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paulinedorchester · 2 years

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The Convert, by Stefan Hertmans; translated by David McKay. New York: Pantheon Books, 2020. Originally published in 2016 (in Dutch, as De bekeerlinge), by De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam.

Perhaps I should begin by explaining that I have a fully-fledged love/hate relationship with the Middle Ages. Like many Americans of around my age (I am 60), I received a fair amount of my lower- and middle-school education from the same people who brought us the Society for Creative Anachronism and Medieval Times (not to mention Renaissance Fayres across the country): the generation born during World War II and their immediate successors, the leading-edge baby boomers. This cohort idealized the entire Medieval period as a happy alternative to the impersonality and materialism (as they saw it) of post-war life.

And why not? What we were fed was very attractive indeed: the (highly Bowdlerized) stories we read were exciting; the clothing was beautiful and looked comfortable (although the enveloping headgear that some women wore now looks a lot like erasure); and the art and music — the revival of interest in the latter was just past its earliest, experimental stage — were glorious. My mother was a generation older, but she got involved: in the early 1970s she was teaching lower-school art, and for several years each of her 4th-grade students created an illuminated letter.

For me, though, part of enthusiasm for a historical period — history fandom, if you like — involves being able to envision oneself in that period. When I began seriously reading Jewish history, I also began having serious trouble inserting myself into the Middle Ages. Medieval Jewish history is not for the faint of heart, or the weak of stomach.

Still, every so often I came across something encouraging: I discovered the existence of Hebrew illuminated manuscripts, for example. (How that happened is a good story that I really must post here sometime.) Stefan Hertmans’ novel The Convert is rooted in another such phenomenon: the early Middle Ages saw a steady trickle of conversions to Judaism among educated, mostly upper-crust Christians in Western Europe, particularly France and Italy. Their stories do not, as a rule, have happy endings. They were relentlessly hunted down, either by the Church or by knights acting on behalf of their families. If not put to death on the spot, they were tried for heresy and burned at the stake; any children they might have had were abducted, and in some instances sold into slavery in North Africa. With that in mind, I offer the following trigger warnings for this novel: murder, rape, arson, kidnapping, and all manner of mayhem, fueled largely by hatred of Judaism and Jews; disease both physical and mental; many deaths, some of them quite gruesome; detailed description of a difficult childbirth; suicidal ideations. (Also, there are some spoilers ahead.)

The Convert is true literary catnip for someone like me: a work of imaginative fiction harnessed to rigorous — obsessive, even — historical research. It imagines the life of an actual person, a woman who is referred to in at least one, and possibly a second, document discovered in the Cairo Genizah and now in the Taylor-Schechter Genizah Research Unit at Cambridge University Library. The first document, T-S 16.100, is a large fragment from a letter of introduction, signed by Joshua ben-Obadiah, requesting assistance for an unnamed convert “from a distant land” whose husband, Rabbi David Todros, of Narbonne, in Languedoc, has been murdered during an anti-Jewish riot and whose two older children, Jacob and Justa, have been abducted. The second, T-S 12.532, which is not only fragmentary but in two separate pieces, is in identical handwriting and uses some similar turns of phrase; it describes a woman’s further hair-raising misadventures. She is again unnamed (and what is up with that?), but this letter, too, refers to her daughter Justa. That's a highly unusual name in this context and could well indicate that both letters are about the same woman. Hertmans takes off from there.

He posits that the first letter was written in 1096 C.E. (the year of the start of the First Crusade, which, like its successors, would prove calamitous for Jews caught anywhere in its path), and that the “distant land” from which our heroine hails is Normandy — specifically Rouen, which was indeed the home of a thriving Jewish community during the 10th and 11th centuries, as was Narbonne. He gives her a birth year of 1070, names her Vigdis Adelaïs Gudbrandr, and makes her a wealthy descendant of the Norsemen who had conquered northern France a century and a half earlier. Meanwhile, David Todros is sent to Rouen in the late 1080s to study at the city’s renowned (and historical) yeshiva.

The two of them meet by chance in the Rue aux Juifs. A spark is lit. Vigdis, who struggles with her parents’ narrow expectations for her and has warned them that she’ll join a convent rather than be married off against her will, contrives to tell David that she wants to study Hebrew. (She is fully literate and has been taught enough Latin that she can be more than a passive participant in worship, so this is actually not all that implausible.) David is taken aback, but agrees to teach her.

