Final Goosebumps Post

GOOSEBUMPS

What am I even talking about?!
At first, I had heard of monthly dance parties at Lot 401, and thought I could do a term-long project based on different DJs in Providence—how they interact with the party-goers, what makes them different from each other, what makes a DJ better than another, etc. I was particularly interested in DJ battles, and I had heard rumors that a party called Providence is Burning was a monthly DJ battle/ dance party to end all dance parties. As I continued asking around, however, I learned that Providence Is Burning was just a monthly dance party with both regular DJs and guest DJs, and there was no particular “battling” aspect. Providence Is Burning eventually evolved into a new monthly dance party, called Goosebumps. It gained a lot of popularity at Brown, so I decided to focus my research on what kind of party Goosebumps creates, its music, and its party-goers.

Who goes to Goosebumps?
The DJ, Micah, says that Goosebumps was originally intended as a party to attract both college students and Providence locals. However, as is often the case, the first crowd to attend his party was his friends, who he met at Brown. The word spread, mostly within the Brown community, and today, Goosebumps still feels like a mostly Brown party.

I asked the Drag Queen (I think her name was Sugar) who worked the door what kind of crowd typically attended Goosebumps. Her answer was, “Oh, you know… the rich college kids. The artsy types!” Taking a closer look, it definitely felt like a hipster crowd. I don’t know if was my own insecurity coming into play, but I felt immediately excluded the first time I attended Goosebumps. Probably because I wasn’t wearing some variety of plaid, ripped leggings, keffia scarves, grandpa glasses, or vintage cowboy boots, but after realizing I knew many of the people in the party, I felt less awkward.


(Credit: Tim Howe)

I was still bothered, however, at how homogenous the Goosebumps crowd was. It felt mostly rich and white, but then again—doesn’t Brown? The students of color who I did recognize, however, were almost all “active” members of the queer community at Brown, and I acknowledged that their degree of fabulousness was something I could never attain—stilettos, colored wigs, and elaborate make-up. I definitely felt slightly out of my element, until hitting the dance floor. At that point, I guess no one really cares—especially after a couple of beers.

I think a lot of the intimidation factor for me was rooted in the intimacy of the event—attendees typically heard from a friend about the party, and that friend was usually friends with a DJ or a regular. The atmosphere was definitely comfortable after a while, and by my second installment of Goosebumps, I felt right at home—but it is difficult for me to shake the initial impression of exclusivity. Do you think that this is typical of dance parties, or am I being ridiculous? I absolutely think that a lot of my impressions were tainted by the fact that I feel uncomfortable around people with a lot of money, and it’s not easy to ignore that at a really nice venue where drinks are $7 each. It is entirely possible that these people were just looking to have a good time, and were treating themselves—college students/young people are statistically the ones with the highest disposable income and leisure time. (Sellers: 2)


(Credit: Tim Howe)

I feel as if the Goosebumps crowd is pretty anti-mainstream, but ends up being pretty stereotypical. They choose Goosebumps over parties like FishCo, but are so typically hipster it’s almost bizarre. But maybe I am wrong—maybe they see Goosebumps as something special because it only happens once a month, and maybe they are just there to have a good time, the same way that I am. It is possible that I am looking too much into the dichotomies of mainstream/subculture and not realizing that dance crowds are sometimes objectively formed. (Thornton: 96)

What kind of music is played at Goosebumps?
In my first set of fieldnotes, I listened and analyzed to the music itself—the top tracks from the Providence is Burning parties, and the tracks that individual artists [including Micah Jackson] had posted. I found that the music was vastly different than the music played at parties that Brown students often frequented—FishCo’s top 40 hits atmosphere, Club Hell’s metal and goth music scene, and Brown’s hip-hop hits on-campus parties. Goosebumps’ music is almost exclusively house music—electronic dance music, and there were no references or blatant similarities to hit songs, which also separated it from the current trend of mash-up electronic dance music.


