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      Tributes to Michael K. Williams, Actor Who Gave ‘Voice to the Human Condition’

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      From co-stars of “The Wire” to musicians and authors, many took to social media on Monday to share their thoughts about the actor.Fans, actors and celebrities took to social media to share their condolences for Michael K. Williams, the actor best known for his role as Omar Little in the HBO series “The Wire,” who was found dead in his home on Monday.Mr. Williams, who was 54, starred in a number of movies and TV shows, including “Boardwalk Empire,” “Lovecraft Country” and “Bringing Out the Dead.” Many of his co-stars from “The Wire” were quick on Monday to share their thoughts about the actor.“The depth of my love for this brother, can only be matched by the depth of my pain learning of his loss,” Wendell Pierce, who starred on the show as Detective William (Bunk) Moreland, said on Twitter. “A immensely talented man with the ability to give voice to the human condition portraying the lives of those whose humanity is seldom elevated until he sings their truth.”If you don’t know, you better ask somebody. His name was Michael K. Williams. He shared with me his secret fears then stepped out into his acting with true courage, acting in the face of fear, not in the absence of it. It took me years to learn what Michael had in abundance. pic.twitter.com/BIkoPPrPzg— Wendell Pierce (@WendellPierce) September 6, 2021
      In a series of posts on Twitter, Mr. Pierce described his relationship with the actor, adding that they had grown close through the show.“He shared with me his secret fears then stepped out into his acting with true courage, acting in the face of fear, not in the absence of it,” Mr. Pierce said. “It took me years to learn what Michael had in abundance.”Domenick Lombardozzi, who also starred on “The Wire,” described Mr. Williams on Twitter as kind, fair, gentle and talented.“I’ll cherish our talks and I’ll miss him tremendously,” he said. “Rest my friend.”Isiah Whitlock Jr., who also starred in “The Wire,” said on Twitter that he was “shocked and saddened” by the death of Mr. Williams.“One of the nicest brothers on the planet with the biggest heart,” he said. “An amazing actor and soul.”David Simon, the creator of the “The Wire,” initially chose not to share words about the actor, opting instead to post a portrait of Mr. Williams on Twitter.Later, Mr. Simon posted on Twitter that he was “too gutted right now to say all that ought to be said.”“Michael was a fine man and a rare talent and on our journey together he always deserved the best words,” he said. “And today those words won’t come.”HBO said on Twitter that the death of Mr. Williams is an “immeasurable loss.”“While the world knew of his immense talents, we knew Michael as a dear friend,” the network said.Ahmir Khalib Thompson, the musician known as Questlove, said on Twitter that he could not “take this pain.”“Please God No,” the musician said. “Death cannot be this normal.”The death of Mr. Williams also drew attention from others on social media, including the author Stephen King.“Horrible, sad, and unbelievable to think we’ve lost the fantastically talented Michael K. Williams at the age of 54,” the author said on Twitter.The Screen Actors Guild Awards said on Twitter that it mourned the loss of Mr. Williams.“We will always remember him and his ability to impact people’s lives through his powerful performances,” it said. More

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      Is It the Weekend? Not Until He Says So.

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      The 18-year-old behind the viral Twitter account @CraigWeekend has offered people a routine reminder to take a load off.In a scene from “Saturday Night Live,” the English actor Daniel Craig stares into the camera and flops his arms halfheartedly, as if he meant to raise them above his head but got tired halfway.“Ladies and gentlemen, the Weeknd,” he says, announcing the episode’s musical guest: the Canadian pop star Abel Tesfaye. The studio audience begins to cheer.These four seconds of footage, notable if only for Mr. Craig’s ambiguous tone (was he exasperated? dubious? expectant? neutral?), were surely forgotten by most viewers after the episode was broadcast on March 7, 2020. But not by Miles Riehle.Watching Mr. Craig on “S.N.L.,” he was amused by what he saw as a double entendre. “It sounds like he’s welcoming in the weekend, as in Saturday or Sunday,” said Mr. Riehle, 18. “I was like, ‘Man, that’s really funny.’”Following in the footsteps of Twitter accounts that tweet only on specific dates — think “Mean Girls” and Oct. 3 — Mr. Riehle claimed the handle @CraigWeekend and started tweeting the clip every Friday afternoon.When the account took off months later, in November, “I was excited to have so many people following something that I was doing,” Mr. Riehle said. Soon, interview requests started rolling in.The extra attention, while thrilling, was also daunting, he said, “because now I have to make sure I keep all these people entertained.”That said, he seems to be sustaining the interest of his more than 450,000 followers, who Friday after Friday await his announcement that the workweek has come to an end. Some people message him when they feel he has not delivered his proclamation early enough.Mr. Riehle thinks the account’s appeal can be chalked up to its positive and predictable messages during a period marked by fear and uncertainty.“Given how much stress there was going on in the world, for a lot of people it was extra potent, being able to embrace the weekend and get excited for it,” he said. Fans of the account, he said, have developed “a community of good vibes.”“It always seems like people are nice to each other in the replies and the comments and the quote-tweets,” Mr. Riehle said. “I think that’s sort of rare on the internet.”He usually posts between 3:45 p.m. and 4:20 p.m. Pacific time, but never on the hour. “I kind of want to keep people on their toes,” he said.Indeed, that his followers know something is coming — but not exactly when — could be key to keeping them engaged, said John Suler, a psychology professor at Rider University.The predictability “is very reassuring to people, especially during a pandemic when people have little else to do on a Friday and everything else in life seems so unpredictable,” Dr. Suler said. “But then, he does mix in a bit of unpredictable reinforcement by posting at different times of the night.”Josh Varela, a fellow at Lead for America, a local government leadership program for recent college graduates, from Ventura, Calif., has notifications turned on for the account so he and his roommate know it’s time to put aside their responsibilities for the week.“Whenever @CraigWeekend tweets, we see it as the time we’ll crack open a beer and hang out,” Mr. Varela, 23, said.Derek Milton, a 34-year-old film director from Los Angeles, said that “any anxieties, any worries, any hardships that have accumulated over the past five days are relieved by a four-second clip.” He and his friends love the video so much that they recorded a parody version of their own while on the set of a photo shoot with none other than the Weeknd.Mr. Craig was not available to comment on the “S.N.L.” clip, but the Weeknd appears to be in on the joke. In May, he tweeted, “ladies and gentlemen, the …”It wasn’t hard for Mr. Riehle to fill in the blank.“I consider that to be a call-out tweet to me personally,” he said. “I think he likes it.”Mr. Riehle starts college this fall at the University of California, Davis, where he plans to study environmental policy and planning. He intends to keep running the account while in school.“I don’t know when it will end or if it will end,” he said. “Obviously if it gets to a point to where it’s harming my relationship with the internet, then I might get rid of it, but I have no plans right now to ever stop doing it.”For all the relief his account give the weekday 9-to-5 crowd, Mr. Riehle knows that, for some workers, the tweet could also be a dispiriting reminder of impending duties. He himself works as an ambassador for Orange County’s public transit service — on the weekend.“It is kind of ironic,” he said. More