Things move forward from there, and in 1090 they run off together, making a harrowing journey clear across France, mostly on foot. By the time they arrive in Narbonne Vigdis is pregnant. (Possibly for that reason, her conversion process is head-spinningly fast by modern standards.) She takes the name Sarah, but David has given her a nickname that sticks: Hamoutal, “warmth of the dew.” All is well for a few months; then her father’s knights show up in Narbonne, searching for her, and the couple take flight once again. Hertmans moves back and forth between Hamoutal’s imagined story and his own efforts at researching what her life might have been.

That brings me to my own reasons for feeling compelled to read this book just now.

Most of the foundational research on both Jewish history in Normandy and the conversion phenomenon was done over the course of 50 years by a long-time neighbor of mine. (This story is going to take a painful turn, so I’m going to be very vague here: no names will be named, and no dates specified.) His family and mine moved to the neighborhood at about the same time; for more than a decade we lived five minutes’ walk from each other. He and my father used to play tennis together, and I have an amusing memory of his wife and my mother trying to be polite while getting on one another’s nerves during a Jewish United Fund ladies’ luncheon (although what my mother and I were doing at such a hopelessly bourgeois event is a mystery). He is mentioned by name several times in The Convert, as is his youngest son, who seems to have been acting as his father’s amanuensis during the early 2010s.

I knew that son in school — only slightly, because he was three years ahead of me and we went to different synagogues, so we didn’t cross paths that often, but his reputation preceded him. That reputation was as someone who went out of his way to be helpful to others, and also that of a prodigy: he had been skipped ahead a year at some point; he won chess tournaments with ease and regularity; he was already fluent in French and Hebrew and proficient in Latin. (I had all of this on pretty good authority: the older brother of my closest friend of those years was another competitive chess player.)

He seems not to have lived up to his early promise. He earned both a law degree and a Ph.D. in comparative literature (the latter from a very prestigious institution), but apparently has done little with either.

And how do I know that?

My neighbor was prominent enough that, when the time came, a fair number of newspapers and general-interest magazines carried his obituary. Many of them used words like “contrarian” and “controversialist” to describe him. It's true hat one through-line in his career was that his research, which went well beyond the areas that I’ve mentioned above, did often lead him to conclusions that were quite different from those of other scholars working in the same or adjacent fields. He also managed to irritate the governments of, or influential non-governmental organizations in, several countries in which the authorities have a history of seeking to control access to historical artifacts, intellectual discourse, etc. All of this seems to have led to him and his views being excluded from that discourse at times.

Well, one day I opened my morning newspaper and learned that his son, my old schoolmate, had been arrested on more than two dozen counts of criminal impersonation, identity theft, forgery, and aggravated harassment stemming from a clandestine campaign to bolster his father’s reputation while undermining several of his leading critics.

He was convicted on most of the charges, including two felony counts, and was initially sentenced to six months’ imprisonment and five years’ probation. He did spend a day and a half in prison before his family was able to post bail, an experience about which he later wrote for a now-defunct literary magazine. Many of the convictions, including both of the felonies, were reversed on appeal, and one of the laws under which he was charged was repealed as a direct result of his case. His probation was reduced to time served. Just last year, he regained his law license. His father, who turned out to have been aware of the scheme but was never charged with a crime, was his son's staunchest defender until encroaching illness robbed him of his ability to be so.

As much as a matter of principle as for any other reason, I don’t read, let alone write, real-people fic of any kind. But it’s awfully tempting to try to construct a less sad alternative version of these events — perhaps one in which my it was schoolmate’s older siblings (both of whom, I’ve discovered, have displayed some degree of underachievement and failure-to-launch syndrome) who did this, deliberately excluding my brilliant schoolmate from their plotting.

I hadn’t thought about any of this in a long time until a few weeks ago, and I’m completely at a loss to explain what brought it back to me and sent me down this rabbit-hole. But it made me remember that I had been meaning to read The Convert after seeing a review of it early in 2020, just before lockdown began. So here we are.

Well, then, is The Convert any good? It’s certainly a fine piece of storytelling and compulsively readable, but I can recommend it only with certain reservations, all of which, I’m afraid, stem from the fact that — how shall I put this? — Hertmans is no Heidi Thomas. To begin with, the book is sprinkled with inaccuracies about Jewish practice and worldview:

Synagogues don’t have altars, nor do we set up altars for weddings (which traditionally take place out-of-doors).