(Credit: cajualrecords)

How does the music affect the Goosebumps environment?
Since the songs were original pieces by local DJs, not many were recognizable to the audience—therefore eliminating the “this is my favorite song, let’s all rush the dance floor!” occurrence that happens in other clubs. People who are there to dance start and stop dancing whenever they feel, and the music isn’t necessarily where they take their cues. The music can definitely serve as background music because there are usually no lyrics, and it is relatively easy to move to a corner away from the speakers. However, the music can also be the center of one’s world—by hitting the middle of the dance floor and really going along with the music that is new, surprising, and always changing, or by experiencing the music through the body (Cohen: 438)

LOVELIFE - MICAH JACKSON JUNE 27 from LOVELIFE on Vimeo.

(Credit: Micah Jackson)

What makes Goosebumps different from other parties in Providence?
Goosebumps creates a unique party not only by playing different music, but also through outreach, and forming relationships with the party-goers. In my interview with Micah Salkind, he emphasizes building connections with the crowds so that they feel close enough to him to give criticisms and recommendations. Another thing that makes Goosebumps unique is the crowd/DJ dynamic—the DJ doesn’t just have one playlist of top hits that is played throughout the night—the music largely depends on the crowd’s mood, how they react to the first few songs, and feedback that he gets from past parties. (Hesmondhalgh: 234)

“I introduce myself to people I don’t know, I welcome them—that’s part of how I’ve been taught to host. It’s not just about throwing a party or having an image or a sound—it’s about bringing people into your home. And that’s not common. I don’t think a lot of people feel that way about promoting, but if they did, we’d probably have a lot more successful, cool club nights that would foster innovation and… I hope that this breeds ten other Goosebumps!”

He explained his intended vision and possible plans for the future. The most unique thing about Goosebumps is that there is no formula—there is no “typical” Goosebumps experience—the creation of the party was entirely organic, there is no crystal clear view of the future, and there is no pressure to change it into something it isn’t.

Possible Questions for the Future
Did Goosebumps attain its goal by creating a unique, comfortable space?
Does the party feel mostly white/ queer/ rich/ collegiate, etc? Why? Is this OK?
Are there elements from Goosebumps that influence other parties in Providence?


(Credit: Tim Howe)



Word Count: 1206

WORKS CITED
Cohen, Sara. Ethnography and Popular Music Studies. Cambridge University Press. Popular Music, Vol. 12 No. 2, 1993..
Cohen, Sara. Sounding Out the City: Music and the Sensuous Production of Place. Blackwell Publishing, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, New Series, Vol. 20 No. 4, 1995.
Hesmondhalgh, David. The British Dance Music Industry: A Case Study of Independent Cultural Production. Blackwell Publishing, The British Journal of Sociology, Vol. 49 No. 2, 1998.
Sellers, Alethea. The Influence of Dance Music on the UK Youth Tourism Market. Tourism Management Vo. 19 No. 6 1998.
Thornton, Sarah. Club Cultures: Music, Media & Subcultural Capital, 1996

Fieldnotes 2

In the seventh installment of Goosebumps, the crowd pretty much consisted of regulars--about half of the people I asked told me that they have been to every Goosebumps since it started in September.

Lot 401 is a fantastic venue--there was a large, open dance floor in front of the bar, and behind the bar, through a window, you could see the DJ booth. The place itself was clean and crisp--wooden floors, white couch benches that lined the perimeter, and white walls that changed color with the spotlights. There was a huge disco ball in the middle, and the different spotlights caused the dance floor to change color every couple of seconds. At around 11pm, the place was practically empty. The DJs weren't even in the booth--they were socializing with the 10 or so people standing around the bar. Before 11pm, guests can come in for free if they e-mailed their names to gimmegoosebumps@gmail.com, and people under 21 are welcome. After 11pm, there is a $5 charge, and it is 21+, which is why at 11pm, Lot 401 only had about 20 people in it, standing around awkwardly, not knowing whether or not to dance.

