Volleyball Falls to Syracuse

By ryan | October 18, 2000

Last night, the women’s volleyball team traveled to Syracuse, but came back empty-handed.

Riding a three-match win streak into the night, the Red faced a tough squad of Orangewomen.

In the first game, Cornell (11-6 overall, 4-1 Ivy) displayed the talent it used over the weekend to grab first place in the league. Out hitting the Orangewomen 27-17, the Red took an early 8-3 lead, only to see a rally-effort by Syracuse to come within two points at a score of 12-10. But Cornell capitalized on kills by freshman outside hitter Debbie Quibell and junior outside hitter Jennifer Borncamp to take a 1-0 lead in the match with a 15-10 win in the game.

In game two, the train ran out of steam for the Red as Syracuse pounded out a 15-3 win. The game featured kills by seven different Syracuse players and a negative hitting percentage from the Red as it combined for more errors (9) than kills (7).

Senior middle blocker Robin Moore put up 5 kills in round three, but the Red could not regain control of the court. The third game was tough for Cornell as the team committed a match-high 12 errors, but did manage to generate 12 kills to even its mistakes.

The beginning of the fourth game saw the return of the Cornell squad that dominated in game one. The Red tied the score at 5-all and went up 7-5 on a kill by junior right side hitter Jaimee Reynolds and a Syracuse error, but the Red could not retain control of the game and saw the Orangewomen take the next 10 points for a 15-7 win. The Red regained some dignity with a .190 team mark in hitting.

What did in the Red was that it committed 15 more errors than Syracuse. More important than the wide margin between the two teams was the fact that Cornell’s errors started Syracuse rallies or came during the final points of the games. Take away those errors, and the score would have been more even.

Cornell’s hitting percentages in the four games were an odd mix of .340, -.074, .000, and .190. Conversely, Syracuse’s hitting marks were .214, .478, .389, and .342, a much more consistent performance. After an emotion-filled weekend with two Ivy wins and Moore tallying her 1000th kill, the team was in recovery mode, this being its first mid-week match, and it may have struggled to pull together as a unit.

Despite the loss, the regulars remained consistent. Quibell knocked in a team high 18 kills, with Borncamp and Moore following for 16 and 14 kills, respectively. Borncamp was outstanding with a .324 hitting percentage in the match to bring Cornell’s team hitting to .155. Freshman setter Rachel Rice was stellar as usual, running the offense and recording 50 assists.

Cornell has two days off before it travels to Albany this Friday and Saturday for the Albany Invitational. The following weekend, the Red will travel to Pennsylvania and Princeton to wrap up its Ivy matches.

Archived article by Katherine Granish

Saturday Night Fever

By ryan October 19, 2000

Certainly anyone with the slightest sense of humor can get a laugh or two out of the five-minute Saturday Night Live (SNL) television sketch featuring the suave and soulful Tim Meadows in his experiences of unfaltering luck with the ladies. But unfortunately, after ninety minutes of Meadows’ politically incorrect smooth talking, his move to Tinseltown as leading man Leon Phelps (aka the Ladies Man) proves to be a weak and disappointing attempt at best. With his ’70s flare and Afro hair, Leon entertains the residents of Chicago during his late night radio program, dishing out crude advice concerning sex and love. But Leon’s fame and fortune on the airwaves quickly take a predictable turn when he, along with his producer Julie, get fired for the program’s offensive and outspoken topics of discussion. The story proceeds with little suspense or excitement, as Leon attempts to locate a new radio job. When he receives an anonymous letter from an ex-lover willing to solve his financial, as well as physical, needs, Leon experiences turmoil in the form of his yearning to recall his admirer. If nothing else, supporting roles in The Ladies Man are guaranteed to cause flashbacks to your pre-teen television watching days. Tiffani-Amber Thiessen plays the same 90210 vixen on the big screen as Honey, the secret lady lusting for Leon. And Karyn Parsons (Fresh Prince of Bel-Air)is Leon’s producer who falls for the innocent and sweet Ladies Man. But both actresses, surprisingly (?), fall short of stealing the silver screen. Even Will Ferrell (SNL), in his role as Honey’s husband with a vengeance for Leon, could not salvage the film from monotony. So why does The Ladies Man fail to please his audience in the same manner with which he manages to lure and maintain his on-screen admirers? First off, the viewer could find the direction of Reginald Hudlin to fall just short of a Spielberg. Reginald who, you ask? Exactly. Also, a plot centered around the lusting of females over an unconventional sex symbol rings a few bells in the old memory bank. Hey, wasn’t there a film (or two) about a crooked-toothed British spy agent from the ’60s? Yeah, baby. But who really thought the most recent SNL flick in a chain of disappointments would be a break-through in quality entertainment? So go for some light laughs and outspoken entertainment, but fellas, don’t waste your time perfecting a lisp or scouring the VOA for polyester pants: Your chances of getting a date out of this movie are as slim as The Ladies Man taking home an Oscar.Archived article by Kristen Jones
The Amazing Mr. Moby