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      Why It's Not The Weekend Until @CraigWeekend Says So

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      The 18-year-old behind the viral Twitter account @CraigWeekend has offered people a routine reminder to take a load off.In a scene from “Saturday Night Live,” the English actor Daniel Craig stares into the camera and flops his arms halfheartedly, as if he meant to raise them above his head but got tired halfway.“Ladies and gentlemen, the Weeknd,” he says, announcing the episode’s musical guest: the Canadian pop star Abel Tesfaye. The studio audience begins to cheer.These four seconds of footage, notable if only for Mr. Craig’s ambiguous tone (was he exasperated? dubious? expectant? neutral?), were surely forgotten by most viewers after the episode was broadcast on March 7, 2020. But not by Miles Riehle.Watching Mr. Craig on “S.N.L.,” he was amused by what he saw as a double entendre. “It sounds like he’s welcoming in the weekend, as in Saturday or Sunday,” said Mr. Riehle, 18. “I was like, ‘Man, that’s really funny.’”Following in the footsteps of Twitter accounts that tweet only on specific dates — think “Mean Girls” and Oct. 3 — Mr. Riehle claimed the handle @CraigWeekend and started tweeting the clip every Friday afternoon.When the account took off months later, in November, “I was excited to have so many people following something that I was doing,” Mr. Riehle said. Soon, interview requests started rolling in.The extra attention, while thrilling, was also daunting, he said, “because now I have to make sure I keep all these people entertained.”That said, he seems to be sustaining the interest of his more than 450,000 followers, who Friday after Friday await his announcement that the workweek has come to an end. Some people message him when they feel he has not delivered his proclamation early enough.Mr. Riehle thinks the account’s appeal can be chalked up to its positive and predictable messages during a period marked by fear and uncertainty.“Given how much stress there was going on in the world, for a lot of people it was extra potent, being able to embrace the weekend and get excited for it,” he said. Fans of the account, he said, have developed “a community of good vibes.”“It always seems like people are nice to each other in the replies and the comments and the quote-tweets,” Mr. Riehle said. “I think that’s sort of rare on the internet.”He usually posts between 3:45 p.m. and 4:20 p.m. Pacific time, but never on the hour. “I kind of want to keep people on their toes,” he said.Indeed, that his followers know something is coming — but not exactly when — could be key to keeping them engaged, said John Suler, a psychology professor at Rider University.The predictability “is very reassuring to people, especially during a pandemic when people have little else to do on a Friday and everything else in life seems so unpredictable,” Dr. Suler said. “But then, he does mix in a bit of unpredictable reinforcement by posting at different times of the night.”Josh Varela, a fellow at Lead for America, a local government leadership program for recent college graduates, from Ventura, Calif., has notifications turned on for the account so he and his roommate know it’s time to put aside their responsibilities for the week.“Whenever @CraigWeekend tweets, we see it as the time we’ll crack open a beer and hang out,” Mr. Varela, 23, said.Derek Milton, a 34-year-old film director from Los Angeles, said that “any anxieties, any worries, any hardships that have accumulated over the past five days are relieved by a four-second clip.” He and his friends love the video so much that they recorded a parody version of their own while on the set of a photo shoot with none other than the Weeknd.Mr. Craig was not available to comment on the “S.N.L.” clip, but the Weeknd appears to be in on the joke. In May, he tweeted, “ladies and gentlemen, the …”It wasn’t hard for Mr. Riehle to fill in the blank.“I consider that to be a call-out tweet to me personally,” he said. “I think he likes it.”Mr. Riehle starts college this fall at the University of California, Davis, where he plans to study environmental policy and planning. He intends to keep running the account while in school.“I don’t know when it will end or if it will end,” he said. “Obviously if it gets to a point to where it’s harming my relationship with the internet, then I might get rid of it, but I have no plans right now to ever stop doing it.”For all the relief his account give the weekday 9-to-5 crowd, Mr. Riehle knows that, for some workers, the tweet could also be a dispiriting reminder of impending duties. He himself works as an ambassador for Orange County’s public transit service — on the weekend.“It is kind of ironic,” he said. More