Then, one man, a lanky black gay guy in skinny jeans, a vest, and those trademark hipster grandpa glasses, grabs his 40 and starts dancing by himself. In a matter of seconds, 3 girls, all blonde and about 90 lbs. each start dancing around him, twirling in their vintage looking dresses with keffia scarves and cowboy boots. By 11.30, the Lot was about half full, with pretty much all Brown and RISD students. I recognized many students from my African dance class, and noticed that almost everyone showed up to the party in their cars or in their friends' cars--there isn't really a taxi culture like Fish Co. The people at the party were mostly the kinds of kids who can afford to have cars at Brown. They were also almost all upperclassmen (about 80% of the people I asked were juniors or seniors) and pretty much 75% white. It was about evenly split gender wise, but I recognized almost all of the men at Goosebumps to be active in the queer community at Brown.

The music was fantastic--loud, thumping, bass with dance beats and clapping rhythms. By midnight, the dance floor was PACKED. It was almost impossible to walk anywhere. The lines to the bathroom wrapped around twice, and the bathrooms themselves were flooded and getting gross. The dance floor was quite a scene--everyone making out with everyone else, people in outrageous outfits, including zebra-print leotards and pink or blue wigs, and tons of sweaty dancing. (The best kind.)

I decided to ask around, see where people were from, to get an idea of how many people were locals. Every single person I asked was either a Brown or RISD student, except for one man who looked around 30, who had a British accent and said he was only there because he was friends with the DJ. Everyone seemed to be really familiar with Goosebumps and the entire Goosebumps culture--I felt as if the crowd basically knew each other. When I asked people questions, they would wonder what I was doing there with a notebook, and then I would explain that I am writing about Goosebumps--eventually, we would start talking about the music, and I would ask them about the DJ. About 90% of everyone I spoke to would say, "Oh, Micah? Yeah, he's great!" as if they were friends forever.

Even out in the parking lot, there were kids who were the regular cigarette break kind of crowd, laughing and dancing outside where the music was barely audible, and then running back inside to get in the middle of the dance floor.

Goosebumps has definitely been able to create its own individual, personal, private atmosphere--one that from an outsider's perspective seems intimidating. However, I honestly think that if you go to more than one installment of Goosebumps, you'll already have friends from the last time, and it's easier than one would think to make friends or become a "regular." I honestly thought that I would feel like an outsider the whole time--as an ethnic woman, as someone who doesn't dress like a hipster, as someone from a lower socioeconomic class, etc--but I guess having a reason to talk to people (this post!) made it that much easier. The people at Goosebumps were like people in the real world--which was a surprise--aloof, yet craving interaction and welcoming to new people. All in all, I would say that it was a great change from the Wednesday night Fish Co. crowd and regular Brown frat parties.

[Photos coming soon!]

Reggaeton

One of Marshall's most effective ways of proving his argument is showing a thread of comments between active members in the online reggaeton community--they each expressed thoughts on its origins, who can take claim to reggaeton, who does it best, and who deserves to listen to it. Marshall writes, "as a mainstream, pan-Latino genre, reggaeton still serves to draw all kinds of lines between social groups, reflecting significant underlying conflicts and incompatible ideologies of self and other. Given what can seem a tumultuous redefinition of social relationships in the wake of new migrations amidst competing projects of national and transnational (not to mention local) unity, it is of little surprise that there is so much heated debate about what reggaeton is and to whom it belongs."

Do you feel like this happens in any other genre? I feel as if the origins of many musical cultures (metal, hip-hop, etc.) are unknown, and yet no one argues over where it comes from. Is this strictly because these genres do nothing for cultural unity currently, or do you think that it has to do with reggaeton being fairly "new?"

A Discussion That Gave Me Goosebumps..