It is not and never has been the case that marriage in Judaism is “for the eternity of their lives.” That’s a Christian thing.

It wasn’t only “according to the Jewish traditions of the time” (my emphasis) that a sexual encounter rendered a couple halakhically married: that’s always been true. On paper, at least, it’s still true today.

Hertmans, or his translator, also repeatedly uses pogrom, a Russian word that first appeared in print in the 1880s, to refer to events taking place in 11th-century France. (He’s not the only writer to have committed that anachronism, to be sure.)

A more serious problem is that Hertmans seems unable or unwilling to accept the idea that conversion to Judaism is, for lack of a better way of putting it, real. (Without wishing to open a can of worms, one could compare this to a refusal to accept that other types of self-identification are real.) I’ve encountered this attitude among two groups of people: secular Jews like my parents, whose only basis for Jewish self-identification was genetic (although, not atypically, this was of overwhelming importance to them — may their memory be for a blessing, but this used to drive me Up. The. Wall.); and (some, by no means all) people harboring a Christian worldview, whether they call it by that name or not. Neither cohort is willing to accept that the idea that Judaism is a religion: sure, you can convert to Christianity; you can convert to Islam; you can convert to Hinduism; but Judaism either comes with the mother’s milk or is really just a set of folkways — and you can’t convert to that, not really.

Hertmans — a Flemish-speaking Belgian, and thus likely raised as a Roman Catholic, for whatever that’s worth — starts out showing great respect for Vigdis’ intellectual process, and for Judaism:

As the weeks go by, her discussions with the young Jewish intellectual teach her that there is a religious alternative to the violence and turmoil of the Christian world. This tremendous shift in perspective throws her off balance and fascinates her. She pictures a different world, a different chronology — one that does not begin with death by torture and crucifixion. A historical sense not bewitched by apocalyptic delusions and millennial fears, by the return of the dreaded Beast, by hell and Devil and torment and Fall, but by a far more ancient calendar that begins with a creative act, the beginning of life itself: the instant when Yahweh created the world. The thought comforts her; no longer is history broken by any fault line. At the same time, she lies awake at night in her narrow alcove, agonizing over the words of the Torah, comparing them to what she has learned from the priests. ... She says nothing to her governess about her growing doubt and confusion, and she certainly never speaks of it to her parents.

Meanwhile, the aforementioned T-S 16.100 offers no indication whatsoever that "Vigdis" and David arrived in Narbonne together. One could even draw the opposite conclusion:

She went forth from the house of her father, from great wealth and a distant land, and came on behalf of the Lord ... She left her brothers and the great ones of her family, and was living in Narbonne; and Rabbi David, the deceased person just mentioned, married her.

By throwing illicit romance and elopement into the mix, Hertmans undermines the first of these passages and ignores the historical facts presented in the second. And he makes it clear that our heroine continues to struggle with identity issues for the rest of her life. Under any degree of stress, she begins murmuring the Catholic prayers of her youth; she worries constantly that she has in fact damned herself. She dies not at the hands of the Church but as a victim of her own shattered mind, broken by too much loss. Hertmans seems to be implying that she has brought her fate, her madness, onto herself by trying to do something that he sees as impossible: become Jewish.

We need a novel that shows a great deal more confidence in this process. (Admittedly, I have an axe to grind here.)

Since I’m posting this here on Tumblr (and I know who my followers are), I should add that The Convert would make a terrible feature film and an even worse mini-series. Too much interiority, not enough dialogue. But it is worth reading, if you keep its issues in mind.

#off topic #book review #personal history #a long post for sunday #very long in fact #i've used a bunch of ten-dollar words here #that's just how i am #you can look them up

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secretlanguageicanspeak · 4 years

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I HAVE A FOLKLORE THEORY

what if the actual fantasy element of folklore is specifically the events that occur in at the end of betty?? as in, james was with someone else that summer despite loving betty, but instead of going back to betty and showing up to her party, james chose the more mature option of not going back to betty because they both knew how it would end, they’ve seen this movie before... cardigan/betty/august are fictional because they exist in an imagined reality, different from the other songs on the album.

disclaimer: (i believe james represents taylor and her role in this story, but it is up to speculation so i’ll just stick with speaking about james as the character in folklore,, james’s gender doesn’t really matter to me since it is a character, but i’ll use he/him pronouns for the sake of this post)

the 1 (betty’s pov):

