by Devin Bowen

This past weekend, KRFH made our big debut at the University of California, Santa Cruz (UCSC) for the annual University of California College Radio Conference, and man, it was an experience. Being a college radio junkie and a KRFH DJ myself, I was just so geeked out of excitement for this trip. We had $20 in our pockets, three cars full of indie college merch and a dream traveling down the state to Santa Cruz, Calif. Once we arrived in Santa Cruz, it was game over; no one was ready for the KRFH Humboldt people to be in their city.

​The conference itself was full of so many activities for the different college radio stations, giving each DJ a panel of where to go for different presentations and what they consist of. KZSC, UCSC college radio station, made the whole experience so welcoming. They provided tour guides, an after conference show and so much free food. Besides the fact that everyone was someone I didn’t recognize, the UCSC campus felt so similar to Cal Poly Humboldt, making the anxiety of it all to be just a tad bit chilled out. I will say it was honestly a surreal moment hearing other college radio stations’ systems compared to ours. 

KRFH, besides Stanford’s station KZSU, are the only fully student-run radio stations and stations that don’t pay their DJ managers. I was quite literally gagged by the amount of money these other stations were given and just the fact that they were being paid! It does make sense after hearing how everyone runs their stations, but in my opinion, I think KRFH keeps college radio pretty punk-rock by doing it for the passion, music and experience.

​At the end of the conference, all the stations got to do a merch-swag swap where we basically just traded what we all made for our stations. KRFH Public Relations Manager Madison Verba and I were on an insane motivational high after the swag swap. There were prints, coloring books, teddy bears and even shorts! As KRFH social media, too, I was ready to grab my phone to document my DJ friends like a crazy facebook mom. Santa Barbara’s station had me most impressed and really jumped the gun for my motivational high for KRFH’s future. Plus, it was so cute and heartfelt seeing everyone take our zines, posters and stickers. In fact, almost everything we had was wiped clean from our table. Imagine SpongeBob with an “aw” face — that was me.

​After the long radio day, KZSC hosted a mini-show at one of their local venues called the Vessel. KRFH were once again the true punk rockers, dancing and jamming the whole time. We even adopted a member from Stanford’s college radio to join the Kerfich family. In the long run, being a college radio DJ is the best part of my college experience, and seeing other stations and students have that passion was so validating. So, of course, I’ll be keeping college radio alive — will you? 

Devin Bowen is a journalism major and also the social media manager for the student run radio station, KRFH. She admires collecting vinyl records and exploring new artists. They hope to spread new experiences and influence a different perspective with music and culture through The Lumberjack. Contact them at dlb155@humboldt.edu.

by Ryan Diaz

Kevin Parker, also known as Tame Impala, dropped a scorching album on Oct. 17 featuring his true display of artistic expertise, hitting the global stages as his tour began Oct. 27 in New York City.

Parker has not released an album in five years, half of a decade since we’ve had a full release from the Tame Impala. Think back for a moment to just weeks right before the COVID-19 pandemic began — does that feel like forever ago to you? It feels like centuries ago to me. So, buckle up as we drive down this road that is Deadbeat.

Rising to prominence in the mid-2010s, Parker’s album Currents dropped in the summer of 2015. It featured hit songs many can recognize, like New Person, Same Old Mistakes, The Less I Know The Better and Eventually, to name a few. 

The intricacies of Deadbeat is a true exhibition. This album speaks to millions of people, including myself. According to Billboard 200, Parker’s album ranks fourth on the charts as of Oct. 30. The first song My Old Ways feels like a look over your shoulder into the past and embracing it. The song starts with a slow roll, then a sudden beat shift goes into the themes of falling back into temptations, human nature, sliding back into our old ways and the uncomfortable yet comforting feeling brought on by rescinding backwards. That’s how I interpret it, anyway. 

Dracula is yet another banger in this album, a song initially released slightly earlier than the full album. I’ve been anticipating this release for months, so when we got Dracula early, I listened to it at every chance I had. Dracula dropped just in time for Halloween, and is about running from the sun, like Dracula does. This reflects a way to run from reality, fitting for Halloween, when people can escape and be whoever they want. 

Oblivion is an absolute winner, likely my favorite song on this album. Oblivion has great vocals, good lyrics and tells a story of acceptance. Accepting the reality of the bitter end of a relationship — something we all experience in this life, yet always feel the familiar emotional toll of grief. The song is the acceptance of the loss and choosing of Oblivion, with lyrics like, “If I don’t get to you, my love, then I choose oblivion.” This song transcends me to a tesseract in the fourth dimension, where you can hear colors and taste sound as you observe the passage of time. Not absolute, but relative.

 I am a huge Tame Impala fan and have been for years. I feel like there are very few artists and songs you can listen to and truly never get sick of. Parker perfectly captures every lyric, every pause, every beat, every minute detail, intricately painting a picture of a broader story, theme or concept. Parker knows how to create his own genre of music unlike any other, a unique portrayal of the human experience, the passage of time and the ethereal connection to a past life. 

Ryan Diaz is a senior at Cal Poly Humboldt and a second-semester reporter with an ambition to work in the public relations field after graduation. He is also a DJ on KRFH 105.1 FM and krfh.net, hosting a weekly show on Thursday from 7 p.m. to 8 p.m..

by Kaylon Coleman

It’s November, which means a multitude of things. Veterans Day, Fall Break, Daylights Savings Ending, a few LJ editor birthdays, mine included. But, it also means flu season — and if you live in Humboldt County, you know this is when the rain really starts to ramp up. For the initiated, the “Humboldt Hack” is probably something you’re all too familiar with. For the freshman and transfers who may not be… trust me, you soon will be.

