Isaac Dunbar Takes Our Pop Quiz
office gave Isaac an impromptu pop quiz where there are no wrong answers... except, of course, the wrong ones.
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office gave Isaac an impromptu pop quiz where there are no wrong answers... except, of course, the wrong ones.
In curating experience through sound, Godford took this project a step further creating tracks to be collaged together into a short film. The resulting music videos, directed by Félix Dol Maillot, bleed into scenes giving flesh and bones, and movement to the sound.Characteristic of Godford’s shapeshifting nature and anonymity, the sound and visuals of I YOU SHE play on the surreal experience of our physical bodies. I YOU SHE continues the project laid out in Non Binary Place to explore nonspace through extremes.
Pushing listeners into a dreamlike trance with the call and return of lyrics, repetition in beats, and sampled voices that sound like fragments of an overheard conversation, Godford builds a bank of shared human experiences. These small moments are unbound from our bodies, and even identities, creating a mirrored sense of anonymity in the listener, not to mask their own features, but to see the world through the eyes of others, much like the dizzying mask Godford peers at us through.
Read our interview with the myth behind the mask below.
Tell me about your process. What comes first, the lyrics or the music? Where do you get most of your inspiration?
It always starts with a little piece of arrangement that I'm twitching, then adding the drums then a vocal melody. And the rest is trade secrets.
In “Try” you talk about trying to understand “that certain feeling” what feeling do you hope to evoke with this album?
Recently on BBC Radio 1, Clara Amfo described my song "Say My Name" as "a hug in the rave". That's exactly the feeling I was going for with this album. I want you to move with feeling to this music. I hope one feels less lonely while listening to the album.
It feels like the songs each explore complex feelings through repetition and familiar phrases, how do you aim to communicate complex feelings in music and life?
Exactly, each song in the album tastes and explores different feelings with the same approach. It's easier for me to express emotions and my mood when i'm making music but pretty hard to talk about it. Overall though, I think you just sense the complex emotions through the notes in the music. If you need to explain it in words, then so much gets lost.
Your album is entitled I YOU SHE following Non-Binary Place how do you explore gender through music?
Music in general is a nonbinary place for me where everyone can express their deepest sides of themselves. I was actually in the same mood when I made this new album I YOU SHE.
Do you feel that the genre of dance/electronic music lends itself to exploration of identity?
For me, yes, I get unlimited inspiration from electronic music because you mix different genres and it’s always changing. I wanted a sound that blends sound, texture and background and electronic music allows me to go these spaces.
I YOU SHE feels like running down a beach barefoot or going for a drive with the windows down. When was the last moment you felt a rush of life or recklessness?
I feel this emotion everytime when I’m producing music. I feel totally free and disconnected from the real world.
If your life were a movie, who would you want to make the soundtrack, and who would you want to play you?
Moby would make the soundtrack for sure and anyone could be the actor. You get that cinematic experience sonically but the lead character could be anyone.
Moby is great! Who are some of your other early influences?
I started making music in my teenage years, I used to listen to a lot of Frank Ocean, Phoenix, Moby, and Daft Punk.
Tell me about your name, what does “Godford” mean to you?
It's a little twist with my name. Nothing more than that.
ANNA ZANES — Congratulations on the album.
JUSTINE SKYE — Thank you.
AZ — How have things been since it came out?
JS — It's been only four or five days. I’ve already got six million streams on Spotify, and it just keeps going up. It's really exciting to put out a project that's being so well-received. I'm independent, so it's a slow grow, but it's really great to finally share this project with the world and have something really good quality that’s mine to refer to when people say, ‘Have you heard of Justine Skye?’
AZ — And on top of that, being independent now, you’ve put more of yourself into it than ever before.
JS — Absolutely. This whole process has been very personal and purely authentic. I was the dominant writer on this project, but I had the help of some amazing people — my team, Justin Timberlake, all the writers who lended a hand, and of course, Timbaland, who produced it. He really took a chance on me wanting to create this whole project. There was no ‘science project,’ which was how it felt before. It's the first time that I feel like an actual artist, where I get the chance to sit down and really think about what it is that I want to do.
AZ — The sense of production being a ‘science project’—do you attribute that shift to working outside of a larger label? Do you feel like you’ve transitioned from a focus on marketing to the music itself? It’s incredible, you don't really see people making that move very often. It’s more so the reverse—the small guys eventually getting signed.
JS — Yes! That's the biggest thing. People knew my name or knew my face, but they didn't know the music. And so now it's like, here's my music.
AZ — Were you nervous — especially given how personal this project was — about how it might be received, or even understood?
JS — No, I wasn't nervous at all. I feel like I'm at a point in my life now, especially at an age now, where I don't have any restrictions. I don't have anything limiting me. When I first got signed, I was 17 and at that point in time, it was like, ‘You're too young to talk about these things, or you're too young to feel this way.’ Whereas today, a 17-year-old can write whatever the hell they want.
