By now, most are familiar with the contemporary variation on the Gypsy Rose Lee story where an ostracized youth is cajoled into a life of show business not by a frustrated stage mother hovering impatiently behind the curtain but by an inner voice that says ‘if you’re gonna feel alienated you might as well do it publicly.’ “Do it like the stars you admire on music videos, like the unknowns darting to fame on televised talent competitions” goes the credo. And so a new era of rag-to-riches post Ellis Island sagas were born – ones that sported 15 year old Aussie girls the likes of Iggy Azealia wading through backwater states till they managed to hitchhike their way into media attention. But what of those other stories – the ones at one remove from local dives and hard luck moments, the ones that bypass the truck stop, eschew the cigar totting heavyset bar owner in rural America and head straight for New York by way of - nothing less than - law school. Cheryl Vickers may just possibly turn out to be one such success story.
Original Harlem Shake ft. Theholyc
Cheryl, who presently works under the moniker of The Holyc, hails from rural Scotland where she spent many of her formative years DJ’ing when not being immersed in her studies. Having attended the prestigious University of Dundee, she received a law degree while simultaneously acquiring a fluency in French. Shortly upon graduation, however, Cheryl made a choice to put her academic career aside and focus more fully on her music. Her decision to give an opportunity for her creativity to flourish soon landed her in New York where she began numerous collaborations among which US-based producer Unique Weirdo accounts for some of her most interesting works to date.
“It’s not like I’ve abandoned what I’ve learnt”, says Cheryl in a lilting tone. “In a sense, I’m convinced that my background in law actually helps when it comes to sorting out contracts… not to mention French – a language in which I also intend to rap in given the opportunity”. A wayward glance accompanies her self-ironic tone as she adds, “I have actually kept some very close friends from Uni, you know… many are now with my movement and totally support me”.
With a remorseful looking cat tattooed on her lower arm, Cheryl points the endless row of lights and cars as we make our way out of the Jayz afterparty at club 40/40, “There are a lot of people out there with inspiring beats. I’d say my vocals are pretty unique in that listeners can easily identify my style. Let’s face it, there just aren’t too many Scottish female rappers out there”.
Theholyc’s recent decision to veer away from DJ’ing and embarking on a rap career soon evolved into a single - Wildin’, buggin’, trippin featuring Luvaboy TJ - that is slated for immediate release. “I mean, I’ve DJ’d since 17 and done my own productions for years, and have worked on vocals for a while now and this is just a culmination of all the various things I’ve been doing.” With an EP entitled What’s your Thots in the making, the prospect of Cheryl “just doin’ what she’s always been doin’’’ seems to hold promise.
Although questions relating to influences have of late become more of a venue for showing an artist’s eclectic taste and musical erudition, Cheryl greets the question with an unselfconscious air: “Sonically, I’d say Die Antwoord – you know from South Africa …well, for me this duo in Afrikaans convinced me not to be afraid of rapping in my local dialect. I mean, rapping in Scottish brogue is pretty frowned upon at home while in New York it lends one an idiosyncratic edge. And that makes me way more comfortable in being able to be who I am as a performer – not having to affect an inauthentic accent or adapt a façade. In terms of mood, I’d have to say my biggest influence is Biggie. I just love how uplifting his delivery is and when I deliver I really make sure to project my voice and let go of all inhibition. Now when it comes to poetic/lyrical influence… that’s gotta be Ludacris. I just love how many multi-syllables he packs into his bars and that’s kind of why I recently put out a track called ‘Money on My Mind’ – it displays my lyrical ability which I believe is greatly influenced by him. Also it subverts the notion that a white girl rapping has to stick with a certain style of ‘ratchet’ or strip club hip hop rap – and I’m not saying there isn’t that element in my album as well… but it’s certainly not all there is to me”.