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      in Movies

      Times Analyzed 3,000 Videos of Capitol Riot for Documentary

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      Times Insider explains who we are and what we do, and delivers behind-the-scenes insights into how our journalism comes together.On Jan 6., as rioters were attacking the U.S. Capitol, Times journalists on the Visual Investigations team were downloading as many recordings of the violence as they could find.Over the next six months, the team, which combines traditional reporting techniques with forensic visual analysis, gathered over 3,000 videos, equaling hundreds of hours. The journalists analyzed, verified and pinpointed the location of each one, then distilled the footage into a 40-minute documentary that captured the fury and destruction moment by moment. The video, the longest the team has ever produced, provides a comprehensive picture of “a violent assault encouraged by the president on a seat of democracy that he vowed to protect,” as a reporter says in the piece.The visual investigation, “Day of Rage,” which was published digitally on June 30 and which is part of a print special section in Sunday’s paper, comes as conservative lawmakers continue to minimize or deny the violence, even going as far as recasting the riot as a “normal tourist visit.” The video, in contrast, shows up-close a mob breaking through windows, the gruesome deaths of two women and a police officer crushed between doors.“In providing the definitive account of what happened that day, the piece serves to combat efforts to downplay it or to rewrite that history,” said Malachy Browne, a senior producer on the Visual Investigations team who worked on the documentary.“It serves the core mission of The Times, which is to find the truth and show it.”Haley Willis, a producer on the team who helped gather the footage, said that some of the searches required special techniques but that much of the content was easily accessible. Many of the videos came from social media platforms like Facebook, YouTube, Twitter and Parler, a platform that was popular with conservatives and later shut down. The team also collected recordings from journalists on the scene and police radio traffic, and went to court to unseal body camera footage.“Most of where we found this information was on platforms and places that the average person who has grown up on the internet would understand,” Ms. Willis said.In analyzing the videos, the team members verified the images, looked for specific individuals or groups like the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers, and identified when and where each one was filmed. Then they put the videos on a timeline, which allowed them to reconstruct the scenes by the minute and track the key instigators.David Botti, a senior producer, said the team wanted to use this footage to explain how the riot happened, to underscore just how close the mob came to the lawmakers and to explore how much worse it could have gotten. For example, the investigation tracked the proximity of the rioters to former Vice President Mike Pence and an aide who was carrying the United States nuclear codes.“It’s rare to get an event of this magnitude that’s covered by so many cameras in so many places by so many different types of people filming with different agendas,” Mr. Botti said. “There was just so much video that someone needed to make sense of it.”Dmitriy Khavin, a video editor on the team, said he wanted viewers to feel like they were on the scene. But he also recognized the images were graphic, so he tried to modulate the pace with slower moments and other visual elements like maps and diagrams.“This event was overwhelming,” Mr. Khavin said. “So we worked a lot on trying to make it easier to process, so it’s not like you’re being bombarded and then tuning out.”Carrie Mifsud, an art director who designed the print special section, said her goal was similar, adding that she wanted to stay true to the video’s foundation. “For this project, it was the sequence and the full picture of events,” she said. Working with the graphics editors Bill Marsh and Guilbert Gates, she anchored the design in a timeline and included as many visuals and text from the documentary as possible to offer readers a bird’s-eye view of what happened.“My hope is that the special section can serve as a printed guide to what happened that day, where it started, and the aftermath, Ms. Mifsud said.For the journalists on the Visual Investigations team, it was challenging to shake off the work at the end of the day. Mr. Khavin said images of the riot would often appear in his dreams long after he stepped away from the computer.“You watch it so many times and look at these people and notice every detail and digest the anger,” he said. “It is difficult.” More

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      Taylour Paige on ‘Zola,’ Grace and Being Kinder to Herself