AZ — When you release a project how do you deal with comments? Do you read them?
JS — Absolutely. I think it's kind of bizarre to a certain extent when they say, ‘Don't look.’ I have to! I absolutely have to. That's your main source of interacting with your supporters, with your listeners, with your fans — that's how you communicate with them. You just have to sift through any negativity and find the people who are on your team.
AZ — That makes sense, especially coming from someone who had their come-up in the age of Tumblr. I interview a lot of artists, and I hear a lot less sensitivity on the topic of comments and reviews from those who fall under the ‘post-internet’ umbrella, like yourself.
JS — For me personally, when I was on Tumblr, I obviously was just a girl — I was a girl on Tumblr. I didn't really consider myself Justine Skye. I was just literally a normal Tumblr girl who happened to have more followers than the average Tumblr user. There was no censorship of anything that I did. It was simply, ‘This is what I think. This is how I feel. This is what I'm talking about.’ But when I got signed and when I got more into the industry, and had to undergo media training, I realized, ‘Oh, I have to be proper. The things that I say can affect my life and career.’ I guess when I started out I had some fear that I had to be this person that I didn't know — not that anyone specifically told me to be that person — but I thought, ‘Well, I want to be great, so I have to censor everything. I have to listen, I have to do this.’
AZ — It's crazy. I'm your age, and I remember the time when Tumblr was essentially our diary. But when Instagram and social media started building up, the presence and role of influencers changed. It’s a whole different game than Tumblr fame.
JS — There was no real ‘influence.’ There kind of was, but they were homegrown New York kids, representing lifestyles — no one was getting paid to do anything.
AZ — The incentive was never branding or brand representation.
JS — Yes, and now that all of those things are on the line and there are people whose jobs are to be an actual influencer, we're in a strange place. I don't think it's bad and I don't think it's the best, but where we’re at now, we have to censor and limit a lot of things that hinder authentic art.
AZ — It seems like you're someone who has, throughout your career, done a pretty good job of speaking up when needed.
JS — I'm not an activist and I would never ever think that I am. But I am a human, so if I feel like something is wrong then I share my opinion, and you can either listen to it or not. I'm not asking anyone to listen to it. I'm just being human.
AZ — Why do you feel that it's important to detach from the label of activist? Do you feel as though people are more open to hearing you under that guise?
JS — Yeah, and I'm not doing all the research in the world — I'm really not. This is why I make sure that I'm not just recycling things without knowing much about it.
AZ — In terms of writing, do you feel that all of your work comes from a place of personal experience?
JS — More times than not, yes. It comes from experience, or at least a feeling that I know. Maybe I didn't actually go through it, but I know someone who has, or I know what it feels like. It's like writing a movie, it's based on a true story, but not everything is true.
AZ — What do you have to say about the idea that all good art comes from pain?
JS — Weirdly I was thinking about that today! I was watching the Olivia Rodrigo concert, which was amazing — the way they packed it all together, named the album, built the story around all of it. I think pain is something that we all relate to. And music is something we look to when we’re sad, or need to express ourselves, which is why I'm so grateful to be someone who makes music. But sometimes, especially nowadays, I feel like it can get a little bit too depressing. I wish that there was a way for it to be cool to not be so sad. But I think because expressing one’s feelings is something we’ve shoved into a corner for so long, people are drawn to sad songs — it's a way for them to say all the things they want to say, but don't. If you're feeling a certain way in a relationship and you don't know how to say it to someone, you can send them a song like, ‘This is how I feel.’
AZ — It can be a powerful, but also passive way of communicating. And like any trend, whether it's in fashion, art, or music, it’s going to be cyclical in nature. Look back at the 2010s — that era of music was all about getting fucked up and partying, only to be followed by sad boys. It’s not unlike the shift from the ‘80s to the ‘90s.
JS — There are definitely phases. I hope that we can get back into feel-good music eventually. Obviously we've been indoors for a year or so—which is why I ended my album with ‘Mmm Mmm.’ Since it's been out, and we’ve been out, hearing it at a party on big speakers, making people dance — that’s been the best feeling.
AZ — As a successful woman working within any medium, it seems like celebrity and influencer culture will eventually catch up with you. How do you actively approach the pressure of that? How do you hold onto your craft in the midst of it?
JS — It’s all ultimately up to you as a person. If you have a passion and you continue that passion, then there should be nothing that gets in the way. Music is the root of who I am, but I'm also a Renaissance woman, as well. At the end of the day, Justine Skye is an artist, she's a brand, she’s a businesswoman.
AZ — How do you balance your use of social media when it comes to your professional creative work and mental health?
