Colleen McDonald is used to getting blank stares, puzzled responses and what-are-you-going-to-do-with-that? questions—even from literary arts and philosophy concentrators—when she tells people what she’s majoring in. But more often people are intrigued, because McDonald, a sophomore, is exploring something undeniably interesting—the role of food in shaping culture—even if it means pursuing a major that doesn’t exist. She’s planning on independently concentrating in gastroanthropology—a social science that considers culture through the lens of food.
“It’s anthropology, but much more focused on this specific substance, so it’s going to a look a bit more interdisciplinary or multidisciplinary than straight anthropology,” she says.
McDonald first became interested in the social science of food through a summer program at Yale that she attended during high school. One of the classes she took there was food anthropology, which exposed her to a significant body of scholarly food literature.
“I realized there is a substantial amount of research in this area, and also a substantial amount of significance that’s not explored, possibly because of people’s preconceived notions of the domain of food,” she said. “It’s something that we take for granted, and it’s something that’s usually been in the domain of woman. So people think, ‘What role does that play?’—when, in reality, it’s something that’s shaped the formation of societies and cultures.”
At the moment, McDonald plans to take between ten and 13 classes for her concentration, including Nutrition, Diet and Chronic Disease, Food and Drink in Classical Antiquity, and a GISP about eating disorders. She hopes to take courses that tie into gastroanthropology from departments as varied as archaeology, biology and English, but she plans to ground her concentration in anthropology.
“The reason I’m looking at anthropology to get the research background is that I think it’s important to leave undergraduate education with a strong skill set as well as very honed interests,” she explains. “I want to leave knowing a lot about food and having the skills to approach that in a way that is meaningful and also marketable.”
McDonald isn’t the only Brown student with a scholarly interest in food. Emma Buck, a junior, is also a concentrator in gastroanthropology, but her concentration focuses more on agriculture, whereas McDonald’s interests lie more in nutrition and psychology.
Buck, who works as an independent concentration advisor, says she’s seen a rise in the number of Brown students who are looking to delve into the study of food.
“There are two freshmen that I know of that have come to info sessions wanting to learn more about making their own concentrations having to do with food, and another who wanted to be a food critic,” she says.
McDonald hasn’t yet received approval for her concentration from the College Curriculum Council, but she’s confident that she’ll be approved, mostly because her academic plan is similar to Buck’s, which was accepted last year.
But she’s nervous that she won’t find a suitable advisor for her concentration; she’s reached out to several professors, but has yet to find one whose interests are similar to her own. She’s also understandably concerned about how her concentration might limit her career choices after graduation.
“A lot of people will get an English or a history degree in university and then go apply for a job somewhere else, and that works out great,” she says. “But if someone has gastroanthropology as a concentration and then goes and applies for a job not exactly in that field, is that going to look like a bigger discrepancy?”
McDonald isn’t sure yet about her post-graduation plans, but, for now, she’ll continue to study food at Brown, through either an independent concentration, or, if that doesn’t work out, as part of an anthropology concentration.

Filed under: Uncategorized by Kelly McKowen
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The Schrecking Ball will now take your questions.

Dear Schrecking Ball:

After an enchanted night of exploring myself and the inside of other people’s mouths at Sex, Power, God, my neon green leotard is stained with copious blood, tears and what can only be described as the bodily humour of known as yellow bile. What’s good for that?

-Sullied in Slater

Dear Sullied:

A little club soda with lemon juice should make your leotard like new. As for the stain on your dignity, only time and cold showers will remove that.

Dear Schrecking Ball:

I recently opened a bar on College Hill called “Risky Business” in the hopes of drawing Brown students’ business. The bar features reasonably priced drinks, good music, but the only customers are a handful of creepy grad students and Vincent “Buddy” Cianci. What am I doing wrong?

-Worried on Wickendon

Dear Worried:

Your confusion is understandable. You’ll soon learn that Brown students’ choice of bars rests on an unusual criterion: Seafood. The kids go crazy for it. I suggest you add a full menu. And it wouldn’t hurt to rename the bar “Fishy Business.”

Dear Mr. Ball:

I’ve been attempting to overhaul the American educational system. Whaddya got for me?

-Horace Mann ’1819

P.S. How’s Hazeltine? I remember when that guy was still an Associate Professor.

Dear Mr. Mann:

I think there are a few common sense reforms that should be implemented in every American school. First, it is important that students be able to retroactively make all of their classes S/NC. Also, one half of all grades should be A’s. And there should be a class called Hitler’s Gift (MUSC1672).

Hazeltine’s chilling.

Schrecking Ball:

I don’t know what to do. My gambling debts are piling up and the neighborhood loan-shark has been making threats. I’m thinking of burning down my home with my family inside for the insurance payoff. Is there any way out of this?

