Thousands come together for Walk for Reconciliation

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September 30, 2013

On Sunday, Sept. 22, thousands of Vancouverites braved heavy rain to take part in the Walk for Reconciliation, the final event of the Truth and Reconciliation Committee’s (TRC) week-long gathering in the city. The TRC’s mission is to facilitate and provide healing for First Nations peoples affected by the sad history of Canada’s residential school system.

During the TRC’s time in Vancouver, hearings were held where stories from former students of residential schools and their families were shared and recorded as evidence. The week culminated in the Walk for Reconciliation, which featured Dr. Bernice King, daughter of famous activist Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., as the keynote speaker.

King spent the weekend in the province, spending some time on Vancouver Island on Saturday with Chief Robert Joseph of the Gwawaneuk First Nation and his daughter, Karen Joseph, Executive Director of Reconciliation Canada. At the walk, King spoke about the importance of not giving up on the healing process.

“My father said something very powerful about progress. He said, human progress is neither automatic, nor inevitable,” she said from a stage. “Even a superficial look at history reveals that no social advance rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. Every step towards the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering and struggle.”

King’s words, which came only a month after the 50th anniversary of her father’s iconic “I Have a Dream” speech, kicked off the four-kilometre walk that saw an estimated 70,000 people walking through downtown Vancouver, including approximately 200-300 SFU community members.

This is no time for apathy or complacency.”

– Dr. Bernice King, Baptist minister

King has, no doubt, inherited the skill of powerful oratory from her father. “This is no time for apathy or complacency,” she said. “This is a time for vigorous and positive action.”

King continued, “This requires leadership action on all fronts in Canada, from political and government, corporate, faith, educational and community leadership, because, as I said, we are all in this together. We are tied in an inescapable network of mutuality, caught in a single garment of destiny and what affects one person here in Canada, no matter their background, directly affects all indirectly.”

The TRC is a fact-finding commission that was set up between the federal government, victims of residential schools, and various churches that operated the schools themselves. Canada’s residential schools were notoriously abusive, forcibly separating many First Nations from their families, native languages, and culture.

Dr. George Nicholas, an SFU professor who taught on a reserve near Kamloops and who spoke at the TRC hearings in 2011, recounts it as a powerful experience.

“It was a very humbling experience when I spoke at the meeting, filled with 400 to 500 people at least. And it was an opportunity for me to at least start giving back so much of what I had learned from [the people], and which have really shaped my feelings of heritage.”

Though he believes the TRC is a valuable resource in the journey for reconciliation, Nicholas does have some reservations about the permanence of the effects elicited by events such as the hearings or the Walk.

“For me, reconciliation is not just saying you’re sorry, it’s doing something about it. And it really bothers me at one level that while the idea of reconciliation is great, and it makes people more aware of and sensitive to these issues, ultimately . . . it seems to be a passing thing,” said Nicholas. “You participate in the walk, you listen to lecture, you visit communities, and you benefit from that, but then a week or a month or a year later, not much has really changed.”

The most important role Nicholas sees the TRC playing in reconciliation is that of a hub of listening, a place for those survivors and their families to come forward and connect with government, forcing government to keep the promises and commitments they have made to the communities and individuals who suffered due to residential schools.

“They’re the thorn in the side,” said Nicholas, “[The TRC] is providing a voice to individuals who are not being heard . . . [who] can turn to the TRC as being their spokesperson. And by continuing to prod and poke at the government and its various organizations, it gets the message across that [they’re] not going away.”

Mussels and pneumonia: an interview with Matthew Good

By

Peak Web

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September 30, 2013

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It probably wouldn’t surprise many people, upon meeting Matthew Good for the first time, to find him withdrawn and somewhat sullen. This is the man, after all, who sold shirts embossed with the message “I Heard Matt Good is a Real Asshole.” Good’s music isn’t exactly bubble-gum pop, either; he is well known for his introspective yet anguished lyrics.

It is a rainy afternoon in downtown Vancouver, and Good fits in with the atmosphere. Today, however, he is sullen for a reason: “He’s sick,” says Paula Danylevich, Good’s publicist, as we walk into his hotel room. “But don’t worry, he’s not contagious,” she adds.

Remnants of room service litter the doorway. By the looks of it, Good enjoys mussels — there is a tower of shells piled high on a plate. He sits at a small table, wearing his signature glasses, with his laptop open in front of him. Like the carnage of shells heaped outside the door, Matthew looks as if he has seen better days.

“I have borderline pneumonia, and I am on a ton of medication. It’s not fun,” Good says as I sit down. He sighs as we shake hands, but brightens up once we begin talking about his new album, Arrows of Desire.

Unlike Good’s current condition, his new album has a lot more pep. Departing from the slower, ballad-filled albums like Hospital Music or Vancouver, Arrows of Desire gets back to what made Good famous in the first place: rock n’ roll.

Almost as if to emphasize his rebellion from rigid guidelines, Good lights up a cigarette and inhales deeply.

“It’s a back to basics record. Coming off how heady Lights of Endangered Species was, it was something I wanted intrinsically to do . . . when I sat down to write it, I wanted to get back to the roots of the matter,” he says.

Arrows of Desire does exactly what Good intended. Fundamentally, the album is quite reminiscent of Matthew Good Band, which dissolved in 2002. Good’s solo work has careened away from good old-fashioned rock for quite some time, and a return to his roots could have proved disastrous. Reflecting an earlier sound can often come off as repetitive drivel or make the artist seem as if he is trying to recapture his glory days of yesteryear and escaped youth.

