From empty arenas to couch concerts, we hear them play

Italian opera legend Andrea Bocelli performed at the heart of Milan on Easter this year — but it wasn’t your typical concert nor Sunday service. The world-renowned Duomo di Milano was completely empty, with only Bocelli’s camera crew and accompanying organist there to witness his songs. The YouTube video “Music for Hope” has garnered over 36 million views since its live stream on April 12, thanks to Bocelli’s angelic voice resonating against the strikingly vacant cathedral and still Italian cities. 

Although visibly strange, Bocelli’s performance isn’t so out-of-the-ordinary anymore. Given the shelter-in-place recommendations, large gatherings won’t be happening any time soon, ruling out live concerts for an indefinite period. Though a tragic realization for rave-baes and concert-goers across the globe, artists must compromise by opting to hold online “concerts” for fans to enjoy from home. 

There is no denying that a virtual streaming of a show pales in comparison to a live music performance. For anyone who’s attended a concert, you know how exciting it is to see an artist you like live, to bond with strangers over your shared appreciation of the new album and to see the raw version of your favorite song from (if you’re lucky) only a few feet away. Your laptop screen just doesn’t provide the same thrill. But it’s something. 

Several classical and opera musicians have joined Andrea Bocelli in letting their enchanting music echo throughout empty halls. The famous opera “Carmen” was performed at the Berlin State Opera and the Philadelphia Orchestra played at the Kimmel Center, both taking place on March 12. This New York Times article details these and other classical performances with expert analysis. 

But most artists haven’t been performing in audience-less arenas. Instead, they choose to perform from the comfort of their home, understandably so, holding livestreams or just posting videos of themselves singing. Many shows and tours have been postponed, with stars opting to join the common folk for once and stay put like the rest of us. 

Instagram, YouTube and Twitch are among some of the popular “venues” performers have graced over the past few weeks. Some simply start a live stream and start singing, while others promote their events as though they were real concerts. PARTYNEXTDOOR, for example, announced a live stream at the end of March ahead of his album release.

Artists are also getting creative with their performances, quarantine style. Diplo is going on a “Corona World Tour” with weekly performances on multiple platforms, including Corona Sabbath on Fridays and Coronanight Fever on Saturdays. Miley Cyrus is hosting what is possibly the first Instagram Live talk show called “Bright Minded,” a daily show featuring a spread of Hollywood guests. Though not limited to singing friends, many musicians have joined her on the show.

Some fans have used the virtual concert trend as a manipulation tactic — the hashtag #1DOnlineConcertStayAtHome was trending last week in efforts to get One Direction back together online for the sake of encouraging people to stay at home. With the anniversary of the band’s formation coming up in July, the idea isn’t so far-fetched. Clever of the Directioners, I must admit. 

A tragic loss for many was the postponement (or cancellation, if we’re being realistic) of one of the most popular music festivals in the world: Coachella. With arguably one of the best lineups to date, I was selfishly relieved that I’d have a chance to see the amazing artists another year when I can afford tickets to the legendary festival — we all need silver linings right now, right? In its place, Coachella released a free documentary on YouTube on the history of the 20-year-old desert festival. Not quite the same but interesting nonetheless. 

In an attempt to emulate the appeal of massive music festivals, Global Citizen partnered with Lady Gaga to create the Together At Home global broadcast on April 18, where singers, comedians and leading global health experts came together virtually to promote staying at home. Proceeds are being donated to healthcare workers, the World Health Organization and regional response organizations that have been working to stop the spread of the coronavirus. “Together at Home” is also a series of its own where big-name singers like John Legend, Hozier and Celine Dion perform in live-streams supported by Global Citizen. 

Finally, The California Aggie itself released videos for our last two Couch Concert events with Bomba Fried Rice and Negrete. Both high-energy bands offer student and local musicians in our beloved basement, and we would love it if you’d check out our contribution to the online concert sensation (notably, we’ve been posting videos of in-person performances for years). 

Whether it’s an unoccupied venue or a couch concert from home, the virtual performances of musicians have been a much-appreciated form of entertainment during quarantine. The adaptability of the human race has proven stronger than ever over the past few weeks, but without an end date, staying inside is becoming increasingly difficult for us all. I can only hope that the message to stay home from artists everywhere will carry as far as Andrea Bocelli’s voice did. 

