#and i had a great deal of fun inserting his historical wife in here

[sabraeal]

Whenever I view the moon on the battlefield, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Even in the thick of the night, the moon swollen and hanging heavy in the sky , the air is muggy. Kai’s yukata sticks to every fold, every crevice his body can provide; less clothing and more a second skin as he drops wearily onto his futon, longing for relief. Still, he cannot bear to push away the small weight that burrows into his side, stealing space and breath. Instead, he pulls it close, the sweet scent of hibiscus tickling his nose.

A decision he does not regret when he wakes, the sun barely risen and every inch of him drenched. It is a small price to pay for the beauty of dark hair unfurled across his pillow, or the poetry of the small hand pressed against his chest. He would swelter far more humid nights to envelope himself in that beloved scent, to feel that long-awaited body tucked against his side.

No, what he regrets is marring the morning with his leaving.

Kai peels himself from his pallet with a grimace. It’s a trial to untangle his limbs, to leave that alluring warmth with enough grace and ease that he does not disturb it. And it is made all the harder when that small hand snaps out, whip-quick, and winds its fingers around his yukata.

“And just where do you think you are you going?” Okaki asks blearily, one dark eye peeking out from the fringe of her lashes. “Not even dogs are awake at this hour.”

His hand wraps around hers; her skin is soft, smooth as the finest silk. In the earliest days of their courtship, he’d feared that he would reach for her and his calluses would snag, leaving her ruined, but, well-- he has proof enough now that they will not. And the knowledge to know she would hardly complain if they did. “Dogs might slumber, but the Watch never does,”

Her mouth crumples into a pout. “Tell that commander of yours that you are not a young bachelor anymore. You keep a married man’s hours now.”

Kai imagines, for a moment, telling the Vice Commander just that. How his head would fall back as he laughed, the years unraveling from his brow. With a mouth like that your wife could be an Edo woman, he would say; high praise from a man like him. It brings a smile to Kai’s face, one he cannot hide.

Not that he would want to. Okaki’s mouth parts to mirror his own, teeth peeking out between her lips. A vulgar expression, the other women of the court would say, not meant to sit on the face of a true lady. But that only makes it all the more dear to him; a smile meant only for his eyes and no one else’s, an expression of her truest joy.

“Is something so funny, my love?” Her eyes open too wide for earnest innocence, long lashes batting against her cheek. “I think it is a perfectly reasonable request. Even your commander would have to agree, no?”

“Of course, of course.” A laugh rumbles in the cavern of his chest, but he does not let it out; instead it quakes beneath Okaki’s palms, drawing out another of her alluring hums. “But it is not the Vice Commander who worries me.”

With more skepticism than Kai had thought could fit into a body so small, Okaki deadpans, “Is that so?”

Her yukata slips, deep blue giving way to soft, bare shoulder. It is too much temptation for a man like him; he leans in to brush the barest kiss against it. “If I do not go, then there will be no one to look after Yamazaki-kun.”

Her shoulder surges suggestively against his mouth, an invitation. “Then let him find a wife.”

Kai tries to imagine it; it would have to be a woman like his Okaki, small enough to make even Yamazaki stand tall, but for him to be like this, to be tender--

Ah, well, there was a reason that the men had been so pleased to have Yukimura tend to their wounds after Ikedaya, and even more grateful after the rebellion. In terms of skill, Yamazaki gave no room for complaint, but in bedside manner-- well, no one could argue that he was not polite or diligent, but when it came to such things as warmth or kindness...

“He would have to find a partner that would suit,” Kai says, achingly diplomatic. By the arch of Okaki’s brow, it is clear he has not fooled her. “I think many women would find him...exacting.”

She huffs, unimpressed. “A complainer, then?”

“No. Not at all. It is only...”

There is no way to properly convey the care that the boy shows every facet of his life. How his jinbei is pristine at the beginning of each day, and his deference to authority immaculate. How his shoulders are straight enough to set a corner to, and his bows are always to the precise angle of his regard. How he allows no soul to pass more than a toe over the threshold of his stockroom so that only he is accountable for what lays within-- and for the results of what happens without.

