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failedintsave · 3 years

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The Skwistok self-care saga continues, feat. hairbrushing per @cthene's request lol

Keeps Me Young

They almost never played encores. It was more likely for their set to be cut short by catastrophe or an act of God (or was it gods?) than to be willingly extended beyond the end of their setlist. Fans migrated by the thousands to all reaches of the globe just to hear a coffee jingle or the opening note of an upcoming album, there was hardly a need to tack on another song or two at the end of a show.

Tonight they'd played three; the crowd in Seoul was frenzied, rabid for more despite the odd decapitation or pyrotechnic mishap. Their energy had been spellbinding, their roars drawing the band back onstage again and again, sweating through their corpse paint, shredding and screaming until Nathan's voice was cracking. It was exhilarating, but it took its toll. They'd skipped out on the after-party entirely, dragging themselves aboard the Dethjet to head home and crash.

He'd never admit as much out loud—he did everything he could to combat the ravages of time—but Skwisgaar was not as young as he used to be. And he was tired. Nights like this made him wish he cared a little less about perfection. If he didn't have to deep condition, apply heat protectant and detangler, exfoliate, cleanse and moisturize, he could have been in bed by now.

Skwisgaar set his blow-dryer down on the counter, the ceramic diffuser making the tool heavy in his tired grip. The box of 24 karat gold eye foils in his medicine cabinet turned up empty, so he settled for smearing on some vitamin C and maracuja oil before calling it a night. The war against his dark circles would continue another day. He flipped the light switch and snatched up a wide-toothed comb, dragging it through his hair a few times on his way out of the room.

"Was starting to think you ams never coming out of dere." Toki gave him an impish grin from where he reclined, bundled to his chin in the plush, white bedding. He sat up and opened his arms as Skwisgaar approached, the blankets tumbling to gather at his waist. "You looks dead on your feet. What's de matter, Skwisgaar can't hang no mores?"

"Euughh, shuts up. Could say de same for de rest of you, relyingks on me to keeps everyt'ing tight when you ams all getting sloppy and burned out." He didn't even have the energy left to put the bite behind the remark, dropping his brush onto the covers and collapsing across Toki's lap with a groan.

"Oh I see, you lefts it all on de stage, huh?"

"I cannot helps dat my natchkural showmanships requires me to gives so much of mineself."

"Mm. Has to appease de fans, after all." Toki took up the discarded comb and ran it gently through Skwisgaar's tousled waves, starting at the ends.

"Dats right." He agreed through a yawn. "One must always keeps de audience happy, even 'dough dey ams insatiable. Dey will takes all you can gives dem, right down to your bloods and bone."

The younger guitarist snorted but didn't refute his statement; he'd had a taste, he knew it wasn't entirely melodrama. Toki picked apart a knot with his fingers, smoothing Skwisgaar's hair down across his back and chasing it with the comb again. The gentle tug sent shivers up Skwisgaar's neck and over his scalp and he barely suppressed another groan as Toki began to work his way up to his roots, hand over hand.

"Well don't you worries, I think I can helps you get your hundred strokes, Rapunzel."

"Acktuallies, dat ams a myth," Skwisgaar mumbled, resting his cheek on folded arms. "Too much brushingk am how you gets breakage."

"So you don'ts want me to do it?" Blunt fingers scratched lightly behind his ear, and if Skwisgaar could have purred, he would have been unable to stop himself doing so. "Dats what I thought."

"Shore, knocks you'self out." His bluff slurred together as the ripples of Toki's touch spread, tingles racing down his spine and over his shoulders. Goosebumps rose along his skin making the fine amber hairs on his arms stand on end. He shuddered.

Every stroke of the comb produced a pleasing chill, every pass of Toki's hand warm and heavy in its wake. The combination was a powerful sedative and soon Skwisgaar couldn't hold up his heavy eyelids any longer. His breathing slowed to match the rhythmic sweeping, his body sinking into the mattress like an anchor touching down on the seabed. Toki abandoned the comb and dug into the still-damp hair at the back of his neck, letting the silky filaments spill over his fingers before lifting another handful and repeating the process.

"If I hads your hair I would never stops playing wif it."