I sat down with DJ Micah Salkind for an afternoon to discuss the history of two monthly parties—Providence is Burning, and Goosebumps. Providence is Burning started in June 2007 and continued until June 2008—it was a monthly dance party at Firehouse 13 in Providence with mostly house music, and guest DJs were often featured. In September 2008, Micah and his friends started Goosebumps—another monthly dance party with house music, this time in Lot 401, and on a weekday. I learned a lot from Micah about how he and his friends started Providence is Burning and how it had transformed into something new—Goosebumps! We discussed how there is no concrete formula to his parties, and possible visions for the future. He was incredibly kind and thoughtful, and always rooted in the ideas that the most important aspects of the parties are the music and building a safe space and community; feeling at home.

Q: This must be exciting— you’ve been there since the beginning—you kind of created Providence is Burning with your friends, and have seen it transform into Goosebumps. do you feel like this can go anywhere?

A: I think that one of the things that I’m attracted to in terms of where I go out is things that are rooted. So I would really like any party that I’m involved with to have a community that sustains it and to not feel like its totally transient, to not feel like its totally going to change with the students and that there’s really a group of people who can come together and take that space on. I think the hard part is figuring out how to mobilize people to come with us—especially the ones that I don’t know. That’s why I’m always trying to meet the people that come to Goosebumps. I introduce myself to people I don’t know, I welcome them—that’s part of how I’ve been taught to host. It’s not just about throwing a party or having an image or a sound—it’s about bringing people into your home. And that’s not common. I don’t think a lot of people feel that way about promoting, but if they did, we’d probably have a lot more successful, cool club nights that would foster innovation and… I hope that this breeds ten other Goosebumps!

Q: What is your future plan for Goosebumps?

A: I’m hoping it just continues to draw diverse audiences. And that people from outside of Providence find out about it. We got people from Connecticut—it had a reputation, and that was cool. I don’t know if we could ever get to that point with a weeknight party. Which is fine with me. I’m not doing this to make tons of money. I don’t want to raise the cover, I don’t want to find a bigger club. I like what we’re doing. I just…I want it to continue to evolve organically. I don’t want to put any real stresses or pressure on it to be something that its not.

Q: How and why did it change to a weeknight party? Does it affect your audience?

A: The places that you would be able to have them do mainstream top 40 chart hip hop parties on the weekends because that’s how they perceive they can make their money.

I didn’t want to go to a place like Firehouse again because they didn’t have amenities. So it’s a compromise, you know, and I think a lot of throwing parties is making compromises. Like knowing what’s essential—what’s essential for us is the music and the community. So we made a choice… A lot of what Providence is Burning was based on a model that started in Philly with Diplo’s electronic parties, and that just got tired. That whole two-minutes of a song mashed up, like…I’m just not interested in that, and I think that there are enough places that people can go to hear chart hip-hop and r&b so I don’t need to do that. And I have a lot of political issues with mainstream corporatization of the music and people who have access to it and so I don’t want to support it in that way. It’s a lot, I know, but it shows you how deliberate we are about this stuff. We’re not passive about these things. We do consider how the choices we make affect the community that comes to these things. Explicitly, the vision…I wish it could become even gayer. I think that without making it explicitly a queer space, it’s really hard to do that. But I think that there’s a lot of value to mixed parties, but it should be something that queer people really ultimately take ownership of. I think that a lot of brown kids that come are gay boys, and that’s great. I hope that continues to happen. I hope that queer people of color especially feel like it’s a space where they could just do their thing and even if they’re not crazy about the music come for hanging out with their friends and whatever. I don’t know. I don’t interrogate my friends to see what they think on that front, but they seem to keep coming, so… we’ll see. Brown is only one drop in the bucket as far as these things go. There are a lot of other people who can change the mix of people and the dynamic. We’ll see if they come. We’ll see if they hear about it.