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      For the stripper tale, the actress was mindful of the real Zola’s voice: “We’re in service of the bigger truth, the way we as Black women go through the world.”By her own estimate, Taylour Paige has about 48 voices inside her, at the ready for any situation.“I got an auntie voice, my educated, white-school voice, my high school,” she begins on a video call from Bulgaria, where she’s shooting “The Toxic Avenger.” Before she continues, one of those voices stops to clarify her statement. “When I say ‘white-educated,’ I’m not saying that being white is educated. I’m saying I went to a very white college. I was around a lot of white people, so that was a voice.” Then there was the voice observing her white friends doing wild things “where I’m like, ‘Oh, hell no. You white people are crazy.’”Code-switching — or “assimilating and survival,” as the actress described it — came in handy throughout her portrayal of the title character in “Zola,” the director Janicza Bravo’s new dramedy. In the film, inspired by the real-life Zola’s viral tweet thread, Paige plays a stripper who quickly vibes with Stefani, a white stripper (Riley Keough) with cornrows and a blaccent.“I think Zola was like, ‘OK cool, I got a new friend,’” Paige said. “‘She’s fun. We both hustle.’”But when Stefani whisks Zola to Florida to earn extra money dancing, things slip dangerously out of the latter’s control: there’s a sex-work scheme, an unhinged pimp (Colman Domingo) and other shady dealings. Zola navigates these increasingly chaotic circumstances while sharing her inner dialogue about how disturbing this all is.“I think, ultimately, the tragedy in this film is there’s a betrayal,” the actress said, referring to how Zola’s so-called friend has set her up.Paige, 30, is now known for her acting (her film credits include “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom”) but growing up in Inglewood, Calif., she was a dancer under the tutelage of Debbie Allen, and later worked as a Los Angeles Laker Girl. She looks back on those years as a self-conscious young woman grappling with “generational self-loathing” with more compassion now. “Because I’ve given myself grace, I have a different availability to the roles that I always wanted. Before I was auditioning for my personality and auditioning for a role. So, everybody was lying.”Paige talked about “Zola” and how it helped her tap into her true identity. These are edited excerpts from our conversation.Paige with Riley Keough in “Zola.” The real Zola wasn’t “some ghetto buffoon that just went on Twitter,” Paige said. “She was very strategic.”Anna Kooris/A24Paige, center, appeared opposite Viola Davis and Dusan Brown in “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.”David Lee/NetflixSince last year, you’ve appeared in several movies — “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” “Boogie” and now “Zola.” How does it feel to be a bona fide movie star?I’m still this human being trying to figure it out day by day. I’m trying to live my truth in my storytelling and in my life, my spirituality. There’s no stop and start to what I feel like I’m trying to learn as a human.When I hear “breakthrough,” it is like, “OK, but what’s expected of me? What’s expected of Black women?” I just want to be a bridge for what happens when you stay focused and patient and kind and tell the truth.Where does your spirituality come from?I’ve always been a seeker and a philosopher and a deep thinker. Like, “What am I doing here?” Since I was 5, I was very much thinking about death and my existence. My mom had me at almost 40, so it’s a completely different generation and very much fear-based thought. My own insecurities were projected onto me from my mom’s own self-loathing. I just wish I was kinder to myself sooner and I was able to distinguish which voice was mine. Seeing the way my mom asserted herself and lived [affected] me in a good way and a bad way. Because I thought, “Time is ticking, and I have to figure this out.” I’ve changed that fear to “Time is eternal, but what are you going to do with it?”Did playing Zola help you realize anything about how you previously moved around the world in your own body as a dancer?I’ve been dancing since I was really little. I loved it. But I got to an age where there’s pressure and I was tired. I wanted to stop. But I had a scholarship. My mom wouldn’t let me. Your butt all of a sudden is growing and you’re going through puberty, and you need to be super skinny like everybody else.Dance, as much as it was my escape from my home, would start to be something I resented. It started to feel like something I was doing for my mom or because some people thought I was good. I still was involved with Debbie Allen, but I stopped a little bit. With “Zola,” it’s like a return home to the innate ability of shaking that ass. It’s not so technical, so overthought. It’s like a Black girl getting down in her bedroom, but at a club. How do you get back to that without it needing to be perfect? I wanted to undo all that for her and for myself.Paige said she had “Laugh” tattooed on her arm. “When you’re laughing, you’re like, ‘I’m still alive, I’m still here.’”Chantal Anderson for The New York TimesDid you have any reservations about how your body would be seen on the screen?I was of course really nervous and scared. Zola is such a force and so comfortable and confident in her body, and I’ve been self-conscious but I have been ready to be like, “Enough with the self-hatred. I’m never going to be this age again. My body works, my heart beats without assistance, I got 10 fingers, 10 toes. I’m just over it.” So I use that.That’s how Zola moved through the world. We’ve talked about how she’s been scared. But she does it anyway because she’s a Black woman and the bills got to be paid. Nobody’s going to do it for you. Also, Janicza was super protective from the jump. Like, “We’re not going to see your boobs.” I was like, “Hey, if it’s the right storytelling.” We show murders and violence on TV. I don’t know what the big hoorah is around boobs and our natural bodies.It does fit into the film’s voyeurism. Zola engages viewers with pithy commentary as her shocking experience unfolds. What was it like telling this kind of story while inside of it?I knew that this movie existed as hyperbolic, that this was Janicza’s interpretation. I don’t mean “interpretation” in a condescending way. But when we are processing and observing something that happened to us, there’s multiple truths. It’s Zola’s interpretation of what happened to her, Janicza’s interpretation from Zola’s brilliant writing. You living through it is different than when you’ve had time to process it and put it on Twitter. So, it’s multiple things happening at once when you’re watching it.Janicza was super clear that I’m the straight man. She treated this like a play or a comedy: there’s a straight man, and there’s a buffoon. Riley is like the minstrel in blackface. I’m observing it, so we don’t need two buffoons for us to be able to take in this type of atmosphere and react to it. You’re watching it through my eyes. So, a lot of my acting in the movie, my dialogue, is in my head.Paige said the director Janicza Bravo was protective when it came to nudity. But the actress was willing to take a chance if it was right for the story: “I don’t know what the big hoorah is around boobs and our natural bodies.”Chantal Anderson for The New York TimesI imagine it puts some pressure on you to convey the multiple layers of the story in a way that is tongue-in-cheek yet critical at the same time.It was like, “Am I doing enough?” But I get that I’m serving Zola. I’m serving Black women. White women, Black women — it’s satirical, psychological. It’s the systems in place. It’s racism. It’s on a white body. But on a Black body, you don’t really believe her. Even when she’s being gentle and tender, you’re going to question if she’s telling the truth. We’re in service of the bigger truth, the way we as Black women go through the world and the [stuff] that’s put on us. That’s why I thought it was so brilliant, because it was protective of Zola’s voice. Zola isn’t some ghetto buffoon that just went on Twitter. She was very strategic and knew exactly what she was doing and saying.“Zola” is also funny at times. Black women often use humor to protect ourselves, process things. Because of your own experiences, was it easy for you to embrace the comedic moments?I find humor in the most mundane things. Most things, even when they’re bad, are pretty funny. Like, “Wow, life is outrageous. This is ghetto.” I have “Laugh” tattooed on my arm because, man, laugh often. When you’re laughing, you’re like, “I’m still alive, I’m still here.” More

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      Amorphous D.J.'d His Way Through 2020