Written by: Allie Bailey — arts@theaggie.org

Ditch the dumbbells, get a full workout in comfort of your room

With the suffocating stress of school and daily life, it’s hard to find time in the day to fit in exercise. There are people who will try to convince you that running or lifting weights will make you feel better, but finding the motivation to move is a lot harder than telling someone they should. When you do have those bursts of motivation, without the equipment of the ARC, it’s easy to feel lost.

Luckily, there’s a form of exercise that only requires an internet connection, space to move and the will to push forward. Dance exercise, known as Zumba, takes the daunting task of working out and turns it into something enjoyable. YouTube is home to thousands of free Zumba videos. The simple dance routines rely on repetition and routine that cement themselves in your mind, ensuring that even the least experienced dancer can find some rhythm through Zumba.

Even if you’re not familiar with Zumba, you might know its predecessor, Jazzercise. Both are fitness franchises that use group dance and strength training to provide a full-body workout. While Zumba videos on YouTube dont have the same uplifting energy of a studio environment, each channel attempts to relay the steps as entertainingly as possible.

 Many videos come from Zumba studios with full-time employees who teach the dances in matching tank tops and leggings. LIVELOVEPARTY.TV has easy choreography coupled with pop songs you probably know and a crew that makes you feel like you’re in the studio with them. D’Hype Fitness Crew is another channel that utilizes this format. They use more complicated moves, but once you master them their dances, these videos are some of the best you can find.

Other channels mimic the classroom style that Zumba classes are traditionally taught in (if you’re quarantining with other people, have them join!). Usually with a leader in the front and 10–20 people dancing in the back, these videos make you feel better about your own lack of skills. The Fitness Marshall is led by one instructor who shouts motivating (and slightly personal) anecdotes as you try to keep up with his dramaticized movements. His intense moves seem too hard,even for a seasoned Zumbanator to master, but his commentary and pure dedication keep you following along; after just a few watches, you’ll get a grasp of the moves.

The world of online Zumba has been hidden too long. Ditch the dumbbells and get a full workout from the comfort of your room. If a song has a good beat, look it up: There’s a Zumba for it! If the moves are too complicated, dumb them down! No one’s watching! Bored of all the videos you’ve already danced too? Make up your own! Become so talented you must show it off? Teach it to your friends — Zoomba! Hone your dance skills, get exercise and generate some dopamine in our current state of purgatory.

If you want to get started, check out this playlist my sister and I have carefully cultivated during our Zumba journey. It is organized by order of difficulty and always growing!

Written By: Livvy Mullen — arts@theaggie.org

I’m a savage! Classy, bougie, ratchet! Sassy, moody, nasty!

Five hundred million people use the short-video sharing app TikTok. The app utilized an algorithm that closely tracks your video likes and interactions to curate your app experience, making it unlike any other social media app. The user statistics prove it; the app captivates the younger Generation Z, as well as straggling millennials who are attempting to keep up with the trend. Sure, the same concept of short-video sharing seems to mirror the late Vine (rest in peace to my high school comedy), but TikTok distinguishes itself by its app design and, more significantly, by the generation it targets. The idea that TikTok is simply a new version of Vine fails to acknowledge just how embedded technology is in the lives of the younger sector of Gen Z and how it silently reflects the pressures and characteristics of modern teenage life. The TikTok user experience unfortunately demands competition within the Gen Z generation, especially its younger cohort.

Gen Z includes people born in the mid-1990s to early 2010. People often cite this generation as the technology-age generation, keen on social media. I find it useful, however, to further divide this generation in two. I’m not an expert on generational distinctions, but I think there is a clear, yet subtle, divide between those who learned to use technology at a younger age versus those who have always lived in a technology-filled reality. 

Although I — born in 1997— received my first flip phone at age 10 for safety reasons, I would assume those born in the early-to-mid 2000s (with some sort of economic privilege) grew up with an early version of an iPhone or iPad in their hands. Children with more advanced technology entrenched in their lives at an earlier age would inherently produce a generation that uses technology in its many forms in a significant way. They grew up in an era of fast technological growth and keeping up with such has become second nature to the late Gen Z.