“I guess you never know, never know”

...[what would have happened if you came back]

“And if you wanted me, you really should've showed”

see betty: “So I showed up at your party...” -- james didn’t end up showing, this did not happen

“And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow”

see cardigan: “You drew stars around my scars / But now I'm bleedin'” and “I knew you / Tried to change the ending / Peter losing Wendy” -- in the alternate reality, betty was the only one bleeding, so she grew because of it, and that’s why she is Wendy. james never bled, so james was Peter who never grew up.

see peace: “Our coming-of-age has come and gone” -- this line suggests that they BOTH in fact grew up (OUR coming-of-age), so neither of them could be Peter. -- “Suddenly this summer, it's clear / I never had the courage of my convictions / As long as danger is near” -- the summer is the same season as the love triangle setting, another sign it’s the same people. these lines depict james essentially backing down from something he really wanted to do out of fear. this seems to be a reference the decision NOT to go to betty’s party last minute, even after planning for months.

“And it's alright now”

this is simply acceptance of the situation, they have separated for good.

betty (lead up to the party):

...About why you switched your homeroom... Betty, one time I was riding on my skateboard... You heard the rumors from Inez... The worst thing that I ever did / Was what I did to you

pay attention here to the tense usage in verse 1 and the pre-chorus. clearly all the statements in these stanzas are in the past and happen during the summer james was with someone else or between then and now.

But if I just showed up at your party Would you have me? Would you want me? Would you tell me to go fuck myself Or lead me to the garden? In the garden, would you trust me If I told you it was just a summer thing? I'm only seventeen, I don't know anything But I know I miss you

in looking at the lyrics of the chorus, it is clear here that we’re still in the ‘lead up’ phase. james is DAYDREAMING the possibilities of what could happen *IF* he just showed up at betty’s party.

Betty, I know where it all went wrong Your favorite song was playing From the far side of the gym I was nowhere to be found I hate the crowds, you know that Plus, I saw you dance with him

in verse 2, james is recounting another event which he claims to have led to him doing “the worst thing that [james] ever did,” betraying betty. it is clearly serving as a background story that occurred a long time ago. the “dance” with “him” is very likely the same story as in the first lines of exile, “I can see you standing, honey / With his arms around your body”

I was walking home on broken cobblestones Just thinking of you when she pulled up like A figment of my worst intentions She said "James, get in, let's drive" Those days turned into nights Slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long

the bridge is simply a continuation of the story begun in verse 2. james left the dance after seeing betty with “him.” on his way home, he runs into “her” who i’ll call august, and then their summer affair begins. again, this is long in the past now.

betty (verse 3):

Betty, I'm here on your doorstep

this line appears to be referencing the same moment as this is me trying: “And maybe I don't quite know what to say / But I'm here in your doorway” however, in this is me trying, which is the main/real plot line, james just says, “I just wanted you to know that this is me trying.” with other clues from that song, this statement means james is trying his best to move on and mature in life, catch up with his classmates after the huge setback of losing betty.

i believe james is trying, although struggling, to accept the end of this relationship forever because of his actions. the line “I didn't know if you'd care if I came back / I have a lot of regrets about that” suggests the ‘regrets’ are because james chose to not come back because he assumed, possibly wrongfully, that she didn’t want him to. (i discuss the bridge of this is me trying after finishing verse 3 interpretation)

And I planned it out for weeks now But it's finally sinkin' in Betty, right now is the last time I can dream about what happens when You see my face again

these lines, in my opinion, best showcased the idea in peace’s first verse as discussed earlier: “Suddenly this summer, it's clear / I never had the courage of my convictions / As long as danger is near.” the fact this feeling of anticipation and nervousness ahead of the reunion with betty required an entire verse to communicate shows exactly how intense the feelings are.