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }At HomeMake: BirriaExplore: ‘Bridgerton’ StyleParent: With ImprovRead: Joyce Carol OatesAdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyHis Dreams Came True, Despite the PandemicAfter having a rough start to 2020, Jimir Reece Davis, a D.J. who goes by Amorphous, ended it with a bang.“I’ve been doing mash-ups for a while, they come to my mind when I am bored,” said Jimir Reece Davis, a D.J. who goes by Amorphous. “I do it for fun. I am always listening to music in my head.”Credit…Chase Hall for The New York TimesFeb. 10, 2021Updated 2:00 p.m. ETJimir Reece Davis’s 2020 wasn’t going well even before the pandemic hit. In January, he found himself homeless in Los Angeles after his living situation became untenable. Then his mother, who has epilepsy, had a bad seizure and was hospitalized. So, he decided to pack his bags and return home.Everything that could go wrong seemed to be going wrong for Mr. Davis, a 23-year-old D.J. who goes by Amorphous. Little did he know, his dreams were about to come true in mere months.On Thanksgiving, Mr. Davis filmed a video of himself mixing Rihanna’s “Kiss It Better” with Luther Vandross’s “Never Too Much.” Intertwined, the two tracks sounded familiar and warm, like the kind of song you’d hear a block party on a balmy spring day. In the video, he sports a black T-shirt with an image of Aaliyah’s face on it and he’s grooving to the sound of his mix..@rihanna’s ‘kiss it better’ x luther vandross’s ‘never too much’. 💞 pic.twitter.com/0wNENEDhuO— amorphous (@loneamorphous) November 26, 2020
      “I’ve been doing mash-ups for a while. They come to my mind when I am bored,” Mr. Davis said in an interview. “I do it for fun. I am always listening to music in my head.”The response on social media was immediate: Mr. Davis’s mix had gone viral. To date, the video has been played more than 2.6 million times, over 100,000 people have liked his tweet and it was shared more than 30,000 times. Superstar producers and artists like Missy Elliott, John Legend, Issa Rae and LL Cool J congratulated him on the mix and encouraged him to keep going.Less than a month later, when he tweeted that his laptop had stopped working, Oprah Winfrey sent him a replacement with a note that read: “Thank you for bringing joy to the world your way. ​I hope this helps you continue.”Mr. Davis’s world shifted again when he received a call from Fat Joe, who loved his new mix and wanted to use it for a song.“When I heard it, I was like ‘Yo, this is amazing,’” Fat Joe said in his slack jawed, New York City accent. “We were influenced by him. The kid is a genius, man, he’s done things that nobody has done before.”“Dreams do come true,” Mr. Davis said. “Even with the tragedy of the pandemic, I believe they can.”Credit…Chase Hall for The New York TimesFat Joe used the mix on his latest single, “Sunshine,” which was co-produced by Cool of the production team Cool & Dre. The video, which now has more than eight million views on YouTube, was shot in Miami in December and features Diddy and DJ Khaled in their yacht-life, silk-Versace-button-up best. Amorphous is on the boat, too, behind a D.J. booth, doing what he loves to do: mixing music.Mr. Davis said he was a little intimidated during the video shoot. But he said he tried to be himself because “that’s how all this happened was by me being me.”This wasn’t the first time Mr. Davis, who graduated from Full Sail University in 2018, had gone viral. But the response to this mix has been astronomical. He even managed to get the attention of Rihanna, the subject of a fandom-inspired documentary he made while he was in school. Mr. Davis said Rihanna reached out and watched the documentary.“I know, it’s crazy right?” Mr. Davis said. “From what I’ve heard, she liked it.”In college, Mr. Davis studied film making, but his heart was always in his music. When he was three, he would rap along to Jay-Z songs at home. Later on, he taught himself how to beat box. At 11, he was teaching himself how to use production software like Beaterator to make music.“I was kind of just using different free software,” Mr. Davis said. “I realized that I actually liked producing.”Back in high school, he begged his father to buy him Ableton, a music production suite that at the time cost $1,000. His father did not wince at the price and got it for him; Mr. Davis spent all his free time learning how to use it and was soon producing songs on his own.All of his hard work paid off. In 2016, he began to share his mash-ups online. The Canadian R&B duo Dvsn liked one of his mixes and used it on their album “A Muse in Her Feelings.” The experience gave Mr. Davis a taste of the music production process and soon he set his sights on becoming a producer himself.Things are finally falling into place for Mr. Davis. Now that “Sunshine” has debuted at No. 10 on the Rap Digital Song Billboard chart, he’s gained confidence and is looking forward to possibly collaborating with Chloe Bailey, one half of the R&B group Chloe x Halle, and the singer Kehlani.“Amorphous is not only an incredible ear, visionary young artist, but is the most gracious humble deserving human being,” Kehlani said.Mr. Davis still pinches himself every so often. He often re-shares his old tweets, from the days when he was hoping to have the opportunities he has now.“Dreams do come true,” Mr. Davis said bashfully. “Even with the tragedy of the pandemic, I believe they can.”AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More

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      Scenes From a Marriage, Patinkin-Style