Arrows of Desire defies the odds, though. With punched-up, slightly distorted guitars, basic drumming, and a powerful vocal performance, Arrows of Desire is an anthemic piece that is familiar, but not the exactly. Good has managed to do what others have failed at — return to an original sound without illiciting a completely cringe-worthy response.

Religious references seem to spot the album with songs like “Via Dolorosa”, “Arrows of Desire” and “Hey, Heaven, Hell”, but Good shakes his head, waving off any notion of spirituality in the album: “I am secular humanist,” he states. Almost as if to emphasize his rebellion from rigid guidelines, Good lights up a cigarette and inhales deeply.

“Via Dolorosa,” he says, explaining the references, “has the historical context of Christ . . . but it also has a literary sense of the passage into suffering. This song is more about the crisis of humanity. It’s about any kind of trial that you have to endure, or any trial that you cause others to endure. It’s [about] the madness that resides in those realities.”

Brimming with metaphor, Arrows of Desire is a not the average sex, drugs and rock n’ roll album. But Good isn’t exactly a normal rockstar, either. He currently lives on a ranch in Mission, BC, with his wife and three children. Instead of tales of drunken shenanigans and pretty women, Good shares stories of family life: “My oldest daughter broke her arm yesterday. She got thrown from her horse, but she was tough about it,” he says.

Don’t expect Good’s simple, less-than-rockstar lifestyle to stop him from making music, though: “You don’t have the choice to stop when you are an artist. It’s not just something you can shut off . . . As long as I can somehow make records, I will make records.”

Close to the Edge: Part Two

By

EIC

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September 30, 2013

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Beyond Worlds

The year was 1980. Fred Brathwaite, an art student at New York’s Medgar Evers College in Brooklyn, had just returned to the borough from an art showcase at the Medusa gallery in Rome. Brathwaite — better known as Fab Five Freddy, after the Fabulous Five, the group of graffiti artists to which he belonged — had been involved in a show focused on New York’s thriving community of graffiti artists. The museum’s curator, Carlo Bruni, described the movement as “an art so strong, it hurt people.”

Graffiti had only begun to get recognition in the art world in the late seventies — in the dilapidated New York streets that Freddy made his canvas, his work was seen as vandalism by the moral majority, not to mention the NYPD. As one of hip-hop’s original four elements (along with DJing, emceeing and b-boying), tagging may have been the slowest to gain public approval. New York Mayor John Lindsay began a “war on graffiti” in 1972, focusing money and resources on capturing and arresting artists, whom he antagonized as “insecure cowards seeking recognition.”

But by the beginning of the 1980s, the tides had turned. Freddy was rubbing shoulders with some of the biggest names in the art world: he had befriended Jean-Michel Basquiat, as well members of new wave bands such as Blondie and Talking Heads, from a stint as a camera operator on TV Party, a local public-access cable show. Basquiat had similarly begun his career as a graffiti artist in New York, under the imprimatur SAMO, which stood for “same old shit.”

His star rapidly rising, Freddy co-curated a show at the Mudd Club in Tribeca. Called “Beyond Worlds”, the show featured his own art as well as Basquiat’s and that of several other notable figures in the graffiti subculture. It also featured some unusual guest musicians. Freddy invited several of the Bronx’s biggest hip-hop stars to play, including Afrika Bambaataa and the Zulu Nation.

The punk rockers who attended the event felt an immediate kinship with the hip-hop performers: both subcultures had found a way to turn the frustration and disillusionment of poverty, prejudice and violence into powerful art. “It was a treat for basically both groups of people, that they were checking out a completely other cultural group,” Freddy said in The Hip-Hop Years, a BBC documentary. “It was like two groups of people at a zoo looking at each other, you know what I’m saying? It was really amazing.”

Ruza “Kool Lady” Blue, a local club owner and entrepreneur, was among those attending the event who were deeply impacted by the hip-hop sound. “That was when my mouth dropped and hip-hop replaced punk for me in terms of main musical interests,” she wrote in an article for Electronic Beats. “In the eighties, there was no hip-hop scene in downtown Manhattan. But there were DJs, emcees, b-boys, b-girls, dancers and graf [sic] artists scattered all over the place up in the Bronx, so I basically went up there and dragged them all downtown, and organized them.”

Though the hip-hop club that Blue organized began at a tiny hole-in-the-wall reggae club named Negril, the parties quickly outgrew the space, and were moved to The Roxy, a popular nightclub in Chelsea. The club’s hip-hop nights were emceed by Fab Five Freddy, and featured performers such as Bambaataa, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious 5, and the Rock Steady Crew, as well as graffiti murals and dance competitions. Some notable guests included future producer Rick Rubin and three young men who’d go on to form a group called the Beastie Boys.

Freddy’s friends Harry and Stein had also done their part to propel hip-hop into the mainstream: Blondie’s 1981 hit single “Rapture” included a rapped final verse, the first to appear in a mainstream pop song. The first lines are a tribute to Freddy and the scene he had shown them: “Fab Five Freddy told me everybody’s fly / DJ’s spinning, I said, ‘My, my!’” Hip-hop had found its way into the posh discotheques and dance clubs of downtown Manhattan for the first time.