“The standards by which he measures others are the same stick that he uses upon himself,” Kai manages, knowing that this is a pale reflection of the boy that spends his days bent over a grinding wheel, and his nights perched on rooftops. “And they are...”

“Rigid?” Okaki offers, a smile curling the edges of her mouth like parchment.

“Unyielding.”

“Same thing.” She tugs at her yukata absently, fabric eclipsing her shoulder once more. “Which one is he? The small one, the ranpo?”

“An acupuncturist.” It is too simple a word for what he is to the Shinsegumi. “But he is learning Western medicine as well. From Matsumoto-sensei.”

“Matsumoto-sensei?” Her eyes pull wide, impressed. Even at court, the doctor’s reputation precedes him. “And he is so polite too, so serious. It wouldn’t be hard at all for him to find a woman if he tried.”

She speaks with such confidence, sure surety, that Kai chokes on his laugh. “I’m sorry?”

Her eyes roll toward him, too knowing. “Kai-kun, he is a doctor. One who Matsumoto-sensei has agreed to take under his tutelage despite not studying ranpo himself. And he speaks to women respectfully. There’s very little else a girl without rank could hope for in a husband.”

“Yes, but...” His mouth works, but one-by-one, his words fail him, falling short of the truth. “He would hardly be home enough to be one.”

Her hand reaches up, patting his cheek with exasperation and affection in equal measure. “As are you. But--” she smiles, and when she leans down, she brings him with her-- “a good woman knows how to keep her man in bed.”

“You make a very persuasive argument, my love,” Kai sighs, letting his yukata fall from his shoulders, “but I cannot help but believe you are wrong in this case.”

“I am never wrong,” she hums, one finger tracing down his chest. “Perhaps you will let me show you?”

The sun rides only a finger above the horizon when Kai arrives at the compound, but even still, it’s enough to earn him a knowing look from Hijikata-- and one of stern disapproval from Yamazaki, even if he’s too polite to direct it anywhere by at the tatami.

“Sorry to keep you so busy,” the Vice Commander hums at the end of his report with hardly a note of regret. “I’d hate for you to get on your wife’s bad side. You’ve only been married a month.”

Kai’s mouth twitches, but he smooths the edges down to a warm smile when he says, “Do not worry, Vice Commander, my wife knows just who to blame for my schedule.”

Hijikata’s eyebrows lift, eyes wide before they settle into a sly slant. “I should have know. She had that look.”

Kai inclines his head; anything else would risk a laugh.

“But you have nothing else to report?” the Vice Commander asks with hardly a pause. “No news of...Yukimura’s friends?”

Yamazaki, silent since he entered the room, finally speaks. Or rather, makes a noise-- a grunt from deep in his throat, one that’s eloquent enough to imply a conversation’s worth of protest. “Yukimura--”

“Not yet.” Kai ignores his dire glance, letting it roll off his back like sweat in this oppressive heat. Yamazaki may be circumspect in all other matters, but where Yukimura Chizuru is concerned-- ah well, he’s been meaning to speak to the boy about how his gaze follows that small back through a room. “It is quiet in Kyoto, but when voices start to rise, it is about the second expedition. It seems that the longer the preparations drag on, the more worry there is that not all the domains will answer the Bakfuku’s call.”

Hijikata huffs, arms folding across his chest as he mutters, “Satsuma, you mean.”

“And Tosa.” More southern domains than not wavered in their loyalties; or at least, they did in the minds of the men of Kyoto. But he hardly needed to tell Hijikata that, not when the worry carved itself so neatly in his brow. “If anyone has heard of the three men we met at the castle, they do not profess to know them now.”

“Fine. We’ll keep our ear to the ground.” Hijikata’s mouth slants slyly as he adds, “Yours is already there at night anyway, searching for your wife on the pillow.”

Kai may not say a word, but he cannot help a smirk of his own. Some secrets stayed between a husband and wife. “As you say, Vice Commander.”

“And you, Yamazaki?” Hijikata sighs as he turns to the boy, weariness wearing down the set of his shoulders. “Have you heard more of the same?”

Yamazaki nods, tight. “The words may be whispered, Vice Commander, but the people are worried.”

“As are we all.” He shakes his head, slumping back on his heels. “Well, if that’s all--”

“There is something I wanted to discuss with you, Vice Commander.”