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      Mandy Patinkin and Kathryn Grody were mystified when some of the videos they made with their son while waiting out the pandemic in upstate New York were viewed more than a million times.Credit…Daniel Arnold for The New York TimesThe Great ReadScenes From a Marriage, Patinkin-StyleMandy Patinkin and Kathryn Grody’s charming, irreverent pandemic-era posts led to unlikely social media stardom. Will the vaccine end their run?Mandy Patinkin and Kathryn Grody were mystified when some of the videos they made with their son while waiting out the pandemic in upstate New York were viewed more than a million times.Credit…Daniel Arnold for The New York TimesSupported byContinue reading the main storyFeb. 3, 2021Updated 1:27 p.m. ETMandy Patinkin and Kathryn Grody have been together since their first date nearly 43 years ago, a giddy daylong romp through Greenwich Village that began with brunch and ended with them making out on a street corner. “I’m going to marry you,” he declared. “You’re going to get hurt, because I’m not going to marry anyone,” she replied.Their wedding was two years later, in 1980. But like many long-term couples, their partnership has thrived in part because they are away from each other so much. Grody, 74, is an Obie Award-winning actress and writer; Patinkin, 68, finished the final season of “Homeland” last year and spent the end of 2019 and the beginning of 2020 on a 30-city concert tour.In March, they left Manhattan for their cabin in upstate New York and embarked, like so many of us, on something radically different: months of uninterrupted time together. The result is a matter of public record, because scenes from their marriage — in all its talky, squabbly, emotional, affectionate glory — are all over social media, courtesy of their son Gideon, 34, who started recording them for fun and then realized that there was a vast demand for Patinkin-related content.Patinkin said that “being with my family holed up for 11 months has been one of the true gifts of my life.” Grody urged their son Gideon, who made their videos, not to portray them simply as an “adorable older couple” but to “get some of our annoyance in there.”Credit…Daniel Arnold for The New York TimesFor months, people have scrolled through Twitter, Instagram and TikTok to watch Grody and Patinkin debate, declaim, snuggle, bicker, horse around, play with their dog, Becky, obsess about politics and display their (lack of) knowledge about such topics as text-speak and the New York pizza rat. More recently, the world has followed along as they got their first doses of the vaccine (“one of the few benefits of being old,” Patinkin wrote).Now, as they near the first anniversary of all that togetherness, they say that except for desperately missing their older son, Isaac, who lives in Colorado and recently got married, they feel lucky to be together. “There’s no question,” Patinkin said. “Being with my family holed up for 11 months has been one of the true gifts of my life.”As this phase of the pandemic nears its end, do they plan to turn their unlikely social-media fame into a family sitcom or reality TV show? No, says Gideon, although they have gotten endless inquiries. For one thing, his parents can barely operate the video functions on their phones, and eventually he will again have to leave them to their own devices. “Once the world is vaccinated and living life is back in vogue, I might have to teach them how to do selfie videos,” he said. “That should be something.”After the first few videos last spring, Grody exhorted Gideon not to portray them simply as an “adorable older couple,” she said. “You have to get some of our annoyance in there,” she told him.What annoyance? In dueling interviews, the couple outlined the many ways they irritate each other. Patinkin hates the way his wife amasses old newspapers, like a hoarder. Grody hates how, when she fails to answer her husband’s calls, he redials incessantly — three, four, five times — until she picks up. She likes podcasts; he likes rewiring the house. She is a “social maniac,” Patinkin said; he “likes humanity in general, but very few specific people,” Grody said.In one video, they tell Gideon how they celebrated their anniversary the day before.“It began lovely, and turned into an absolute fight,” Patinkin says. “Both of us lost.”“I apologized and that made dad cry,” Grody says. “We’ve always connected through weeping.”The response was so positive, with people posting that the couple reminded them of themselves or their parents or just brought joy at a dark time, that Gideon now advises other young adults confined at home to embark on similar projects. “I became astonished at how much I could get out of them,” he said.Their efforts expanded this summer and through the election. Patinkin has long volunteered for the International Rescue Committee, a nonprofit humanitarian organization, and Gideon encouraged his parents to use their growing social media base — now 250,000-plus on Twitter, 155,000-plus on Instagram, 940,000-plus on TikTok — to work for Democratic candidates in the presidential and Senate elections.The couple took part in virtual fund-raisers; did endless phone banking; danced, sang, cooked and goofed around. Enlisting the services of the writer and director Ewen Wright, they recorded TikTok campaign spots, like one in which Patinkin tells young people to get their parents and grandparents to vote, and then twerks to a remix of the song “Stand By Me.” Mystifyingly to them, some of their videos have been viewed more than a million times.Will the show go on? After their cameraman — one of their sons, Gideon — is vaccinated and returns to his daily life, Patinkin and Grody will be left to their own devices, literally.Credit…Daniel Arnold for The New York Times“I don’t understand this stuff,” said Grody, who on one video can be seen trying to explain what she thinks TikTok is: “a communication tool” that encourages “young people to meet various kinds of other young people.”All the while, Gideon kept filming, adding new nuances to what has turned into a portrait of a complex marriage.It has not been without its adversities. (“They are an exquisite mess, but theirs is a deeply rich joy,” is how Gideon put it.) For one thing, there is Patinkin’s self-proclaimed moodiness. Once, he related, he was so unpleasant in the car en route to visit a relative that Gideon, then a teenager, said, ‘Dad, if you can’t get it together, don’t come in.” (He didn’t come in.) Another time, he felt so trapped and sulky before Thanksgiving — a difficult time of the year for him — that he decided to fly to New Orleans to spare his family, only to change his mind and demand, successfully, to exit the plane before it took off.“Everyone in the family knows I’m a (synonym for jerk),” Patinkin said. “But they know me and they love me and they forgive me, and that’s why I feel safe. The word ‘safe’ is such an operative word at this moment.”By that he meant the pandemic, and how lucky it is to be with someone who makes you feel secure in a time of insecurity.“There have been times during this whole period — sometimes I don’t even know what triggered them — there are times when I wake up and I find myself weeping, and she holds me and no words are spoken,” Patinkin said of his wife.“I married a woman who knew a guy was nuts, and she has loved me and stood by me and educated me and politicized me,” he continued. Or, as Grody said: “I used to say that I was supposed to marry a rock so I could be the lunatic, but instead I married a lunatic and I’ve had to be the rock.”They have separated twice in the course of their marriage, once for six months, the other for eight months.“We spoke to each other every day; we saw each other every day,” Patinkin said. “We couldn’t be apart.”“It was ridiculous, to tell you the truth,” Grody said. “I would say, ‘Don’t you know we’re supposed to be separated?’ As difficult as our problems were, it was far more difficult to be without each other.”They love describing how they met. They told the story in separate interviews, each observing that the other would focus on totally different details.Her version includes noticing her future husband in a 7Up commercial, circa 1970, a full eight years before they met. She then noticed him again in 1975, in his debut theater performance — the premiere of “Trelawny of the Wells,” which also starred Meryl Streep, Mary Beth Hurt and John Lithgow. She found the young Patinkin so appealing from afar that she turned to her then-boyfriend and said, “He’s my type — what am I doing with you?”Patinkin’s version includes how he went to her house for dinner soon after their fateful initial brunch and found that, living in a tiny walk-up in Little Italy, she stored her sweaters in the oven. Mis-following a recipe, she served him chicken covered in raw bacon.“I felt that I had lost my mind,” he said. “I was knocked out by her.”“When I look at Mandy, I see all of the Mandys I’ve ever known, from the person he was then to the person he is now,” Grody said.Credit…Daniel Arnold for The New York TimesPatinkin brought up “The Princess Bride,” in which he played Inigo Montoya, a swordsman trying to avenge his father’s death — and which at heart is about the search for true love.“I have found true love,” he said, “and first and foremost, I have it with my wife.”Grody feels the same way.“When I look at Mandy, I see all of the Mandys I’ve ever known, from the person he was then to the person he is now,” she said. “I’m still in love with his face.”In November, the couple appeared together in a video for the Jewish Democratic Council of America. They toasted the election results, exhorted everyone to stay safe. And then he sang “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” in Yiddish, as his wife wept quietly beside him.“To have known somebody all these years, and to have lived this life together, and to have weathered the brutalities of intimacy — it’s a daring thing,” she said. “It’s an astonishing thing.”AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More