The feelings may be internal or external pressures (societal standards and injustices, being in the public eye, and more) which create anxiety in a person. in the rest of the first verse of peace, she reveals the danger is “just around the corner, darlin' / 'Cause it lives in me,” supporting the idea that these fears and anxieties are a part of taylor’s/james’s psyche regardless of the cause of them. the second verse of this is me trying begins with “They told me all of my cages were mental / So I got wasted like all my potential,” which is also consistent with the idea that anxieties are the root of big mistakes.

this is me trying (bridge):

And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound

aversion to parties/crowds is similar to verse 2 in betty, another indication it is the same people/events. feeling like an open wound is a callback to the 1, “And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow” and betty saying she’s “bleeding” in cardigan, “You drew stars around my scars / But now I'm bleedin'.”

this connection is very important because it proved, as i noted from peace, that BOTH betty and james ended up bleeding, contrary to the accounts in cardigan. BOTH of them were forced by circumstances to accept their permanent separation. therefore, the events in betty didn’t go as they seemed.

It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town

james is missing betty intensely, just like in betty. the movie comparison brings in several songs to the same general story (in tracklist order):

the 1: “I hit the Sunday matinée / You know the greatest films of all time were never made” -- during a daytime film viewing, betty remarks that no films she could watch would ever be the GREATEST. as a parallel to a later lyric, “We never painted by the numbers, baby / But we were making it count / You know the greatest loves of all time are over now,” we know betty thinks of this love story as the greatest of all time, even though it’s over.

cardigan: “I knew you / Tried to change the ending / Peter losing Wendy” i already discussed these lines above, but again the idea that james was unsuccessful in the attempt get back together with betty. james had to become Wendy too, and grow up and move on.

exile: “I think I've seen this film before / And I didn't like the ending” the constant comparison of this relationship to tragic films feeds the idea that the relationship was doomed from the start. in cardigan, james tries to change the ending in the hope that love will prevail over all. but in the more grounded reality of folklore such as exile, the pair are hyperaware of how that ending will inevitably happen too them too. “I think I've seen this film before / So I'm leaving out the side door,” so it was time to end it.

hoax: “You knew the hero died so what's the movie for?” here, it is almost a regret about beginning the relationship at all. it was obvious what the ending would be, they’ve seen this film before...but that doesn’t stop them from pursuing it anyways and trying to change the ending for themselves. with a different ending, it would be the greatest film of all time. this is why “Don't want no other shade of blue but you / No other sadness in the world would do” -- this love, although it is a tragedy, is the greatest. and nothing else is good enough.

betty (final):

The only thing I wanna do Is make it up to you So I showed up at your party Yeah, I showed up at your party

the final pre-chorus reads like the beginning of a Disney movie or a folk tale even, almost as a “Once upon a time, there was a boy named James with one goal and it was to make up for his mistakes....” there should be an ellipsis (“...”) after the second line, creating a divide as the music begins to change and the story moves from reality to fantasy. the key change in the music confirms the transition to an imagined world where fears and anxieties and pressures didn’t get in the way of the greatest love of all time.

Yeah, I showed up at your party Will you have me? Will you love me? Will you kiss me on the porch In front of all your stupid friends? If you kiss me, will it be just like I dreamed it? Will it patch your broken wings? I'm only seventeen, I don't know anything But I know I miss you

typically, if a story is leading up to a character finally making a move, there is a payoff for the audience, revealing what ended up happening. in this case, it is still questions. it is still james brainstorming possibilities, still using the word “if.” the chorus concludes with the same “i know i miss you,” which doesn’t suggest any real progress from the beginning because there has to be distance still if james is still missing betty. however, the “would”s changed to “will”s, leading the listener to think james actually did manage to show up, maybe the fantasy is even fooling james himself.

Standing in your cardigan Kissin' in my car again

these lines in the outro of betty have a double meaning: james is either in a haze from happiness because of the reunion with betty or is dreaming about these things happening.

in cardigan, she sings: “To kiss in cars and downtown bars / Was all we needed” THESE LINES ALSO HAVE A DOUBLE MEANING: “all we needed” can both signal relief from the tension, as in, kissing again solved all their problems from before, OR it means “that was all we needed to fix us,” as in, we couldn’t or didn’t kiss in these places, so we’re exactly where we started: a romantic tragedy. this means the downtown bar is likely the party or a symbolic equivalent.

The first meaning of both of those lines was the one that occurred within the fictional/fantasy world. The second meaning, is the reality of what happened because JAMES ENDED UP NOT SHOWING UP TO THE PARTY.