A pin could be dropped in the wake of Yamazaki’s words, and it would ring as loud as any bell. For him to have spoken, and over Hijikata no less...

It’s not as if the boy is shy. He gives his reports with the brisk efficiency of a man with a great amount of business and little time to get to it, and when he’s spoken to, Yamazaki is known to reply at length. It is only-- he does not interrupt.

Hijikata’s brows shoulder at his hairline, trying to make room for themselves at their new altitude. “Is that so?”

“It is about Yukimura Chizuru.” He delivers the name with an admirable amount of evenness; if Kai had not thought to look at his ears, he would never have known about his flush at all.

The Vice Commander shifts on his knees, suddenly upright, maybe even interested. “You have my attention. Is she causing problems for you?”

Yamazaki blinks. “Ah, no. Not at all.”

“Oh.” It’s odd to see the Vice Commander at a loss, merely left staring at Yamazaki as the boy squirms under his scrutiny. “Then what is it?”

“It’s only...” The words come out strained, strangled, as if the act of ordering them took untold restraint. “I wonder if we could not use her expertise better.”

He hadn’t thought Hijikata’s eyebrows could lift any further, but they do, nearly lost against his hair. “Expertise?”

“Her father was one of the foremost ranpo in the country. Even Matsumoto-sensei says so.” Yamazaki eases when the Vice Commander nods; the Bakfuku had not placed their trust in him blindly, even if they had done so poorly. “She has helped us countless times with our wounded. It would only be pragmatic to give her more responsibilities in that regard.”

It is Hijikata’s word upon which a hundred men live or die, upon his ideals that any one of them could make their grave, but still, it is to Kai that he looks, head canted in question. “You think she could handle it?”

His brows leap before he can think to hold them steady, furrowing into a knot above his nose. Between the two of them, it is Yamazaki who is known for his shrewd appraisals, who has proven himself a fine judge of character and skill. And yet, any man could allow his heart-- or lower-- to fool him.

Ah, so that is the question the Vice Commander is asking him: is this assessment of Yukimura Chizuru objective.

Thankfully, Yamazaki saves him from having to speculate. “I have had many occasions to observe Yukimura since you positioned me as her guard, and even more outside of that purview since she has been given free range of compounds. I feel confident in saying that she would excel if given a regular task that made use of her already expansive education.”

Still, Hijikata watches him, as careful as a hunter in the grass, desperate not to disturb the fowl. He’s a more deft hand at it than Todou claims to be; Yamazaki doesn’t even flinch when he asks, “And what makes you think that she’ll help you rather than hinder you as an assistant? That girl has a gift for being underfoot.”

“Yukimura has demonstrated the ability to take direction quite well.” There’s a twist to his mouth that seems to imply, better than anyone else here, though Kai doubts Hijikata’s ear is deft enough to hear it. “Whenever she has been under my care, she follows my commands without complaint.”

“Shockingly,” Hijikata mutters, earning himself a quelling look from Yamazaki. “Fine, fine, maybe that was unfair of me. Go on.”

“Yukimura has shown herself to be quite discreet as well.” With a steeling breath, he admits, “During Mastumoto-sensei’s visit, she overheard his...assessment of Okita’s condition.”

Hijikata’s eyes pulse wide. “And she hasn’t said anything?”

His nod is swift and firm, and not a little proud. “Not to anyone. A few days ago she even came upon me airing out Okita’s quarters-- as you asked me to do, Vice Commander-- and told me I shouldn’t be poking around in his things if he didn’t want them to be disturbed.”

It was a perfectly sufficient report of her character, one no one could take exception to, except--

Except he flushes; not softly either, but a bright cherry blossom pink from ear to ear, mouth bent into a barest smile. Were it just the two of them, Kai would have delighted in asking just how firmly Yukimura took him to task, but Hijikata--

Ah, well, the Vice Commander was not known for being a delicate man. “I didn’t realize that was what you looked for in an assistant, Yamazaki-kun.”

With only that cherry turns to plum. “Ah, I only meant-- she’s responsible! Not that I-- it’s only, even when we found--”

With a terrible, guttural choke, Yamazaki wrenches his words to a halt. But it is already far, far too late. Hijikata’s eyes narrow to points as he asks, “Found what?”