Now more than ever — except for when we had that pandemic a few years back — I implore you to wash your hands. 

Now, there’s a good chance some of you read that byline and thought, ‘Who doesn’t wash their hands?’ Which is completely valid and you’re right in thinking that.  I’m hoping it’s near the 0-2% range, but those aren’t the outliers I’m referring to. 

In my headcanon, a majority of people my age — or, hopefully a majority of people in general — were primarily taught to wash their hands post number one and number two; maybe skipping a cheeky pee here and there. But, I think the art of washing your hands without the excretion prerequisite has been lost.

Let me paint you a picture. It’s a Wednesday night, you decide to go to Harbor Lanes for $3 bowling with a couple friends. You play best of three — loser has to cop the winners In-N-Out. After some quaint belt-to-butt, you’re mad marved and rush to the car elated, thinking about this free double-double you’re about to buss down. Yet, in all your glutinous manifestations you forget one crucial thing — washing your hands. 

Now, the culmination of every germ that has encountered that bowling ball lies within your digits. The kid screaming ‘6, 7’ who couldn’t stop digging for gold. The Jerry Garcia lookalike whose chonies just weren’t sitting right. The party of four who ordered the extra, extra greasy pizza. Every germ now resides with you.

If it wasn’t already apparent, I’m somewhat of a germaphobe; I get it from my mom. I’mma always offer the last bite or a waterfall when I can. But above all, my hands are my tension point. If I’m out-and-about and I feel the muck and grime of the day accumulate, best believe I’m washing my hands first chance I get — it’s like a reset, it’s liberating. I can freely scratch my face without trillions of germs bombarding my forehead, or I can eat stress-free without the thought of any bacteria trying to cop a free meal.

We should normalize just going to the bathroom to wash our hands. Embrace and celebrate it, for it’s one of the most jubilant joys one can partake in. So, once again I’m pleading, as flu season looms near, just wash your hands. And if you still believe this article’s redundant, next time you go out to the mall, movies or lanes with your pals — when all’s said and done, just sit and observe, and you might be more appalled than you think.

Kaylon Coleman is a senior journalism major with a concentration in news and a minor in communications. He is the opinion editor for LJ. He is also the vice president of the Black Student Union at CPH, Marketing and Communications lead for the Umoja Center and a part-time radio DJ and merch manager for KRFH. If you have a topic you want him to discuss, email him at kc403@humboldt.edu

by Barley Lewis-McCabe

We’ve all seen him — you stop into Wildberries to briefly grab some lunch and you see the ragged hair and black t-shirt standing in front of the bulk foods. Maybe you stop into Pacific Paradise and see him walk out with an overflowing bag. You’re going down the road feeling fine; then, there’s a whiff of cigarettes and hot dog breath. He’s in us all: Jerry Garcia. 

If you live in Humboldt, you’ve surely heard the Grateful Dead, even if you only knew it as that weird song playing in a coffee shop that just doesn’t end.

Jerry Garcia was the unofficial frontman of the Grateful Dead, and no doubt you’ve seen one of the memorials to him; a photo in the window of Humboldt Glassblowers or a shrine to him in the window of Tomo, maybe even as an apostle in a painting at Arcata Pizza and Deli. But, Jerry’s presence goes beyond print on paper and canvas — chances are, you’ve seen his disciples out and about. 

Any man who settles down in Humboldt could inevitably start to look like Jerry Garcia. They let their beard grow, and over time, it slowly occupies more and more of the space on their head, all while their hair spreads out in any which direction creating the distinct silhouette. They let the smoke sit on their body, they shower less and let themselves live naturally — but they always wash their hands, because washing your hands is cool. Their eyebrows become bushier, the IPA belly gets bigger by the day and soon enough, he looks in the mirror and sees Garcia himself. 

In 1995, Jerry Garcia was found dead with a smile on his face. He was a man who often struggled with the demons that frequently come with great creativity. He self-medicated and allowed those feelings to overwhelm him. I’m sure some of the men who’ve been consumed by the Jerry Garcia effect have experienced similar struggles.

That’s why the Grateful Dead grows like a tie-dyed fungus in between two ears, cultivating in bodies sometimes filled with pain and grief, absorbing and turning the strife into something new. 

  It’s not bad to turn into Jerry; it’s just men growing into a new period of their lives. It’s a stage of leisure, and evidence of good nights and good meals. In our culture of wrinkle-preventing straws and frozen plastic bodies, a man who’s succumbed to the Jerry Garcia Effect might not fit the traditional beauty standard. But what’s more beautiful than a life well-lived being obvious when you see a stranger?

A man could look like Jerry Garcia when he lets himself fall victim to unhealthy habits, or he could look like Jerry when he lets himself relax. When he turns down The Golden Road to Unlimited Devotion, when he settles down and becomes comfortable in his own skin, when he lets loose and just exists not to exist, but to live! We could all be so lucky to embody the man himself. 

Barley is the photo editor and an untraditional reporter who focuses on social change and stories with a real human impact. If you’d like to reach him for whatever reason email bl258@humboldt.edu.

by Jess Carey

Food. Medicine. Cyclic beings whose strength is unmatched. Resilient and ancient, they nourish and inspire us. They are the salmon, and they could be the savior of our university’s identity. Salmon represent strength, renewal and a reciprocal relationship with the land — a stark contrast to the lumberjack’s vibe of colonization and destruction. 