Feeling benevolent amid the flood of mood-elevating hormones Toki's attentions were releasing, Skwisgaar considered offering access to toy with his locks whenever the urge struck. Within reason. He wasn't a lap cat. But when he tried to express any of this, all that came out was a drowsy sigh. Velvety blackness engulfed him, his descent into the warm embrace of slumber sped along as Toki began to hum softly as he worked, his short nails drawing along Skwisgaar's part and separating his tresses into sections. Skwisgaar thought he recognized the melody, but he wasn't lucid enough to place it before the tune faded away as he succumbed to sleep.

The soft yarn of the crocheted afghan was soothing against his flushed cheek, and a blue glow from the tv bathed the living room in soft light as Moomintroll and Snufkin rambled across the screen. He pushed his risgrynsgröt across the coffee table, untouched, but slender fingers with painted nails scooped the bowl up again and gave it a stir.

"You need to eat your breakfast, Skwisgaar. It's not going to get any better if I have to keep reheating it." His mother held out a spoonful towards him but he ducked his mouth under the edge of the blanket.

"Don't want it." He croaked, the words grating his throat painfully.

Mother set the bowl aside again, laying the backs of her fingers against his forehead. He'd been so excited to start school. Mormor had bought him new shoes—big boy shoes with laces, not straps—and his blue knapsack had been packed with pencils and construction paper for a week, just waiting for the first day of class.

Skwisgaar closed his eyes, feeling tears pricking at the corners. He wasn't a baby anymore, he didn't want to cry, but he couldn't help the tiny hiccup of a sob that shook his hunched shoulders. Mother's cool fingers dropped to his cheek, rechecking his temperature, then gently caressing him with the pad of her thumb.

"It's alright, sweet one. School will still be there in a few days. We just need to break this fever first. You don't want to get all your new friends sick too, do you?"

Shaking his head, Skwisgaar sniffled and hiked the blanket higher until it was under his ears. "No, then they won't like me."

"Oh, angel, of course they will like you. You're a very good, very sweet boy." She lifted his chin with her knuckle, smiling down at him when he opened his watery eyes. "Besides, who could resist that face, hm? And those baby blues?"

He cracked a smile and she threaded her other hand into his hair, pulling him to rest against her side. His nose was too stopped up to smell her perfume, but she was warm and her floral blouse was smooth against his face. She hummed quietly and rocked them back and forth, coaxing him to nap away the worst of his flu, her fingertips drawing looping patterns on his scalp and neck as he drifted off.

Blinking his eyes open, Skwisgaar lifted his head from where it rested on crossed wrists. A burst of pins and needles flared through his hands now that circulation was restored and he grunted at the sting. A curtain of mousy brown hair dropped ahead of him as Toki leaned to the side into his view, shielding him from most of the glare of the lights still being on.

"Hey dere, sleepyhead. Haves a nice nap?"

He raised his chin to look Toki in the eye and felt something shift between his shoulder blades. Touching the back of his head, his fingers followed the contours of an intricately woven braid.

Toki watched him inspect the plait, smiling softly. "Shoulds wear your hair back more often. You gots such a handsome face, it ams nice to be able to sees all of it."

Still befuddled as his sluggish mind rejoined the waking world, Skwisgaar felt his cheeks warm at the compliment. Rather than reply, he rolled and dragged Toki flat onto the mattress with him, the bed large enough to sprawl out at any orientation. They tussled and tickled until eventually landing with their heads on a jumble of pillows, facing each other and catching their breath.

A wisp of blonde had come loose from the braid during their bout, and Toki tucked it behind Skwisgaar's ear, touch lingering on the hinge of his jaw. "Was you dreaming?"

"Kind of."

Toki's voice dropped to a whisper, scooting forward so their noses brushed. "Was it a good dream?"

The ghost of fingers massaging his scalp and the cinnamon and raisin flavor of rice porridge filled his mind, his lips curling fondly. "Ja."

"Mm. Good." Toki's grin mirrored his as he leaned forward and kissed him softly. The hand on his jaw moved to cradle the back of his head, sliding along the column of his braid and giving it a firm tug. The grin turned lecherous. "Was your nap enough to recover from impressing de Fickle Mistress?"

"Pfft, you wantsed to 'see mine face,' hah?" He rolled his eyes. Always an ulterior motive with this guy.