“N-nothing.” By the way sweat beads at the high rise of his hairline, it’s anything but. “Only-- something Okita wouldn’t want us to see. Yukimura very firmly said that we should leave it and not look at it. Even if...er...”

Hijiakata hums, suspicion clear in every note.

Yamazaki’s fingers tug at his jinbei, guilt writ large upon his face. “And, ah, she-- she agreed to help, when I brought up the idea of taking her on.”

That brings his narrow brows up, hovering just at his hairline. “So you’ve already asked her then?”

“Ah-- only provisionally.” Yamazaki clears his throat, his usual stalwart calm overtaking him. “Since my duties in the Watch have been increasing, and Matsumoto-sensei’s mentoring has also taken up a good amount of my free time...I am not in the compound as much as I have been. It seemed prudent to ask if she might at least look over Okita from time to time, if I cannot.”

A frown mars Hijikata’s mout. “You’re not setting this up because you’re planning on getting reckless, are you? I’ve told you before, Yamazaki, you’re the only person who can do the job you do.”

His eyes round, fixed on the Vice Commander. “Ha...”

Hijikata’s expression darkens. “This isn’t some laughing matter.”

“No, I wasn’t...” The pink dusting his ears is the same, delicate color across his cheeks. “It’s only...that’s what Yukimura-kun said too.”

It’s not until Yamazaki has leapt to his feet, managing a measured pace until he hits the hall, that Hijikata holds up a hand to stall Kai on his knees.

“Shimada,” he hums, watching where the shoji stands open, thoughtful. “What do you think of that?”

Kai blinks. “What, sir?”

One long hand waves to the door. “That. Yamazaki and...”

“Ah...” It would mortify the boy to know that the Vice Commander had gotten wind of his infatuation. “You mean, Yukimura? She has the temperament to make a fine assistant, so long as Yamazaki--”

“That’s not what I mean.” His arms cross over his chest, impatience rolling off him like a storm. “Do you think there’s something there?”

“I...” It would give him no greater pleasure to agree, but he has not become a member of the Watch by allowing himself to see only what he would like to. “I think Yukimura has many admirers, as a girl her age should. And, modest as she is, she shows none of them any particular favor.”

If anything, Hijikata’s mood only becomes fouler. “Hah, that’s generous. I doubt that girl even notices. She’s going to get herself into trouble if she keeps on like that. Not all men are as harmless and Heisuke or Iba-san. But what about Yamazaki? Certainly he must, you know...”

Kai clears his throat. “I think he is...lonely, Vice Commander. There’s not many here that he can relate to, and Yukimura at least shares some of his interests.”

“Exactly.” Hijikata reaches out, tapping absently on his desk. “It’s something to keep our eyes on, don’t you think?”

Kai thinks they might wish for snow and have better chances, but he says, with patient deference, “If you say so, Vice Commander.”

“Oh.” There’s a light in the man’s eyes that makes even Kai want to squirm, that makes him wonder if Yamazaki should wish he had been more discreet with his feelings. “I think I do.”

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #only one more chapter to go! #before i hit the point i meant to cover #since i didn't really want to get into toba-fushimi #though i'm sure i will be but considered about it #in a forceful fashion 🤣 #also i wasn't going to but Okaki in this chapter but the ladies convinced me #that tol and smol needed to be on page #and i had a great deal of fun inserting his historical wife in here #even though we know SO LITTLE about her

[kingofthewilderwest]

"#just because you have a bias about certain socioeconomic groups which tend to listen to country doesn't mean" // Yup. I tend to side-eye folks who are like "I like all kinds of music except country and [Insert a genre of music usually associated with Black creators like rap and hip hop]" You're not slick, ppl. I know what you're saying.

^^^^^^^^^ You hit the nail on the head.

It’s racial bias. It’s socioeconomic bias. It’s bias against people groups who have less respect and say in society.