With their hooked jaws, jagged teeth and dense muscular bodies, salmon are perhaps the strongest and most resilient of fish. The Chinook and Coho are the largest species in both literal size and population in Californian waters. The fish spend one to seven years in ocean waters before migrating back to where they came from to spawn at the end of their lives – ensuring the cycle continues. Guided by a mysterious innate sense of direction, some swim hundreds of miles back home. Defying gravity and currents, they fight their way up mountains. 

Salmon are not only historically and culturally significant to the North Coast, they also are the darlings of recent conversations around river restoration. Since the undamming of the Klamath River, salmon are returning to areas that they have not seen in almost one hundred years. Conversations around salmon are a hot topic and are making national news as their threatened populations enjoy small wins due to widespread conservation efforts. 

The problem of the lumberjack image has been discussed in our paper several times. We have an opportunity to step away from celebrating the dark legacy of the timber rush and its accompanying violent heritage. The hypocrisy of the lumberjack as our mascot is evident as the university administration continues to insist on their commitment to fostering an environment of whatever sounds the most politically correct without actually being accountable. 

On Cal Poly Humboldt’s website, the first part of the Purpose and Vision for the institution reads; “We will be the premier center for the interdisciplinary study of the environment, climate crisis and resilience to climate change, and the conservation of ecological systems and natural resources.” Does a lumberjack fit these values? Many logging companies today, even locally, are still the subject of controversy. Practices like clear-cutting and unsustainable harvesting continue to proliferate. 

No other university has a salmon mascot — several have lumberjacks. Humboldt Salmon has a nice ring to it, I think. Sports teams could be branded as fighting salmon. We could say that our opponents were smoked! Salmon rolls off the tongue much better than lumberjack. Try saying it yourself. This novel move would set our community apart, cementing our values of environmental responsibility and community into our identity. If we can change our name, we can change our mascot.

Jess Carey is a botanist, musician, and friend. They enjoy pondering the sky, running around, and making a scene. They are a senior studying ecology with a journalism minor. Reach them by email at jc876@humboldt.edu with comments or story ideas.

The Smashing Machine is a film for someone, but not me

by Julia Kelm

The Smashing Machine is a film starring Dwayne Johnson, directed by Benny Safdie, who may be recognized from his Oscar-nominated film Uncut Gems. The film follows the true story of the legendary mixed martial arts and Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) fighter Mark Kerr.

In all honesty, I think the best part of seeing this film at The Minor Theater in Arcata was the Chicago-style hot dog they were serving. 

Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot to say about this film. The plot is a raging bore, falling into the usual biopic tropes, and does nothing unexpected or interesting for the 2-hour runtime of the film. 

You can’t help but want to compare The Smashing Machine to Sean Durkin’s The Iron Claw, which is also a film that centers around a true story and professional fighting. Where The Smashing Machine fails and The Iron Claw succeeds is mainly to do with emotional value and a genuinely interesting and heartbreaking story. The Smashing Machine is boring based solely on the fact that Kerr’s life simply does not translate into the plot of a good film. 

With that said, I think Johnson does a fine job of portraying the retired UFC fighter. However, it’s hard to applaud him that much since he was a professional wrestler for World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE). The viewer doesn’t need to stretch their imagination far to believe The Rock can fight. 

I think the only thing I liked about this film was Emily Blunt’s performance as Dawn Staples, Kerr’s unstable girlfriend. Maybe I haven’t seen enough Blunt films, but I’m sort of used to Blunt playing the type A, mundane, motherly characters — it was a pleasant change of scenery to see her get a little crazy. 

I am aware that I am dragging this film through the mud right now, but I do think there’s a specific crowd for this film. I’ll list off a few reasons why you might want to see this film.

If you’re interested in the story of an athlete’s fall from greatness and dealing with loss, you may want to see this film.

 That perspective was brought to my attention by my sister, who participates in the women’s rowing team at Cal Poly Humboldt. Although she also found the film lackluster, it was relatable. There’s a part in the film where Kerr, after losing a fight, seems to keep it together with a stern face. However, once he is alone in the locker room, he breaks down and sobs. This is likely a relatable feeling to many athletes after training and putting so much energy into something just to fail. 

I also think this movie would be a good one to see with your dad. I can think of countless nights where I’m back at home with my dad, playing the painful game of, ‘What are we going to watch tonight?’ It’s either something I like: film-bro shit. Or something my dad likes: an old man shoots a gun. Both parties are never satisfied in this situation. I think Smashing Machine provides a safe middle ground for this specific situation.

I wouldn’t personally waste money seeing this in a theater, unless either of those previously stated reasons applies to you specifically. This movie will be forgotten in a few months, unless it gets nominated for an Oscar. If that’s the case, you’ll be hearing one long sigh from me in the future.

Julia is a journalism major, and is the life and arts editor for the paper. She loves film and is a regular on Letterboxd. She also enjoys going on walks in the forest, and taking pictures to relax. If you have a movie you want her to review, email her at jk328@humboldt.edu.

by Ariana Wilson

Competition was like breathing; anything that could be ‘won’ became a challenge, a game. The ease with which I became an athlete seemed predestined. It was always more than just a game, though. The ball rolling down the roof in the backyard became a game of passing back and forth, no partner needed. Months later — the roof no longer a sufficient practice partner — I asked my sister to play with me so I could practice with a touch more rigor. Our backyard sessions became the origin of her own love of the sport.

One more minute was never enough, and everywhere I went became an opportunity for guerilla practice strategies. Setting and passing with balled up sweatshirts, any object became a volleyball if I was determined enough. 

Minutes of technical discipline accumulated and became months of mental and physical training. In the blink of an eye, my childhood was lost to a sport I once loved.

