Time can bring insights, and this proves true for U-M professor and author, Aaron P. Dworkin. In his new book, Lessons in Gratitude: A Memoir on Race, the Arts, and Mental Health, published this month by the University of Michigan Press, he reflects on his influences, formative years, career trajectory, and current state in life.

Lessons in Gratitude follows Dworkin’s life from birth through many milestones, including adoption, college, career, marriage, and family. He shares the messages he absorbed as a child and then how he continues applying them into adulthood. During his violin lessons when he tried to explain mistakes, his teacher replied, “You no talk. You play.” This led Dworkin to see that, “These words were probably the most important lesson Mr. Graffman ever taught me. One of my personal tenets is that ‘It’s not what you say, but rather what you do.’” This interaction, among many other encounters with music and in his home life, informed Dworkin’s subsequent approach to work and relationships.

Early in the book, Dworkin chronicles his education as he grew up in New York City and later in Hershey, Pennsylvania, attended Interlochen Arts Academy for two years, and then went to college. Throughout his life, such as when he was studying music and falling in love for the first time, his identity as a biracial and adopted person intertwined with his experiences. Dworkin tells how music has been a unifying force:

My relationship with music has been rocky at times, especially during my teens. Even so, I have never denied its hold on me. Music allowed me to express my emotions I could never articulate how it resonates deep in my soul, the hidden spaces known only to me and what one may refer to as god. Music is the story of mankind with its melodies and beats—the tragedies, the triumphs, the loneliness, and the wonders. It is a part of me that connects me to the rest of the world.

When you’ve created a new, twisty, sci-fi fictional podcast with a mystery at its center, how do you provide enough info to draw in listeners, but not so much that you spoil its surprises?

That was the question facing Michael Alan Herman and Josie Eli Herman, the Ann Arbor-based co-creators (and married couple) behind the just-launched podcast Silvertongues.

While emphasizing the adventure-blockbuster vibe of the show, Michael explained, “It’s about two people who discover a paranormal conspiracy on this tropical island, and that conspiracy blurs the lines between truth and lies.”

“A big theme in the show is this idea of emotional homelessness,” Josie said. “This idea that you don’t even feel at home in yourself. … That’s just something, post-pandemic, we’ve noticed is, a lot of people … having this feeling of, ‘I don’t know what to do with my life, or who I am.’ … That’s something that the characters feel in the show, and there’s a supernatural reason for that, but I think, at a human level, a lot of people can relate to that.”

VAZUM didn’t expect a Western film to inspire the title of its latest album.

The Jackson duo of Zach Pliska (vocals, guitars, drums) and Emily Sturm (vocals, bass) stumbled upon the phrase “Western violence” while watching The Quick and the Dead.

“We had some of the songs fleshed out and usually we go with a ‘V’ in the name for our albums. We were watching [the 1995 film] by Sam Raimi and the rating was ‘R,’ and it said two words: ‘Western violence,’” said Sturm about the duo’s doomgaze album, Western Violence.

“We said, ‘Oh my god, that’s what we’re writing about,’ and it just summed it up. And then we said, ‘That’s what we’re living in … This is how our society expresses itself now.’”

On Western Violence, VAZUM reflects on the disintegration and disillusionment of our country and provides a social commentary on the personal, cultural, and political events that impact it.

Sometimes it takes something small to make you notice something big.

On the first night of the Ann Arbor Art Fair, I was in the outdoor seating area of The Ravens Club on Main Street, with my back to vendors who lined the road. I leaned back in my chair, looked to my right, and scanned the restaurant and bar's red-brick building, admiring the two levels of black metal balconies unique to its facade. 

My eyes then drifted left to the adjacent building, composed of large gray-white bricks and featuring a tall tower on the corner of Main and Washington. The words First National Building appear above the tall arch of the tower entrance, with decorative cornices above the text. As my eyes glided up, I noticed the two first two levels of windows were arched, but the next four floors were rectangular. The arches return for two of the final three rows of windows, and four carved lions’ heads jut out at the top of the building between the three window rows.

All of this looked familiar. But it’s not because I’ve walked by the First National Building hundreds of times, or because I’ve sat at this approximate spot at The Ravens Club dozens of times.

The familiarity came from my having just seen Melissa Dehner’s drawings for the Bicentennial Blocks that the Ann Arbor District Library commissioned.

Keith Taylor is launching two new books published this year.

The University of Michigan lecturer emeritus and former bookseller offers 40 years of poetry in All the Time You Want: Selected Poems 1977-2017, which was published in January. Then he studies the natural and human world through his poetry collection What Can the Matter Be?, which debuts in August. 

Taylor will read from What Can the Matter Be? at Schuler Books in Ann Arbor on Saturday, August 10, at 3 pm. 

All the Time You Want begins with dancing and concludes with painting. A note to the reader informs us that the poems appear “in roughly chronological order.” These poems map the formative places in Taylor’s life by traveling through Canada and to Ireland, Detroit, Ann Arbor, Isle Royale, Paris, Big Sur, South Bend, North Fishtail Bay, and other places.

Another throughline of the poems is the birds—the crested shelduck, snowy egret, pigeon, cerulean warbler, great horned owl, and ancient murrelet. Or you can follow the art and see “the gaze out past the painting / to all the other stories / no one else could ever understand.” 

These selected poems encounter the ups and downs of the poet’s life and experiences. One day there is “a momentary sense / of the utter loveliness of things” and another day brings “nothing but the clear, sour odor of skunk.”

It’s a bittersweet time in Brad Phillips’ life.

“My daughter Alyson is off to the University of North Carolina School of the Arts next month, and I’ve been weeping big dad tears on and off all summer,” said the Dexter singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist.