From my tags on this post:

#don’t get me started on a long rant of the progressive side of country music and what’s been progressive FOR DECADES#from times near its BEGINNInGS#through the modern age#just because you have a bias about certain socioeconomic groups which tend to listen to country doesn’t mean#that that’s actually what the genre is or who the artists are#I could go for a LONNNNG time about this#a LONG time#some of the best protest songs I know of today’s current political situation#are country#or have like ya’ll forgotten about the folk revival#of the 1960s#or…#gahghfnfddhgnghfngh#I AM GAY AND I LISTEN TO COUNTRY#NYEH!!!!

Now. I understand disinterest in a genre because it’s not your aesthetic, but when people express their feelings for country, R&B, hip-hop, etc. …the dialogue isn’t casual “It’s not my thing.” The dialogue is a hateful, passionate retaliation.

Other genres aren’t treated like this. It’s normalized and encouraged to hate on country and rap. These genres are systematically treated with less respect and that disrespect culturally arose because these genres are associated with less-respected demographics. 

(Country music is associated with people of low socioeconomic status, for people who aren’t explicitly aware.)

Anecdotally: I’ve caught something interesting about anti-country music sentiment. Many people tell me they can’t stand the “twang.” Half the time, I’ve noticed that their internalized definition of “twang” isn’t the vocal technique; it’s that they can’t stand the presence of a Southern accent. And hooboy does that have TONS of sociocultural bias issues. As a linguist, I’ve read endless sociolinguistic studies about how Southern dialects are treated as “lesser,” and how speakers of the dialect are automatically judged to be less intelligent, etc. It’s not good, folks.

Sometimes, to help friends get out of their anti-country mindset, I’ve “tricked” them into liking country. See, genres like bluegrass grew closely out of Scots-Irish folk music. Often, we’re playing the same tunes on both sides of the Atlantic. So I play a few instrumentals, my friend goes, “Oh! I love Celtic music

The biases against those demographics color how people view the music. There’s endless things that can be said about hip-hop bias, holy shit. I won’t focus on that today because I don’t believe I am qualified to be a spokesman. Someone who understands that genre better, and other genres associated with the African-American community, and is African-American, would be a better human to listen to than me. I defer to their knowledge and experience. It’s hella important to understand what bias has been reflected against those genres.

But there’s just as much bias against country music, against another demographic. And I’ve found it wild how it gets treated on places like tumblr, which wants to stand up for underprivileged groups, but somewhat inaccurately associates country music as “anti-gay conservative evil white person music” rather than music of people historically of lower socioeconomic status.

Yes, some of the demographic that listens to country music or plays country music are bad apples. But like… thinking the music is JUST THAT is a huge disservice to what country actually is and who the music artists actually are.

The history of country music is one giant collaborative melting pot of people from many different cultural backgrounds. Broad West African influence. Mexican influence. Italian influence. German influence. Scots-Irish influence. Cherokee influence. More. Early record labels like OKEH foolishly separated “hillbilly music” (presumably white folk music) from “rhythm and blues” (presumably Black folk music) without understanding the constant racial, demographic, regional, and cultural cross-pollination that occurred between the musicians from country music’s origins. And while there ARE certain issues in country music’s past and present, and we can’t let those issues go forgotten, that’s far from the whole story. We shouldn’t romanticize issues, but we should acknowledge that this music genre has given us major strides too.

Country music is the banjo, brought from Africa, combined with the mandolin, brought from Italy, combined with the fiddle, brought from Ireland, combined with the guitar and the dobro and the accordion and the upright bass and the electric guitar and the electric bass and whatever instruments you want to put in there.

Country music is African-American musicians like DeFord Bailey, the first radio star ever introduced on the Grand Ole Opry (THE most revered country music hub out there), blues harmonica performer, playing to crowds decades before segregation was de-legalized. He toured with white Opry musicians who treated him as one of their own. It’s soul music genre pioneer Ray Charles producing a studio album entirely dedicated to country music hits like “Hey Good Lookin’” from Hank Williams. It’s country star Charley Pride, who despite the racism against him in the 1960s rose to fame and made audiences fall in love with his beautiful voice. It’s the African-American musicians who inspired many commercial country stars, like Arnold Shultz influencing Bill Monroe and the railroad workers inspiring Jimmie Rodgers.

Country music is stars like Johnny Rodriguez and Rick Treviño, singing country music in Spanish, and using obvious Latin flavors in the genre.

