“Shakur, An Autobiography” Essay (Fall 2023)
The Youth Public History Institute Newsletter (Summer 2023)
Discourse on Twenty-First Century Film and Photography: What it Means to Be Queer (Spring 2023)
The Role of Inequality in Politics, Civic Life, and the Workplace (Spring 2023)
Discourse on Music as a Universal Language (Spring 2023)
Sometimes I Say Yes (Spring 2020)
Contact: tiapoquette30@gmail.com / LinkedIn: Tia Poquette
Assata, An Autobiography
Fall 2023
In Assata Shakur’s autobiography, Shakur recounts her experiences in prison, trials, and her life growing up. She highlights moments where she was targeted by law enforcement for her known label as a radical, Black woman who was a member of the Black Liberation Army and Black Panther Party. Her life experiences throughout the autobiography tell the story of a woman who was constantly struggling, whether it was with relationships, financial stability, or combatting racist law enforcement and systemic policies. These experiences empowered her to stand up for others, leading to a life of activism, resistance, and solidarity. To some, however, these attributes also shaped her label as a deviant, although more often than not, the label should have been applied to the forces against her.
America prides itself on protecting the rights of civilians, whether it be the right to peacefully protest or the right to a fair trial, no matter the alleged crime. Shakur recounts numerous experiences that define deviance, but many are moments where the state is deviant in the way it inflicts harm on Shakur, goes against the constitutional protections of a speedy and fair trial, and the general lack of care for her wellbeing. Theories of deviance, such as labeling theory, stigma, and conflict theory, apply to Shakur’s life. In the opening chapter recounting her charges from May 2, 1973, Shakur notes how she is asked how she pleads to her numerous charges on the New Jersey Turnpike. When she responded she said, “I would like to have a lawyer present. Don’t I have a right to a lawyer?” Indeed, under the 6th Amendment Shakur does have the right to a lawyer through the Due Process Clause in the 14th Amendment, yet the judge says, “That will not be necessary. Enter a plea of not guilty for the defendant” (Shakur, p. 15). Immediately, the state decided that Shakur did not need (or deserve) a lawyer and forced her to enter a plea of not guilty. Unfortunately, this encounter with the criminal justice system was just the beginning, and the system was constantly and purposefully working against her. Her label as a criminal dating back to her charge of armed robbery in 1971 created a stigma where others assumed her guilty and often led to her being targeted as a suspect in the first place. Shakur’s trial in January 1977 also exemplifies how the government worked against her, disregarding her constitutional right to a fair and just trial by purposefully allowing biased people to sit on the jury – “Appleby’s voir dire was designed to make sure the most hypocritical, opinionated jurors stayed on the jury” (Shakur, p. 248). People who admitted to believing Shakur was guilty before the trial were able to stay on the jury, and “an all-white jury was selected” for her case (Shakur, p. 251). Social control through external control (like law enforcement and prosecutors) worked to silence Shakur. Deviance in Shakur’s autobiography was often shown in the government and institutions, rather than Shakur herself. Because of her identity and the stigma around her criminal status, she was made a target of the criminal system.
Additionally, Shakur struggled financially throughout her life. Strain theory helps to explain themes in the book, particularly when, after she met Tina, Tina’s brother, and Tina’s mother, she started shoplifting clothing and expensive jewelry. They created a scheme where Shakur would act like she had $80 to spend but wouldn’t buy anything, while the other two would create a diversion. She’d then pocket the jewelry and the profit would be split between them (Shakur, p. 76). Strain theory in this scenario describes how, because she needed money and ran away from home, Shakur had to make money in some way and thus engaged in a criminal activity. Later, she attempted to work at other places, but some employers harassed her, or the customers were also people who were very unlikable.