When asked to explain about the strip club element, Theholyc admitted that her first show in Brooklyn turned out to be in just such a club, and further that she kind of liked it. “Me and my people we turned up at this dodgy strip joint in Brooklyn and I thought: fair enough… publicity is publicity – at this point anything is welcome. So I step up on stage and before I know it several strippers are up there performing along with me. They were like, how do we say, girls you wouldn’t actually expect not to be fully clothed – let alone, practically naked. So there I am trying my best to concentrate and one girl has her legs extended in the air and I nearly get kicked in the face from what I notice is this enormous transparent heel. Looking back at that experience though, I have to admit it was pretty funny and it did inspire me to make more in the way of ‘strip-club’ records.”
As Gypsy Rose endings are concerned, Cheryl will likely have reason enough to belt out ‘Everything’s coming up roses’ in whatever genre best suits her predilections. When it comes to her Scottish burr - well, to paraphrase the classical musical: ‘you gotta have a gimmick if you’re gonna be a star’. Does this sound like the words of a theholyc-holic? Let’s just say, if Cheryl keeps developing in the manner she has been, I won’t be going to rehab anytime soon.
Big Hawk, Fat Pat, Scarface, Trae, Riff Raff, Lucky Luciano… the list of renowned Houston based rappers has long held a fascination for many in the hip hop world - especially since Chopped and Screwed, the game-changing technique in the art of beats and DJ’ing had been invented here as early as the 1990’s. Shortly after Robert Earl Davis Jr.’s aforementioned contribution, a unique collective of local visionaries launched the Screwed up Click, a collective of artists and rappers to honor what had by now become the local signature sound. That the influence of this idiosyncratic approach can be discerned in the music of LA rapper Tyler the Creator and even his very contemporary heir, Earl Sweatshirt, is a testament to the staying power of the late Earl Davis’s uniquely haunting approach. It was for this reason that upon listening to the gritty and evocative sounds of a very addictive young rapper, it came as very little surprise that his stage name would turn out to be none other than ‘Screwed Kid’ - a moniker alluding to the Houston legacy.
DJ Screw
Michael Bradley aka Screwed kid drags a deliciously rusty voice across terse verse as though each sentence were a street made up of billions of pebbles – each stone slightly overheated from a midday Texan sun. With a tone that careens from gravel to smooth, his lyrics roll across the uneven melodic terrain while the beat bounces behind him like the worn out wheels of a stolen shopping cart. Thoughts lurch. Rhymes brace themselves – the small of each syllable’s back presses against the seat while the necks of certain phrases arch forward. Suddenly, emotions screech to a halt. The sentence has hit a sudden dead end. This is Bang Bang - with muffled hopes conceived in empty garbage cans, with the past scratching against the inside of abandoned tires left in a back alley. This is Screwed Kid’s Houston. Summer. Small talk lost amidst life-altering moments. Images caught on a broken fence in an empty lot.
Michael Bradley has a Glam Rock’s worth of irreverence signing his gestures while his attentive look attests to conviction wrought of empathy. It is a charismatic dissonance – one which can turn soft features harsh, one which can make you confuse acceptance with indolence, and one that may convince many that Screwed Kid is enigmatic enough to be screwing with your head.
In sharp contrast to the stylish drawl marking much of his vocals, Bradley answers questions with remarkable fervor and speed. When asked if he cares more about the content of lyrics than their sound, he is emphatic “I don’t like meaningless lyrics. I want people to really understand who I am, where I’m coming from and what I’m about… that said, the beat is still what makes or breaks a song. I just want a dirty sound to get the people faded. So when you ask which is important, I’d have to say both – the two ingredients play a major role in my music”.
Like the city from which he hails, Bradley places a high value on collaboration and believes the adage about the whole being far greater than the sum of its parts. “Look, I’m a solo working artist but I’m very actively building a team of talented people around me. About a year back - while still living in Texas - I did a project with a female rapper Miki Six and I’m definitely looking forward to working with other artists in the near future. It’s always a good vibe off each other. I was once told that the people who think collectively understand the power behind it… and I strongly believe that to be the case. When creative artists get together… let’s just say, magic can happen”.
When asked if he’s produced any of his own music, he answers candidly “Although I rapped in front of my family, pretending to be Master P when I was 5, I only started seriously when I turned 20. I am now 23. So no; I haven’t produced my own music but I do usually have an idea or some direction I think I’m going… and when I sit with a producer, well, I’m also learning. I’m actually starting to kick shit off and figuring out how to eventually make it happen on my own”.