My entire identity was consumed by my love of a sport. As an unsure girl whose world was changing, I found solace in setting up and taking down the net; in the practice that happened in between, in the repetition ad nauseum, just to improve by one touch. The rhythm of familiarity was a welcome distraction from confronting my adolescence and the reality that a person was developing underneath the athlete.

As I look back and forth between my first love and the rest of my adult life, I feel content for the first time in years. Leaving something you love by choice is never easy. Leaving a sport knowing you were physically equipped to compete but could not, in good conscience, subject yourself to another season under underqualified and callous leadership is devastating. 

“You are a person a lot longer than you are an athlete,” Laurie Creighton, my high school volleyball coach, often reminded her teams. 

Her guidance and support, among many others, have been invaluable to me. Their words of wisdom adorn the memories I covet of the years I fell in love with volleyball, of contributing to something bigger than myself.

Since 2013, every fall on my calendar was occupied with daily two-hour practices, games twice a week and tournaments on weekends. In my later years of competition, mental toughness and watching game film took precedence over hours on the court. Our bodies committed to memorizing the countless rotations and plays so, to sharpen our skill, studying our opponents became homework alongside our high school and college course work. 

One day, I put pen to paper in an attempt to meet myself through my writing. The pages became my confidant as I reflected on the people who saw beyond a volleyball player — and took time to cultivate in me, an unwavering character. It was only after my first journal entry that I realized that the bulk of my developmental years coincided with a sport that’s success is dependent on mistakes. The delivery of criticism and encouragement from coaches, mentors, family and friends became my internal monologue. I was blessed with coaches in my early years who saw my potential, on and off the court, who nurtured what I could be regardless of what I became. 

The people you allow to lead your life possess great responsibility. It is within your power to decide who you allow to occupy that position. In the lens of the world, leaving my college volleyball team did not create a ripple effect enough to start any significant change for humanity, but I am a better person for it. Shedding the expectations and constant criticism allowed me to explore the root of my love of sports.

Settling into this new life has been slow, but worth the emotional ache. I am confronted by my potential at every decision I make and yet I remember that, in comparison, I rob myself of presence. Presence in this season, in this moment and in the gratitude I have for the collection of moments that brought me here. Humboldt County, California of all places.

This is my first year as a former student athlete, but in lieu of the absence of collegiate athletics, I have transitioned into a season of personal curriculum and competition. My syllabus consists of falling in love with the things that made me want to play volleyball in the first place. Being an athlete, competing and pushing myself beyond my perceived limits.

I am starting fresh at 22, pursuing my childhood dream of being a marine biologist through scientific diving on the North Coast, trying surfing for the first time, honing my dedication and discipline through climbing, playing the guitar and writing as a way of self discovery.

Loving something is special and worthy, but using it as an identifier has limited my capacity for imagination. I have more future than past and I am a person a lot longer than I am the hobbies and passions that formed me. 

Ari is a senior journalism major and the science editor this semester with an adoration for the environment and conservation. She plans to meld her journalistic passions with scientific research in the future.

 One Battle After Another is secretly a love letter to Arcata

by Julia Kelm

The latest film from Oscar-winning director Paul Thomas Anderson One Battle After Another hit theaters on Sept. 26. The film follows ex-revolutionaries reuniting to rescue the daughter of one of their crew members, as an old enemy resurfaces to take them out. 

The protagonist, who adopted the name Bob after going into hiding, is played by Leonardo DiCaprio. DiCaprio is the stoned-out, paranoid ex-revolutionist, delivering the role with realism and unexpected humor.

Panicked after getting a call, Bob spends the film trying to find his daughter before the nefarious white supremacist Colonel Lockjaw — played by Sean Penn — captures her. Penn’s performance was also brilliant and politically timely. Penn plays the role of a sinister monster so effortlessly that it feels genuine — he has this certain specific walk he does, which is somehow  simultaneously incredibly intimidating and hilarious. You just have to watch it to know what I mean. I think I’ll forever be creeped out by Penn in every movie he’s in going forward.

Benicio del Toro plays Sensei Sergio, an extremely distinct and cool supporting role. Del Toro balances out the character dynamic as the chill, unbothered sensei. As DiCaprio runs around, tweaking out to every perceived obstacle, Sergio just calmly goes about his business. 

Beyond the cast, this film also features what I would consider cinematically the greatest car chase sequences I have ever seen. Although the runtime of this film is about three hours, the car chase alone is worth the screentime it takes up.

This film has important and pressing messaging, such as the mass deportation of immigrants and white supremacist hold on our culture and government. I think the plot being centered around revolution and de-glamorization with age is interesting and a lot to unpack. Bob sort of reflects the general audience in a way — tired and scared. Willa, Bob’s daughter, could represent a more hopeful future. 

My only gripe with the film is that it’s a tad too long; the beginning sequence featuring characters from the past could have been shortened. The last 15 minutes also could’ve been completely cut, and the final message would have been the same. I could definitely see someone with a short attention span walking out, or falling asleep before the ‘real’ story even began. All and all, I made it through and think I’m better for it — as One Battle After Another has firmly made me a Paul Thomas Anderson fan.

Besides the cast and plot, there was something that made this film so special. That being, seeing it here in Humboldt. One Battle After Another was filmed in a few different locations across Humboldt County. This included Eureka, Arcata and some residential areas in Cutten. Specific sites include Murphy’s Market in Cutten, Eureka High School, the Northtown area of Arcata — including Raliberto’s Taco Shop — and the forested Sequoia Park.