Growing Up Punk: Commitment Careers in a Contemporary Youth Culture

A 27 year-old graduate student named Lester says, "It was all about people that didn't have jobs; no prospects in life. Or they did have opportunities but they could see that careers and all that middle class stuff was bullshit. But it seemed like around my second year of college, there were all these little kids around fifteen and sixteen years old that were getting into punk because they were rebelling against their parents and not because they wanted to change anything. It was better in the beginning." It seems as if the idea of "selling out" or "poseurs" is popular throughout all music scenes--as certain types of musical youth movements gain popularity, the ideals shift and the foundations are changed and redefined bye each person. Is there any youth culture that you can think of that didn't change with popularity? Is there a community that doesn't have an a stigma towards "poseurs" or "sell-outs?"

Men Making a Scene

In "Men Making a Scene," Sara Cohen writes about and examines the indie rock scene in Liverpool--how it is predominantly male (as is rock and roll) and how certain aspects of "the scene" perpetuate this situation. She writes about how men in bands already have a close community, equipped with jargon and personal jokes, making it difficult for anyone, especially women, to "infiltrate." She also expresses the concern that most venues are in dangerous, dirty places where women would not want to venture. However, she doesn't examine why women aren't typically in the bands themselves--does this have to do with how people learn to play their instruments/ who they would learn from? Is this just because people often create bands with their friends, or is there also a greater tendency for men to want to play rock instruments?

Also, she writes about how musical themes of men feeling lost, confused, or betrayed are often portrayed in many types of rock, and there is often an image of men being seduced by women. This music style gives these men a softer type of masculinity--however, if a woman were to write a song about being seduced by a man, it wouldn't be any type of femininity, but a mistake or a moment of weakness. Are there any examples in which a woman is able to express a "soft femininity" through rock songs? Is that pointless because femininity is supposed to be inherently "soft?" If so, how can women express "harder" femininity in rock and roll? Riot Grrl?

The Paradoxes of an Indian American Youth Culture

One thing that Maira wrote that really stood out to me was about the parental approval that accompanies the Indian American youth party scene. A young woman was quoted, "I think they like us to go because it keeps you hanging out with the Indians." This is the first instance I have ever heard of a party scene being parent-friendly--does this take away from its appeal to the youth? Are there other examples of aspects within youth cultures in which parents encourage their children to participate? I feel a lot of youth movements are about empowerment, coming into ones own, and fighting what is expected of them--are there other examples where partying or other behaviors of the like are encourages?

Music in Diaspora: The View from Euro-America

In "Music in Diaspora," Slobin writes "for both individuals and groups, taste has become recognized as an important dimension of identity." This piece emphasizes diasporic identity and creating an us/them environment through isolation via different tastes and preferences in music, and yet it is states that "diasporic identity is not invented as a free expression of group will; it is improvised under pressure from within and without." How can one turn a diasporic identity into an empowering thing? Acknowledging and discussing the us/them dynamic can backfire on artists--is it empowering, isolating, ignorant, or "a step in the wrong direction?" Under the influence of the superculture, can one ever really be an individual within their subculture, or are there other unrecognizable elements that have made them exactly as they are, according to the superculture/media machine's "larger plan" of wrongly representing their subculture?

An Evening With Daryl Hall & John Oates: My Date With an 80s band

The box office window drew a line of roughly 60 people—almost all white, over 30 years old, in jeans and t-shirts. Trevor and I walked past the line because we had already purchased tickets, and I felt awkward and yet proud when the older people looked at us and asked each other how we had even heard of Hall & Oates. We walked in, and the ushers took our tickets—they didn’t search my bag or jacket, which was definitely a different concert dynamic than I am used to. As I walked through the venue, I noticed that there was not a large crowd, and then I turned the corner and found where most of the audience was—the bar! Trevor and I decided to head over to the merchandise table. There was no line, and limited merchandise available—two different men’s shirts, a women’s shirt, and women’s underwear. (Which said ‘maneater.’ Classy, right?)