By ryan October 19, 2000

This summer I got in an argument in a Florida bar with a drunken old man who claimed that hip-hop artists had no talent because they couldn’t play Creedence Clearwater Revival. I argued that music changes, and that just as the Roots can’t play Creedence, Creedence couldn’t play Mozart. That doesn’t mean these bands lack talent. Rap lyrics and techno beats have replaced revolution calls and guitar solos in the lexicon of modern pop. So what if they can’t play the classics? I didn’t know it at the time, but I was wrong, of course. In front of my face Sunday night, Moby took out his electric guitar and played a short medley of The Doors, Jefferson Airplane, Jimi Hendrix and The Rolling Stones. And he did it as a joke. We’ve moved past the old sounds, the old guitar riffs and whining hippies. But that doesn’t mean music doesn’t have the same base talents. Moby clearly demonstrated he posseses all those talents. He brought to Bailey Hall a look into music’s future while showing us he still respects its past. Moby also brought to Bailey Hall one of the best pieces of showmanship, sponsorship, and laser-light artistry that Cornell has seen in a longtime. Along with his entourage of guitarist, drummer, D.J. and back-up singer, Moby brought a state-of-the-art comprehensive stage set-up that could have made U2 green with envy. The evening started off with Hybrid, a dance/trans trio of two keyboardist/mixers and a drummer. One person sitting behind me said, “It sounds like a rave. Its weird.” And he was right. It did sound like a rave and it was weird. Not that raves are weird, but raves with rows of chairs are weird. Had Hybrid been on stage at Barton Hall, they would have been an amazing show. Bailey was not the right venue and fear began to creep into the hearts of those around me that perhaps Bailey would not be the right venue for Moby either. The top-secret word from the Cornell Concert Commission was that Moby’s management wanted a much different and more expensive pay scheme to play at Barton. Alas, the less appropriate Bailey would have to suffice. Surprisingly, as Moby began his two hour long set, the setting seemed perfect. While Hybrid stood behind two Korg keyboards, Moby came running out, his bald head shining from the spotlight and flashing strobe lights. He wore a white Moby t-shirt giving the audience the idea that he was not your normal, leather pants rock star, nor your grunge-retro-hippie. Hybrid’s opening act was pure techno, and though they mixed beats, the tempo changes felt forced. Hybrid’s greatest talent was undoubtedly an incredible sense of rhythm, mixing beats off-the-cuff — sometimes sounding a little off, but mostly perfect. But Hybrid felt like they were playing a Barton Hall dance party. The bass was so strong that my shirt was flapping from the air being disturbed by the heavy, low line. Impressive, but somewhat superfluous. When Moby came out, his show was almost unerring, but had a varietal quality. The bald vegan was a ball of energy as he ran out onto the stage, raising his arms above his head — perhaps the only overused and trite posture of the evening — and screaming at the crowd. If you expected Moby behind the keyboards and mixing machines though, you would have been disappointed. Throughout the show he was handed acoustic and electric guitars. Starting with some hardcore dance, Moby moved to his signature NBC Olympic coverage intro song, “Porcelain.” An instant crowd pleaser, the song slowed down a rambunctious start. Yet as his back-up singer crooned and the impressive lighting flashed around Bailey, Moby stood with his guitar at the microphone and changed the show from a misplaced dance party to a concert fit for a packed auditorium. Those seats went mostly unused throughout the show. Moby is perhaps best known now that every single track on his newest album, Play, has been licensed for all sorts of commercial usage. In total, over 400 corporations own rights to Moby songs. The man has more sponsorship than a racecar. Play is a great album, though. In his first 10 or so songs, Moby did eight from Play. His sponsorship showed in his flashy stage setup: he had thousands of dollars worth of equipment and laser lights on motorized stands, Yahoo! Music free CDs, and rights to tons of overly licensed music. One couldn’t help being afraid Moby might come off even cleaner than his oversaturated commercial image. But he ventured to old songs like “Go” and even joked with the crowd by using his old reverb box to do a “bad vietnam war movie song medley.” Moving easily from a hardcore dance trio, Moby played his acoustic with older, slowed down disco songs, making them practically unrecognizable. Many times Moby mentioned that he “wrote this song with this guitar in my bedroom.” And as he rocked into the night on acoustic and electric guitars, he debunked a major myth about techno. Its very easy to condemn the techno beats as mere creations of computer generated rhythms. But Moby mentioned creating songs from Led Zeppelin guitar riffs, although his songs sound nothing like Led Zeppelin. Its not that Moby merely punches beats into a computer. He sits with a guitar and writes songs. But then he takes them a step further, mixing perfect beats and sampling tracks, coming up with hybrid (so to speak) versions of rock songs. Moby proved that guy in the Florida bar wrong, and he proved me wrong as well. He can play the classics and he takes them to a level never imagined. He brought the crowd back with hell-razing mixes of “Body Rock” and “Honey,” both off of Play as well. In his encores he deviated from his crystal clear act. He virtually rocked the crowd to a silence with an reprise acoustic version of “Porcelain.” Later he qualified “South Side” by saying that it was just a “rehearsal.” I wrote in my notes, “that’s a pretty damn good rehearsal session.” Amazingly, Moby’s energy never dissipated. Running around the stage, from his keyboard to his bongo drums to the corners of the stage rallying the crowd, the sweaty, hairless whirlwind never let his energy lessen. He played through it all, giving his back-ups time to relax as he went into acoustic solos. Revolution, an upstart dance-music geared magazine, named Play one of the “50 albums that killed rock.” But Moby proved that rock is not dead. It’s transforming, it’s improving. No longer does a merely decent guitar solo get people out of their seats. One must do more, use what’s available to strive for increasing complexity with rhythms, beats and rhymes. Moby showed us he writes music, not programs behind a computer and a mixing board.Archived article by Jason Weinstein