Stopped at a streetlight You know I miss you

the “streetlight” seems to be significant imagery here. in cardigan, “But I knew you / Dancin' in your Levi's / Drunk* under a streetlight” -- this might be a spot of a fond memory that is triggered for james while he is driving by it, reminiscing on that time.

also not on folklore, but in cornelia street, “We were in the backseat / Drunk* on something stronger than the drinks in the bar / The streetlights pointed in an arrowhead / Leading us home.” this cornelia street line seems to be describing a very similar story as cardigan. if so, this supports the idea that james was driving by this streetlight, the location of a very happy memory, and it makes him remember how much he misses her.

the repetition of “i miss you” here makes it clear james never was successful in getting back this love with betty. and betty knows he misses her: “I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired”

I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired And you'd be standin' in my front porch light And I knew you'd come back to me You'd come back to me And you'd come back to me And you'd come back

the fade out in this last chorus also seems to have implies ellipses after each “you’d come back” line because just like the final pre-chorus of betty, there is a hopeful fantasy here. almost like “you’d come back ... you’d come back to me... right?” but as we know from this is me trying, the only communication was that james is trying his best to move on and to be more mature. betty knows it is for the best.

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, YOU’RE A TROOPER OMG THIS WAS MUCH LONGER THAN ANTICIPATED I’M SO SORRY. I HOPE YOU ENJOYED. IF YOU HAVE ANY COMMENTS, PLEASE SHARE THEM ILYYY. @taylorswift @taylornation

#taylor swift #taylorswift #folklore #folklore theories #folklore theory #taylor nation #taylornation #taylurking #folklore analysis #betty #betty analysis

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thekillerssluts · 4 years

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Nostalgic For A Different Future: Arcade Fire's Will Butler On How His New Solo Album Finds Healing In Community

When Arcade Fire released their very first single, it came with a B-side that hit very close to home to brothers Win and Will Butler: a recording of a song called "My Buddy," credited to their grandfather, Alvino Rey. In fact, several generations of musicians line their family tree. While those historic echoes provide joy and solace for younger brother Will, the world tipping into pandemic and protests over racial injustice reinforced life’s darker cycles. On Butler’s second solo album, Generations (due Sept. 25 via Merge), he explores the ways in which we come together in community both because of and in spite of those ripples.

The video for early single "Surrender" represents that duality perfectly. The clip opens with studio footage of Butler’s band recording the jangly anthem, complete with call-and-response vocals and gospel falsetto. But much like 2020, things devolve quickly, with closed captioning-style subtitles mourning the deaths of Black men and women killed by police, calling for sweeping political change, and insisting on prison reform. Though written long ago, the album holds a special ability to tap into something boundless and timeless while simultaneously feeling entrenched in the tragic pain of the present.

Butler spoke with GRAMMY.com about the album’s similarities to Fyodor Dostoevsky, the ways in which songs take on new meaning over time, how Generations fits in with an upcoming Arcade Fire album and the healing power of community.

Did you have any hesitation about releasing the album in the midst of the pandemic?

I'm sad to not tour it. If I could wait four weeks and then tour the record... but that's not going to happen. It's actually kind of a good time to put out music. It feels morally good! People want music, so let's put out music. I've experienced that, where people put things out and it feels generous.

It truly does. You've compared this album to a novel and your debut before this to a collection of short stories. Is there a particular novelist that you feel would be in tune with your work? Do you take inspiration from fiction in that way?

It's not Dostoevsky. [Laughs.] But it is weirdly more inspired by Dostoevsky than it ought to be. It's the tumult of the 19th century, the next stage of the industrial revolution and the gearing up of socialism and anarchism. It feels related to the pre-revolutionary thing happening in Russia. [Laughs.] It's not a one-to-one comparison by any means, but it’s just the deeply human things happening in a context of the whirlwind.

Was there an experience that led you to the feeling that it was the right time to deliver such a politically driven album?

Partly, I went to grad school for public policy. I explicitly went as an artist wanting to know what's happening and why it's happening. I started the fall of 2016, which was a very bizarre time to be at a policy school. But I had a course with a professor named Leah Wright Rigueur, a young-ish professor, a Black woman, a historian. The course was essentially about race and riot in America. And since it was a policy school, the second-to-last week on the syllabus was talking about Hillary Clinton and the last week was talking about Donald Trump. It was a history class, but in an applied technical school, so it's like, "What are we doing with this history?"

We read the post-riot reports of Chicago in 1919 and the post-riot reports of the '60s, the Kerner Commission and after the Watts riots, and we read the DOJ reports after Ferguson and after Baltimore and Freddie Gray. And then Donald Trump got elected at the end of the semester. This course really trained my eyes at this moment of time, just being in that state of thinking about what's going on and why it's happening.