The beloved Raliberto’s restaurant is even named aloud in the film, causing theater goers to whisper amongst each other excitedly and even clap and cheer a little. There were also loud gasps when DiCaprio ran into the Murphys’ bathroom. 

This movie is a blockbuster, multimillion-dollar film with Leonardo Di-fuckin-Caprio in it, seen all around the world. Then, here in our little town and nowhere else, people are cheering for a random taco shop. To me, this really puts into perspective how important and amazing this is for our community. 

So, if you still haven’t seen this whirlwind of a film, please, I beg you, please do while you’re here! Because you’ll likely never get a theater experience quite like that ever again.

Julia is a journalism major, and is the life and arts editor for the paper. She loves film and is a regular on Letterboxd. She also enjoys going on walks in the forest, and taking pictures to relax. If you have a movie you want her to review, email her at jk328@humboldt.edu.

by Will Bishop

Once, ten thousand years ago, when I was a very small child living in the rolling grassy hills of Loleta, I saw a flock of geese passing overhead. Delighted, enthused, filled with the kind of special joy only someone existing in the liminal space between being just born and the wayward era of toddlerism — I cried out, “Gee, gee!” Then, when the geese were gone from my side, I lamented, “No mo’ gee.” This was one of the first documented cases of me being happy, and one of the first documented cases of me being sad. This joy and this sadness — this particular kind of joy, of soaring euphoria and boundless optimism, of seeing birds and having no fucking idea what they are but delighting in their unbounded freedom — their patterned triangular synchronicity against a stark white sky. This particular kind of sadness, of loving something you’ve never known, and being crushed when it leaves you. This is what Getting Killed feels like.

Getting Killed is the fourth studio album, their third under Partisan Records, from Brooklyn based rock band Geese — a band that’s been on a meteoric rise following the breakout successes of their own 3D Country, and frontman Cameron Winter’s debut solo LP Heavy Metal. A rarified modern example of a genuinely explosive rock band — their recent free concert in Brooklyn Banker’s Anchor filled the streets with hundreds in attendance. They exist as living proof that there is, in fact, a future and a place for innovative rock music in the current landscape. Not a tribute act, not a taxidermied emotionless golem sent to vengefully remind people that this genre once held the highest seat of power in the music kingdom. Not a shadow, but a new light. The flash of a gun, rather than the bloodied aftermath.

Barrelling out the gate with the chaotic meandering screed Trinidad, Cameron Winter describes a person in shambles. A perilous being too far gone to recover, reducing themself to a final act of extremity, “There’s a BOMB IN MY CAR!” Winter screams. Much of the album is about a lost and nebulous love — for a person, for a world, for a way of life, it’s almost interchangeable. It’s about reactions to pain, coping, creating meaning. 

Things we feel forced to do, corners we’re backed into, solutions we scramble to create. Lose your ears, use your eyes, lose your eyes, use — oh hell, who cares anymore. It’s about breaking free, no matter the cost. He refers to his wife, and his husband. The protagonist isn’t one person, more an archetype of modern ennui. A saint that’s lost its patience. A living reaction to a society where each of us are forced to negotiate perpetually with a cold and indifferent face. Where your sorrows are not seen, and it feels like all you can do is break down and burn.

Winter is a lyricist who takes you deep down. With a baritone like a diving bell and writing like that of the world’s happiest suicidal man, “Like a sailor in a big green boat, like a sailor in a big green coat. You can be free.” He has the unique ability to sink you very slowly to the most sunless reaches of the ocean. You can scarcely feel the pressure build until you’re surrounded by a swarm of layered harmonies, clanging percussion, and a single unchanging guitar line like a rope back to the surface – as seen in tracks like Husbands. Then, by some inverted miracle, you’re hurled back to the surface and beyond. The Spear of Longinus thrown into the heart of god. The woozy gospel of title track Getting Killed akin to getting the bends halfway through the Earth’s ozone layer. “I can’t even hear myself talk, I’m trying to talk over everybody in the world.”

It’s an album that contains the sounds of the past, conjuring to mind components of classic bands like Television, but not as some reanimated and zombified gestalt. Rather, it is as if the pieces have been reborn and forced to wander the modern world. By the grace of some divine thread finding their way back together, as if pushed by the isolating tendencies of their new environment, forever changed, yet always together. When I first heard Cobra, dancing alone in the night on a dark path, I felt for a brief moment that everything was completely as it should be. Everything in life turned to water and I was just one thing in a great stream, listening to a song I had heard a million times for the very first time. I was happy and I was sad. One single, lonely thing under a sky we all share. United in loneliness, getting killed every day and getting back up again. Someday, everything explodes. “Here I come.”

Will Bishop is a Cal Poly Humboldt journalism major. He is prone to writing essays about things that bother him, and fictional works about things that also bother him but in different ways. A highly bothered individual, and a lover of cinema, music, and large trees/rocks, he can often be found in the woods, dancing to bring down the sky.

by Will Bishop

Distant billowing walls of fog roll gently in the distance as I enter the warm glow of Richards’ Goat Tavern & Tea Room. I’m early and the place is sparsely populated. The goats are more satanic than usual, and little skeleton guys hang from various lighting fixtures. As they say, “at The Goat it’s all about the goats.” No one has actually said that, but I just did, so now someone does. I am here with a purpose – an impossible task. One that might be considered by some to be completely unnecessary, dumb or pointless. But those people are haters, and tonight is all about silencing the haters. Tonight is Thursday night, karaoke night, one of two weekly occurrences hosted by The Goat, and I am here to review it.