JS — It’s finding the balance between sharing enough, but not too much. At the end of the day, this is the life you chose. This is the career path you chose. If I do share anything that's extremely personal or deep, it's because I feel alone in those times, and there may be someone out there who also feels alone. Whenever I see someone that I think is super cool sharing a moment like that, it’s shocking. And then I see all the comments. You don't know what people are going through.
AZ — It's hopeful for people, or at least in my personal experience, it's been hopeful to see someone I respect going through shit that I’ve gone or will go through, and still succeeding.
JS — It's not easy to share so much of yourself, because then it's no longer yours and you’re on stage for speculation. So, it's definitely something you have to think about before you do. Once you, even if it's like, ‘I don't like mustard.’ Now, the world knows you don't like mustard.
AZ — What has it been like working with Timbaland and Justin Timberlake?
JS — Oh, it's been so cool. You grew up listening to someone and now you know them, and you're working with them, and you've created this body of work with them. It's insane. And for them to just be so involved in every aspect of it — and even Justin just giving advice from the beginning of it, to then being like, ‘Hey, the only thing missing on your album is me,’ is insane.
AZ — That's incredible. What have you learned from each of them that is going to be really useful for you going forward?
JS — Man, I mean… I've learned a lot. Even just technical things, like Justin will help out in the studio, just making sure that I make the song sound bigger, stacking things or changing certain words because the sound is better. And just the encouragement from both of them. I've been in this industry for a little while now, and to hear people who have been in it even longer, and have had extreme success in it — it definitely boosted my confidence and helped a lot with certain decisions. What made me feel so great about this project is that it was created by people who were extremely passionate and who actually believed in me.
AZ — They saw what you were doing and wanted to be a part of it, rather than seeing someone they could shape and mold into their ideals, which is what sounds like has happened in the past, and what I've heard from many young women in the industry.
JS — Trust me. That's exactly how it feels.
Her latest release “Emily Rose (Deluxe)” is an amalgam of the anxieties, anger, and overwhelming angst of the past two years under a global pandemic. It is sometimes complicated and problematic, and other times shockingly poignant and direct. The album creates a capsule through which to view our moment in time, pushing the excess of internet fandom to a boiling point.
“My name is Emily and I’m five/I like playing Roblox and going outside/I like going to school, but I’m stuck inside/this virus has me losing my mind”
Instrumental in understanding the origins of the six-year-old sensation, is Montes’s first masterpiece. In July of 2020 Montes released her eponymous album after her first song “Emily” went viral on Tiktok, garnering 29,000 followers. The sixteen-second song (lyrics in full above) launched the then five-year-old into fame, and, subsequently, the unrelenting arms of stan culture.
As fun as it may be to jump on the stan-wagon (coming from someone who wanted to coin the Emily Rose Montes fanbase, “Thornies”), granting a six-year-old starlet celebrity status should give pause. Montes’ monumental emergence in the music scene offers a moment of reflection in how much media we make available to young people on the internet, and how quick we are to place them, in the limelight. While decreasing barriers to entry in the music industry is a worthwhile endeavor, it does not dismantle the cult of celebrity the industry is built on.
Montes’ rise to stardom is as elusive as the artist herself. The virality of Tiktok, with a surplus of new users under the pandemic, gave Montes a fanbase rife with ironic appreciation. At the same time as auto-tune, and hyper-pop glamorized adults with child-like voices, the hyper-salience of doom under a global pandemic dramatically altered our reality as we understood it. Struggling, in our personal and (suddenly increasingly more) virtual lives, to put language to ineffable feelings, fleeting thoughts, and ever-changing facts, our own neurological systems became much like that of a toddler just starting to process and interpret the world around them.
“I’m going in circles, crazy, insane/I’m losing my mind/What are the words/That I’m trying to find”
The opening of Emily Rose (Deluxe), “Intro/ Ig Ig Ig/ If Today Was The Last Day” draws on key themes in the Montes oeuvre: going outside, haters, and existentialism. But, perhaps most interestingly, is the reference to Instagram (Ig Ig Ig).
Since her rise to fame, the darlin’ diva has been banned on TikTok, and Instagram, likely to keep haters, and even fans, at bay from inflicting any harm on Montes at an impressionable age (or the violation of age requirements on social media). Moving her online presence instead to Twitter, the last bastion of the banned, Montes has beef with the platforms over her banning.
With her TikTok account garnering 29k followers following her first release and her Instagram fan account alive and well in her own account’s absence, the quickness with which we grant notoriety. The issue of celebrity has a longstanding hold on fans building mythos around and assigning meaning to people whose immediate lives are intangible. In the internet age, celebrity has become conflated with virality and made way for stan culture. The question becomes how we came to put a six-year-old in the limelight. It’s not unheard of for such young talents to find their way into show business, with stars like Michael Jackson starting as early as eight. But, as we saw with Jackson’s troubled (though extremely successful) career, to those who know nothing but the limelight, the life they are able to live is stunted, and their experiences are isolated and foreign from the everyday.