"Yeah, I wants to sees it when I—"

The rest of his intentions were smothered in a crush of lips as Skwisgaar dragged him forward onto his chest to tangle in the downy bedding. Toki's laugh filled his mouth and his fingers busied themselves once more. His mood was contagious, as was his youthful exuberance.

Four encores was unheard of, but Skwisgaar wouldn't stand for anything less than an impeccable performance

#skwisgaar skwigelf #toki wartooth #skwistok #metalocalypse #dethklok

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kyotakumrau · 5 years

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2019.06.22 sukekiyo at Sendai Rensa

Sendai Rensa is located on the 8th floor of a small department store and we had to use stairs to get to the venue. Thanks for the small workout 😂

Today I had quite a good number and managed to get a second row a little on the right (center/kamite). Thanks to that I could easily see various details of the stage.

I understood my own confusion with Kyo's bass - I'm guessing for roadie's convenience it was placed with YUCHI's bass first and just right before the start staff moved it to the centre.

BGM today continued with Peter Murphy (2 songs) and also Portishead.

I feel like the stage was also bigger compared to the previous venues? They had 3 small TVs on the left side deeper into the stage and 2 TVs separately on the right, one just at the edge, all of them had the tour name during the show, but before it had bits of Madaraningen spots.

The hands lamp from sukekiyo stage set accessories series, no1, is indeed under Kyo's stand. No2 is on the left edge, I think there are also crystal ashtray, baby sized doll hand stand, perfume bottle and cigarettes, another effector on the left edge.

First one to enter the stage was Mika, followed by utA, then Takumi and YUCHI, Kyo coming last.

utA was wearing a black jacket with a silver chain. Takumi had his hair in a braid. YUCHI came on stage wearing a jacket but removed it after few songs. His new hair looks really great and from the very beginning he was having fun headbanging.

Kyo was wearing Madaraningen shirt, but it was smeared with 'blood', same as his face, he had finger smudges on his cheeks. His hair was styled without parting, he had eyeliner and grey lences. He also wore the gold Madara accessories, suit pants with belt.

It's the first time I noticed Kyo using perfume on the stage, when he entered the stage and walked over to his stand that was the first thing he did, putting some perfume on his wrists and neck. Next, he lit a cigarette and soon they were starting.

Guuzou moratorium is such an intense opening! utA started first guitar notes with other members joining. Kyo used the microphone on the stand so he was singing with his back to the audience.

(each mic is connected to different effectors) We could notice the 'blood' on his sleeves first, and then when he turned around, his face.

utA was kind of 'clapping' during Waizatsu - raised one arm and hit the forarms together, crossing them. I'm sure it didn't make any sound, he just let some energy out. He definitely had a lot! 😁

And Kyo and YUCHI again had a moment of playing and dancing together.

A random observation - YUCHI is mouthing most of the songs. 😁

Also, all of band members came to the edge of the stage during faster songs, especially for the headbanging parts!

Another thing I enjoyed this tour is the light and ability to see in detail what members were doing. I can't play any instruments so I didn't understand all of it, but it was great to see them in their element.

There's a moment where Takumi with bass sets something with YUCHI (who is using chaos pad) but I'm not sure what exactly! Someday I will find out...

When playing theremin Kyo holds his microphone in his hand and raises it up when the singing part comes.

Ariana had fans around me not only headbanging but also fist pumping.

I don't think I stood still for any song in the first part of the set! I'm really glad I could experience new songs live at standing shows first (Nakano will be hard...), it was really great to let go and just feel the music!

And mind you it's only my feeling about the setlist - the beginning we have faster songs, playing around, having fun, but things get serious gradually. If you feel it like a story - a girl is having fun, playing around, but love is not that easy. Or that kind. When you play with fire eventually you will get burnt.

I had trouble describing one part (and actually experiencing it, too), Nurebairo, there was so much vulnerability. Kyo was singing using the mic stand, he slowly opened his shirt and held it open with both hands showing his chest. 私を今抱いて欲しい夢くらい見させて欲しい There's just too much of the theme of using one's body to trying to get someone's attention, to make someone love you, want you.

The shirt was shut close for anima. The deed was done, Kyo held the edges of the shirt tightly under his neck. The contrast and the hurt were really unsettling.