From her resistance to injustice by law enforcement and government officials to challenging leaders at the Black Panther Party, Shakur certainly demonstrated positive deviance. For example, Shakur described how, even though she immensely respected her comrades in the Black Panther Party and knew she could face backlash for challenging their system, she still voiced her concerns, writing, “I had been turned off by the way spokesmen of the Party talked to people, flippant and disrespectful. I told them I preferred the polite and respectful manner in which civil rights workers and Black Muslims talked to people rather than the arrogant, fuck-you style that used to be popular in New York” (Shakur, p. 204). Even in spaces where people agreed with her, Shakur focused on making things better. She was not afraid to speak her mind and advocate for herself in order to make the Black Panther Party more effective. Positive deviants do just that – challenge conformity while advocating for positive and effective change. Shakur also co-counseled one of her own hearings, issuing an opening statement that called out the injustices of the court, even though she knew the jury likely wouldn’t care to hear what she had to say and could work against her. She said, “What kind of justice is this? Where the poor go to prison and the rich go free. Where witnesses are rented, bought, or bribed. Where evidence is made or manufactured. Where people are tried not because of their actions but because of their political beliefs” (Shakur, p. 167). Rarely would anyone, let alone the defendant, protest the injustices embedded in the court system at their own trial. When she refused to be photographed in her 1973 case for bank robbery, she was assaulted by the FBI and marshals, though there was no need for any physical altercation in the first place (Shakur, p. 161). When others would likely listen to such orders, Shakur challenged the norm. She knew she was being framed for something she had not done and was not afraid to resist such charges even through minor acts of resistance. While Shakur was made out to be a deviant and criminal individual, it seemed as though those in power were often the ones breaking their own values, demonstrating how deviance is a social construct. Zuckerman and Wolf pointed out that, “deviance is thus problematic because it establishes an association between rule-breaking and bad, malevolent, anti-social behavior” and that “conformity is always a good thing, and that deviance is always a bad thing – while ignoring deviance that one would characterize as heroic, altruistic, or beneficial” (Wolf & Zuckerman, p. 641). Shakur was labeled deviant because the collective conscience decided that her identities were problematic and troublesome, affecting her from childhood to adulthood, yet much of her behavior was intended to challenge the inequities surrounding her and thus could be seen as heroic.
Shakur’s life highlighted how the power elite maintained their power and innocence while deciding who was deviant (in this case, an activist was the criminal). Conflict theory, stigma, positive deviance, and strain theory, among others, arguably defined Shakur’s life. Shakur was constantly under surveillance by the power elite following her armed robbery charge, eventually finding asylum in Cuba. Her financial struggles, at points, did lead her to commit crimes, demonstrating strain theory. Yet Shakur was a powerful force advocating for change, unafraid to speak up and call for necessary changes. Each experience led to another – realizing she didn’t want to steal anymore, encounters with law enforcement, prison, and the court system, going to college, finding the Panthers, having a child while incarcerated, mending her relationships with family, and so forth. She demonstrated positive deviance when she challenged the norms of society and called out harmful systemic policies.
The Youth Public History Newsletter
Summer 2023
Read more about this experience here.
Discourse on Twenty-first Century Film and Photography: What it Means to Be Queer
Tia Poquette – Spring 2023
“Sexuality is the great discussion of our age; photographs do speak, often unambiguously, about a matter of perhaps greater importance than sex in human interaction: genuine intimacy”
John Iblson, Picturing Men
Twenty-first century film and photography explore a dialogue between the mishaps of representation, and what it means to be queer. The current representation of LGBTQ+ people in film and photography presents a mix of proud and complex identities. Films from the 20th century such as The Maltese Falcon (1941) and Teen Wolf (1985) represented a less humanized view of queer people and “the effects of these stereotypes are still seen today” (Peter, p. 2). However, the majority of today’s images portray freedom and a more complex identity, encouraging today’s LGBTQ+ community to engage more openly with society. Scholars today have studied the different ways in which queer identity is idealized, and how intersectionality exists within the community. The current films and photographs of LGBTQ+ people celebrate pride by creating visibility, evoking an intimate and complex identity for queer people.
In 2016, photographer Ryan James Caruthers photographed Kiss, with an image of himself and his boyfriend. The usage of minimal light in the photo makes for a tranquil, almost solitary, feel, and a sense of withholding desire. This modern-day photograph elevates a common theme in queer representation: gentle love, intimacy, and a push-and-pull relationship with privacy and showing love. Kiss is a subtle example of this tension in creating art that captures the queer experience.
Caruthers himself describes the photo saying, “Even though the image is quiet, my hope is that it may emit noise. Pride is a reminder to support and celebrate those around you – to lift up those who have yet to grasp their sexuality or full identity” (W Magazine, p. 10). Photography enables both the art and the artist to capture a raw moment and create a narrative of their own – often one that, in the case of queer representation, brings visibility to the community. Stephanie Rogerson, a professor at the University of Western Ontario, highlights how modern-day queer photography is freeing, writing, “one can be empowered by creating an image. The modernization of photography released possibilities in regard to who took pictures of whom. Due to this modernization, consumers had the ability to control self-representation” (Rogerson, para. 8). Caruther’s photograph does this precisely, as he captures an image of himself in an intimate and private moment with his boyfriend. This idea of privacy, perhaps due to the stigma around queer love, is a common theme in modern queer media. Other scholars contend that queer media, such as Kiss, often focuses on profit instead of presenting an authentic and genuine identity. Tyler Quick, a Ph.D. student at the University of Southern California, wrote in their dissertation, “the commercial ‘queer’ cultural products seek to represent queerness in its most profitable and popular iterations – that is […] therefore not alienating toward as many potential consumers as possible” (Quick, p. 2). The balance in not making media “too gay” can alter the authenticity of queer film and photography, creating discourse around what gay media should look like.