Meanwhile, hip-hop records had steadily gained popularity since the release of “Rapper’s Delight.” Kurtis Blow’s single “The Breaks” had become the first hip-hop record to go Gold. Blow was a featured performer on Soul Train, a popular music variety show which spotlighted jazz, soul and disco musicians. This was hip-hop’s first notable TV appearance: suburban kids across the country had been exposed to a thriving new art form without ever leaving their living room.

But as the commercial success of “Rapture” faded and 1981 gave way to 1982, many began to think of hip-hop as a passing fad. The genre’s stranglehold on North American culture and radio waves hinged on two groundbreaking singles from two of the Bronx’s foremost talents: Afrika Bambaataa and Grandmaster Flash.

The Message

Though the hip-hop parties at The Roxy were host to a wide array of talent — including Andy Warhol, David Bowie, and some of the earliest performances from Run–D.M.C. and Madonna — Afrika Bambaataa stood alone. His skill and creativity overshadowed his competitors, and he was dubbed by partygoers as the “Master of Records,” a title to which he is still sometimes referred.

One of the keys to his success was his idiosyncratic musical taste. Since the early days of the Zulu Nation, Bambaataa had taken to washing and peeling the labels off of his records, in order to dissuade copycat DJs from aping his beats. “You can take music from any kind of field like soul, funk, heavy metal, jazz, calypso and reggae,” Bambaataa told Davey D in a 1995 interview. “As long as it’s funky and has that heavy beat and groove, you can take any part of it and make it hip-hop.”

Weary of Sugar Hill Records — the foremost label for hip-hop artists at the time — Bambaataa signed to Tommy Boy, a relatively obscure indie label run by music journalist Tom Silverman, to record “Planet Rock” with a branch of the Zulu Nation called the Soulsonic Force. The single, released in April 1982, was influenced by the electronic music that Bambaataa had been introduced to during his tenure at The Roxy, including acts such as Kraftwerk and Yellow Magic Orchestra.

“That was the record that initiated that it wasn’t just an urban thing, it was inclusive,” Silverman said. “That’s when hip-hop became global.” Achieving mainstream success and underground credibility in equal measure, “Planet Rock” was arguably hip-hop’s first crossover hit — and Bambaataa’s competitors took notice.

Sylvia Robinson, Sugar Hill’s head honcho, enlisted Ed “Duke Bootee” Fletcher to write a single to rival Bambaataa’s. She pitched the track, titled “The Message,” to her most talented group, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five — but they were hesitant. The song’s socially conscious lyrics and downtempo groove were unlike any hip-hop records being made at the time.

“We didn’t actually want to do “The Message” because we was used to doing party raps and boasting how good we are and all that,” says Melle Mel. Though the other four members of the Furious Five refused to perform on the track, Mel eventually relented and recorded the song with Duke Bootee. Sugar Hill released the record under the Furious Five moniker anyway; apart from Mel, the group’s only contribution to the single was a spoken word skit tagged on to the end of its seven-minute runtime.

The track was a hit: though it didn’t chart as highly as “Planet Rock”, the song’s overt political themes won the group — and hip-hop — unprecedented critical praise and attention. “Don’t push me ‘cause I’m close to the edge / And I’m trying not to lose my head,” was the song’s refrain, a culmination of a lifetime’s worth of struggle that resonated with many Americans during the Reagan era. Hip-hop had been given a new voice.

“Planet Rock” was arguably hip-hop’s first crossover hit — and Afrika Bambaataa’s competitors took notice.

“The Message” also served to cement a shift in hip-hop that had begun with “Rapper’s Delight” three years previous. Emcees had come to the forefront as the stars of hip-hop, with DJs beginning a slow retreat to the background. As David Hinckley wrote in the New York Daily News, “It confirmed that emcees had vaulted past the deejays (sic) as the stars of the music.”

Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five would go on to record one more hit single — the anti-cocaine anthem “White Lines (Don’t Do It)” — before their untimely breakup in 1983. Bambaataa would continue to make records well into the 21st century, but would never match the incendiary impact of “Planet Rock.” Sugar Hill Records declared bankruptcy and went out of business in 1986. Rap music had weathered the rise and fall of its first generation. Its second would be defined by three familiar letters: MTV.

I Want My MTV

From the first music video the station ever aired — “Video Killed the Radio Star” by The Buggles, an ironic choice — MTV established itself as a force to be reckoned with. Begun in the summer of 1981, MTV’s focus was rock- and pop-oriented: genres like funk, soul and country were seen as relics of the past and unsuitable for the fast-paced showmanship of music videos.

It’s fitting, then, that the first hip-hop group to gain airtime on the network would do so with a track called “Rock Box”, whose video featured three men clad in leather jackets rapping to an electric guitar riff reminiscent of Van Halen. The group was Run–D.M.C., a trio comprised of Joseph “Run” Simmons, Darryl “D.M.C.” McDaniels and Jason “Jam Master Jay” Mizell. They would go on to become the first hip-hop group to go Platinum, to tour the US, to be nominated for a Grammy and to appear on the cover of Rolling Stone.

The group’s third album, Raising Hell, is generally considered one of the most influential hip-hop recordings of all time: produced by Rick Rubin and Run’s brother, Russell Simmons, the LP hit number three on the Billboard Hot 200, and its lead single — a rap version of Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” — was the first hip-hop track to crack the Top 5. “We was (sic) going around selling out Madison Square Garden and all the big venues,” D.M.C. told NPR. “It all happened so fast.”