In the wake of social media’s purported “interconnectedness,” we’ve seen an opposite effect, with young people and teenagers reporting higher levels of mental illness. As a star made famous by these same platforms, can we expect Montes’ experience of fame to only be exacerbated by the cacophony of "connection" on the internet?
In the streaming era, as more artists stay independent and in control of their craft, and public image, there may be less external pressure on Montes than the supernovas of child stars burned by the music industry in the past. Can Montes achieve her desired level of success without also losing pieces of her childhood? Or are some of those pieces already lost as life in the “post-pandemic” digital age inflicts progeria on us all?
“But there is no peace/So I speak”
Though all of Montes’ songs run the gambit of everyday six-year-old gripes like playing Roblox and snacktime, to mature subject matter like love and betrayal, “Haters/BLM/Dark” is perhaps her most confounding piece.
With cognitive development starting in children at age six, we can’t expect Montes to navigate the cut-throat intricacies of internet politics. We become accountable for her. So how can we examine the culture we’ve created wherein a white six-year-old feels compelled to weigh in on police brutality? A stark reminder of the young ages at which black and brown children are first confronted with racism; how does Montes’s voice in the conversation around George Floyd’s death speak to the way children are socialized differently along racial lines?
Montes’ lyrics feel like (and likely are) a child who’s overheard a phrase among adults, and in repeating it, nearly captures its meaning, but falls just short. Leaving us, the proverbial adults, to think about the messaging we’ve made available to a six-year-old, and the platform granted her as a result. Montes’ sense of justice can only be as thoroughly articulated as it has been taught to her.
As a white six-year-old claiming the crown within a historically black genre, Montes serves as a reminder of the longstanding history of black culture as a commodity, available (and therefore disposable) to the sticky fingertips of an industry built on the visibility and notoriety of whiteness.
“Do whatever you want me to/Just remember I love you/Nicki are you mad that I dissed you? Are you mad that I rap better than you?”
In embedding herself within hip-hop, Montes’ “D.T.W/#Diss/O.T.R” calls upon the timeless tradition of industry beef. The succession of each micro-song calls first on love, and artistic devotion, before challenging Nicki Minaj, and fading into a disaffected rendition of “Old Town Road.” This progression could be intentional, aimed at conveying Montes’s appreciation of the culture of hip-hop (through the vantage point of a six-year-old, “Old Town Road” can be interpreted as hip-hop history), or entirely (and most likely) at random. The track becomes satire, forcing listeners to think critically and fill in the gaps for themselves.
Montes’s world straddles uncertainty and curiosity; optimism and near-nihilism; and an all-encompassing hunger (both for success and snacks.) Her lyrics are simple and accessible. Her sound is contemporary and catchy. As we pull apart the pieces which make Ms. Montes’ music feel whole, we project our own humanity onto her art. We search tirelessly for meaning, and in its absence, create an icon—something larger than and detached from our own experiences to fill in the gaps in our own lives.
Rather than putting the six-year-old on a pedestal (when she still needs a step stool), we ought to extend that same humanity as she explores her creativity. When sharing in her craft (by way of bumping “Be Happy/I Wanna Be Famous”— a personal favorite) we are reminded that the rules are, and should be, different for young creatives. To help Montes be happy (and famous), we can appreciate what she is doing, with constructive grace and not blind, and obsessive devotion.
By Montes’ own claim, she wants to be famous. She has learned at a young age, as many of us have, that fame is success and subsequently, is happiness. The age of social media has pushed the narrative of fame, a once intangible concept, into quantifiable followers, listeners, or likes, and we can’t blame Montes’ in her pursuit of it. Most of us find ways to maximize and leverage our own relative fame within siloes and niches to achieve individual notions of success.
So how can we alter the industry of fame to make it both less desirable to future generations, and less dangerous to those who attain and consume it? Without dismantling the power system at play in the singular idea of celebrity, we instead shift power from the hands of executives and industry giants into the not-yet-fully formed palm of a child and fail to recognize that same power we surrendered. Fame is capital, and in creating celebrities we deplete our own resources, detaching the superstars we create from theirs. We build a toxic and vicious cycle of isolation and disparity, stunting the innate human creativity Montes is demonstrative of.
In one sense, Montes builds a complex allegory for life in a post-modern, hyper-digital world, pushing listeners on a quest to make meaning from chaos, in another, she’s hungry and it’s snacktime.
“I’m hungry/I’m hungry/I’m hungry/Should I eat this?/Or should I eat that?/I’m in the house hungry/Snack time”
@mallwh0re_freestyle One of my favorite albums from 2020 ##emilymontes ##emilymontesisqueen ##deathgrips##mucore ##weezer
♬ original sound - Isabella