The continuation of anima, it had so much anguish. Again, just Takumi on piano and Kyo singing.

あなたの心の中に私がいると信じて

求めてしまったごめんなさい

望んで望んで望んで

この夜私が…

At the end of Hyohaku flavour they again just walked off one by one. ゆらゆらとゆら消える Everyone was dancing and playing. YUCHI came to the front for the last time and left his bass at the edge of the scene. utA stopped playing and walked carefully behind Kyo, who followed him soon after leaving his microphone on his stand. Takumi and Mika kept playing, those drums, just woah. And the broken piano breaks your heart. Takumi was the last to leave again, he stood up as the ending melody started and bowed before he walked off.

We kept clapping at each show this tour but tonight was the time! When we kept clapping usually staff would come to pack the stage, but today they were not coming. We kept clapping. And then suddenly Mika and Takumi just casually walked back. For a moment it was only them and I thought they will do a session, but the rest of the band came back as well and they started playing leather fields!

Kyo started with 'Sendai!! Can you become one???' and suddenly fans pushed but didn't scream. Yet! 😁 He had to signal with his hands more for fans to start singing for him and chanting their names.

Takumi and YUCHI stood back to back while playing and kept laughing.

The headbanging!

And I think it's the first time I screamed all members names at sukekiyo's show 😂 When each member was walking from the stage again this time fans were clapping like crazy and screaming their names.

Kyo said one word before he left but because of fans cheering I couldn't hear.

That's the end of standing shows going around Japan. Next is a seated one in Nakano, which apparently will surprise us! Can't wait!

#sukekiyo #attempt at live report #tour2019 forty #me

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bubblesandgutz · 6 years

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Every Record I Own - Day 288: Daughters s/t

I’ve been slacking on these posts in recent weeks on account of being on tour. But I’ve also been slacking because I spent nearly two years researching and writing about Daughters and I’m now in the position of trying to figure out how to condense all those thoughts into one post. So instead of trying to parcel my thoughts down to a few paragraphs, I’m going to post an excerpt from the book discussing a somewhat disastrous tour we did together after the jump. Enjoy.

Here was the duality of Daughters. They weren’t necessarily the monsters they made themselves out to be on stage. They had the capacity to be incredibly friendly and pleasant. But over the course of the next few weeks, the ugliness of their music would begin to permeate into their off-stage lives. The tour travelled west through the plains and mountain states up into Seattle, then headed down the coast. The first week was fairly mellow. On the West Coast, it started to become apparent that Daughters weren’t having a good time on the road. “Not to say we were ahead of the curve,” Sam says in hindsight, “but it always took two years of steady touring before people wanted to hear the latest thing we had done.” Hell Songs had come out at the end of summer 2006 and we were touring at the beginning of summer 2008. And indeed, it seemed like people were still trying to figure out how they felt about Daughters on that tour.

Jeff Kirby, a writer Seattle’s big alternative weekly newspaper The Stranger, reviewed the show for the paper’s music blog. He loved Daughters’ set, but felt that the line-up wasn’t an ideal scenario for the bands involved. “I don’t envy any band that has to play after Daughters—I’ve seen them shame several headliners,” Kirby wrote. “Following up their explosive set with moody, atmospheric instrumental rock seems like a miscalculation, even if that’s what the majority of the people are there to see. There was no evidence from the crowd though that any of them felt this way—they loved every second of Russian Circle’s set. The transition was harder for me; I just got my ADD on and now I need to get my patience on? Whose bright idea was this?”

Maybe the bill wasn’t right for Daughters. Maybe Russian Circles drew too many folks that wanted to get lost in the cinematic compositions we were trying to craft, not rattled out of their stupor by Daughters’ abrasive sounds and unruly antics. But it wasn’t always Daughters that got the short end of the stick. I remember playing a dance studio in Morgan Hill, California and watching the crowd of underage kids tear each other apart during Daughters’ set, and then quickly exit the moment they were done playing, leaving us to play to an empty room. There were massive wildfires in the area at the time, and the whole skyline had an ominous orange and brown haze to it. I remember trying to assuage the demoralizing feeling of watching people leave as we set up by assuming that they all wanted to get home to make sure their homes weren’t burning down. But even then, that only meant that catching a Daughters show was worth losing all your possessions in a fire, and our set wasn’t worth the same risk.