Run–D.M.C.’s unexpected success allowed Rubin and Simmons to establish Def Jam Records, a label which focused primarily on underground rap artists with a degree of authenticity. “Up until the time of Def Jam, pretty much most of the rap records at the time were R&B records with people rapping on them,” Simmons recalled in an NPR interview. “I think one of the things that separated our records from the ones that came prior was that they had more to do with what the actual hip-hop culture was like. The goal was to capture the energy you felt at a hip-hop club.”

Def Jam would go on to release some of hip-hop’s earliest classics, such as Public Enemy’s It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and the Beastie Boys’ License to Ill. Its two founders eventually parted ways: Rubin founded Def American and would go on to become one of the most sought-after producers in the industry, while Simmons would strike a distribution partnership with CBS/Columbia, becoming one of the richest figures in hip-hop.

Fab Five Freddy had just finished promoting the first hip-hop motion picture, Wild Style, which he had made with his partner Lee Quiñones and writer-director Charlie Ahearn. Ahearn, a local artist and documentarian of graffiti culture, was immediately out of place in the Bronx hip-hop scene. “I never saw anyone that was from downtown or that was white hanging out in any place that I went to,” he said in Can’t Stop Won’t Stop. “Everyone always thought I was a cop.”

Filmed over the course of a year and featuring major players such as Grandmaster Flash, the Rock Steady Crew and The Cold Crush Brothers, Wild Style was a worldwide success. The film and its soundtrack spread the word of hip-hop across the globe: what had once been a localized movement had become a worldwide phenomenon. Fab Five Freddy would remain integral to the culture in the years leading up to 1987, when he was approached by MTV to host a new music video program called Yo! MTV Raps.

Premiering in August 1988, the program’s pilot episode featured Run–D.M.C., Eric B. & Rakim and DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince. For seven years, Yo! MTV Raps would be critical in bringing hip-hop to audiences across racial, gender and class lines. By the time the show aired its final episode in 1995, hip-hop was a multi-billion dollar industry.

One of the most popular and critically acclaimed hip-hop groups of all time, Public Enemy, quickly gained notoriety on Yo! MTV Raps for their challenging, politically charged lyricism and dissonant, hostile sound. “We felt there was a need to actually progress the music and say something, because we were slightly older than the demographic of rap artists at the time,” Chuck D — the group’s emcee — told The Progressive. “Those in power didn’t know what to make of us, but they knew we had to be silenced.”

Public Enemy wasn’t the only rap group at the time to attract negative attention — hip-hop’s controversial lyrics had inspired a legion of detractors, angry parents and offended politicians who objected to the profane, violent and often misogynistic lyrics of rap groups like the 2 Live Crew, whose 1989 album As Nasty As They Wanna Be would become the first LP deemed legally obscene. For two years, purchasing the album in Florida was considered a criminal offense.

Those in power didn’t know what to make of us, but they knew we had to be silenced.”

– Chuck D of Public Enemy

The most culturally accepted hip-hop artists at the time verged on bubblegum pop: MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This” and Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby” were non-threatening party hits. But Public Enemy’s socially conscious approach to hip-hop had inspired several acts — such as De La Soul, Nas and A Tribe Called Quest — to write raps which focused on social issues such as racism, poverty and drug use. Incorporating jazz and pop influences into their music, these groups used hip-hop to change the world, one breakbeat at a time.

Meanwhile, hip-hop was making waves on the West Coast: an LA rapper named Tracy “Ice-T” Marrow almost single-handedly pioneered the sub-genre gangsta rap, which primarily consisted of profane, autobiographical accounts of violent crime and drug abuse. Southeast of LA, in the working-class city of Compton, local DJ wunderkind Andre Young had adopted the nom de plume Dr. Dre and formed the influential gangsta rap outfit Niggaz Wit Attitudes (N.W.A.) with a group of Californian emcees, including O’Shea “Ice Cube” Jackson.

California had built a hip-hop culture comparable to that of New York — it was only a matter of time before the two would become rivals.

A Tale of Two Cities

The members of N.W.A. were barely out of their teens when they released 1988’s Straight Outta Compton, a testosterone-fueled mission statement of violence and rebellion. Its single “Fuck tha Police” — a heated criticism of police brutality along racial lines — inspired the FBI to formally warn the group’s label against further missteps. But its impact went far beyond government cautions: the album would eventually go Platinum and catapult the group’s stars, Dr. Dre and Ice Cube, to international fame.

But gangsta rap had yet to fully capture the public eye. It wouldn’t be until the police beating of Rodney King, an African-American construction worker on parole for robbery, was leaked to the public that hip-hop would evolve into its most controversial iteration.

King’s beating was the inciting incident for the 1992 Los Angeles riots, the largest race riots the nation had seen since the sixties and the culmination of decades of institutional racism in police departments across the United States. Maxine Waters, the Representative for the 19th district of California, said of the eve of the riots, “The anger you see expressed out there in Los Angeles is a righteous anger.”

“Cop Killer,” a protest song recorded by Ice-T and his heavy metal group Body Count, was promptly blamed for the insurrection. President George H.W. Bush and Vice President Dan Quayle publicly spoke out against the track, and used its controversial lyrics as a springboard to condemn the genre in general. “Rap is really funny, man,” Ice-T told Rolling Stone in a feature interview. “But if you don’t see that it’s funny, it will scare the shit out of you.”