Country music is filled with badass women like the ladies who STARTED THE GENRE ROLLING IN THE FIRST PLACE, Sara Carter and Mother Maybelle Carter (whose guitar style is hugely influential to this day) and Maybelle’s daughters Helen, June, and Anita; the first female music manager in the music industry, Louise Scruggs; songwriters like Felice Bryant and Loretta Lynn; the most awarded female artist in Grammy history Alison Krauss; and powerhouses like Dolly Parton who stepped out of an over-controlling entertainer’s shadow to become a badass in all things like supporting the LGBTQ community, contributing to pro-transgender films ahead of their time, and starring in sex worker positive productions like “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.”

Country music is filled with activism. Johnny Cash showed a heart for those forgotten by society. He toured many times in prisons. Cash especially was an activist for Native American rights. He toured with Native American songwriters so audiences could hear their own words (I’ve been trying to find names but I’m having difficulties re-finding that information, so my apologies for not giving names of those who deserve to be mentioned). Cash released albums dedicated to exposing past and present injustices against the Native American people. He went on tours specifically to Native American reservations. 

And it’s not just Johnny Cash!

Country music is many stars from the Grand Ole Opry banding together to release AIDS benefit albums - big names like Alison Krauss, Willie Nelson, Marty Stuart, aurgh I’m too lazy to write them all, PEOPLE.

Country music is Earl Scruggs and his sons playing at the Vietnam War Protests.

Country music is tied in with the fucking folk revival of the 1960s, which was deep in left-wing activism and the Civil Rights Movement. Folk singers sang traditional Appalachian and English ballads alongside their own compositions, topical pieces protesting the current political situation. You can call one artist “folk” or “Americana” and another one “country,” but the influences were intermingling, and it’s why we have Bob Dylan and Woody Guthrie and Joan Baez and John Denver and Pete Seeger owning a banjo that says, “This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender.”

Dammit, I have a full BOOK that discusses country music and political ties. 

There’s another book out there, which I haven’t read, that discusses the relationship between country music and the queer community, and how bias against country music is NOT as reflective of the listening demographic as we stereotype. I’ll take the word of one reviewer who said:

[Nadine Hubbs] explores country music lyrics, presenting a great deal of evidence suggesting that working class America is not inherently homophobic, but that as middle class cultural taste has changed to include formal acceptance of homosexuality, this process has included pinning homophobic ideas on the working class.

Country music is lyrics like this 1975 controversial song “The Pill”:

You wined me and dined meWhen I was your girlPromised if I’d be your wifeYou’d show me the worldBut all I’ve seen of this old worldIs a bed and a doctor billI’m tearing down your brooder house‘Cause now I’ve got the pillAll these years I’ve stayed at homeWhile you had all your funAnd every year that’s gone byAnother baby’s comeThere’s a-gonna be some changes madeRight here on nursery hillYou’ve set this chicken your last time‘Cause now I’ve got the pill

Country music is lyrics like this 2013 song that feels as relevant than ever:

If crooks are in charge, should we let them pick our pockets?If we don’t want trouble, should we not try to stop it?We could just sink into the quicksand slavery we’re born inBut fighting endless wars for greedy liars is getting pretty boringThey think they got us trained, so we’ll think we’re living freeIf we got time and money for junk food and TVBut it’s plain honest people never stand a chance of winning electionsThey just let us pick which liars take our rights away for our own protectionThe corporate propaganda paralyzes us with fearDestroying our ability to trustFear keeps us fighting with each other over scrapsStarving to death in the dustOrganized religion really helps you submitBut the meek are inheriting the short end of the stickFear surrounds compassion like a layer of moldAnd weakens our defenses so we’re too weak to be boldLife could be heaven, but this corrupted systemTakes away our rights, expects us not to miss themThe middle class is shrinking while the lower class growsIf we don’t wake up soon, we’ll have no class left to lose

Country music is Christians themselves criticizing the hypocritical Evangelical culture in the USA for the bullshit hatefulness stewing inside it:

Every house has got a Bible and a loaded gunWe got preachers and politicians‘Round here it’s kinda hard to tell which oneIs gonna do more talkin’ with a crooked tongue

And as that one post I just reblogged shows, there’s MANY queer country musicians out there producing explicitly pro-LGBTQ+ music.