Like Kiss, a similar tension, level of intimacy balancing privacy, and debate on representation are found in the film, Call Me By Your Name, based on a novel written by André Aciman. The 2017 coming-of-age film takes place in northern Italy in 1983, between protagonists Elio, a 17-year-old, and Oliver, a 24-year-old graduate assistant from America. Elio and Oliver’s relationship suspensefully builds from strangers to lovers, their relationship a complex jumble of emotions due to the two needing to hide their identities and the inevitable ending to their summer relationship. The cinematography captures their desire to love freely, the push and pull of queer love in the public eye versus the private eye, and is ultimately a testament to modern queer identity. Quick praises the film for its ability to demonstrate how, “to be queer is to be self-consciously ‘alienated’ from the hegemonic system of sexual reproduction and the sexual culture that undergirds it” (Quick, p. 29). Scenes from the film only reveal Elio and Oliver’s love in moments of privacy as a direct result of being alienated from mainstream heterosexual society. Rogerson identifies the intimacy and balance of personal versus private representation in queer images too, writing, “some are obvious signifiers of intimacy such as kissing or touching, while others show less tangible signifiers such as a sense of ease or effortlessness, creating a broader discussion of queerness, intimacy, and representation” (Rogerson, p. 11). Modern representations of queerness such as Call Me By Your Name show this juxtaposing identity as a tension between public and private love, and the gentleness of being queer. But Cole Land, a professor at Wesleyan University, highlighted concern in that it was a “sterilized” queer relationship, with its focus on cis-gendered white men and its ignorance of the anxiety that often comes from “realizing” one is not straight. He writes, “There should be movies about Black queer people, disabled queer people, economically disadvantaged queer people, and the list goes on. To call this film a queer film is not fair to the greater majority of the queer community” (Cole, p. 2).
Other modern-day media represent queer identity by replacing familiar characters with queer ones, agreeing with Cole’s take on the intersectionality of queer identities. Eve, taken by Savana Ogburn in 2018, “[places] trans individuals at the center of a biblical story,” hoping to change “the narrative to imply a more inclusive, nuanced story about gender” says Savana Ogburn (W Magazine, para. 26). Placing queer characters at the forefront of cinema and photography certainly does empower the creators and audience to embrace their identity and push back against the heteronormative and cis-gendered narrative.
Though it is apparent that photographs and film can help define queer identity, scholars like Melanie E.S. Kohnen at Brown University point out how representations of queerness can fail. Kohnen points out how queer representation in film can often ignore the intersectionalities of race, class, gender, and sexual orientation, among others, using Ellen DeGeneres as an example: “[media does] not reach far enough to facilitate a critical engagement with the role that race plays in discourses on queer visibility. […] Instead of engaging with the intertwined nature of race and sexuality, Ellen continues the project of portraying those categories as comparable, but separate discourses” (Kohnen, p. 156). Quick echoes this sentiment in criticizing parts of Call Me By Your Name, writing that film and photography are guilty of “legitimizing only those desires that do not disgust hegemonic aesthetic sensibilities” (Quick, p. 32). In creating media, being able to represent queerness in a truthful and accurate manner is complex, as is the queer identity. In an article published by Princeton University’s Art Museum, artist Catherine Opie writes, “Queer photographers […] are more interested in being part of a political discourse about how radically life has changed over the past three decades for queers” (Opie, Meyer, Aletti, p. 7). Photography and film are opportunities for empowering queer people, but finding ways to capture the intersectional identities within queerness is challenging. Black Dolls (2016), by Campbell Addy, utilizes photography to demonstrate the intersectionality of queer identity. His photograph of a Black queer man wearing makeup and posing flamboyantly was purposefully created to both reference African American slavery and counteract white media. Addy states, “white media tends to portray us in a certain manner, but we try to fight against that. This image pays homage to those who, despite the adversities they faced, still created something to aid in their struggle, as we’re trying to do today in contemporary image-making” (W. Magazine, para. 7). Photography and film, while juggling intersectionality and white-centered media, provide dialogue for queer people. Queer people can see themselves reflected in powerful positions, such as in Eve, and find themselves in intimate relationships, balancing the complex relationship of being “out” and wanting to be hidden in hegemonic society. A general consensus by scholars has been made though: Queer identity and visibility through photography and film is a complex project to take on because it is, as professors Elisa Abes (University of Maryland) and David Kasch (UCLA), describe, an identity that is “constantly forming and reforming and challenges heteronormative assumptions,” proposing “a fluid perspective” on queer identity (Abes & Kasch, para. 1). They propose two theories to frame the question of queer representation in film and photography: queer theory and cognitive development theory. Cognitive development theory emphasizes embracing one’s identity, affecting their “beliefs, sense of self, and relationships with others” (Abes & Kasch, para. 6). Queer theory focuses on “intersections of identities and resisting oppressive social constructions of sexual orientation and gender” (Abes & Kasch, para. 13). Scholars like Abes, Kusch, Kohnen, and Cole concludes that modern-day representations, while generally much more inclusive than in prior centuries, must consider the multitude of identities within the LGBTQ+ community.
