commonplace – Jonathan Freedman

Saba is my favorite rapper, hailing from the west side of Chicago, the “part of the city that they don’t be talkin’ about.” Last year, he released his second studio album, called Care For Me, following the brutal murder of his cousin, best friend, and Pivot Gang (their rap collective) co-founder Walter, who was also known by the rap monikers John Walt and DinnerWithJohn. Care For Me is a dark, beautifully introspective and cohesive project that explores tragedy and the human experience through the lens of Saba’s encounter with tragedy, depression, and the pitfalls of modern human existence. I could discuss this album for quite awhile, and it will surely reappear on this page, but for now I focus on the above excerpt from the penultimate track of Care For Me. Prom / King is the culmination of the whirlwind of emotions in Care For Me, a two part narrative track sharing stories about Walter. At the end of the song, the beat regresses into uncontrollable drums, representative of the approach of disaster. Finally Saba’s intense, increasingly chaotic storytelling ends with a call from Walter’s mother, asking if he’s seen her son. “We got in the car but we didn’t know where to drive to, f**k it wherever you are my n***a we’ll come and find you.” By this point, Walter is dead. The drums fade, and the track finishes with the ominous, eerily fitting sample from Walter before his death: “I just hope I make it ’til tomorrow” reverberates and, too, fades with Walter’s spirit. I have attentively listened to the seven and a half minute track countless times, and every single listen has left me with the chills. Few pieces of music have touched me the way this song, particular the end of it, has. When I think about why it affects me so deeply, it is evident that my knowledge and understanding of Saba’s background and relationship with John Walt and my examination of the song’s lyrics have allowed me to truly empathize with the Saba. Knowing the result of the narrative and knowing that the outro came from John Walt itself is what makes it so chilling. Had I never encountered Saba before, with close listening I surely would have appreciated the song and been personally affected by it. However, with context, the tragedy of the song’s ending is brought to life.

Studio

One night in Lau, during one of my many trademark all-nighters, at about 5 AM I was wandering the first floor. My brain had stopped functioning, and I needed a break. I strolled into the section with dozens of computer monitors and heard a faint sound of music coming from a corner room. I followed the sound to the recording room (that I didn’t know existed), and for a few moments I stood outside, nodding my head to the brilliantly dynamic hip-hop track being engineered inside. I decided to knock on the door to commend the two artists on the shockingly amazing track they were cooking up, and they proceeded to show me various other projects they were working on and let me in on their creative process. Since then, I have joined one of those two, David Peake, a Georgetown graduate of 2017, in the Lau 1 recording rooms on a multitude of occasions. In fact, it’s 6:30 AM and I’m currently writing this from the library studio. I have developed a passion, arguably an obsession, with hip-hop music over the last few years, and with that I have become infatuated with every step of rappers’ creative process, their backgrounds, and their networks. How these artists interact and represent their regions make up an intricate puzzle that I am constantly trying to piece together. I wish I had the inherent talent to contribute to the genre myself, but, alas, I don’t. There’s nothing more exciting and engrossing then experiencing first-hand the long hours and meticulous engineering that go into the making of the dynamic, multifaceted rap music that I so cherish. The visuals of the many sonic layers in GarageBand or Logic Pro that make up the cohesive unit of sound are just as much pieces to the puzzle of the final product. Watching the many stages of the music-making process brings new depth to my own listening experience and to my appreciation for the artistic process in hip-hop. I’m going to have to spend plenty more all-nighters here in my next few years here.

Game of Thrones

Since the start of Season 8 of Game of Thrones, I have watched every episode in the common room of the 6th floor of Harbin Hall, a freshman floor that happens to have a concentration of some of my close friends. They have a great setup, with a flat screen TV and good speakers, and every Sunday night, sure enough, some variation of the same group of people knows to meet on Harbin 6 for Thrones. The episode doesn’t change no matter where I watch it; the content is the same. What draws me so adamantly and excitedly to this particular watch party every week is not, in fact, the TV or the speakers, but rather the group of people I will find there. With such a long buildup to this final season and the cult following that the show has developed, Game of Thrones has become a cultural phenomenon, each week a new event. As my Harbin 6 watching gang and I enjoy, laugh, suffer through the epic, unpredictable whirlwind of emotions that is Season 8 of Thrones, we do so together. We share theories and and predictions before and after episodes, and we see whether or not they come to fruition. Watching a TV show with a group shouldn’t really make a difference, for what matters is what’s on the screen. But this show really is an experience. We are deeply invested in the characters and the plot, and we are also deeply invested in our collective appreciation of the show’s grand finale as we experience it together. It’s very comforting.