Holy Diver by Seana: An early and obvious highlight courtesy of one of The Goat’s elite performers. Dressed in a pink tutu and wielding a guitar made out of cardboard, fabric and dreams – Seana delivers a blistering operatic falsetto rendition of Dio’s classic metal masterwork. Like a warbling siren at the edge of a raging sea, it sounds absolutely unhinged — a transportive and transfixing experience. For a brief moment, as Seana wails and shreds her cloth axe, you can imagine her high on a mountainside, commanding legions of the damned with a voice that could cut stone.

Exit Music (For a Film) by Sway: As the moody dystopian atmosphere of Ok Computer casts a pall of late nineties branded existential fear on the room, Sway jests, “So somber, I guess this is important,” and like, yeah, Sway — it’s Radiohead. It’s obviously the most serious and important music ever for people who are like, way serious and mega important and who ponder the greatest and coolest questions of the universe. Sway requests more reverb – an exciting choice. As he tries to accomplish the unaccomplishable goal of being Thom Yorke, he hits various walls and runs out of air in his pipes leading to a fascinating phenomenon. Something I have coined, “The Laugh of Galactic Terror.” The reverb elevates what is simply laughter at one’s own inability to be Thom Yorke to something much higher and more sinister and pretty epic.

Unsteady by E: This was just really extremely good, like god damn E. I don’t know this song. I don’t even like it honestly, but the man has the voice of an angel. His voice sounds like a pure force of light and goodness shining against the darkness of a cruel world. His voice is like a beam emerging from deep space that could heal anything in its path. His voice sounds like the archnemesis of, “The Laugh of Galactic Terror.”

United States of Whatever by Cash: An immediate followup to E’s stirring performance, Cash arrived charged with E’s light, gently crooning the lyrics to Unsteady. Wearing sunglasses, a baseball cap and shoes that look like the bastard offspring of Crocs and slides — I’m not up on Croc culture, maybe those exist now. Cash claims to have never heard this song in his life; he knew all of the words. Cash is a punk rock icon and one of humanity’s greatest warriors. At least, that’s how I felt until later in the evening when he returned to the stage to perform Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, which is an unforgivable sin and docks him four “humanity’s greatest warrior” points. It’s Kendrick at the VMAs all over again. Why must my heroes always betray me?

For more stirring performances from these stars and beyond, come on down to Richards’ Goat Tavern & Tea Room every Thursday and Sunday from 8:30 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. Also, be over 21.

Will Bishop is a Cal Poly Humboldt journalism major. He is prone to writing essays about things that bother him, and fictional works about things that also bother him but in different ways. A highly bothered individual, and a lover of cinema, music, and large trees/rocks, he can often be found in the woods, dancing to bring down the sky.

by Noah Pond

The age old debate: Lebron or Jordan, gay son or thot daughter, Apple Music or Spotify? These are questions our ancestors spent millennia trying to figure out, but I am here today to give you an answer. 

It’s Apple Music and it always has been. It’s just better; it’s simple and easy to navigate while having better sound quality than its competitors. 

My homies will hand me their phones and be like, ‘queue a song.’ I look down and can’t tell what it is I’m looking at — or even where the search bar is. Why is there a search bar on every page and why are there so many damn words? I am becoming overwhelmed. And why do you keep showing me your AI curated playlist titled Gym Milk Biotic Slay. Like WTF is that? Apple Music is so tasteful, with playlist names like For you or Favorites Mix — they tell you everything you need to know. 

Looking at the two apps side-by-side, they are pretty similar. But, morally, one may be better than the other. Last year, Spotify donated $150,000 to Trump’s inauguration day which they wrote off by saying they would have done that for either political party. Then, more recently in June, Spotify CEO Daniel Ek announced that he’d led a funding round of nearly $700 million for a European defense firm Helsing according to the LA Times. That money went straight to AI integrated fighter drones.

Then there’s always the argument for all the artists who pulled their work from Spotify because they don’t align with their views. I’m talkin’ artists like Neil Young who removed his work during covid and more recently Deerhoof, Fontaines D.C. and King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard. You’re telling me you’d rather support the military industrial complex and listen to Joe Rogan than listen to Harvest Moon guilt free? 

Apple Music is better, and it sounds better too. Up until recently, Spotify users could only get “very high” as an audio quality setting which is approximately 320kbit/s. On the other hand, basically every single song on Apple Music is available for lossless streaming, which is an uncompressed format very similar to a CD. But Dolby Atmos is really the crown jewel. It is hi-res lossless, which delivers an even better sound quality than CDs.

Next time you throw on your headphones to bump your silly AI playlists, remember you could just donate some money to Trump and the military industrial complex directly instead of having your low quality tunes do the dirty work for you. 

Noah Pond is a senior at Cal Poly Humboldt and the layout editor of the Lumberjack. He doesn’t write as much as he used to so enjoy it when he does. 

by Kaylon Coleman

Before I start this review, I think I have to make it clear that as of late, Spotify has gone under fire for their former CEO’s involvement in AI weapons investments. While I enjoy the platform, I do NOT support the actions reflected by the CEO and this review will solely be based on the app itself. With that out of the way, let’s get to the meat and potatoes. 

Now some would say, ‘Kaylon, isn’t starting a review by thrashing the side you’re supporting the equivalent to shooting yourself in the foot?’ But I think those people fail to realize the conviction coursing through my veins when it comes to this matter and my belief that Spotify truly trumps Apple Music all day, every day, even yesterday.

But first, I’d like to regale you all with a tale. See, I’m not just coming on here unabashedly crowning Spotify without having first paid my dues to Apple Music. I, like many users who are ushered into using Apple Music, was introduced via a family plan. And I was rocking with it at the time, I won’t lie. That is, until my mom cancelled the plan one day, forcing me to buy my own. But to my shock and dismay, would you believe that when I was back all my playlists were gone? Years of music down the drain in a single cancellation.