Juxtaposing otherwise disparate themes, Bradley’s work coalesces into a form that draws on the earlier motifs of those he admires. “I draw inspiration from so many different genres – anywhere from Red Hot Chili Peppers to Lauryn Hill to Diplo. I was raised on Southern rap so DJ Screw, Zro, Fat Pat, UGK, Bun B – they play a role that’s represented in my rhythm”.
That this self-avowed “Htown Hood Kid” has already managed to come up with something that sounds quite authentic and uniquely his own is in no small part due to his ability to acknowledge influences and recognize the relevance of earlier artists to his own life. It is the pure joy he has in music and the escapism he finds in the act of ‘doing’ that can be felt in his delivery. As he says, “It’s always a good time when I'm in the studio ‘cause I love what I do but I'm usually in my own zone because it's not me when I'm rapping. It's all business”.
Whether the “business” in this case means tradition, transcendence or merely a proclivity to blur the lines between one’s own ego and the history of music in which one is raised is probably less important than the realization that talent is not so much a specific quality as it is a temporary loss of the self while paradoxically getting closer to one’s inner world than one otherwise would be. “Screwkid”, as Bradley insists, “is you, it’s me, it’s the person listening to these words. It’s anyone who has a dream, a vision for their life that seems unattainable. All odds are against them and say they won't, they can't make it, but despite all the adversity they choose to believe in themselves. Even though they were screwed”. Or, as the case may be, perhaps, because they were screwed.
This ‘screwed kid’ certainly does sound mature beyond his years. There is an insistent hope that goes beyond the ambitions he has for himself - a universality that marks his hunger. “I mean Screwed kid is all those who from the beginning won’t stop till God helps make that dream become reality. Being raised in Houston Texas – home to Chopped and Screwed – I am still inspired by the name I chose and proud of my roots”, announces Bradley with a matter-of-factness that sounds as if it were born not of naivety but of a sensibility that has outlived cynicism.
Though it may seem like an inconsequential observation, it is often young artists who have the greatest fear of sounding childlike; this, while artistic genius relies heavily on precisely that quality. It is perhaps this utter lack of affectation in Bradley coupled with his playfulness that convinces me that Screwed Kid is a name to watch for. As Fat Pat wrote, “Coming down the boulevard true. Fantasies and dreams, I just came through.” Listening to Screwed Kid in NY, I was certain there was a lot of truth behind both his fantasies and dreams.
In 1978, Joseph Papp produced a play written and staring Gretchen Cryer entitled I’m getting my act together and taking it on the Road. Though the arrangements - by contemporary standards - may sound dated and the concept oddly straightforward, the earnest folk delivery packaged in a more pop-like form did something relatively new: it brought music one heard only in clubs like the Bitter End and threw it into a digestible populist form. Suddenly, audiences who would otherwise be listening to Billboard hits were being exposed to a more confessional brand of music – one with an intimate folk pop edge. While a niche audience would still exist for highly ambitious artists the likes of the poet Chanteuse Regina Spektor, the socially conscious Aimee Mann and the musically complex Imogen Heap, the general public had been cultivated to accept simple reflections on life presented in melodic form.
The playing field for indie music had changed. There were no longer two basic categories of audiences. The idea of a mainstream public and the self-avowed ‘others’ had dissipated. Diverse genres would still exist but you didn’t need to be a ‘hippie’, an ‘outcast’, a protester, an idealized niche group with an agenda or even someone belonging to a specific generation to be listening. Indie covered a range from simple to complex and had become indistinguishable from mainstream in artistry and style. It was now common to hear the same music being listened to by Hipsters being heard in ordinary bars. If a difference did exist, it was simply a difference in record sales and distribution process. As it turned out the idea of there ever having been a ‘general public’ was a romantic notion with which to adorn the lives of overlooked genius. Although the latter still, unfortunately, existed, it was mostly the result of short sighted A&R’s and bad marketing who never brought good music to public attention than the limited taste on the part of the “masses”. The general public had long been ready to embrace unadorned melodic reflections on life even as the notion of there ever having been a ‘general public’ evaporated from our consciousness.