The discourse around LGBTQ+ representation brings up questions about intersectionality and white hegemony, but many queer artists see their medium as an opportunity to embrace themselves and create pride in their community. Scholars have concluded that queer identity is not defined by one thing, but note that modern-day artists commonly include motifs of intimacy, the struggle to balance private and public love, and pride in their sexuality, and should consider the diverse identities within the community.
The Role of Inequality in Politics, Civic Life, and the Workplace
Tia Poquette – Spring 2023
“Text me when you get home” is a phrase commonly voiced among women and minorities walking alone, regardless of the time of day, to let their peers know they made it to their destination unharmed. Fear of being followed, assaulted, or worse permeates many American citizens’ minds when simply walking outside or visiting a store, as the color of their skin, gender identity, or sexuality can be perceived as a threat. Inequality in the United States today stems from the deep-rooted history of racism and sexism embedded in America. Capitalism, as sociologist Andrea Ritchie argues, “enshrines racism” and relies on inequality to function, allowing inequality to systemically perpetuate politics, civic life, and the workplace, working together to deeply impact how certain people experience life. However, the inequalities that preserve capitalism are in clear juxtaposition to the American ideals of democracy, equality, and fairness for all.
Cadogan captures the unequal treatment of people in his reflection, writing about how he had to adjust from life in Jamaica to life in America, where “no one was wary of [him] because of [his] skin color” and he had to completely readjust how he interacted with the world (Cadogan, para. 10). Police in America privilege White people, and Black people are seen as a threat, where a simple jog might be twisted into stealing, running from a crime, or attacking someone. Even in his attempt to wave at a police officer, he found himself “against his car in handcuffs” (Cadogan, para. 13). He’d cross the street when seeing a White woman to make her feel safe, changed his fashion style to an “all-American” look, and didn’t run anywhere in order to make others sure that he was not a threat to anyone (Cadogan, para. 24). Cobb echoes the concerns of racism and inequality in day-to-day life, writing about “the ways in which the police can serve as a vector of the biases of individual citizens” (Cobb, p. 2). Women and other minorities are also subject to harassment. In February 2022, Christina Yuna Lee was sexually assaulted and stabbed to death in her Chinatown apartment after being followed by a man into her building. Her intersectional identity as an Asian woman made her experiences, where anti-Asian biases following Covid made everyday life a challenge, completely different from that of, for example, a white man (Fondren & Southall, 2022). In nine states, drag queens are perceived as a threat and criminalized because of the way they dress (Restrepo, 2023). Public spaces are not free from unequal treatment. If citizens cannot go to stores or restaurants, walk the streets, or go on a jog without being attacked, questioned, or followed because of their race, gender, or sexual orientation, then it plays a significant role in everyday life and contradicts American values.
Inequality exists in the workplace too. Capitalism in America was first rationalized by the belief that people could rise to the top based on a combination of merit, training and effort, and natural skill. But, like civic life, financial inequality and powerful bosses have created an uneven allocation of power. Anderson describes bosses as “dictators” because they are able to exploit workers and contain them under their own conditions, writing, “[employers] are free to sacrifice workers’ dignity in dominating and humiliating their subordinates. Most employer harassment of workers is perfectly legal, as long as bosses mete it out on an equal-opportunity basis” (Anderson, p. 2). Employers are also free to let go of workers at their own discretion and with little advance notice, even for minor errors, like the San Diego Christian college that “fired a teacher for having premarital sex – and hired her fiance to fill the post” (Anderson, p. 3). Reich iterates this too, writing, “the market itself has become tilted ever more in the direction of moneyed interests that have exerted disproportionate influence over it, while average workers have steadily lost bargaining power” (Reich, p. 8). The free market was meant to be a place of equality as ordinary people could gain financial independence based on merit, but capitalism has allowed bosses to exploit ordinary workers and maintain their power through coercion, loopholes, and the basic need for work among average people. Workers cannot advocate on their own behalf because employers have amassed an immense amount of power over workers. Additionally, the people who are most negatively impacted in the workplace are Black and Latinx people and women, as Hamilton details: “Black and Latinx workers are twice as likely as white workers to be among the ‘working poor,’ meaning they have a job but that job doesn’t pay enough to cover basic living expenses” (Hamilton, p. 2). On average, women still make 82 cents to a man’s dollar, and the gap continues to widen as women age (Boesche, Gaines, Bleweis, p. 8). Though the Second Bill of Rights claims that every American is entitled to the right to work and earn adequate compensation and protection from economic unemployment, the lack of equality in the workplace directly opposes American values.