John Carroll Statue

When you enter through the front gates of Georgetown’s campus, one of the first things you see is the grand statue of John Carroll, the founder of Georgetown University. It stands, or I should say sits, as a symbol of the school’s rich history and the Jesuit values it embodies. If you search “John Carroll” in your web browser, the first result from Google Maps is the “John Carroll Statue, historical landmark,” and the picture to go with it: a student sitting on Mr. Carroll’s lap, kissing him on the cheek. This is exactly what the statue means to Georgetown students. It is the site of crazy, hilarious photos mounting our glorious founder after a long night out. When I walk through the front gates and see the statue, I don’t experience a humble moment of appreciation for our founder and everything the statue symbolizes; I just think back to the fun memories of climbing up onto his lap or shoulders and smiling for a sweet picture. Does this mean that us crazy college kids are desecrating a respected historical monument with our silly shenanigans? GUPD might say so, but I wouldn’t. I think in a way, our late night photos atop the landmark perfectly represent what the statue exemplifies. John Carroll founded Georgetown University over 200 years ago so that bright students like us could converge from our diverse backgrounds, bringing diverse perspectives, to collectively learn and grow. The special relationships that students foster in this environment absolutely embody the community, togetherness, and mutual understanding of one another that Georgetown seeks to create. Our late night photos with John Carroll beautifully illustrate the culmination of his creation, a place where we young people may come together, learn from each other, and love each other.

The F Word

Why does the word “fuck” make us feel a certain way? I think back to a line in Saba’s “Prom / King”: “Sometimes I fuckin’ hate Chicago cuz I hate this feelin’.” In his delivery, Saba places heavy emphasis on “fuckin’,” and every time I hear it the word stands out. If the line had been, “Sometimes I hate Chicago cuz I hate this feelin’” (not taking into account the syllables to stay on beat), the line would not have had the same magnitude. We have societally assigned meaning to the word, allowed it to create emphasis. My parents always tell me I curse too much. I probably do. But one time when I said the “F word” and received the inevitable, instinctive response from my mother, “did you really have to say ‘fuck’?”, I retorted. “Yes, Mom, I did, because it added to my point.” A short conversation among my two siblings reached the consensus that we actually really like the F word. It’s a great word. Now, I know that the F word is not a classy term, and it does not lend to an intelligent way of communicating. But in the right context, in the right setting, it can serve a real purpose. Words only mean what we have collectively decided they will mean, and whether you like it or not, sometimes you can say a lot with a simple “fuck.”

MSB

As an undergraduate student at Georgetown, I am specifically in the McDonough School of Business, which is based in the Hariri building on campus. Hariri is beautiful. It has a grand atrium with a beautiful mixture of wood and glass, staircases that run through it, and nice classrooms and breakout rooms that line its perimeter. I am a student in the MSB to learn, grow, and gain a mastery of various fields in business to prepare myself for a successful career, so why do I care about the beautiful exterior and interior of Hariri? The answer is, simply, that it feels pretty cool to walk into this building and know that it’s mine. Of course, that is a symbolic “mine,” and it feels so petty and superficial to admit, but the appearance of things impact the way we see them. McDonough could have unquestionably the best academics of any business school in the world, yet the building it operates in still somehow provides added legitimacy and prestige to its essence. I know this is silly, but, in truth, appearance impacts the way we perceive things. It’s the same reason that, like the example that Professor Hoskins provided while framing the Commonplace Book project, there is planned, man-made green space upon entering the front gates of campus: it makes us feel good, or it comforts us, or it provides some subconscious reaction and feeling that makes it worthwhile. I suppose that my ability to recognize this is a start to getting past a silly emphasis on looks, but I’m still going to feel like a baller walking into Hariri for my next class.