By the early 2000’s as post-grunge began its slow descent and names like Death cab for Cutie and Arcade Fire started receiving media attention, Paula Jaakkola had left Finland and settled in New York. Having earlier studied ethnomusicology while simultaneously training as a singer at the pop Jazz conservatory, Paula enrolled at NY’s New School in order to master vocals and integrate elements of jazz into her repertoire. Meeting up with other Finnish expats, she soon formed a band called Kaiku that – with the help of Jaska Lukarinen, a Jazz drummer who had come to the states by way of the renowned Sibelius Academy – had been asked by 2008 to do a series of gigs in Finland. It was during this tour that she met with Ape Antilla, the renowned jazz bassist and composer who would years later become her producer.
By the time Kaiku broke up three years ago, Paula found herself working as a music teacher in a midtown kindergarten where – in an effort to enhance her student’s experience – she had formed a three piece band whose focus was music for kids from toddlers through age 5. Although emotionally satisfying, the venture did little to fill her lifelong desire to do her own music. And so, over time, what started out as merely a creative foray into self-expression turned into long exchanges with Ape Antilla, ending with the two of them flying back and forth between their respective countries of residence in effort to collaborate on what would eventually turn out to be Holy (Music with Wings), the debut album of Paula Jaakkola.
From ethereal to jaunty to unapologetically brash, Holy is an odyssey through the ever changing landscape of a young woman’s moods. Whether it is the Suzanne Vega-like progressions of Under your Spell, the more troubled melancholic ennui found in the disturbing world of November, or the sheer spirited simplicity of ebullient moments marked in songs like In the Light, Paula’s lack of pretension and artifice remains a refreshing constant. By the time Drifter’s sombre reverie invests the space with a more plaintive cry, there is little doubt that we have journeyed from joy and aspiration to nostalgia and longing with a host of lyrically unaddressed emotions battling for space between the notes. Mixed by Mason Jar of Brooklyn’s renowned Roots Studio and mastered by mentor Bob Power, Holy is the full profanity of our unstated desires as they wrestle with our most sacred hopes. As Gretchen Cryer once sang “music is my one salvation, singing is my celebration”. The same can clearly be said of Paula.
Little Italy: check. Little Saigon: real. Little Egypt – by all means. Chinatown, Little Greece, Little Punjab, Curry Hill - A myriad of ethnic enclaves dot the New York landscape; but not a single neighborhood to suggest anything even remotely Scandinavian. Although Brooklyn’s (now primarily Russian) Bay Ridge community once boasted a Norwegian settlement with a modest influx of Finns, the resurgence of such a demographics seems as unlikely as a Finnish reoccupation of Karelia. Contemporary Zeitgeist may have replaced the metaphor of New York being a ‘melting pot’ with that of being a ‘salad bowl’, but Finnish expats seem perfectly happy filling their own bowls with whatever greens are on offer locally. While living abroad probably doesn’t mean sacrificing cultural identity, the need for a distinct community is limited. For all the recent enthusiasm regarding urban multiculturalism, it’s evident that certain birds of a feather refuse to flock together once they’ve flown the coup.
On those few serendipitous occasions when I did encounter a Finn, I was prompted to ask the very same intrusive question with which Helsinki locals had burdened me for several years; namely: what on earth are you doing here? Of course, their answers made a lot more sense than my own. As Finnish born supermodel Nea McLin explained, ““I love working in New York because people come here from every part of the world so anyone would feel at home”.
First Encounter
It was just a few days before New York’s Fashion Week as I sat at my desk poring over a series of images wherein a remarkably attractive model seemed to be relating a highly personal and dramatic story. However, the retro-styled clothing coupled with the austere industrial setting created more questions than they answered. As the feature editor of the New York Resident, it was my job to come up with the accompanying text – be it in the form of poetry, succinct story line or simply copy. In an attempt to make sense of the choices being made, I quickly got on the phone with our contributing photographer, Kenji Nakamura.
