen in the end—the predictable fate of a character that challenged the heteronormative status quo back then. Yet, the fact that such a character could exist with such vigor and confidence is a testament to O’Brien’s bravery and the progressive nature of the ‘70s.

The audience is left free to decide whether Brian and Janet understand the implications of their sexual romp through a long, beautiful night or consider the entire debacle a Bacchanalian dream.

Yet, I was touched by what the director’s notes called “a roller coaster of the ridiculous and the imaginative.” I was inspired to live Frank’s words “Don’t dream it, be it.”

The road to personal fulfillment and pleasure doesn’t have to be the broad, heavily-trodden path, but instead a path of one’s own choosing, a path one shouldn’t be afraid to tread.