Preceding the show, however, was also handful of student talent, brought to the stage by UI’s Black Student Association and SCOPE. Starting with Dallas Clark’s “Someone Like You” cover, followed by a set from DJ Mariah Dawson and violin-vocals by Mickayla and Antonio, UI students warmly embraced their culture and diversity surrounding their individual roots.

Anthony Perla’s showed off speed painting to J. Cole’s “Dreams“; CDC’s dance group threw it back to Jason Derulo. Poet Marquise Jackson boasted his literary talent with poetry on the hood mentality. ‘Vegas’ rapped amid a dramatic entrance of strobe-lit darkness and intense, heavy bass: “Don’t nobody got me like I got me“. Hopping off the stage, Vegas dropped the mic.

To end the show, Simone Banks—last year’s BSU talent winner—reappeared with poetry that was emotional and lonely as it was calm and spiritual. She smiled as she spoke, showing thoughtfulness and wisdom towards her journey of maturity, growing up, and self-acceptance. It was all about spreading love, and spreading love did it encourage.

No time was wasted in jumping into the night’s musical acts. Having never been personally exposed to “soul-hop” that wasn’t Corinne Bailey Rae, Ravyn Lenae was a breath of fresh air. Sporting dangly, cross earrings and block heels, Lenae bounded to and fro on the stage. She seemed particularly interested in her presence and her audience’ interpretation, saying in between a set: “I don’t just like to sing about nothing.”

Making her mark in Chicago since 2015, 18-year-old Lenae still made for a Willow Smith-SZA-blend of soul and funk, with delicate, easing vocals straight out the original Snow White. Standing starkly against the groove of bass thumps, her delivery was strong and dynamic throughout a dizzying “Venezuela Trains” and shimmery “Blossom Dearie.” Not one of her tracks sounded too similar. Lenae’s clean and ambient nature was catchy, good-natured, and ultimately captivating.

So when Noname’s acapella-driven backup introduced her set, the crowd took on a boundless energy. Noname’s forte wasn’t only in her stage power, but her reserved use of it. Her 90’s style was peaceful, and matter-of-fact in paving themes of themes of adulthood, relationships, and a marginalized society: “The last time Ali marched Chicago / Twenty four and a late mojo teaching me how to drive / Whole world inside my rear view / This feel in me so alive”, she says in “Reality Check“. Optimistic but honest, and her performance followed suit.

“Casket Pretty”, a two-minute beat addressing violence and tragedies in the heart of Chicago, felt liberating and conversational as any exchange. Noname retained her boisterous nature, once singing into the ears of the ever-stoic stage security staff. Her hand gestures, steady stance, and matter-of-fact plaid maxi dress grounded her with her audience. As if the city life was there with her, Noname’s societal awareness was inspiring. Through all her comfortable empowerment, she still stressed the little things: the everyday freedom of simply reflecting on herself and her place in society.

Interludes of “we good” and weaving background vocals even made for a spunky, balanced play that was so in-the-moment it was impossible not to move with it—Especially throughout “Freedom (Interlude)” and “Diddy Bop“.

“Yesterday” was a sentimental track, melodic with keyboards and cheeky with a feeling that everything is going to be okay. The chorus echoed throughout the crowd during the last bits of the set: “When the sun is going down / When the dark is out to stay / I picture your smile / like it was yesterday.” Poignant and warm, with high and pretty vocals, Noname’s performance was charming and artistic as her loyal audience.

The post Noname @ IMU Ballroom, 2/24/17 appeared first on KRUI Radio.

“I think I was blind before I met you … This is the first day of my life / I’m glad I didn’t die before I met you / But now I don’t care, I could go anywhere with you / And I’d probably be happy”. 

Oberst’s trademark voice of existential shakiness might not quite get you to therapy—but it’s honest. “First Day of My Life” without any usual politics leaves it mushy with honesty. It effortlessly tugs at heartstrings, and tugs hard.

Malcolm “Mac Miller” McCormick is a lofty and boisterous American rapper—confidently in contrast to Conor’s dark, Midwestern grounded-ness. His latest 2016 release, The Divine Feminine, puts him right up along artists like Tyler, The Creator and Earl Sweatshirt. So Miller’s hip-hop production—laced with loyal themes of a dude’s rowdy night out—appears out of touch with anything “indie songwriter” by a landslide.

“Yours was the first face that I saw / I think I was blind before I met you / I don’t know where I am, I don’t know where I’ve been / But I know where I want to go.” 