-Hopeless on Hope St.

Dear Hopeless:

Relax. You know what would make you feel a lot better? A nice, big pizza pie. Go down to ViaVia and order yourself the SchreckingBall special—for $500. Bring latex gloves. I have a feeling this will go a long way towards making your problems disappear.

Help!:

Things had been going well with this really cute boy from RISD. He’s sweet, and smart and super-creative. But last week he asked me to do something unspeakable with some Spicy Withs—on camera. He claims it’s for a project, and that he’s just misunderstood, but I’m skeptical. Should I go through with it? The only thing I want to do to with Spicy Withs is eat them.

-Hungry in Hegemon

Dear Hungry:

Woah, it looks like Gmail’s been mis-delivering the Hardy Brothers’ e-mails to my account again. This isn’t exactly my area, but I’ve consulted various experts and the verdict is unanimous: the plural of spicy with is Spicies With. Hope that helps!

Filed under: Lifestyle by Ben Schreckinger
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I have a friend who calls for it regardless of the venue or group at a musical performance. Joe Wilson shouted for it during an Obama speech—or was it something else?—and everyone aspires to play it convincingly on air guitar.  While the slide guitar work in the beginning is nothing to scoff at, the four minute solo at the end of this nine minute song is what keeps the fans clamoring for more. But what is it about this particular solo that makes it so great?

Allen Collins, with his instantly recognizable Gibson Explorer, crafted the lengthy guitar solo that closes out the final song from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s 1973 debut album, (pronounced ‘lĕh-’nérd ‘skin-’nérd).  With other tracks such as “Simple Man” and “Gimme Three Steps,” the album brought bona fide Southern rock into the mainstream and a new standard for guitar soloing to the fore.

Although it does take up nearly half of the song, the length isn’t what makes the “Freebird” solo a supposed standout.  Many jam-band guitarists can go for just as long without becoming boring, and many guitarists like Steve Vai or Joe Satriani perform lengthy instrumentals that one could deem solos.

As far as complexity goes, the solo pales in comparison to others even within the Southern rock genre.  Many licks are simply repeated, and the pentatonic scale is the only one employed by Collins.  Certain guitar techniques, like the bend, find use—or perhaps overuse—in the solo, and they are not necessarily difficult to perform.  The full range of the guitar is not even used; nearly the entire solo takes place in the upper octaves.

Collins’ speed is nothing to dismiss, but it’s nothing to write home about either.  Too many virtuosos and YouTube videos showcase guitarists operating under the delusion that the need for speed is paramount.  There have been plenty of players—both before and after Collins—whose fingers fly faster across the frets.

Length, speed, and complexity cannot be the only elements of a great guitar solo.  Something has to be said about structure and the way the solo complements the other aspects of the song, and it is here that one finds the greatness of the “Freebird” solo.  Much like “Stairway to Heaven,” a slower, more muted introduction precedes an energetic, exuberant solo known to induce spine shivering.

The lilting slide guitar work of the first half of “Freebird” meanders through the chord changes, intertwining with the vocal.  The solo mimics the slide in some respects by incorporating bends and slide fills, but then there are the angular lines and increased tempo.  The solo is the bird flying freely, flapping its wings and screeching in the ebullience of flight.  It’s not hard to see why it was used in Forrest Gump in a scene where Jenny is in the midst of a cocaine high.

Like all great art, the solo is more about capturing an emotion than exhibiting tremendous virtuosity.  One does not preclude the other, but the former takes precedence.  Collins clearly understood, and audiences and fans worldwide continue to want access to that emotion.

Collins left an indelible mark on the guitar world with “Freebird” by crafting a solo that not only complements the rest of the song but also elevates the piece as a whole to an entirely new level.  It’s not safe to say that it’s the greatest guitar solo ever, but one can comfortably place it in the company of the greatest solos.  Truly transcendent, it deserves all the shouted requests and the reputation as a paragon of rock and roll exhilaration.

Filed under: Lifestyle by Sam Carter
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Illustration: Sam Rosenfeld

The latest installment in the Saw series tries desperately to fill five films worth of plot gaps. Under the pressure of releasing a franchise movie every Halloween, inconsistencies and confusing character alliances have become a familiar part of the Saw viewing experience.

Saw VI features the now-dead killer John Kramer (Tobin Bell)—a.k.a. Jigsaw—who still manages to engage certain people in games for their life. Jigsaw’s post-mortem pact with certain characters—that execute his sick game according to specific instructions—is an interesting enough dynamic to drive the first half of the movie.