I’m brushing over so much. I’m sorry for the simplification that goes with me doing such a pass-by overview. I’m sorry I’m focusing more on history than the present (I know more about the 1920s-1960s eras, so I’m talking from my strong suit). I hope the information is at least strong enough to get my point across.

There are definitely listeners and artists in country music who are uber-conservative white hateful Christians. Yes. I know why country music gets associated with that. But.

Country music is not ABOUT this uber-conservative white hateful Christian side. The genre is not “polluted”. It is a thousand voices from a thousand perspectives of people from many backgrounds and beliefs. And many of those thousand voices are old traditional songs that came from Black communities, or were composed by Mexican-Americans, or were performed by folk artists as part of a protest for equal rights. 

(Note: I’m *NOT* saying all Christians are bad or that different political angles don’t have merits. I’m Christian myself! And you don’t know my political party. I’m just trying to get the point across that country music isn’t ENTRENCHED in one questionable demographic.)

You don’t have to like country music. It doesn’t have to be your aesthetic. But if you find it fun to get in on society’s popular country hate roasting… please rethink this. The reason country music has been hated from its roots is because it’s associated with the socioeconomically disadvantaged.

I’m with you 100%, Ashley. When someone says they like all genres “except country music and rap,” I get a little leery. I used to be one of those people when I was younger. I had to learn to grow past those biases. But once I did, I realized there was so much I was hating on that I didn’t understand. Now, I hope I can help people overcome their own biases, such as ones they don’t realize they’ve had - for things like music.

Hi ya’lls. I’m queer and I love country.

P.S. If anyone has anything to add or correct, please feel free to add on! I’m doing my best but I do not know everything and would be happy to learn more, too!

#ashleybenlove #long post #music #non-dragons #that banjo business #analysis #my analysis #music analysis #note that there's a version of this post where it's been reblogged and added on and I chat about Elvis and stuff #but the starting text is from an earlier version of this post #where I had a number of typos #XD I know they're there but I can't change those hahahahaha #I changed them here #reblog whichever version you desire though of course! #but just so you know there's a few minor factual typos in the non-edited version #I was hahaha so excited that I typed fast when I wrote it XD

[knifeonmars]

Capsule Reviews April 2021

A few of the things that I've been reading over the past couple of months. I surprised myself when I noticed that most of these were indie books, but that's probably because all of my needs for big dumb superhero comics are currently being more or less covered by the material I'm reading for my podcast, Regarding Spawn. Anyway, here's some review.

Grenade by Will Kirkby

Grenade is in many ways an art showcase, a vibrant little volume centered on a world somewhat along the lines of Shadowrun, a cyberpunk setting with fantasy elements. The story focuses on a main character somewhat typical for the cyberpunk genre, a traumatized transhuman war veteran turned cop, haunted by their memories as they are drawn into a web of conspiracy tracing back to their wartime experiences. The story is hardly surprising, but this is a book that you read for the texture, not the plot. Grenade is gorgeous, jam packed with detail in the maximalist tradition of artists like Geoff Darrow but with an angular, punk edge, and the world building and concepts are all fun and have great hooks. There are certain ideas introduced at tossed aside that I wished to see a bit more of, but overall it's a very satisfying cyberpunk flavoured romp that would be well worth it for the art alone.

Home Time Vols. 1-2 by Campbell Whyte

Stand By Me by way of Over the Garden Wall, if put in reductive terms, I picked up the conclusion to Campbell Whyte's stellar first volume of the series and recently had the chance to read them back to back. They're excellent, maybe some of the best comics I've read this year, stellar YA material with a bold, experimental style and great storytelling. Centering on four friends about to graduate from middle school and go their separate way, the characters are suddenly caught up in a strange fantasy world with no way back home and the story focuses on how they cope with this as they gradually learn more about the world. The kids all feel like kids (or at least how I remember being a kid), the worldbuilding is really unique and off-kilter, fleshed out by loads of journal inserts ranging from photos to diary entries, to a handmade encyclopedia right out of Gravity Falls. The art is stellar, sticking to a general cartoon-y aesthetic but jumping back and forth through various styles of coloring and rendering with each viewpoint character, including sections rendered in a pixelated style which evokes a great deal of nostalgia for me as someone who grew up reading sprite-based webcomics. Some of the plot beats might not surprise you, but others probably will, and I can't recommend checking this out enough.