Ideally, the best way to combat these issues is to turn to politicians and the government by voting. Unfortunately, politicians themselves can be a part of the elite, placing self-interest against the wishes of voters, influenced by the wealthy through bribes and financial campaign support. Reich and Beckel cite political corruption as a source of nationwide inequality. Reich writes, “the increasing concentration of political power in a corporate and financial elite that has been able to influence the rules by which the economy runs” (Reich, 1). Beckel, too, makes clear the power that money has in government, as only twelve political mega donors “are responsible for $1 of every $13 in federal elections since Citizens United and 25% of all giving in the top 100 zip codes – a total of $3.4 billion” (Beckel, p. 1). Billionaires are given “undue influence to billionaires and millionaires across the political spectrum, while the vast majority of ordinary citizens lack a seat at the table” (Beckel, p. 2). Because people of color and women make less than a white man’s dollar, those excluded from the table because of finances are minorities whose voices are already silenced or ignored, as “40% of Americans are people of color, people of color account for just 30% of the population of the typical top-giving ZIP code” (Beckel, p. 2). Politicians who are influenced by money cannot represent their citizens with virtue and integrity. Corruption in politics is the antithesis of democratic ideals and allows for the toleration of inequality on every level of life.
Inequality is America’s most significant problem, impacting the lives of the majority of Americans, worsening the class gap, and embedding itself into everyday life: housing, education, and job opportunities. White, male, cis hegemony is “a force so fundamental to America that it is difficult to imagine a country without it” (Coates, p. 5). True democracy has failed because of inequality. Those in power have maintained their power through unequal opportunity and treatment, despite American ideals that praise meritocracy, equality, and justice for all.
Discourse on Music as a Universal Language and Authenticity
Tia Poquette – Spring 2023
Music as a Universal Language
J’ai touché l’enfance de mes doigts encore feutrés
“Enfance 80” by VIDEOCLUB
Ressassé cette histoire comme si je l’avais rencontrée
La vraie belle nouveauté c’est celle qui ne vieillit pas
Celle qui nous garde les ciels pastels, l’orage quand il fait froid
Do you recognize the lyrics above? Are you able to understand what they mean? Unless you speak French, the only way to know what those lyrics mean is to translate them. The lyrics come from the Indie French duo, VIDEOCLUB, in their song Enfance 80. They became popular after their release of Amour Plastique in 2018. Though their songs are in French, they are most listened to in Mexico City, Mexico, with 78,929 listeners, and Bogotà, Colombia, according to Spotify. People who do not speak French don’t understand the lyrics but still enjoy listening to their music. BTS is another band who have recently risen in popularity, with over 35.7 million listens per month on Spotify alone. Their songs mix between Korean and English lyrics, and listeners who do not speak Korean adore them. Perhaps their on-stage or social media presence plays a large part in their success. Their most watched video covers not just their music, but their personalities and how they make their music, garnering 370 million views as of April 2023. Though the whole video is in Korean, the top comments are in English, while only some are in Korean. Is it possible for music to break cultural and language barriers between countries?
There has been an ongoing debate on whether music is a universal language with some scholars using a variety of explanations, and some using scientific studies to support both sides of the argument. Some argue that music can be interpreted differently, whereas language is defined and translatable. No matter where someone is from, language and translation are universal, but music across the world can be dependent on cultural background and context. Is it possible for listeners to understand music in an authentic way? Where does authenticity come into the conversation in making music to conform to the audience’s desires, or do the artists remain authentic? I will analyze the different arguments surrounding the debate, and offer a new perspective on whether music is a universal language and consider authenticity and its place in music.