But by the end of 1992, the release of Dr. Dre’s wildly popular solo debut The Chronic on Death Row Records cemented what many already knew: the era of gangsta rap was in full swing.

Two of the genre’s most popular figures eventually fostered a professional rivalry that would result in both of their deaths, and mark a sea change in hip-hop’s culture. But they began as friends: Christopher Wallace and Tupac Shakur, both born in New York, met while Shakur was acting in the film Poetic Justice, and immediately connected. “Gemini thing,” Wallace — a.k.a. The Notorious B.I.G. — said in a later interview. “We just clicked.” The two both blended aggressive exteriors with sentimental leanings; their approach to hip-hop highlighted both the hardest and softest sides of the genre.

But their mutual respect quickly turned into a heated rivalry: after being robbed and shot outside a Manhattan studio, Shakur, better known as 2Pac, immediately suspected Wallace and his labelmates on Bad Boy Records. Defecting to Death Row Records, the label Dr. Dre had begun with businessman Marion “Suge” Knight, 2Pac pledged allegiance to the West Coast and began to exacerbate the already existing tension between the East and West.

Hip-hop is a vibrant art form that touches people and gives voice to the voiceless.

Battles between rappers in the hip-hop community were nothing new: one of the most historic had taken place at Harlem World in 1981, when Kool Moe Dee wiped the floor with Busy Bee Starski on wax — Starski’s smooth pace was no match for Dee’s verbal spitfire. But Dee and Starski had kept their duel strictly musical; 2Pac and Biggie had no such preoccupations. For their part, Suge Knight and Sean “Puffy” Combs, Bad Boy Records’ CEO, came to verbal blows on several occasions.

In response to Biggie’s song “Who Shot Ya?”, which 2Pac interpreted as a personal attack, the rapper released “Hit ‘Em Up”, a merciless diss track whose music video included stand-ins for Biggie, Puffy and Bad Boy alumnus Lil’ Kim. The feud had gone from industry secret to media frenzy. With the pressure of their duelling coasts behind them, the duo’s rivalry had reached a boiling point. There was nowhere left to go but down. “Fear got stronger than love,” Tupac told Vibe magazine. “Niggas did things they weren’t supposed to do.”

On Sept. 7, 1996, Tupac was shot in Las Vegas — he died six days later in the hospital. That same year, The Notorious B.I.G. was in a car crash that led to the rapper walking with a cane for the rest of his life. On March 9th 1997, Biggie was shot four times in Los Angeles; he died immediately.

Hip-hop’s two most popular figures were gone in an instant, a fate Biggie himself had predicted in the eerily prescient “You’re Nobody (‘Til Somebody Kills You)”, the final track on his last studio album, Life After Death. As Dorian Lynskey, a columnist for The Guardian, wrote, “The two murders, both still unsolved, comprise the defining drama in the history of hip-hop.” No matter which side they were on, everyone in the hip-hop community knew things would never be the same.

Epilogue

No one knows for sure whether the murders of Biggie and 2Pac were related in any way to the East/West rivalry, although many assumed that this was the case — the rising popularity of internet forums spawned a variety of theories and possible suspects. Gangsta rap had monopolized the hip-hop market with boasts of violent crime, but no one had ever died as a result. If nothing else, the deaths of Biggie and 2Pac cast a shadow over the community. The popularity of the gangsta persona would never fully recover.

Instead, the result of the poisonous coastal rivalry had ushered in a new era in hip-hop: the age of the entrepreneur. Self-made rappers like Jay-Z and Kanye West, achieved fame and fortune with little street credibility. Both Death Row and Bad Boy fell into obscurity, to be replaced with Def Jam, whose relevance resurfaced at the turn of the century. The Internet would eventually render many hip-hop labels obsolete, as increasing numbers of fans would dig for hip-hop gold on the worldwide web.

Hip-hop has since come to dominate the radio waves, incorporating electronic and R&B influences. The 21st century has seen hip-hop become the most popular music genre in the world: listeners across the globe have found ways to use hip-hop as tools of education and cultural learning.

From its inception to the present day, hip-hop has been a vibrant art form that touches people and gives voice to the voiceless. It began as a way for inner city kids to escape the bleak housing projects of the Bronx and express themselves to an audience that had brushed them aside. Over the past few decades, hip-hop has become one of the most powerful art forms of all time, a sounding board for artists from myriad ethnic backgrounds and walks of life.

RIP Printy [NSFW]

By

Peak Web

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September 24, 2013

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With the death of our dear printer, we set out upon the only appropriate course of action.

Have an obituary entry? Fire off an email to [email protected]

Created by Brandon Hillier

Hidden spaces on Burnaby campus

By

Peak Web

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September 23, 2013

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There is something about hidden spaces that makes me feel all cozy and warm inside. As a commuter student, I am up at SFU’s Burnaby campus for my classes only, and as soon as they are done I bolt out to catch the 145 bus before having to mingle with the swarm of other undergraduates who are trying to do the same.

On a not-so-special day, walking through the AQ, I thought to myself “where the heck am I going to study for the next hour?” I found myself walking slowly past the SFU Gallery, and lo and behold, a white mass was unveiled. I was not so sure what to make of this scene, but to me it looked like a huge white fort encompassing nearly the entire room — and two others, like myself, had also discovered it.