Alyson is a singer, and she’ll join her dad for a special show at The Ark on August 8 along with bandmates Chris DuPont, Drew De Four, Brennan Andes, Keith Billik, and Mike Shea.

Brad has also been busy as a lecturer at the University of Michigan, a resident artist at The Purple Rose Theatre Company, touring with actress and singer Patti LuPone, and featuring on her new album, A Life in Notes, playing violin, mandolin, guitar, octave mandolin, and U-bass.

“Patti is an icon and it’s no accident. She’s a legend for a reason and to be on stage with her in front of her adoring fans is electric,” Phillips said. “Summer has been both chaotic, emotional, and wonderful all at the same time! It’s been a big year around here.”

To learn more, I spoke with Phillips about his work and tour with Patti LuPone and his family’s artistic accomplishments.

After encountering heartbreak and grief, Moonwreckers understands the importance of feeling seen and validated.

The Metro Detroit-Ann Arbor quartet of Matt Galbraith (vocals, guitar), Matt Konkle (drums), Paul Stiem (guitar), and Jamus Sumner (bass, vocals) explores that emotional need and its evolution on the album, Why Look Here?.

“It certainly is autobiographical. At the time, I was married, and we were having issues, and we did eventually divorce. A lot of these songs were written around the time when I was in my early 30s, so shit hit the fan between us and we had been together since we were 18 years old,” said Galbraith about the band’s indie-rock-meets-emo debut release.

“I didn’t know what a world looked like without that, so I was very lost, and it was scary to me what life looked like outside of that relationship. There’s some coming-of-age stuff in there, too, but a lot of it has to do with that relationship, the struggles and the attempts of trying to reconcile things, and then failing and rinse and repeat."

Moonwreckers examines that trajectory across 12 personal tracks on Why Look Here?. The album’s honest lyrics, plaintive vocals, and evocative instrumentation prompt listeners to process their emotions and struggles alongside the band.

Priyanka Mattoo mines her life in her new memoir, Bird Milk & Mosquito Bones. She reflects on not feeling like she belonged or knowing what she wanted to do. Her years at the University of Michigan offered a chance to explore, and she sought answers to the question of what to do even as she entered the workforce with two degrees from U-M. She writes about how she discovered her path forward as she later found a career and a family in Los Angeles. Along the way, she also contemplates music, cooking, family, and parenthood. 

The search for belonging and understanding identity follows Mattoo over the years and in her writing. In her memoir, she shares about her family’s inability to make a planned return to Kashmir owing to the insurgency in the late 1980s and early ‘90s and how that change of plans set her life on a different trajectory:

In the spectrum of the diaspora, I fall neither here nor there. I didn’t grow up in India, I present as American, and I don’t exactly relate to either. This can be disorienting enough without the petulant urge to scream, It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to move back to Kashmir. I’ve been lucky enough to have a complex and meaningful life. I wouldn’t change a single twist or turn that landed me the partner, the kids, the job I enjoy now. But even if we hadn’t stayed in Srinagar, even if I had eventually left to pursue other opportunities, I still carry an anger and sorrow about having the choice taken away.

The Ann Arbor-Plymouth indie-rock band Studio Lounge takes a significant step forward on its second full-length album, Staring at the Sun. 

The record showcases the offbeat sense of humor, eclectic influences, and first-rate musicianship heard on Studio Lounge’s 2022 debut, Amateur Hour. But the 18 original tracks on Staring at the Sun also hang together better as a fully realized album, with new depth to the band's songwriting and more polished recordings from the group's home studio.

“Join Us” is a perfect way to lead off the album; less than a minute long, it includes echoes of ’60s/’70s garage rock psychedelia as it invites listeners on this album’s journey. “Day With You” is sweet and wistful, while “Constipation Station (Exit Strategy)” is an all-too-relatable reaction to a lousy job. And while some songs display an underlying seriousness, the band sometimes goes all-in on pure silliness, such as the pirate tale “Arrgh!” or “Dimo’s,” a brief ode to the beloved Ann Arbor deli and donut shop. 

Studio Lounge consists of Ryan Hasani, lead guitar, synths, vocals, and production; Constantin Balan, rhythm guitar, accordion, lap steel, and vocals; Dani Balan, bass and vocals; and Max Wilkinson, drums and vocals. The band plans to busk all summer at the Ann Arbor Farmers Market and Eastern Market in Detroit and posts all its upcoming concert dates on Instagram.

The band members recently answered a few questions about the new album via email:

I remember the moment I fell in love with hip-hop.

It was 1985, and my older brother had rented VHS copies of the films Breakin’ and Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo from our local video store.

Seeing the breakdancing prowess of Kelly, Ozone, and Turbo in the films instantly captured my attention and spurred nine-year-old me to experiment with some moves of my own.

While I couldn’t quite emulate the popping, up-rocking, down-rocking, or power moves of the films’ heroes, I embraced a love of dancing and developed my own quirky style over the years.

As I grew up, I danced to the music of Run-D.M.C., Beastie Boys, Salt-N-Pepa, LL Cool J, DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince, Rob Base & DJ E-Z Rock, Young MC, MC Hammer, and others.

By high school, I had started learning about three of the five elements of hip-hop—rapping, DJing, and breakdancing—and would encounter the other two—graffiti and historical knowledge—as an adult.

Today, these five elements provide the foundation for a hip-hop history exhibit curated by the University of Michigan’s Department of Afroamerican and African Studies and on display at Haven Hall’s GalleryDAAS through September 4.

Known as Hip Hop @ 50: Defs, Dates, Divas, Detroit & Dilla, the exhibit celebrates the 50th anniversary of the culture and explores its evolution across music, society, fashion, language, entertainment, and politics.