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      How Pop Music Fandom Became Sports, Politics, Religion and All-Out War

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }The Best of 2020Best ComedyBest TV ShowsBest BooksBest MoviesBest AlbumsAdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyThe Great ReadHow Pop Music Fandom Became Sports, Politics, Religion and All-Out WarOn social media this year, the stan was ascendant, fueling commercial competition, trolling and other arcane battles. How did we get here?Superfans’ antics reached the mainstream this year, but have operated at a constant hum since the internet helped turn pop music loyalty into a 24-hours-a-day job.Credit…Son of Alan/Folio ArtDec. 25, 2020, 5:00 a.m. ETBenjamin Cordero, a high school student from western New York, has a thing for pop divas, but especially Lady Gaga.Previously a casual fan of whatever was on the radio, Cordero was converted when the singer performed during the Super Bowl halftime show in 2017, and in the bountiful time since — which included “A Star Is Born” — his devotion has only grown.Earlier this year, as Lady Gaga prepared to release her latest album, “Chromatica,” Cordero joined Twitter, the current hub of pop superfandom, where he dedicated his account to all things Gaga. He tweeted thousands of times during the pandemic, often in dense lingo and inside jokes, along with hundreds of his fellow travelers, known as Little Monsters — internet friends whom he calls his “mutuals.”But these days, in these circles, joy and community are rarely enough. There are also battles to be waged and scores to be settled with rival groups or critics. And for Cordero, that meant trolling Ariana Grande fans.In October, with “Chromatica” having registered as a modest hit, Grande’s own new album, “Positions,” leaked online before its official release. Cordero, who liked Grande well enough but found her new music to be lacking, shared a link to the unreleased songs, much to the consternation of Grande fans, who worried that the bootlegged versions would damage the singer’s commercial prospects.Taking on the role of volunteer internet detectives, Grande fans proceeded to spend days playing Whac-a-Mole by flagging links to the unauthorized album as they proliferated across the internet. But Cordero, bored and sensing their agita, decided to bait them even further by tweeting — falsely — that he’d subsequently been fined $150,000 by Grande’s label for his role in spreading the leak. “is there any way I can get out of this,” he wrote. “I’m so scared.” He even shared a picture of himself crying.“They were rejoicing,” Cordero recalled giddily of the Grande fans he’d fooled, who spread the word far and wide that the leaker — a Gaga lover, no less — was being punished. “Sorry but I feel no sympathy,” one Grande supporter wrote on Reddit. “Charge him, put him in jail. you can’t leak an album by the world’s biggest pop star and expect no consequences.”This was pop fandom in 2020: competitive, arcane, sales-obsessed, sometimes pointless, chaotic, adversarial, amusing and a little frightening — all happening almost entirely online. While music has long been intertwined with internet communities and the rise of social networks, a growing faction of the most vocal and dedicated pop enthusiasts have embraced the term “stan” — taken from the 20-year-old Eminem song about a superfan turned homicidal stalker — and are redefining what it means to love an artist.On what is known as Stan Twitter — and its offshoots on Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, Tumblr and various message boards — these devotees compare No. 1s and streaming statistics like sports fans do batting averages, championship wins and shooting percentages. They pledge allegiance to their favorites like the most rabid political partisans or religious followers. They organize to win awards show polls, boost sales and raise money like grass roots activists. And they band together to pester — or harass, and even dox — those who may dare to slight the stars they have chosen to align themselves with.“These people don’t even know who we are, but we spend countless days and months defending them from some stranger on the internet,” said Cordero, who later revealed his Grande prank, gaining nothing but the ability to revel in the backlash.“When someone says something about Lady Gaga that’s negative, a little bit of yourself inside is hurt,” he explained of his own loyalty. “You see yourself in your favorite artists — you associate with them, whether it’s just the music or it’s their personality. So when someone insults your favorite artist, you take that as a personal insult, and then you find yourself spending hours trying to convince someone in China that ‘Born This Way’ was her best album.”“It’s definitely a playing field to us,” Cordero said. “We throw them in the ring, they battle it out, we cheer them on.”This year — one in which so much of everyday life was confined to virtual spaces because of the coronavirus — such antics garnered mainstream attention when fans of the K-pop group BTS targeted President Trump (and donated to Black Lives Matter) or when Taylor Swift supporters spit venom at those critics who thought her new album was anything less than perfect. Recently, NBC was forced to apologize after fans of Selena Gomez revolted in reaction to an off-color joke about the singer in a reboot of “Saved by the Bell.”But these battles also occurred at a near-constant clip on a smaller scale, in large part because of the incentives of the platforms where we now gather.In the past, “the media that we had didn’t facilitate these huge public spaces where attention is a commodity,” said Nancy Baym, an author and researcher who has studied fan behavior online since the 1990s. “There’s been this very long process of fans gaining cultural attention, gaining influence, and recognition of how to wield that influence, and now we’re seeing it more because media are at a point where it’s really putting it out there in front of us.”Before destinations like Twitter, YouTube and Spotify — where numbers and what’s trending are central to the interface — there were self-selecting mailing lists, bulletin boards, Usenet news groups, fan sites and official URLs, where Grateful Dead or Prince fans could gather to digitize lyrics, sell tickets or trade tapes.The availability of analytics, including sales figures and chart positions, has helped transform fandom into something quantifiable.Credit…Son of Alan/Folio Art“It was more about the community within — connecting with other fans of the same artist — and wasn’t as competitive,” Baym said. “In some ways it was competitive, but it was more, ‘How many times have you seen them live?’”In the early 2000s, Myspace in many ways marked a turning point, presaging an era of social media in which fans could connect directly with artists in a way they hadn’t before, causing some people to become more hostile, abusive or entitled, Baym said. At the same time, “American Idol” pitted fandoms against one another in the form of a popular vote, and what were once more insular conversations among enthusiasts began oozing outward.Matthew James, 22, who started the nostalgic blog Pop Culture Died in 2009 when he was 15, recalled when music forums like ATRL or LiveJournal communities like Oh No They Didn’t! were a temporary escape. “You would log in after your day at school or work, and you had that small window of time on the internet,” he said. “Even 10 years ago, it was still confined to these corners — you could really distance yourself very easily. Now that is not possible since everything has been moved from separate websites to these centralized social media platforms.”