A boy and a girl were sitting on top of the structure with a Persian carpet laid underneath them, their heads nearly grazing the ceiling. Enthralled at this discovery, though slightly confused, I took delight in seeing comfy grey and red pillows strewn along the white painted wood deck. It made me want to just sit there — and study of course, in my new magical place.

people are asked to come and activate the space, experience and play in the space.”

Melanie O’Brian, curator and director of the SFU Gallery

There is an entire room inside the fort structure, hidden away from view. What visitors find here is another makeshift gallery inside the fort that you have to climb into. Paintings such as John Innes’s controversial 1843 James Douglas Building the Hudson’s Bay Post at Victoria, as well as porcelain plates and miniature bronze figures adorn the inside walls, all of which come from SFU’s massive art collection.

Samuel Roy-Bois’s latest exhibition Not a new world, just an old trick is about architecture and space. Indeed, this piece taps into the nostalgia of a long lost childhood with innocent days of exploration and a sense of curiosity. Director and curator of the gallery, Melanie O’Brian, says, “There is an activity happening in this gallery and people are asked to come and activate the space, experience and play in the space.” One has to literally walk around the entire white fort structure to see what she means.

With most galleries, there is a “do not touch” sign hung amidst the displays, but this installation asks you to directly engage with it. “You are allowed to climb on it, it’s assessable, it feels intimate — it feels like a fort,” says O’Brian.

Not only is Samuel Roy-Bois a recent recipient of the notable 2012 Vancouver Mayor’s Award for Public Art, there are also many impressive works within his installation that have been collected by SFU for over 50 years. “The collection has almost 5,500 works, mostly hidden, although 49 are out on display, hand chosen by the artist himself.”

Of Roy-Bois, O’Brian says, “He is interested in bringing the viewer through a succession of roles and positions, rather than as a classic and passive spectator.”

Evidently, no matter how long you have been going to the Burnaby campus there is always something new to find and discover. Take a break from your usual hangouts spaces and try something new. Believe me, you won’t regret it.

Heteronormativity is everywhere: continued

By

Peak Web

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September 23, 2013

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In the first installation of this column, I discussed my own experience of heteronormativity in the heterosexual world, and why it is harmful to queer people. In this installment, I will address the internalized heteronormativity that many queer people — myself included — have to grapple with.

This internalized heteronormativity is something I have heard queer people outright deny. It’s simply not possible, in their minds, to be both queer and heteronormative. This is simply not the case. The damage done by heteronormativity is compounded when a queer person internalizes it, as I did at a young age.

I believed that one day I would find a nice, effeminate young man.

Although I was a vocal queer activist in my youth, I was unable to be open with myself or others about my own sexuality. I had always known that I was interested in women, but I did not tell anyone until high school, when I fell in love with Sabrina. She was a student a year younger than I was: tall, pretty, and somehow different from her friends.

One of my best friends, Rachel, had asked why I never had crushes. I said that I did, but that I kept them to myself. She was hurt, as she always told me about her latest love interest, no matter how trifling he ultimately was. I decided to fix this at lunch hour.

“Hey, Rachel,” I said, catching the attention of the other two members of our clique as we stood in a circle. “I have a crush.” I could not help but smile as her eyes widened.

“Yeah? Who?”

“Sabrina van Heusen.” I was unsure how to preface such a shock. My friends, Rachel included, had often asked me if I was gay due to my disinterest in boys, so I knew this would radically alter their image of me. When asked to clarify, I told them I was bisexual, which they thought very cosmopolitan.

Rachel was appeased, not only because she had the information she sought, but because she had “always wanted a gay friend.” I was embarrassed by this tokenism, but I did not have terms like “heteronormative” with which to articulate my discomfort. I was happy that she was happy — I was accepted.

Damage done by heteronormativity is compounded when a queer person internalizes it.

The news spread like wildfire: a grade nine girl had a crush on the tall grade eight girl in the Emily the Strange T-shirt. I was furious with Rachel, who meekly conceded that she had told a handful of people about her new gay friend.

I was grateful that no one knew who it was. When another girl was outed by fellow students two years later, she was not so lucky. A school counsellor told her to suppress her nature in order to preserve her future, as it was “just a phase.”

I was socialized by events such as this to believe that, although queerness was fine at a distance, it was simply something I could not be. I owed it to myself, my friends, and my family to be heterosexual. I believed that one day I would find a nice, effeminate young man who I could settle for, which never happened. My self-esteem was on a downward trajectory.

Coming out is something I have never regretted. I out myself whenever someone misidentifies me as heterosexual, and I hope they think twice when making assumptions about others as a result. Given the heteronormative atmosphere I — and all queer people — are raised in, living openly is exhausting.

I hope this article not only gives hope to queer Peak readers, but reminds heterosexual readers that their words have the power to remedy this.

The joy of eating with others

By

Peak Web

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September 23, 2013

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For the past four months, my home has been the meeting place of a weekly dinner party. The dining room becomes filled with close friends (sometimes too many), pots are filled with starchy pasta, and counters are covered in basil, garlic skins, and bottle upon bottle of wine. This may sound like a nightmare to some, but I love it.

Ever since I was a child, I’ve always loved big dinners with a lot of people around, talking loudly while passing the salt, and just generally enjoying each other’s company. Unfortunately for me, my family was always rather small, so this was a rare occurrence. Now that I have my own home, though, I try to have people over as often as I can. This kind of gathering brings together two of my most favourite things: food and good conversation.