The Grot by Pat Grant

Another Australian book, not that I've been on a kick or anything. The Grot is quite excellent, a sort of "low post-apocalyptic" story set in a world littered with the detritus of our own. The world building is a treat, lived in and recognizably plausible but strange; cars and boats are powered by low wage laborers on pedals, electricity and running water are unheard of, cholera runs rampant, and anyone and everyone is partaking in an algae-based gold rush. The Grot is very much a gold rush story, and indeed about the biggest criticism I could make about it is that it could just as easily be set in any given historical gold rush with little effect on the narrative, the conceit of a post-lapsarian world is hardly taken advantage of, but then perhaps that's the point, "the more things change, the more they stay the same" and all that. The story itself is a classic one of ambition and confidence games, following two young brothers who arrive in a boom town with plans to be the only ones not getting suckered. The artwork and colors are vibrant and distinct, a loose, cartoonist's touch which nevertheless manages to make everything look distinctly real and absolutely filthy. Everyone is ugly and dirty, dressed in distinct clothes, cutting distinct profiles, looking real and alive, even if Grant doesn't pursue a photorealistic style. I'd recommend it for those looking for something different from the standard action oriented fair coming out from most major American publishers, but not sold on art comics. The Grot is a great read packed with story and personality.

Sazan and Comet Girl by Yuriko Akase

Coming out in 2018, right in the meat of Wife Guy culture, and preceding the rise of himbos by two years, Sazan and Comet Girl is a book well suited to the moment. It's about a nice, not entirely bright young man pursuing a Cool Girl across the stars as they fall in love. It's also, in fairness, Sazan and Manic Pixie Dream Girl in some ways, though it holds off the worst of that genre by characterizing Sazan primarily through the lens of sincere enthusiasm and support for his much cooler, more powerful love interest. It's a distinctly fun, peppy book, that's really gorgeously rendered, with full lush water colours on every page and a design sensibility firmly in line with retro-anime. It's not entirely without points to criticize, the titular Comet Girl spends the entire book rarely wearing more than bra and a pair of brave Daisy Dukes, and the trick employed throughout the final sequence of the book, which takes up the entire back half (the pacing is also a touch off) to get the whole universe cheering for the heroes is a little cheap. But overall Sazan and Comet Girl is really charming, it's cute, incredible to look at, just a little horny, and a fun adventure. I heartily recommend it.

PTSD by Guillaume Singelin

I'd had this sitting in my To-Read pile because I wanted to take some time between reading Grenade and this book, since there are quite a few superficial similarities between the two: they're both sci-fi adjacent, they both star traumatized veterans, both are lushly rendered by indie cartoonists, so reading them back to back would have felt like a disservice. For the record, they're ultimately not similar at all. PTSD is the story of Jun, a traumatized war veteran living on the streets of an unidentified city, pushing away all attempts at help or community as she slowly spirals downward, killing drug dealers to fuel her addiction to pain pills. One thing that stands out to me about PTSD tonally and about its main character is that it's willing to let Jun be really unpleasant in a meaningful way. Jun isn't an "asshole" because she's too much of a hard drinkin', hard fuckin' badass, she's an asshole because she's so deeply traumatized that she lashes out verbally and physically at anyone who comes near her. It feels unglamourous and real in a really enjoyable way.The art is also a revelation, it doesn't quite cross the line into Geoff-Darrow-insired visual maximalism, but every panel and ever inch of the pages are packed with lovingly rendered detail. Singelin's drawing style tends more towards cartooning than pseudo-realism, in a way that makes the charming moments utterly charming and the brutal moments appropriately shocking. I have some minor issues with the ending, the story kind of cuts out without really delving into the messy implications and the long tail to Jun's conflict with the drug dealers, and there's a touch of action movie logic in that the main character is alone among the veterans in her trauma having left her as a kind of towering badass rather than one of society's victims, but putting those aside PTSD is a really satisfying story about trauma and community.

#comics #capsule reviews #indie comics