In this film, unlike others in the series, Jigsaw’s reasoning behind picking his victims seems born less out of his warped mind—it’s a specific plan, hatched out of vengeance. This time, those put through Jigsaw’s gruesome games are chosen because they are, what I’ll call, ‘enemies of the recession.’  They deviate from the typical selection of sufferers, who were chosen for their lacking of appreciation for living.  If you’ve had a loss from the economic downturn, I assure you that Jigsaw will provide a sadistic outlet for your frustration.

The film’s writers, Marcus Dunstand and Patrick Melton, who undoubtedly worked to deliver a script on deadline, fail slightly in their storytelling. The writers tried too hard to suture the gaps that the other films create, so much so that the first part of this movie is bogged down with exhaustive flashbacks. It was a tough baptism for anyone seeing Saw for the first time, as the movie was congested with too much self-referential (and largely narcissistic) back-story.

As a result of the writers’ choice to cast the villains as the Demons of Wall Street, the movie aims to have the viewer sympathize with Jigsaw’s murderous endeavors. It’s presented like a righteous, justified slaughter.

Detective Hoffman (Costas Mandylor) is an egotistic pawn carrying out the now notorious “games.” But Mandylor lacks the evil charisma that Bell has. And for me, Hoffman’s lack of superficial charm made him brutally unlikeable.

His lack of likability ends up being critical. As Jigsaw’s minions (including Hoffman) follow his instructions to the letter, we witness him turning his Charles Manson-esque followers against each other. And while this twist may not be as drastic as that of M. Night Shyamalan’s, it’s enough to quicken your heartbeat and suck the air from your lungs.

Saw VI is better than its predecessors because of its timely delicious victims, and will definitely leave you salivating and wanting more.

Filed under: Lifestyle by Nkechi Eze
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British theatre-company Punchdrunk recently brought their installation performance show Sleep No More to A.R.T in Boston. Adapted from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, this three-hour performance inhabits a three-story school building, featuring 45 uniquely decorated rooms, virtuosic dance-choreography and no words. Oh, and you are free to wander as you please. Sounds like a dream; in reality, it borders on a nightmare.

——

We enter the building through the backdoor and step into a red-velvet lounge-bar. In this liminal space, the air is thick with giddy anticipation.

Audience members are forced to wear white masks throughout the entire show. An army of faceless bodies, we are let loose in a dim corridor. For the first five minutes I have trouble finding it. I push open a door to a bleak hospital room that is empty. The next door, a graveyard with crackling gravel, is also empty. Shit.

No one prepares you for how to behave during a ‘performance’ when you cannot find any performers. Walking alone through a scented indoor forest, the fog masking my way, I feel like I am wandering in a horror film. Whatever courage I had has vanished. I fear I will give up.

Finally, a character or two. A man, hunched over, is carrying a huge antique wooden door with a woman perched on top. He swings his heavy load graciously down the hall; the woman swivels and jumps, landing on top of some lockers like an agile tarantula. Their violent dance-duet reveals some contorted love affair. A group of mask-bearing audience members stare in mixed disbelief and amazement. I feel my breath returning.

Suddenly, the characters split apart and the audience is divided. I walk briskly in the heels of the tarantula-lady, with a small cohort of spectators scurry along behind me. We are her entourage. She takes us back through the graveyard and the forest, but this time each room becomes enchanted by her presence—still wrapped in mystery, but less threatening.

Stopping in the hospital room, she picks up a crayon and draws a slow, pained line across the wall. Then, she snaps into a violently spastic dance, throwing herself on the mattress, kicking, and slamming against the wall. Her physicality is the most dynamic thing I have ever seen. Olympic-class gymnast meets Godzilla. In the world of Macbeth, her character must be suffering some serious psychological issues.

So much to discover in so little time. More characters start to appear through the darkness, often sharing an intense moment, then quickly dispersing again. As I watch the characters interact and have private moments together, a story begins to form in my head. They live in a passion-filled and violent world, always stunningly beautiful, with women in sexy velvet-gowns or silky slips, and men in crisp white shirts and tailored jackets, confusingly alike with their cropped hair and chiseled jawbones.

I soon discover a cyclical pattern to the performance, and begin to make more intentional choices. Sometimes I try to follow new characters, but watching a scene for the second time is equally compelling. When I find myself back in the hospital-room, watching the tarantula-lady do her contorted dance, I feel as if I am in a dream, visiting a film-sequence that I have seen a hundred times before. It’s surreal, to say the least.

When the three-hour show reaches an end, I am exhausted. The next day, my body aches as proof of my experience. This was not a dream.

Sleep No More runs through January 3rd at ART in Boston. To find out more:

Tickets >> http://www.americanrepertorytheater.org/events/show/sleep-no-more

Company website >> http://www.punchdrunk.org.uk/

Filed under: Lifestyle by Jing Xu
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