I decided that I wasn’t going to buy anything, and as I turned around to leave, I came face-to-face with a very young girl. Confused, I said, “I’m sorry, but if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” She smiled and said, “Oh no problem! I’m fourteen.” It took a minute for this to register in my mind before I was finally able to spit out, “Cool. How do you even know about Hall & Oates? Why are you here?” She laughed and pointed at a woman in her 40s with huge crimped and curled bleach blonde hair and a sign that read ‘HALL & OATES 4EVER’ and said, “That’s my mom.” I felt sort of foolish after that—after all, the only reason I started listening to Hall & Oates was because my parents were obsessed with them. I decided to ask her if she liked their music, and she said, “Yeah, they’re pretty okay. Their songs are good to dance to.” Her mother called her over, and we said our goodbyes.

By this point, it was about 7.25pm and the show was supposed to start at 7.30, so Trevor and I headed up the stairs to find our balcony seats. I consider Hall & Oates to be a classic pop duo, so I thought the Orpheum Theatre would be packed—but at this point in the evening, I would say that only about 15% of the seats were taken. It made me feel guilty to see the Orpheum mostly empty…if Hall & Oates came out on stage to this, they would surely feel old and washed up.

The show didn’t end up starting until almost 8 o’clock, and by then, about half of the theatre was full, which made me slightly happier. The lights flickered, and the audience started cheering—a mixture of whistles and claps; there wasn’t much screaming. The band slowly trickled on stage; first, the keyboardist, then the bassist, the drummer, the percussionist—the only band member of color, the saxophonist/keyboardist, and then the famous guitarist T-Bone. And then the crowd started screaming and going wild—John Oates, a tiny guy wearing jeans and a white t-shirt came out with a guitar, and then Daryl Hall walked—no, strutted—out in a leather jacket, jeans, and huge cowboy boots, wearing sunglasses and a smile reminiscent of Gilderoy Lockhart. (I immediately wanted to punch him n the head. He had a fan on him at all times during the show so that his hair would have movement.)

The stage was packed—Hall & Oates is an eight-person band! There was an incredibly cheesy backdrop of a fake brick wall and the floor had about four or five oriental rugs strewn across it. Hall & Oates were sitting on two stools front and center, with spotlights on them, though it was clear that Hall was the one with all the attention—his mic was very obviously louder and he did ALL of the talking. They began playing their songs, but the first ten or so were newer songs that the audience didn’t really know. I decided to take this opportunity to look around the audience—about four songs into the show, people started coming into the Orpheum in waves, and by the 6th song, I looked around, and there didn’t seem to be an empty seat in the house. The crowd was about 90% white, and I would say that roughly 85% was over the age of 30. Everyone was seated—I had never been to a concert where people sat while the main act performed.

Then, Hall & Oates started to play their older songs—the billboard top songs. They played ‘Maneater,’ and then ‘Family Man,’ and by the time they played ‘Wait For Me,’ the audience was going mad. Considering how old he is, Daryl Hall’s voice is absolutely fantastic—it sounded just as good as their records from the 70s, and he did some improvisational singing (diva-esque) in which he hit some impressively high notes. The sound of the band in general was really great, including the balance of volume with the saxophone or guitar during solos. They played ‘Rich Girl,’ and about half of the audience was on their feet dancing by this point. Afterwards, Daryl Hall said thank you into the microphone, and the band started walking off. I was in shock—what a short show! And why wouldn’t they play their biggest hits? There were at least five more songs I wanted to hear, and I didn’t think they would play an encore to incorporate all of them. Regardless, I stood to cheer, like the rest of the audience, and after about 2 minutes of cheers, the band decided to come back, only this time, Daryl Hall didn’t take his place in the front with his guitar—he moved to the side to the synthesizer. (I was obviously excited—this meant business!) They played ‘Kiss On My List,’ which got the whole audience clapping along. They next transitioned into their slow jam ‘Sara Smile’ (Which I was named after, by the way.) and the audience was swaying and holding each other.