In a time when being busy is glorified, iPhones are intimate confidants, and food is prepared quickly and eaten even quicker, there is something satisfying and rewarding about taking the time to sit down and eat, slowly. It doesn’t even matter if the food is particularly good (give me Chinese takeout, for all I care). What’s important is that your day — and the day of your real-life confidants — is slowed down a bit and you have a moment to genuinely connect, in person.

There is something rewarding about taking time to sit down and eat — slowly.

When my boyfriend and I first started inviting people over for dinner once a week, it was a small group, around four or five of us, all connected by a love of literature and art. This was what the group started out as: a place for us to share things we were working on, or just discuss things we’d read and seen. As the group expanded and changed, so did our conversations. It no longer mattered what the content was, it was the form we all grew attached to.

These nights soon brought out 11 or 12 of our friends, and we had to build an attachment for our table just to fit everyone shoulder to shoulder. One night, a large amount of pasta burned in the pot and I had to run out and buy more. Forgetting my keys, I was locked out of our apartment building, buzzing the front door continuously for 15 minutes (the buzzer goes to my boyfriend’s cell phone, which was on silent).

However, despite this mishap and others — namely involving several broken wine glasses — the evenings were a good opportunity to see friends and sit around a table and eat for hours.

Our Monday nights brought us together when normally, our busy lives would keep us from seeing anyone for weeks at a time. They were always set aside as the time to gather, and it was something we all looked forward to: starting out our weeks on a high note full of pasta, tomato sauce, and red wine.

Now that the semester has started again, and my boyfriend has started grad school, it’s harder for it to be a weekly occurrence, but we are still going to try to welcome people into our home every now and then for good food and company — for our souls and our bellies. Only this time, it’s going to be soup.

An open letter to “bros”

By

Peak Web

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September 23, 2013

1

I’m writing this to all the “bros” out there who don’t understand why the UBC Frosh chant was so horrific. Bringing up rape culture clearly makes some of us upset. Every time something like the UBC frosh chant is exposed, the bro-militia rolls out to offer their ill-informed opinions. I don’t just mean hate speech, I also mean comments like, “I know rape is bad, but people are making way too big of a deal out of the chant.”

I used to be a “bro,” too: I used to laugh at rape jokes, I used to sexualize women to their faces, I even once said oppressive things about a women’s group that I felt was threatening my privilege. But now I’m here to tell you to shut up.

The Frosh chant was a manifestation of rape culture and it perpetuated rape. Period. I’m not going to explain why the chant is so wrong to you, I shouldn’t have to. There’s already so much information about why it is so wrong, but you probably choose to ignore it. You are probably not interested in the facts; you choose to deny the evidence because you don’t want to claim responsibility for yourself.

Rapists aren’t bogeymen hiding in bushes — they’re family members, teachers, friends, and lovers. People who rape are just like you and I, and if one in three women has experienced sexual violence, then I guarantee you it’s likely you have shook hands with someone who has committed sexual assault.

Maybe, as a “bro,” you’ve participated in something like the Frosh chant, made rape jokes, or used derogatory language to talk about women, or perhaps you’ve even committed an act of sexual violence. When we defend activities like the recently exposed Frosh chant, we contribute to a culture that normalizes rape, trivializes the act, and blames the victim. But I bet you hadn’t thought of that.

You choose to deny the evidence because you don’t want to claim responsibility.

When a woman approaches you on the street, I can bet it is not her intentions or your safety that you think about. You don’t know how women experience the world — probably because many of them don’t feel comfortable telling you — and you’ve never even thought to ask. While you’re using your big words to defend violence, you don’t know anything about what it’s like to be half of the population, you only know what it’s like to be a bro.

The fact that you feel the need to defend rape culture makes me feel sorry for you, because perhaps it is your insecurity and self-doubt that make you say such things when confronted about them. It’s unfortunate that society puts such unrealistic expectations on masculinity and teaches us to be violent. It’s unfortunate that many of us never had a proper male role model.

Men need feminism too, but you probably don’t know what I mean by that. Being a feminist man isn’t about brownie points, it’s about being a decent human being, learning about yourself, and treating women like human beings and not objects.

Your emotions are your responsibility, so the next time you get that squirmy, slimy feeling inside when you find yourself confronted by something like a critique of the UBC Frosh chant, do not use your oppressive voice to state your oppressive opinion. All opinions are not made equal, and yours is not only wrong, but it’s offensive, hurtful, and ignorant — as ignorant as one is when one is not the victim.

You have no right to an audience for your excuses, your trivializing remarks, your statements made in defense, your offensive commentary, your claims of injustice, or your hate speech. Instead of having a temper tantrum, allow yourself to feel the shame you feel in that moment. Trust me, it’s good for you; you’ll not only grow from it but you will also spare making a complete fool out of yourself.

New SFU social networking site connects users anonymously

By

EIC

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September 23, 2013

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Brian Park, an SFU software engineering student, spent his summer designing and programming SkaleFree, a free social networking website made specifically for SFU students.

The site, www.skalefree.net, is designed to give students the ability to meet with other students with common interests for purposes ranging from forming study groups, to selling textbooks, to simple friendship.

“A big part of university really is about social networking and the social experience,” said Park. “We just felt, even though there were a lot of different ways you can meet people at SFU . . . the way you can meet people is still the traditional way that you would in the past.”

He continued, “We wanted to take the luck out of it . . . to give people control over who they meet and their own life goals within the university context.”