BTS has gained a huge amount of followers in the past decade. Though their songs are often in Korean, their music has been beloved by people who do not speak Korean, even earning three awards at the American Music Awards in 2021. Despite the usage of mainly Korean language in their songs, non-Korean speakers claim to have experienced their music the same way Korean-speaking people do. Fans around the globe were quoted in The Guardian saying, “BTS inspired me to love myself without feeling ashamed” and “BTS probably have the most diverse fan base in the world.” Music by BTS has bonded people from Australia to the Philippines where people have even thanked BTS for “healing racial trauma.” The power of music to unite people and help heal people highlights the similarities that language and music have by creating bridges between people who may never meet or have a connection without it. In this sense, music does serve as universal in the ways it can evoke similar emotions from people despite language barriers. Some educators have even called for adding music to a standard curriculum because music can help bring people together on a shared emotional level, and others say that music can lead to social change and new interactions. And yes, it is definitely true that music bonds people together. People from all over the world come to concerts like Coachella to see artists and enjoy the music with strangers. In 2022, 125,000 people were at Coachella each day, bringing in millions of dollars in ticket sales.
Artists are always going on tours, bringing together groups of people who otherwise may have nothing in common. But gathering people and making them feel the same way is different from people understanding the music, the lyrics, and the meaning behind them.
While it is true that music has the potential to connect people and is an essential component in human history, some argue music can be understood in vastly different ways when considering cultural histories. Maris Fessenden, a scientist and writer for the Smithsonian, writes, “Though music in general does seem to light up areas of the brain associated with reward, this might have to do with the way music sets up patterns of expectation and then fulfills them. So people’s brains do universally react to music in similar ways. But a specific song won’t necessarily elicit the same emotional response in every person.” A study also conducted by Fessenden also asserted that music is not a language. The study claimed that our experience with language varies, using animals to detail these disparities, writing, “just as large animals that are more likely to be dangerous to humans made louder, low-frequency sounds, small animals make higher pitched, softer sounds. So it makes sense that Gustav Holst composed ‘Mars, the Bringer of War’ in his suite The Planets to feature low, powerful brass lines. Or why the haka, a traditional dance challenge in Māori culture, involves shouting in a deep voice rather than speaking softly.” Unless listeners are accustomed to the significance of shouting in a deep voice in Māori culture, then they would likely overlook such details when listening.
Lodewidjk Muns, a musicologist and musician, also rejects the notion that music is a universal language. “We don’t speak music. We don’t order a sandwich, arrange a date, or discuss the meaning of music in music. We may deliver a telegram singing, or decide to have a conversation as if we were performing an opera, but the message is in the words, not in the music. A language is something like English, Chinese or Swahili: some locally grown variety of the communicative system that all humans share, language. In principle, anything said in one language is translatable into another,” he writes. Without understanding the lyrics to Enfance 80, it would not be possible to understand the song. Sometimes songs have underlying meanings that require cultural knowledge or a deeper understanding of a topic. BTS’ Spring Day is a song that is mostly sung in Korean with few exceptions like the word “friend.” According to Genius, Spring Day is a metaphor for giving a “positive light over a friend’s absence” after two friends grew apart with time. A user on a Reddit page dedicated to BTS wrote that the creation of the song was a risky move as “It’s a very culturally and personally sensitive song that means a lot to people,” and it is “packed with symbolism.”
In Trinidad and Tobago, natives engage in Tassa drumming which dates back to the 1800s, when slavery led to the importation of 143,000 Indians between 1845-1917, leading to new forms of music. The drums are significant and used in weddings, Hosay, and funerals with the four instruments functioning as one unified instrument. In a documentary by Chris Ballengee entitled “Sweet Tassa, Music of the Indian Caribbean Diaspora,” an interviewee explained Hosay’s significance in Hindu culture, stating, “The Hosay, the Muslim drums, is totally different to the Hindu style of drum. Presently, you will go to a wedding and hear drummers playing Hosay drum in a wedding, and I try to talk to them and tell them this is wrong. They don’t care. But should you play a song of mourning in a wedding festival? No, because it’s a celebration.” Music that is culturally significant to some may seem insignificant to others, or wholly misunderstood.
Like body language, different movements (or sounds and lyrics) may be interpreted differently in different cultures. A universal language would mean that, regardless of language or cultural barriers, the words, once translated, would hold the same meaning to everyone. For music to function as a universal language, everyone would have to understand and interpret music in the same way. I offer the perspective that music is not a universal language. Music can be interpreted differently, and certain motifs within music can have cultural significance to some and not others. Thus, the disconnect disproves the narrative that music as a whole is a universal language.