“Look Kenji, we go to print in just a few hours and I need to know something about your vision”
“Only some of the shots are blurry but my eyes are fine”, said the man with a heavy Portuguese accent and a Japanese name.
“No, I meant artistic vision - the choices made”
“Choose what you like”,
“I meant the choices you made in telling a story. There’s some kind of story you are trying to tell – right? Something about abandoning a romantic era or… am I wrong?”
“Yes”.
“I am wrong? Or you mean ‘yes’ there’s a story.” I asked in desperation.
“Yes”, said Kenji as though to dispel all doubt.
“I can see there’s the concrete wall behind her and she’s carefree one minute, trapped the next, then relaxed… there’s a struggle then acceptance – some powerful feelings stir and - ”.
“I’m glad you like it”.
“That’s not the point. In the least, I would need to know something about the girl in the pictures…what the series is trying to express besides ‘wow, she looks amazing’ – that way I can come up with text to complement your images”.
“Thank you”, said Kenji more reassured than ever.
“No. I meant ‘complement' as in ‘text to complement the piece’ not compliment as in ‘good work, Kenji you did do a wonderful job’”
“Thank you” - it seemed to be his recurring theme.
“Can you tell me something about the model?” I insisted
“Blond”
“I can see that.”
“The red hair was my wig”
“Okay…And she’s – what’s her own story?”
“Swedish”
“Right…?”
“Or Russian”, Kenji stated with unearned certainty.
Clearly, I had nothing. Agreeing to forward the model’s contact details, Kenji took a long breath, paused meaningfully and said ‘thank you’ yet a third time for no apparent reason before hanging up.
It was a full week after the magazine had come out, and nearly three days after Kenji received his copy, that an email marked ‘Urgent’ hit my inbox. It is from Kenji. In it, he had enclosed the model’s details along with the reminder: Please make sure to call Nea – she is waiting to answer any questions you may have. The fact that I needed the answers a week earlier didn’t seem to trouble our photographer. The supermodel’s name was Nea McLin. As you may have guessed, she turned out to be Finnish.
At the time I received the message, Fashion Week was already under way. Manhattan was rife with warnings - both snow and the ever-encroaching storm of photographers and fashionistas that were soon to descend upon the city. But despite the abundant non sequiturs accompanying names like Duckie Brown and Baja East, the focus of most conversations inevitably drifted to the parties - the ‘invite only’ parties, the even more prestigious after parties, and the columnist’s conundrum: was it worth spending a day writing up an inane article solely for the pleasure of attending a celebrity infested event. ‘Yes’, my actions announced despite my feigned indifference to such nonsense.
By the time I decided to meet with Nea, I had already attended the Hardware LDN and This is New York after party, respectively. I had also found comfort in the notion that my imminent hang over would soon be overshadowed by the inexorable toil of writing pieces that recounted the virtues of drinking with designers. The most gratifying aspect was that my magazine had managed to secure an invite to Alexander Wang’s After Party – one that did not include an invite to the ferry meant for getting me there. In short, I was expected to swim across the East River. But attend or not, I now owed Wang yet one more in the way of articles.
Days of being introduced to short designers and excessively tall models had taken its toll. I was in a permanent state of motion sickness, my lower back having long since decided to go solo from my pelvis. It was at this inopportune and mentally unstable juncture that I went to meet Nea Mc Lin.
The Grounded Sprite
With lithe movements, the alabaster skinned Nea chassed into the café like a pixie balanced forever between the ethereal and the diurnal. Evoking panache and grace in equal measure she announced in a matter-of-fact way that it was nice to meet someone in New York who had even the vaguest notion of her country of origin.
Having been discovered by way of a Finnish modeling competition at the age of 18, Nea has been modeling ever since. After a brief interval at Model Boom, she landed a year’s worth of work in Milan. From there, she returned to Finland where she was offered a job in New York as a reporter/host who would cover fashion events and do interviews for a Finnish TV show produced by Pekka Rautiommaa for Indigo TV, a subsidiary of Time Warner. Although Nea had initially decided to stay in the States solely for the duration of one summer, she soon met her future husband, a blues and jazz musician with whom she would – at the early age of 21 – conceive a child.