That said: Slightly stoned-sounding, Miller’s “First Day of My Life” coming from the same artist of Dang! and My Favorite Part demonstrates some wholehearted versatility that many musicians so carefully craft. Shredding all traces of “gangster” was not for naught, even with the amount of vocal layering.

Miller’s version has less arpeggio in its chords, instead lending a more steady, straightforward sound with more predictable syncopation. It’s a pleasantly modest cover, sticking to the status quo of the original. An air of charming confidence hints at Miller’s jazzy roots, especially with “I’d rather be working for a paycheck / Than waiting to win the lot-te-ry”. 

…”I didn’t die before I met you” is definitive in comparison. Oberst wins in sincerity, but perhaps Miller does in expressing it.

The faster tempo with generally smoother guitar boasts Mac’s softer side, without glorifying love at first sight. He adds years of modern romantics to a sometimes-dingy track that can really head both ways.

A slowing solo finishes with a twangy, sundrenched feel, while leaving out Oberst’s footnotes of “Besides, maybe this time is different / I mean, I really think you like me.”  If anyone could make Bright Eyes so slick and stylish, it’s probably Mac Miller. Oberst’s original has irreplaceable soul, but Miller again proves his dedication by covering “Lua” from the same album.

Whether or not there’s something in Bright Eyes for all of us, Oberst’s writing and Miller’s wits make a strangely satisfying love song as “First Day of My Life”—on polar ends of the spectrum.

The post “FIRST DAY OF MY LIFE”: Bright Eyes vs. Mac Miller appeared first on KRUI Radio.

Voyeuristically pining over his girl, Drake notices everything from a distance with unmistakable emotion in his voice. The distress in watching her move on is trumped by savory bass, and a smooth “Neeed myyy looove“.

Drake’s bridge slows it down with “Wonder if you’re rollin’ up a backwoods for someone else / Doing things I taught you, gettin’ nasty for someone else … Doing everything for someone else / why you always touchin’ road?” Nice guys don’t have to finish last, but the keyboard gives way to an even more vulnerable wave of despair. Tapering off with “Ever since you left the city…” leaves a listener with a lonely, nocturnal track of perfect angst. Drake’s material might be met with rejection in more than one way, but there’s a reason “Hotling Bling” itself is unforgettable.

Erykah Badu’s rework adds a significant amount of spunk. At first, there’s no discernible difference, but the syncopated vocals of “cel-u-lar-de-vice” add instant style. From then on, it’s hard to go back after this track—at least not without humming it.

Badu is an American singer-songwriter, record producer, disc jockey, activist, and actress. More contemporary than anything, she puts a surprising spin on Drake with “Cel U Lar Device”. Even with the same beat, it flaunts a younger, more elegant sound that’s smooth and shimmery.

“Cel U Lar Device” is part of Erykah’s full-length “But You Caint Use My Phone“—an album of similar themes of “missed connections, call waiting, and answering machines”. The beginning instrumental is entirely composed of dial tones. In “Device”, even her “Hangin’ with some dudes I’ve never seen before” charmingly switches genders like a pro. The soul influence pays off with Badu’s range and improvisational vocal style.

While Drake goes on to wonder about all the gory details of his betrayal—”You should just be yourself / Right now, you’re someone else“—Badu replaces the verse with, “Some people just said let it go / And on and on and such and such / But they don’t ride around with us / Ain’t that too bad we love to hang … But now you tryna change the game“. It’s sweet and sufficiently vague—just like the real deal. Soon, after a glam-trippy, ascending breakdown of “Late night when you need my love“‘s, Badu gives a snarky voicemail greeting: “You’ve reached the Erykah Badu hotline”…

“If you’re calling to wish her a happy birthday, Kwanzaa, MLK Black History Month, Juneteenth, or Hanukkah, press 2 /

If you’re calling because you just saw her on B. E.t, MTV, or any other social media outlet, and you’re checking to make sure you’re still in good standing, press 3 /

If you’re calling to beg for some shit in general, press 4 …

If you’re calling to say peace, and, don’t really fit into any of those descriptions, text me—because I don’t really answer voicemail.”

In no time, a fusion-filled setup builds a sexy, honest outro with tectonic bass that Drake wouldn’t dare touch. Erykah’s meta-phone theme here is even more pronounced. The sheer personal-ness of the version makes it less of a carefree banger, but somehow it’s more casual and humorous. It’s strangely more artistic.

The low, sparkly synths are hypnotic and thoughtful. As atmospheric and repetitive as Drake’s original, “Cel U Lar Device” refreshingly has no trace of the original’s regret. In terms of “Hotline Bling,” the future really is female.

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