Authenticity in Regards to Music as a Language
“One notable aspect of the literature on liking for music, particularly that on experimental aesthetics, is that it has developed in parallel to, rather than in conjunction with, that concerning more fine-grained emotional responses to music”
“Handbook of Music and Emotion: Theory, Research, Applications”
by David J. Hargreaves and Adrian C. North
Authenticity is defined by Merriam-Webster as “not false or imitation: REAL, ACTUAL” and “true to one’s own personality, spirit, or character.” Do artists change their music to appeal to specific audiences? And how might this impact the idea of music as a language (not a universal language, though)?
In many ways, creating music is like a business where artists have to know what their audience wants and, to some degree, cater to those audiences. Major record labels also contribute to artists’ need to remain mainstream so they are successful and maintain their image, unlike independent artists who are given more freedom to experiment with music. BTS became famous for K-Pop, but they recently made new music that consisted mainly of English lyrics, like their song Dynamite, Butter featuring Megan Thee Stallion, and Permission To Dance. What sparked this decision, and how do artists’ authenticity change the way their music is perceived, if at all?
Though the band members of BTS have said they prefer singing in Korean, they decided to change from their typical lyricism because, as one member put it in an interview, there was “no alternative” to maintain their popularity, particularly at the height of COVID. Another member, Jin, said he had to relearn English because the English he had learned in class were “so different from the English in the song.” Their change to sing in English is arguably not authentic because they agreed they would rather sing in Korean, and it does not truly align with their spirit or character to change the language in which they sing. But Shakira, Celine Dion, Gloria Estefan, Lady Gaga, and ABBA, among other artists, have also explored music in different languages. Taylor Swift has changed genres from Country to Pop since the start of her career too. All of these artists are extremely popular, yet they have changed how they present themselves with time. Determining authenticity can be difficult because anyone can change with time – it’s inevitable.
Spotify playlist of songs with two or more languages:
Consider this: You’re watching an ad for some running shoes and the music in the background is electronic dance music, not really unique in any way, but still enjoyable to listen to. Or you go to a college campus and some students who love music are performing because they love making music, but the music itself is not too great. For many people, choosing the music that sounds better might override the genuine desire to make music. But music is an art form, and it is important that art is treated with respect and made with intention. As stated by Valerie Forgeard, director of World Citizen Artists, “What makes a good musician isn’t necessarily how well they can reproduce something they’ve heard before, but how well they can take that idea and make it their own.” After all, music is evolving and musicians must adapt. Without the exploration of new fields, music could not have evolved to where it is today. With new technologies that enable artists to use different platforms to engage audiences, it might be impractical to not explore new languages or platforms that expand an artist’s listeners. Therefore, music can still be understood even when artists change their audience, platform, or use new sounds to experiment with music styles.
Check out some of these songs and their lyrics, powered by Genius:
In or In-Between (Remix) by Claud and The Marías
La Isla Bonita by Madonna
Michelle by The Beatles
DNA by BTS
Despacito by Luis Fondi, Daddy Yankee, and Justin Bieber
Hips Don’t Lie by Shakira
February 2017 by Charli XCX, Clairo, and Yaeji
telepatía by Kali Uchis
Frío by Omar Apollo
Little by Little by The Marías
Sometimes I Say Yes
Tia Poquette – Spring 2020
Until I was 14, I lived on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. My memories from the city are so vivid: walking in Riverside Park along the river, the distinct rotten-egg smell of the Hudson when you stroll along the biking path; going to Artie’s Delicatessen and getting their perfectly done matzo ball soup and a black and white cookie; the happy chatter of people sitting outside of Big Nick’s enjoying their burgers and pizza. Everything was close to home, too. The Westside Market was two blocks away, the bookstore eight blocks away, the diner two blocks away (until it closed; then we went to a diner four blocks away).
I always walked to and from school, from 77th street on West End Avenue to 77th street between Columbus and Amsterdam. My elementary school, P.S. 87, was three blocks away from my home, and directly across from my middle school. I’m the type of person who has to get my work done first or else I feel super stressed, so it was very convenient living so close to school. I never needed to rush. Sometimes, after school, I would go to 16 Handles with my friends, or to the little bodega to get a snack, maybe get a treat from the Mr. Softee truck on a warm Spring day.
I remember June 11, 2015 was one of those perfect, movie-like, city days: nearly summer, parents with their children waiting in line to get ice cream, kids with their friends at the playground, the sun reflecting off the windows of brownstones along our street. It was the type of day where kids would maybe play basketball in the P.S. 87 yard instead of going home to do their homework. It was a Thursday. I had just turned 12 years old. I was in sixth grade, awaiting the end of school so I could go to camp, wanting to be freed from the “misery” of school. My brother was getting ready for his freshman year in college, at Tulane. My mom was at camp, three hours north, since she was the assistant director there and had to get all the counselors ready for the 250-or-so campers coming on June 24. My dad was home, back from California where he often was, producing movies and TV shows. Things were good. That Thursday, like any other school day, I walked home. Perhaps I bought a chocolate cone with sprinkles from the ice cream truck, went to 16 Handles to get Birthday Cake flavored froyo, or maybe I stopped at CVS to grab a snack. I don’t really remember.