The difference between early and late Gen Z is delicate. Both have the same technological capabilities and similarly high amount of usage compared to earlier generations. But early Gen Z, I believe, has more of a capability to step away from technology when we need to or want to because we lived a short span of our lives without a smartphone or an advanced computer. We have a conception of life without technology, but the late Gen Z cannot say the same. Their presence on social media is more of an extension of themselves, another limb, an online brand that demands upkeep. Early Gen Z can choose to use technology as a tool for expression; late Gen Z feels a much stronger external social force to express themselves in such a format. 

On a macro-level, an attention economy grew simultaneously with technological growth. I borrow this idea of an attention economy from Jenny Odell’s book “How To Do Nothing.” This is an ironic yet captivating book of nonfiction for shelter in place, I must add. 

To Odell, the internet in general is not to blame. 

“It is the invasive logic of commercial social media, and its financial incentive to keep us in a profitable state of anxiety, envy, and distraction,” Odell writes.

Social media, central to a caricature of our technological age and the attention economy, relies on a business model in which users must engage with the products through some version of likes. These likes are, for the most part, passive, disingenuous and abuse “our attention and leaves us no time to think.” Our time and attention have thus become profitable and exploitable, and TikTok is no exception. Apps are meticulously designed to capture and maintain our attention (Why do you think TikTok doesn’t display the time at the top of the screen? The programmers are purposely trying to keep you there for hours). TikTok is the newest, and arguably most successful, social media company that functions in the attention economy. It was natural for Gen Z, especially late Gen Z, to attach itself to such an application.

It may seem eerie to those who have not grown up in Gen Z to witness how captured a generation is on a single application. Similar to Odell’s argument, it would be shortsighted and surface level to criticize TikTok on such a general level. The “internet is bad!” argument holds little merit. The true detriment lies in how it plays into the real lives of its users. I expand upon Odell’s analysis in relation to TikTok in her mention of the envy that is stimulated by the attention economy.

Envy stems from a feeling of competition — a competition for likes and views is how almost every social media product of the attention economy sustains itself. The app garners the user’s attention and directs it to others and their online personas. The app produces a quantitative statistic in the form of likes to give a clear indication of the content’s likability and popularity compared to others. It’s cyclical. TikTok and the customs expected when using the application, however, have taken this competition to an extreme. TikTok has become a breeding ground for competition among the late Gen Z. 

Most of the content one sees on TikTok is a variation of a larger trend. Dance choreography like “Savage” or “Renegade,” various hashtag challenges and more have a standardized foundation. The expectation is that each user will add their own spin to the trend, making it their own. Of course, there is original content or hilarious moments serendipitously caught on film that illustrate the highly creative characteristics of Gen Z teenagers, however, there is a clear emphasis and influx of the user-friendly trends. 

The only way to distinguish yourself is to simply be better: be more creative, be more innovative, be more attractive, be more sexual, be more funny, be more captivating than the other 500 million users. Though this type of trend variation is evident in other social media forms (afterall, it is the basis of meme culture), it’s the principle nature of the competition that is unique to TikTok. 

There is also evidence of Gen Z TikTok users that relay much of their personal lives on the application. It’s not uncommon to watch content related to teenage sexual encounters and desires, as well as struggles with depression and anxiety. One’s real life, and often jokes concerning it, feed into the competition. Who can express their clinical mental health or existential angst more comically or “sincerely”? Even videos of users showing off their aesthetic bedroom or simply posing and lip-syncing are highly performative. Creativity, expression and physical attractiveness fuel the race for likes. 

Ultimately, there are a number of likes associated with the content production and that statistic is not easy to neglect (as much as one could claim they don’t care). And indeed, the scale of TikTok emphasizes and creates the competition. The competition is heightened by the millions. 

The true consequences of such social media use are discovered when the generational analysis is combined with the cultural expectations of TikTok usage. Late Gen Z teens’ deeply personal online brand and TikTok’s unprecedented level of competition pose, what I anticipate, a detrimental emotional consequence to the generation. There is a translucent line between a late Gen Z user’s real life and their online identity. Losing in the competition is not a blow to an ego, it’s a blow to one’s identity. Winning the competition anticipates the brand will be maintained to a tee. The pressure is on.  