Lau 1

I think the first floor of Lauinger Library represents the dichotomy of the Georgetown student. What I mean by this is that the different spaces on Lau 1 house two different mindsets: that of stress and academic disillusionment and that of intellectual curiosity and passion. In the computer room of Gelardin and the cubicle section of the floor, one can find an array of silent, focused students their respective closed-off workspaces. The mood is depressing and unexciting; students come to Lau 1 to hunker down and chip away at the immense burdens of assignments and exams for their classes. On the other hand, however, Gelardin is also lined with recording and editing rooms for musicians and videographers, and bookstacks separate the cubicles from the Maker Hub. Not only have I spent endless nights grinding away at essays in my corner cubicle on Lau 1, but I have also spent countless hours in the recording studio at our fingertips, joining a Georgetown graduate and up and coming rapper in his creative process. There may be nothing in the world about which I am more passionate than hip-hop music, and I have been able to explore that passion on a much deeper level because of the first floor of Lauinger Library. I am a firm believer that learning and personal growth manifests in many ways, which go well beyond the classroom. I think this underappreciated alternate dimension of Lau 1 promotes learning and passion more than any cubicle or study room ever could. For me, Lau 1 serves as a subtle reminder to never lose touch with my interests and to continue to pursue the truly well-rounded college experience that brought me to Georgetown. The world’s next innovators and problem-solvers will not emerge from the Lau 1 cubicles of the world; they will find themselves and their callings in the Maker Hubs, the recording rooms, and the vibrant and collaborative spaces that promote learning in its purest form.

Skyline

Every time I get back from a late night in the library and lay down in bed in my dorm room, my gaze points perfectly through the bottom of the window, under the blinds. Through the glass I see the outside of New South, and above it is the bright and beautiful skyline of Arlington, Virginia. Every time I look out that window, every time I look at the New York City skyline crossing a bridge, I am so taken aback by their magnificence. There’s something a little more special about a skyline than merely its beauty. Not only is it so aesthetically pleasing, but it also exudes a kind of life force, made up of so many moving parts that form a broad system. For a brief moment, it puts things into perspective in an extremely subtle, almost subconscious way. It is a very visible, tangible representation of the vibrant and enormous world we live in and the many people in it; it is a picture of a greater civilization that is so much bigger than I am.

8D Music

There’s a relatively new trend called 8D music, a special listening experience that brings new life to songs as audio ostensibly travels around speakers or headphones. 8D music engages the listener in a journey through a track’s sounds, engulfing the eardrums with a transformed version of a familiar song. I decided to write an entry on it particularly because I knew how difficult it would be to use words to describe it. What’s so fascinating about 8D music is that it adds a new layer to the sonic aspects of songs. Best enjoyed with headphones, the whirlwind of sound feels like its running circles around your brain. The first time I was introduced to the movement, I was played a version of Travis Scott’s “Sicko Mode,” a cultural phenomenon marked by its unique, epic engineering and production. As an avid fan of hip-hop, it is always interesting to analyze the intersection of lyrical content and sound in a genre that lends most to an emphasis on lyrics, but culturally has moved in the direction of sound taking precedence for the listener. There is something to be said from both sides. Rap in its purest form is poetry and such should be reflected in practice; however, to echo Ebro Darden, “Sonically if your sh*t is wack, why am I gonna listen to what you gotta say?” He’s got a point. Music is made to entertain and please the ear, so in whatever form it takes music must always manipulate the brain to want to hear more. 8D music is so enthralling because it leads the listener to now consider a new facet of the listening experience: not only what sounds we hear, but how those sounds are delivered to our brains. It provides a new, innovative way to make a song interactive, captivating, and all-encompassing.

Alarm

I hate waking up in the morning. Every I time I let my eyes close a small wave of fear passes over me as I think about the dreaded alarm that will wake me up. Sure enough, every morning my alarm rips me from my beautiful slumber and thrusts me into my commitments and my stress. No amount of snoozes can mitigate that hardship. Due to the post-traumatic effects of that everyday betrayal, every time I hear the Radar alarm tone, I startle.. I jump. It is for this reason that I have learned to never use a song I like as my alarm. It does not make the wake-up experience easier or smoother; it just ruins the song.

Tag: commonplace

Prom/King