On SkaleFree, users create a free profile with just an email address and user name, and can create and respond to posts seeking study groups or friends. The user profiles, as well as the posts, include as much or as little information as the user wants, like their personal interests or the classes they are taking.

SkaleFree separates itself from other social networking sites by not promoting the creation of an online image, such as on Facebook or Twitter. According to Park, this image reduces other sites’ ability to effectively encourage social networking.

“Trying to make your image look good,” according to Park, reduces its “use as a social networking tool . . . people are starting to feel like it’s just for entertainment.” SkaleFree does not allow photos, and encourages you to give only “the information you need to share in order to effectively find the right person.”

SkaleFree separates itself from other social networking site by not promoting the creation of an online image.

In response to the potential problems of anonymous meetings through the site, it employs a reputation system, in which users can be voted up or down by others, such as on the large international social networking site, Reddit.

Each profile can only vote on another’s reputation once, requiring users to build substantial relationships with other individual users, says Park. In this way, people who might “use the site in dishonest ways,” or “trolls,” are prevented, and users can gain “social power,” which they could use to become chosen before others for selling textbooks, for instance.

This solution is itself an experiment, according to Park, who describes himself as being flexible on the site’s design, “Until people actually use it and give us feedback . . . then we’ll see what the problems are and make adjustments.”

Park, who completed a Bachelor’s degree in marketing at UBC before coming to SFU, insists that monetization through the website “is not necessary. I’m not looking for money.” It includes no advertising, and he says that the only advertising he would allow in the near future is that which is school-related, such as on-campus services.

Park can see the site expanding to other universities and communities. He asked, “If its helping people’s lives in the university context, then why not in other universities, or in Vancouver in general?”

At SFU, Park sees the often-commented upon “commuter-school problem” that he wants to change with SkaleFree. “You should want to come to SFU not just for class, but to meet people,” he stated.

Clan duo make 2014 CFL draft fall prospects list

By

EIC

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September 23, 2013

0

The Clan football program has a rich history in the Canadian Football League, with alumni signing professional contracts almost every year, representing the school and the team in the highest level of football competition offered in Canada.

This year appears to be no different, as two SFU athletes find themselves in the top-15 of the CFL draft rankings. Seniors Casey Chin and Matthias Goossen, both British Columbia natives, made the Fall 2014 cut, ranked 12th and 15th respectively in early September.

With Simon Fraser now a member of the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA), recruiters’ eyes are turning more and more in the direction of the sole Canadian school in the league. As a new era begins for the school on the hill, the importance of feeding the CFL becomes even greater.

“There is definitely more pressure to be sending guys to the CFL now,” explained Clan head coach Dave Johnson. “Being able to offer the NCAA experience in Canada is such a draw for young talent, and as we begin to attract the best players in the country, we need to prepare them for potential CFL careers.”

That spirit and passion for the sport in Canada is what excites Johnson as he talks about the Clan’s CFL ties, and the trust that he has in Simon Fraser’s ability to offer a unique opportunity to student-athletes is unwavering.

“We are the only NCAA school in Canada, and I believe that our team needs to be comprised of a Canadian core . . . we aim to develop players to a point where professional scouts are looking at them for the future.”

And that tradition runs deep, with over 140 Clan alumni having signed with CFL teams since the school’s opening in 1965. In 1970 alone, 23 players from the 9-0 Clan squad were drafted into the league. It was certainly a unique year, but very indicative of the quality of players that have moved through the program.

“I have CFL scouts coming to watch games, and review game tapes; they can’t talk to the guys but they tell me that we really have a different calibre of player here. We are strong, we are tough and that is evident when the draft does come around,” Johnson continued.

With the 2013 season having begun, CFL scouts have certainly not overlooked the talent on Terry Fox Field. Both Chin and Goossen are deserving of the accolade, but equally humble, crediting much of their personal successes to their teammates and the program.

“It was exciting for sure to be recognized, and I have put in a lot of hard work during my time here, but nothing is set in stone,” said Goossen, an offensive lineman. “Right now I am focussed on this season with the Clan, so maybe after our season is done I can turn my attention to the draft, but right now we have work to do.”

Chin, a linebacker, had similar comments when asked about the accolade, explaining how important the team’s success is to the individual athletes that comprise it. “I work hard and try to do the right things on and off the field,” he mentioned. “It’s neat to be on the list but it is really about the team, and as we do better the more they notice individual players.”

Johnson is confident that following the 2013 collegiate season even more Clan athletes will be in consideration for professional contracts. “We have a strong senior class this season and I can see upwards of five guys having shots at the CFL from this year’s graduating class alone.” He continued, “We have great calibre athletes on the field which just pushes everyone else to become stronger to learn to play with and against them in
every practice.”

Chin agrees, and while he was appreciative of making the initial draft rankings list, he knows that his team’s talent runs extremely deep. “There are a lot of guys on our team that could have been on that list, Matthias and I were just lucky enough to have been chosen.”

As the Clan continue to improve within the Great Northwest Athletic Conference and make history as the first Canadian institution in the NCAA, the pressure to feed Canadian football programs will only increase, but Johnson and the Clan are prepared for the challenge.

“We offer a great, well-rounded program here. Being in the NCAA is a completely one-of-a-kind experience and combine that with the outstanding education that our student-athletes receive, it gives our student-athletes so many options. Our hope is that everyone can continue their athletic careers if they so desire, and our program’s success has and will continue to make that possible in the CFL.”