They left the stage again, and people cheered for a while and began gathering their things, and then suddenly—the band reappeared for a second encore! They started with one of their best songs, ‘I Can’t Go For That,’ and then played their biggest hit, ‘Private Eyes.’ The entire audience was clapping along, and I admit to dancing with my neighbor—a blonde woman in her 40s with acid-washed jeans. Daryl Hall introduced every member of the band, and then said his thanks and good night. The Orpheum Theatre, filled to the brim with people whose ages ranged from 14 to 70, was screaming, clapping, cheering, and dancing when Hall & Oates finally left the stage. The lights came back on, and there seemed to be a shared sigh of happiness from the audience. As I walked out, literally every person I saw was smiling. It definitely wasn’t the best show I had ever seen, but I think it was the happiest—just because the audience had members who didn’t seem to go to shows very often, and it was almost impossible for me to not feel good when 60 year-olds sang and danced with me.

(Word Count: 1190)

Topic Post

For my term-long project, I decided to study the evolution of Providence is Burning into Goosebumps. Providence is Burning started out as a monthly DJ battle held in Firehouse 13, but now, the same crowds attend a monthly party called Goosebumps, held in Lot 401, with a regular Providence-based DJ named Micah Jackson. I want to interview the party-goers, a predominantly white, upper-class, hipster, well-educated group, and see what attracts them to these parties. What does the music mean to them? How does the "battle" aspect affect the dynamics of the party? Does it matter who "wins" or "loses?" Do they attend shows for the purpose of seeing the outcome, do they choose "sides," or are the battles just something that happens in the background? How did the music go from mash-up, dance mixes to funky 70s inspired techno songs? I plan to examine the MySpace pages of these events, analyze the e-mail invitations, and attend the monthly parties, interviewing the participants, and possibly the space managers of Lot 401 to hear an objective description of what kind of people go to these parties.

Fieldnotes

The following is an examination of the MySpace pages of Providence is Burning and Micah Jackson.

FIELD NOTES: Providence is Burning/ Certified Bananas

Myspace.com/providenceisburning

Poster is the profile picture… huge skull with a single tear… cats coming from other sides and red hands…kind of just really creepy. In big bold letters at the top: PROVIDENCE IS BURNING—creepy letters that look like zombie print. [pre-cursor to goosebumps?] words and letters around it completely disorganized.

Only 3 songs up—two of which are by Certified Bananas [one by Sammy Bananas, one by both Certified Max and Sammy Bananas]

The Tracks:
1. Woaoooh Looow: techno mix of old popular Venga Boys song? Mixed with “Get Low” Catchy, starts out as head-nodding, eventually gets faster and just incredibly dance-y, but bouncy dance-y more than anything else. Only two songs…has the potential to be more mash-up, but feels a lot less A.D.D. than Girl Talk. 3 and a half minutes of an old, guilty 90s song and apple-bottom jeans. Interesting.
2. Dat Funk, by Sammy Bananas: starts out with basic beat, leads to dialogue—ghetto voice asking questions, says “Funk that!” rather than “Fuck that!” leads into what sounds like a little bit of a Salt N Pepa beat. Questions again, then “Smack That” comes on in the background, replaced by “It Takes Two.” Fades out into drum beat again.
3. Shake and Pop, Bananas Remix: techno beat, “Fergalicious” over it. Has what sounds like an 80s riff, shifts into a male rapper—Fergie does the chorus, male rapper does rap, digital voice repeats “Shake…and pop. Shake and pop.”
Best lyric ever: “I like electro, I like retro. I like ghetto, house, and techno.” Goes on for about five minutes—switching with male rapper, Fergie, digital voices. This song is considerably catchier and more dance-y than the other ones.

Besides the songs, the profile is incredibly plain—under the category “sounds like,” the creators of the page wrote, “BOOM.” Underneath the poster in the “About Providence is Burning,” part, there are photographs of the past events. There are only five photographs, all horizontally displayed, with a red tint. There isn’t anything really special about the photos—it looks as if they were just taken randomly to capture the crowds. There are DJs and random instrumentalists, though—including a tuba player and a couple of trombone players. The performers are dressed oddly—one has his face painted like a skull, one is wearing what looks like a Nixon mask, and the others just have regular clothes with a silly aspect—like a chickenhead hat.