What I do remember from that Thursday was having a double period in English. My teacher’s name was Ms. Schoen. I don’t remember liking her very much. On this Thursday she assigned us each a personal monologue from a character in the novel To Kill A Mockingbird. I had to write and memorize (yes, memorize!) a monologue from the perspective of Jean Louise Finch. This monologue was probably the biggest and most important thing on my plate at the time. I remember walking home and mulling it over in my head: what am I going to write for this? How many times will I have to read it over to memorize it? How long is this going to take me?
I also remember walking into my home. My dad had just gotten out of the shower. I could tell because the apartment smelled like Old Spice. He was sitting at his desk with his computer open looking at motorcycles, doing work, and the light from outside was pouring into the room through the curtains. He said he was doing taxes, and there was a huge pile of papers and I remember him using this weird scanning thing. Once he was done, I remember him asking me if I wanted to go to Duane Reade with him. I said no because I wanted to get my work done and start my monologue. When he came home, he realized he forgot the pistachios on the store counter. Again, he asked me if I wanted to go back out with him. I was working on the monologue, so, again, I said no. I also remember my brother getting home and not feeling well so my mom called my dad to talk about what medication my brother should take.
That was the last time my mom spoke to my dad. At around 8:30pm, my dad had a heart attack. My brother and I were home. A 17 year old and a 12 year old. My brother called 911 and I called my mom. After what felt like an hour of waiting (but, I’ve been told, was only 15 minutes), the ambulance and police came. My brother went to the hospital with him and I stayed in my neighbor’s apartment. At maybe 11pm my brother came home with the news that my dad had not made it. I had already cried so much that, at this point, I didn’t have many tears left in me. My mom got home after we had found out and we spent the rest of the night together. The time in between 8:30pm and 11pm was warped and surreal. And for months after that everything felt fake. For a while it was so strange to me how the rest of the world was moving so perfectly while my world was devoured by this loss.
Two weeks after my dad died, my mom, brother and I went to summer camp. Camp always felt like a bubble, living and playing with the same people for seven weeks, separated from “the real world.” That summer, I needed the bubble more than ever. My mom tells me that I wrote letters to my dad, which were delivered to her. In one, she tells me I wrote, “Dear Dad, I know you’re very far away and can’t respond, but I thought I’d tell you about my day.” I guess writing letters was a way of slowly coming to terms with the fact that I would never see him again. At the end of the summer, right before I started seventh grade, my mom and I brought my brother to college, and the house quickly went from 4 to 2 people. I remember hating that, but I slowly got used to hanging out with my mom, getting closer with my friends at school, and focusing on the things that mattered to me and made me feel happy. I focused on one of my passions, building with Legos, and I found that spending hours building different worlds gave me a sense of stability. The following year my commitment to Legos even brought me an opportunity to go to Denmark and meet designers. Rather than feeling sad all the time, I realized I could turn my energies toward things and people that made me happy.
Two years later, at the beginning of high school, my mom and I decided to start a new chapter. My mom packed up all of my dad’s stuff, gave most of it to Goodwill, and we moved to our current home in Pleasantville, a home over triple the size of our old apartment. This move was actually quite spontaneous, but it has brought so much good into our lives. By letting go of unnecessary clutter, books, toys, clothes, stuffed animals, I was able to turn the page, open my mind up to the future, and refocus on the things and people in my life that matter to me.
I returned to school a week and a half after my dad died. That day I had to present my monologue from the perspective of Jean Louise Finch, memorized and all. Even though I was reading what I had written less than two weeks before, that person no longer existed. My worries about presenting my monologue had previously been overwhelming, but after what I had been through, I realized how little it mattered compared to the loss I had endured. Sometimes I wish I could go back and walk to Duane Reade with my dad, or wish I had taken the time to eat pistachios with him. It’s taken a while, but I’ve learned to accept that change happens, whether we like it or not. It certainly isn’t easy, but I learned to focus on the things that really matter to me. Change can also be good. Moving to a big house in the suburbs was something we needed to do to get on with our lives. Not everything changed. I still like to come home and do my work, but I now will take time to build with Legos, and even see a future in architecture. And every now and then, when my brother or mom, or even my dog, asks for my attention when I’m trying to do homework, I stop for a moment and say yes.