In Chico, we played Café Coda, a small restaurant catering to CSU students. The show was packed, and a few latecomers found that they had to watch the show through the giant plate-glass windows that spanned the entire façade of the café. There was something magical in the horrified faces of the people on the sidewalk watching Lex spit onto the glass and smear his scrotum on the window for their entertainment. The latecomers were disgusted, but the crowd inside the club loved every minute of it.

The next night the tour came through Slim’s in San Francisco. I remember very little of the evening, but apparently the club was so offended by Daughters’ set and by the state of their dressing room at the end of the night that they were no longer welcome back. This was representative of Daughters’ various violations of decency and good taste: barring extreme cases as with Pelican in Montreal, the band was usually able to contain their mess so that it didn’t impact the other acts on the tour. At the Glasshouse in Pomona a few days later, the band brought some of their visiting friends from Providence into the communal backstage. The New England guests proceeded to get hammered and began throwing bottles against the walls of the green room. One stern reprimand from their manager Cathy Pellow, who was also hanging out backstage, was enough for Daughters to order their friends to settle down.

But eventually the mess couldn’t be contained. Two days later we were at the Casbah in San Diego. It was their first time back in the city since the whole debacle with The Locust. “Some tours we—though I guess mainly Lex and I—spent in a drunken fog. For years it was straight whiskey, cases of beer, and drugs,” Nick says. “It was fun and wild, so I look at it with a certain fondness, but there were other tours where I felt that I needed to exercise some personal control over myself and use the time spent in the van or before the show to focus on bettering myself somehow.” But the Casbah has no backstage room, which makes self-improvement, whether it’s practicing guitar scales, reading, doing yoga, or whatever else makes you feel like you’re helping cultivate a healthy body and mind, damn near impossible, unless you want to be the weirdo doing yoga back by the merch or the jackass who’s running through guitar exercises at the bar. And considering that members of The Locust were rumored to be coming to the show, Nick felt anxious and unable to focus. So he ponied up at the bar, ordered a whisky, and talked to the bartender. One whisky led to another, and eventually someone tapped on Nick’s shoulder to tell him it was time to play.

“I was in a fog, operating on muscle memory. Some nights that would work without a hitch, so I didn’t think much of it. We set up, everyone can tell I’m fucked. I think I was even making our set time cut short by showing up too late and taking too much time to get it together.” A couple songs into their set, Nick’s rig began to act up and cut out. So he unplugged from the pedalboard and plugged directly into the amp. That worked at first, but eventually his signal began to cut out again. “Without a second thought I walked back to my amp, banged the top of it with my fist, picked up my glass of whisky, chugged it, and slammed the glass down on the amp as hard as I could. It didn’t hurt, but there was a sobering ‘mush’ feeling that snapped me into reality quickly enough to see the exposed muscle of my fingers before there was time for the blood to start gushing out. Even though there wasn’t sound coming out of my amp, I kept playing until I noticed the small pool of blood on my setlist. As Jon later told me, I turned towards him, whipped my hand up in the air, and yelled ‘I have to go to the hospital.’ Jon says that a trail of blood spattered across his snare drum and up his face.

“Without waiting for a reply, I threw off my guitar, kicked over my amp, and stormed through the crowd. In kicking my amp, I mistakenly kicked the club’s mic stand and broke it in half, and not at a point where two parts connect. I broke it in the middle of the main bar. The sound guy was so impressed he didn’t charge us for it. Meanwhile, I’m outside the club panicking because I’m way too drunk to handle the situation and decide that I need to sober up, so I just start thrusting my bloody hands into my mouth to make myself throw up. The next immediate thing I remember is realizing that I’m surrounded by a crowd of people waiting to get in, some of which were members of The Locust who seemed to think the whole thing was funny.”

The show was running late at this point and everyone was drunk. I was trying to sweep up the broken glass, mop up the blood, and cobble together Nick’s stuff while the rest of Daughters tended to their own gear. No one in his band seemed too concerned about his injury. In fact, no one would drive him to the hospital, so Evan from Young Widows took him.