Thus began my Spotify journey. I can wholeheartedly say that in terms of app features and compatibility, Spotify simply takes the cake. Where do I even begin? From the hyper-personalized playlists, to the user friendly layout and of course the lovable, charming DJ X — who I actually had the pleasure of meeting this past weekend. Spotify just has so much more to offer.

One big argument I feel I must bring up though is the paywall. Personally, I find it ridiculous that you have to pay to even access Apple Music. Spotify at least has a free streaming option for those broke college students who just want to listen to some music on their way to class. 

Now you might be saying to yourself, ‘Oh but the audio quality on Apple Music makes it all worth it.’ And to that, I’d say you’re really going zero for two. As of Sept. 10, Spotify finally brought the long awaited lossless audio feature to the platform, so tough toenails.

And, of course, how could I do a review without mentioning the highly anticipated annual Spotify Wrapped. I swear, I know more people who celebrate Spotify Wrapped day than Christmas. It should have its own day on the calendar at this point. The individualization of every person’s music taste but joint community in sharing it — there’s nothing like it; definitely not Apple Music wrapped.

So, next time you throw on your headphones to play some music on your way to class, relish in the fact that your Early Day Yearning Mix was built specifically for YOU. And no bland, generic, one trick app can take that away.

Kaylon Coleman is a senior journalism major with a concentration in news and a minor in communications. He is the opinion editor for LJ. He is also the vice president of the Black Student Union at CPH, Marketing and Communications lead for the Umoja Center and a part-time radio DJ and merch manager for KRFH. If you have a movie you want him to review, email him at kc403@humboldt.edu

by Miranda Ricks

Have you ever gotten FOMO — aka, fear of missing out — from the sound of bass thumping from a house on a foggy night or longed to be a part of the crowd of people funneling into a tiny venue on the plaza? Going to local shows is more than just rolling in late and grabbing a drink. It’s about community, respect and good vibes. Humboldt’s music scene is something special and it thrives when people show up to participate.

Whether you’re a first-year looking for your niche or a returning student trying to branch out, here’s how to do it right.

Start by checking out flyers around town. Cafes, campus bulletin boards and the windows outside People’s Records are full of them. Follow local musicians and venues on Instagram for updates. And never underestimate word of mouth — ask around, and you’ll probably hear about something cool happening soon.

Know your ride situation beforehand. If you’re planning to drink or use, be responsible — walk, carpool, call a cab or have a designated driver to get you home.

Before you head out, do a little digging. Where’s the venue? Is it a bar? A D.I.Y collective? Someone’s house? Is it a sober space, or are substances allowed? Whatever the location, respect the space and the people hosting it.

What’s the genre? Humboldt has everything from punk to folk to electronic dance music. Pregame with your best judgment, and maybe don’t get sloppy at a chill acoustic set.

Does the show cost money? Sometimes there’s a sliding scale or the acronym NOTAFLOF, meaning, “No One Turned Away For Lack Of Funds.” That’s part of what makes this scene inclusive, especially in a town full of broke college kids. But if you can pay, do. Even five dollars helps support the bands, gear and venue.

The best way to prepare for local shows is to go to them. Seriously, just go! It’s a fun way to engage with the creative community that surrounds campus. You can bring a friend, but don’t be afraid to fly solo. Remember that everyone there already shares a common interest: music!

At the show, feel free to dance, whether it’s slow swaying or hopping into the moshpit. If someone falls, pick them up. Not sure how to act? Just read the room and follow the vibe. If someone looks uncomfortable, check in. Consent always applies, even in loud venues.

If you’re there to chill, hang back. Let people who want to dance get close to the front. Be aware of people’s space, especially in a crowded venue.

Be mindful of the equipment. Don’t touch or lean on amps, cables or instruments. And definitely don’t leave your drink near them.

During set breaks, take a breather, hydrate and chat with someone new. Substance use is a personal choice, but here’s my tip: this is a small town, so if you get rowdy, people will notice. Carry Narcan if you can and look out for each other. Community care is at the core of Humboldt’s scene.

Try not to leave right when the music ends. If it’s a house show, help clean up. Don’t leave behind trash or broken glass. If you see the host, thank them. And finally, spread the word. If you had a good time, post about it and tag the bands. Tell your friends, invite them to the next one. Support doesn’t stop at the door. It lives in your enthusiasm and continued presence in the scene.

You don’t need to be “cool” or connected to belong here. Just be kind, be curious and keep showing up. That’s how music communities grow and guess what? You’re already invited!

Miranda is a reader, writer, movie-goer, radio DJ and lover of all things pop culture. She is a senior journalism major with a concentration in public relations and the station manager of KRFH. She hopes to represent the local music scene through her writing for the Lumberjack. Contact her at mrr135@humboldt.edu.

Ethical issues with big streaming

by Jess Carey

Sylvan Esso, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, Deerhoof and hundreds more artists recently removed their music from Spotify. This industry-wide trend represents a culmination of years of artist’s frustration with the company’s ethics. Many pointed to Spotify CEO Daniel Ek’s recent $700 million investment in an AI powered weapons company as the tipping point in a long list of qualms. 

“We don’t want our music killing people. We don’t want our successes tied to AI battle tech,” Deerhoof posted in a statement on their Instagram. 

“Can we put pressure on these Dr. Evil tech bros to do better? Join us on another platform,” King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard said in a series of Instagram stories.