Looking through the crowds, though, the audience looks almost completely white, and incredibly [annoyingly] hipster, with their keffia scarves and plaid shirts. The “Top Friends” on the profile are all Providence-based DJs, mostly with profile pictures that advertise this month’s GOOSEBUMPS party. It feels as if the Providence is Burning hasn’t been visited in a while—the last login was in July, but I don’t think that there’s a new profile for Goosebumps itself, which is basically just Providence is Burning with a different name and a different headliner. Providence is Burning’s number one friend is Certified Bananas—which also has an incredibly plain profile. The last login was in December.

I think that Providence is Burning/ Certified Bananas have been kind of out of the loop for a while now. Most e-mails for the DJ battles/ parties themselves have been about Goosebumps, with the main DJ as Micah Jackson. I’m really interested to find out what caused this change and how the dynamics of the parties have shifted. Are the audiences still predominantly white?

Micah Jackson Tracks:
1. Sing Sing Bare Bones Edit: way more funky—starts out with a guitar and bass groove, and continues on in the same fashion. There is no incorporation or mash-up of modern hits. It’s actually quite boring—it’s a really long song, with the same things over and over again. It’s a good dance beat, but I can definitely imagine a crowd getting bored unless there were some kind of mind-altering substances involved.
2. Spooky Acid: Kind of soft dance beat in the background, woman whispering. Boring again. I’m only two minutes in, and I really have no desire to finish listening to this track.

I can’t really imagine Micah Jackson parties being more fun than Certified Bananas ones, but I guess one never really knows. What caused this shift—the music feels completely different, and yet it’s basically the same crowd who goes to these parties. I want to examine why Micah Jackson has won out over Certified Bananas—I just don’t get it!

Jacking the Dial

1. What makes GTA American--foreign students responded that ads, racial tension, highway systems, and 'seeing the police as the enemy' made GTA "particularly American." Do you think that the creators of GTA focused in on these issues and used the music [especially ads and commentary on the radios] to create a social commentary and point out the irony of who plays the games versus who truly lives a life resembling GTA?
2. If a person were in a real situation like the characters in GTA--victimized by the police force, poor, marginalized, "forced" into becoming a gang banger--would GTA offer them the same kind of "freedom" that other players receive?
"Players use the real-world music, gameworld-oriented DJ patter, and parodic advertisements to shape both their sense of place in the gameworld and their ethical identification with the criminal characters they occupy."
Wouldn't people just base their sense of place and ethical identification based off their real life experiences? Would a gang-banger be as fascinated and entertained and liberated by GTA as a middle-class suburban teen?

Discussion Question
If the creators were attempting to make the game more American, why not just use the names of the real American cities that the GTA cities were created after? [Liberty City as New York, etc.]

Exploring the Meaning of Mainstream

In her article, Sarah Thornton writes about a night of clubbing in London. She gives an example of what topics are on or off-limits at parties, stating that, "It is rude to puncture the bubble of an institution where fantasies of identity are a key pleasure." The idea that people desire living "double-lives" or having multiple identities [in this case, a club life/persona, and a non-club life/persona] that are mutually exclusive seems unhealthy and yet practical. Take, for example, the woman who Sarah encounters at a club, who will openly share her romantic problems while doing ecstacy, but won't answer questions about her profession. It seems as if she leads a "regular" life, and then clubs and participates in drug use on nights or weekends, striking a balance.

However, there are people who Sarah calls the "professional clubbers" who "get lost within the excesses and irresponsibilities of youth. With no dividing line between work and leisure, those in the business of creating night-time fantasy worlds often become their own worst victims." Are there other modern examples of young fantasy worlds, that are not in the clubbing genre, that must be divided from work? How does one separate the two, and at what point do you think it can become dangerous?