Despite the on-stage drama, the crowd didn’t seem particularly ruffled by the incident, probably because they were too distracted by the ruckus that unfolded in the audience prior to Nick’s bloodletting. Apparently, some guy in the crowd decided to urinate on an unsuspecting patron during the set. Not surprisingly, this led to a proper fight, which migrated to the back patio of the club. The altercation mostly involved two dudes shoving each other, and at one point someone got pushed into Daughters’ merch table, which resulted in a pitcher of beer spilling into a box of their records, ruining all the covers in the process.

I don’t remember our set, but I do remember getting off stage and finding all of the Daughters members (with the exception of an elusive Jeff Worms) completely hammered. The mood was surprisingly light, but when it came time to leave, no one in the band seemed sober enough to drive, and no one seemed particularly motivated to go by the hospital to pick up Nick. In the end, all three bands caravanned to the hospital, partially because the remaining members of Widows needed a ride to their van, which Evan had taken to the hospital, and partially because Daughters were sobering up and needed someone else from the touring party to drive them to pick up Nick.

We got to the hospital, ordered Daughters to tend to their injured bandmate, and decided to stay at a hotel half an hour outside of the city in the mountain town of Alpine. We gave Daughters the hotel name so that they could stay in the same spot as us. Shortly after arriving at our destination, we got a phone call from Jon. Apparently, the band decided to sober up and simmer down over burritos from a Mexican restaurant by the hospital. In a rare act of indulgence, the meal was paid for out of the band fund. Lex brought in the cash pouch, paid for everyone’s meal, and got a start on their drive. They were on the outskirts of town when they realized the cash pouch had not made it back into the van. Panicked phone calls to the Mexican restaurant failed to turn up the missing cash. Someone, either an employee or a customer, had walked off with all of Daughters’ money.

The more pessimistic estimate on the loss claims that there was nearly $10,000 in the pouch. But supposedly the band had paid off the majority of their tour debts to Cathy the night before in LA, so the less painful estimates within the camp put the amount of money lost around $1,500. The money was never recovered, so it’s hard to say for sure.

“That was the day I was coined ‘hot mess’ by Russian Circles,” Nick says. “It made me sad to hear that, because that’s not how I view myself. But in my absurd love of chaos, I felt kind of proud of the nickname too. Total duality—which is a pretty accurate description of the band as a whole, both with the psychology of the individual members, the construction of our music, and the choices we made as a group.”

While there was always tension within the Daughters camp, the biggest division existed between Nick and Lex, so it’s somewhat ironic that they were the two members of the band to screw up the night. Any animosity that could’ve been directed at Nick for derailing the performance was overshadowed by Lex’s loss of the cash.

It’s hard to illustrate the animosity between band members because it never manifested in a major altercation, even in San Diego. “They didn’t actually fight,” says Brian Mullen, “but there was always tension. There was never a blow-up, and you need that blow-up. You need that moment where you all scream at each other about something stupid and walk away. Then it’s out there and whoever was being the idiot takes a moment to evaluate, and then everyone moves forward. They never did that.”

Animosity was expressed in small gestures. Lex recalls a show in Texas where he had climbed into the rafters of the club during their set and stripped naked. He dropped his shoes and clothes onto the stage, but apparently he dropped them too close to Nick, because Nick kicked the clothing away from him. In terms of rock disputes, kicking a bandmember’s clothes is pretty benign business. But when these small, disgruntled gestures become standard protocol, it creates a very toxic environment. “There was always a power struggle,” Jon says. “There were always personalities that you had to coddle or manipulate to get to certain place. Meanwhile, they’re manipulating you the whole time for their own personal gain. It was just a power struggle for no reason.”

Nick has a slightly different take on the nature of the tension. “There was a prominent sense of humor or satire about the band. We all have really dry and terrible senses of humor. Most of us were kind of mean with it, and at the same time we were very childish. Looking back, it’s something we bonded over. But as we toured on Hell Songsthat sense of humor wasn’t at the forefront of what we did. It wasn’t conscious at all—we never did anything consciously because we had such poor communication skills.

“There was so much apathy within the group, and again, dualistically, we cared so much about everything that it made us sick. We hated the music. We hated being in a band at all. Sometimes we hated our audience. Sometimes we hated each other."

#daughters #everyrecordiown

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