“My son was born in Finland”, Nea says with a simper. “I mean 5 days at 100 euros is pretty hard to beat. So I stayed there with him for the first 5 months. That was actually where my husband and I got married. He liked Finland. In that end, that was, unfortunately, one of the only things we did agree on”.
Born Nea Ailamo, the highly talented Finnish model had decided to keep the name McLin even after her marriage dissolved. “McLin is part of who my son is and I’m very proud of him. He’s Finnish, Cherokee, Italian, and African American all in one – if you ask me, but of course I’m subjective, he got the best of all worlds”. Much to Nea’s surprise, her son’s multicultural background extended to picking berries, fishing and even enjoying the sauna with his Finnish grandparents. Although Nea makes her living standing in front of cameras, it is clear the photos she likes looking at most are those of her strikingly good looking boy, Ledell Ray.
Having been brought up by a mother and father who respectively watched over him while the other parent was either gigging or doing shows, Ledell Ray does not seem to have been lacking in either parental attention or artistic awareness. “I can honestly say”, sighs Nea, “my ex and I handled our separation maturely - our son remained of utmost importance in both our minds – we stayed friends for his sake”. After a brief pause, Nea adds with a grin, “And I dare say, we did so ‘because he’s worth it’”. Cognizant of the fact that Nea has done many an ad for L’Oreal, I laugh along.
Having interviewed many designers and models earlier in the week, I was pleasantly surprised by Nea’s unselfconscious air and wit. After remarking on her ability to be self-deprecating, Nea explains, “Women are insecure – especially in the modeling industry where such a high value is placed on youthful features. In general, I’ve noticed Scandinavians do pretty okay because they are usually more humble. They can relate to you. No bravura. No games – they save the show for the show. In short, they’re down to earth. And that comes in handy especially during a shoot where the results are not only about you but based on the dialogue you are having with the photographer …by dialogue, I mean, of course, the ability to understand what he’s looking for and find new elements in yourself.”
When asked about the stress level in her field, Nea tilts her head before leaning forward and confiding, “Look, there’s a lot of drama in this industry – every client is different. The reality is, you can’t please everyone. No one’s perfect but we’re all perfect in our own way… I mean, that’s what makes life interesting. I often feel sorry for young models because they sometimes take criticism so personally. But if you know how the industry works, you realize that about 99% of the pictures you see in advertising are retouched. No one wakes up looking like a cover girl. I look at pictures in magazines like they’re art pieces because so much work goes into them – from lighting to wardrobe to hair to makeup to retouching etc. And then add to that the fact that a good photographer knows how to shoot people from the right angle. It’s an art to make people look their best and to know how to capture that perfect moment”.
Although Nea admits that she does miss her family, childhood friends and even some of the food in Finland, she is clearly in love with New York. “Of course, I miss friends”, her hands eagerly busying themselves with her coffee cup, “who wouldn’t miss people they’ve known since childhood. I mean no matter how many friends I have here, those are the people I grew up with. But when it comes to cities… well, what I love about New York is that there are people here from every part of the world so that anyone would feel at home here. And when it comes to modeling, this is the city where there’s work for all ethnicities, ages and looks – I mean, the people are really very open minded here.”
As fate would have it, after working for dozens upon dozens of top designers and fashion houses, Nea got a chance to work for the one Finnish born label owner who had become something of a legend in Canada. The Women’s Wear executive was none other than the eccentric multi-millionaire, Peter Nygard – the man who recently caused a stir when describing stem cell research as his own private antidote for the aging cycle.
Was it strange to run into this Finnish Dorian Grey while living in the classical “melting pot”? Judging by Nea’s untarnished teen-like appearance, I was certain there was more than one portrait hidden in the fashion magnate’s closet. Still, there was no denying it. Nea had found it. In a sprawling city of millions, she had discovered her own Little Finland – a down-to-earth haven hidden between the skyscrapers of the Fashion world.