“With iPhones and everything, we’ve seen that small window of time you could be a fan turn into 24/7,” James added. “People never log off.”Paul Booth, a professor of media studies at DePaul University, researches how people use popular culture for emotional support and pleasure. In an interview, he noted that in the last decade, “It’s gone from a general understanding that there are people out there that call themselves fans, but we don’t really know who they are or what they do to, ‘I’m a fan, you’re a fan, everyone’s a fan.’ It’s absolutely become everyday discussion.”“Before, those people existed, but they were meeting in the basement yelling at each other,” he said. “Now they’re meeting on Twitter and yelling at each other, and everyone can see it.”While early stereotypes about fanatics focused on possessed, shrieking teeny-boppers or stalkers and killers, from Mark David Chapman to “Misery” and Yolanda Saldivar, fans were taken more seriously as a subculture in the late 1990s and 2000s, when they were seen as creators themselves, spawning zines, fan fiction and YouTube montages.But with the rise of internet-first congregations like Beyoncé’s BeyHive, Justin Bieber’s Beliebers and Nicki Minaj’s Barbz in the 2010s, an evangelical fervor became a prerequisite and the word “stan,” used as both a noun and a verb, continued to gain prominence and even positive connotations.“It’s a reclamation of the negative term as a badge of honor — ‘I am a stan because I feel so much for this artist,’” Booth said.As the politicization of the internet ratcheted up after Gamergate in 2014, fan groups increasingly adopted the tactics of troll armies from 4chan and Reddit, working in large anonymous groups — often behind celebrity avatars that broadcast fealty — to bend online conversation to their will. And unlike admirers of “Star Wars” or Marvel properties, which are more sprawling narrative fandoms, music fans — like supporters of Bernie Sanders or President Trump — are often investing in a single individual, making things even more personal.“It all boils down to emotions, which is something we don’t take seriously enough in our culture,” Booth said. “When people are passionate about something to the point that they’re identifying with it, and it becomes part of who they are — whether it’s a political party, a political person or celebrity — they’re going to fight.”They’re also going to buy. As artists have come to recognize their direct influence over swaths of their online public — sometimes siccing them on detractors, or at least failing to call them off — they have also come to rely on their constant consumption, especially in the streaming era.“You might have a local” — stan slang for a casual fan — “buy a record,” said Cordero, the Lady Gaga loyalist. “But a person on Stan Twitter probably bought that record 10 times, streamed a song on three separate playlists and racked up hundreds and hundreds of plays.”He added: “It’s basically promotion, free labor — we’re practically chained against the wall with our phones.” (Lady Gaga recently advertised “Chromatica”-branded cookies as an “Oreo Stan Club.”)In addition to fueling a merchandise boom, these pop fans have taken it upon themselves to learn the rules governing the Billboard charts and the streaming platforms that provide their data, hoping to maximize commercial impact for bragging rights.“Shall we tighten up our muscles and get ready for a long march?” asks the “Ultimate ARMY Streaming Guide” posted to one fan site for BTS, whose faithful call themselves Army. Tips include to avoid bulk buying (“there is usually a purchase limit or it will count as one purchase only”); to compile playlists instead of looping tracks (“it will appear as a bot”); and to not put the songs on mute (“Don’t worry, you can plug in earphones if you’re planning to stream the whole day!”).The guide was written by a BTS fan named Avi, who is 26 and lives in Jakarta, Indonesia. She went “down the rabbit hole” after seeing the boy band perform at the American Music Awards in 2017, she said, and found community in the fandom. In addition to gathering online, Avi and her fellow BTS fans like to get together in person to celebrate the members’ birthdays from afar, buying them a cake, posing for pictures and making charitable donations in their name.“I’ve never seen anyone insincere when it comes to BTS,” Avi said in an interview. “No one is forcing us to do anything. It feels like we’re promoting BTS, but we are also promoting our own voices, our own struggles, our own hope for a better world.”By running up the group’s numbers, landing them atop various charts and trending-topic lists, the fans hope to inspire curiosity in others to check out BTS and take in the group’s messages of self-love. “I think of it as my own voice,” Avi said. “What I do for BTS, it’s not for them. I’m doing it with them.”But some see these relationships between fans and idols as parasocial ones — largely one-sided interactions with mass-media figures that masquerade as friendship — and worry about the long-term mental health effects of such devotion.Haaniyah Angus, a writer and former teenage stan who has written about her experiences in the subculture, noted that standom was “very heavily dependent on capitalism and buying” in a way that convinced consumers, on behalf of “really rich people,” that “their win is your win.”“For me and a lot of people I knew, a lot of it stemmed from us being very lonely, very depressed and anxious being like, ‘I’m going to forget what I’m going through at the moment and I’m going to focus on this celebrity,’” she said.This dynamic often served to stamp out dissent within the ranks, which was once seen as a crucial component of fandom.“I don’t think that toxic fandom is synonymous with stan culture,” said Booth, the fan studies researcher. “But I think one of the dangers of stan culture — that is, the danger of a group of fans who are so passionate about something that they’ll shut down negative comments — is that it can often shut down much-needed conversations where our media and celebrities let us down.”AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More