In addition to the company’s profits directly funding violence, Spotify has long been accused of taking advantage of artists and devaluing the role of the creator. Spotify has over 700 million subscribers and is the largest streaming platform in the world by a landslide, generating an annual profit of around $6 billion. Despite this, the company has the lowest average royalty payouts to artists out of all the major competing platforms — paying .003 to .005 cents per stream. In order for an artist to make one month of minimum wage for $15 at 40 hours a week, it would take 238,000 monthly streams. 

Artists on major labels are often able to negotiate higher payouts than smaller artists. Spotify also allows labels to purchase algorithm boosts — meaning that the bands that are big can get bigger faster, as their songs are more likely to play. This preferential streaming also takes effect when you shuffle a playlist. The algorithm will play more popular songs first and is not a true shuffle.

Spotify has also been creating AI-generated artists, with music they cook up in-house, in a move that directs streams away from real artists to save even more money. They slip these tracks in with others on algorithm-generated playlists and radio genres such as jazz and ambient, which listeners sometimes keep to the background and might not notice. It’s easy to spot these artists once you become aware of their existence. Often they will have suspiciously AI-generated album art, no artist bio and suspiciously lifeless music.

The Union of Musicians and Allied Workers  (UMAW) has long been bringing music industry professionals together to protest Spotify. Their campaign, “Justice at Spotify,” has led successful protests in many major cities. One of their key demands is one cent per stream for all artists. A “Death to Spotify” community event at a library sold out in Oakland, and new chapters are popping up all around the world as people and artists come together to dream up alternatives.

In September, Daniel Ek stepped down from CEO to a new role as executive chairman,  seemingly in response to the controversial spotlight. Sonderstrom and Norstrom — a duo of middle-age bespeckled white men who look about as similar as their names sound — are replacing him as co-CEOs. This little show of a leadership shuffle is not as much of a solution as systemic change would be; a tech bro is still a tech bro.

Streaming music fundamentally changes the experience of music listening. When artists create albums, there is an intention behind the order of the songs, cover art and even the packaging of the album. This is all lost when our habits shift to letting Spotify’s algorithms take over as nameless songs shuffle into infinity in the background. Of course, there is nothing wrong with a good playlist and algorithms can certainly be helpful with discovering new music. But I find that the experience of wandering curiously through the record store is much more satisfying than scrolling through my Discover Weekly ever was.

In a world where widening wealth gaps and the growth of AI threatens everyone’s autonomy, as droves of bullshit content are constantly shoved down our throats, one wonders how to cultivate a more authentic experience of art consumption. Apple Music, YouTube Music and other streaming platforms all have similar ties to big tech. Streaming certainly has benefits, like connecting users to music from all over the world and throughout history easily. I don’t personally feel like I can or should get away from it completely, but I do want to remember that there are other ways to participate in music enjoyment that don’t directly fund violence and the growth of AI.

How do you listen to music? Personally, I have found a combination of Youtube, CDs, tapes, records and Bandcamp to be the ticket. I buy albums on Bandcamp from artists I follow when I can. I stream music on Youtube when I am looking to study new artists and genres, and I play my tapes and records at home and CDs in the car. I love the click of a cassette deck, being able to read all the tracks on a cd case and the hiss of a vinyl player. Physical media is fun and tangible — and has much higher audio quality. Buying music directly from artists you love is a much better way to support them as it becomes more and more difficult to survive as an artist.

We cannot allow our art consumption to become commodified and usurped for the benefit of big tech and for the proliferation of violence. Shining a light on ethical issues with streaming tech presents an opportunity to think critically and embrace music listening with a renewed intentionality and sense of responsibility. 

Jess Carey loves writing about music, nature, and community! They are a senior, studying ecology with a journalism minor. Reach them by email at jc876@humboldt.edu with comments or story ideas!

Why you should listen to more Motown Music

by Devin Bowen

Motown Records was founded in Detroit, Mich., by Berry Gordy in 1959, and it would go on to alter the music industry forever. Famous, recognizable artists like Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder and Diana Ross helped pave the way for the Motown,  soul and R&B genre as we know it today. 

I’m a true believer that what you listen to can add an emotional connection to who you are. In my adolescence, I was easily drawn to wanting to change the world, and how I expressed that passion was with music. I was an angry, moody punk teenager listening to bands like Minor Threat, Dead Kennedys and Bad Brains until I had a brain-altering experience with a particular album. Marvin Gaye’s album, What’s Going On completely flipped my world. The shock and awe I felt — I was covered in goosebumps from how amazing this album was. Gaye sang with so much passion in his lyrics. It was everything I was searching for in terms of my beliefs, emotions, and love. 

Soon after that moment, I continued my journey to listen to more Motown and soul-based music. Five years later, I still feel the same way for Motown every time it blesses my ears. So, why should this genre and record label be added to that daily rotation on your playlist? Well, it truly does have that deep soul to soul connection that is missing in different music genres. The yearning, the funk, the passion — this is soul music. Motown really does have an artist or album for every occasion. Feeling freaky-funk? Spin Marvin Gaye’s, I Want You, or when you’re feeling like you want to have soft motivation? Spin Stevie Wonder’s, Music of My Mind. This genre will always be there for any emotional roller coaster you could be going through.

So just like Stevie Wonder, Motown and soul music will truly knock you off your feet. 

Devin Bowen is a journalism major and also the social media manager for the student run radio station, KRFH. She admires collecting vinyl records and exploring new artists. They hope to spread new experiences and influence a different perspective with music and culture through The Lumberjack. Contact them at dlb155@humboldt.edu.