This is not to say that similarities between TikTok and other forms of social media do exist. This is also not to say that each generation, not only the younger cohort of Gen Z, have been impacted or interact with TikTok in some way. Not every person in Gen Z will interact with TikTok in the same way and for the same purpose. But this is to say an understanding of new waves and trends in social media and technology have implications on larger bodies of people — how we characterize a generation. By reflecting on the macro-level social impact of one element of social media and technology, we can possibly garner a greater understanding of how we got here and where we are going.

Written by: Caroline Rutten — arts@theaggie.org

How where you live can be where you thrive 

On a normal day, I would awaken and immediately begin thinking about what I wanted to wear for the next eight hours or so. Who did I want to be today? It should be nice out; I could finally break out those new loafers I’ve been wanting to try. Maybe I could pair that with my old Mercedes jumpsuit, I would ponder. Although, on the other hand, there is that blazer I’ve been wanting to throw on for a while…

The love I have for clothes is a mixture of self expression and appreciation — the former scratching my creative side, while the latter soothes the obsession I have for good aesthetics. I assume that many others feel the same way. 

 Overall, I absolutely love getting dressed. Which is why, in the time of COVID-19, I have become saddened. Am I really going to look like an absolute snack, just to get a can of Pringles from the Walgreens a block away? (The answer, as most people who follow me on Instagram know, is yes.) I missed the satisfaction of putting something together that brought me joy, through nothing else but its visual construction. 

In the midst of my woes, I stumbled on the latest Instagram story by Bobby McCole, the owner of my favorite establishment for San Francisco crate digging, Pyramid Records. Whenever I’m home, I try to stop by to check on prices of hard-to-find Stereolab first pressings. I quickly realize I am a baby and have absolutely no money for any of these. Inside the shop, records in blondewood boxes are juxtaposed with ferns and other plants. It is a deeply relaxing, meditative space. McCole himself once came up to me in the shop and remarked, “Those are some funny shoes.”

Indeed they were. I bought $20 white canvas sneakers and sharpied Saint Laurent on the side. I thought it was avant-garde, like Marcel Duchamp. I think Bobby thought it was avant-garde too, but more like the sushi-burrito place that opened a couple blocks away.

In the Instagram story, McCole proclaimed, like Moses on Mount Sinai, that “ROOMS ARE THE NEW OUTFITS. DON’T HAVE AN UGLY ROOM PEOPLE!” I stopped in my tracks, which is quite easy to do when you are fully immobile at home, adhering to CDC guidelines and also practicing adequate social distancing. The man was absolutely right! McCole was no influencer, at least not in the traditional, bothersome way, but the interior of his shop was impeccable. He did, in a sense, influence me to begin thinking of my room as an extension of myself, much like an outfit. 

I started to look around my room, which I had been living in since childhood. Oh God. Oh my god. What is going on. Is this really who I am? 

I didn’t need to live in a Pinterest mood board or a Reddit approved man-cave, but there were some changes I could definitely make. I put up some more posters. I got a couple of plants I began to take care of. I organized all my books and displayed all the old cameras I have been collecting over the years. Heck, I even ordered some room spray, which made my place smell more like Douglas Firs and less like Jewish adolescence. Immediately, I felt better.

The act of re-designing a room is much like curating an outfit for the day — endless combinations with the best results coming only after some trial and error. To stare at a room you want to perform aesthetic surgery on may be a little intimidating, but once you get into a groove, it suddenly becomes clear. It is equivalent to when one you cut something, and the scissors steadily begin to glide. A bit of a therapeutic element is at play here, one that forces you to take stock of what’s important in your own space and what is not. 

There is also, of course, a performative aspect to the room becoming the new outfit as well. You could opt-in for some clever virtual background on Zoom, but the true flex is having a space that you are proud of as your background, one that doesn’t just look good, but makes you feel good as well. Investing in a space, one that you’ll be operating out of for the majority of the time, is not only smart — it’s practical. 

The students of UC Davis are a resilient bunch; I’ve seen this firsthand, from the way we have adapted in our situation to the commitment we have to not letting it defeat us. Perhaps the room, in this snapshot in time, is the oasis in the desert, a small lantern in a tunnel we can’t spot the end of (yet). To give it the same function as the outfit — a self expression, a therapeutic space, an investment — we are only adding to that resilience.  

Written by: Ilya Shrayber — arts@theaggie.org