Right, and the album's title feels like it encapsulates not only the history that you were learning at the time but also your personal and familial ancestry.

Yes, very much so. My mom's a musician, and her parents were musicians. My grandmother grew up in a family band driving across the American West with her parents before there were even roads in the desert. Her dad got arrested a bunch of times for vagrancy or for not paying off loans. There's something very beautiful about being in the tradition of generations of musicians. That's a positive thing in this world. It's no coincidence that I'm a musician. There are, however, many more poisonous things that are also not coincidental that are rooted in both personal and political history. All of political history in America has been geared towards making each generation of my family's life better insofar as they're white men. It's been very good to my family, but that is as much of an undeniable generational heritage as music, which is this beautiful and faultless and glorious thing.

Do you see that musical tradition in your family as storytelling?

It's never been explicitly storytelling, though that is part of it. It's more about building community or building a society through entertainment. Entertainment is almost too light a word. My grandfather and grandmother did all these broadcasts during World War II, and some of it's jingoistic, some of it's incredibly moving, some of it's just dance music for people who don't want to think about the war for a minute. It's all these emotions, but still with this aim of trying to get us all in it together–which in a war context is fraught. But there's that element of always trying to make a family, make a community, learning how to bind us all together.

That reminds me of the call and response vocals you've got throughout the record. It has an especially gospel-y feeling on "Close My Eyes," which is such a clever way to paint a song about surrendering to something bigger than yourself, that communal feeling. What was the impetus for that narrative voice?

Part of it is just rooted in Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. [Laughs.] Years ago, someone mailed us the complete Motown singles on CD, just every single starting from day one. Even though there’s some garbage mixed in there, it just feels so human with those gang vocals and great singers that sometimes they just pulled off the street. You get the sense of humanity. Having backing vocals be so integral instead of just having my voice layered feels like having a community and feels very natural. It's hard for me to not just rely on that every third or fourth song. [Laughs.] It just feels like that's how it should be.

Those multi-part harmonies must be especially potent live in a room. Do you write in a way where you’re already picturing these songs live?

We played almost every one of these songs live before we recorded them. My solo band played "Surrender" live on the Policy tour for years. But even before we went into the studio last summer, I booked a weekend of shows. We did the Merge 30th Anniversary festival just to have us feel it live and have that communication. And then we went down to the basement to try to iron it out.

Speaking of "Surrender," that song took on an entire new life in the video. It starts out with videos of your band in the studio, but then quickly and powerfully gets replaced with messages mourning the deaths of George Floyd and Breanna Taylor and emphasizing the need for prison reform. You never know what life a song will have when you’re writing it.

That song is very nostalgic in a certain way. It’s looking towards the past, but not wishing to be in the past. It's wishing that we were in a different present because we had already chosen a different past. So when I was editing the video, I started it as a "making of" video. But the footage is from January of this year—five, six months old. There's this feeling of nostalgia, but also 2019 was not good enough to look back at. [Laughs.] 2019 was also horrible.

It's not like I want to go back to 2019. I want to play music with people. I want to be having fun with my friends. I want to be making a record. But I don't want it to be 2019. I'm nostalgic for a different future. And as I'm editing the video, there have been six weeks of protests of people trying to build something, and it just felt crazy to not acknowledge that. It was what people were focused on, at least the people around me.

Do you feel like you'll be infusing more overt social and political commentary into your music going ahead?

I think so. It's important that it's organic. It's part of the world I live in, part of my family and my friendships. Before the coronavirus hit, I was very much looking forward to touring and had vague plans to do town hall meetings and discussions. It felt like a rich time to do that around America, and around the world. I'm sad to not get to do that, but I think it will happen someday.

You produced the album yourself in your basement, so were you writing with the production choices already in mind or were you writing while in the studio?

I had the band come down and record for a week. And at the end of that first week, we had seven or eight songs that could be real. Some of them were clear. Some of them are simpler, like "Surrender." Others were trying to figure out where they would go. "I Don't Know What I Don’t Know" was more trial and error, trying something crazy. We'd turn everything off for two days and then come back to it and try something else. You try to be surprised by it.

I love revision. Well, I don't love it. I hate it. [Laughs.] I love the process of editing, of making a version of something and then finding something that's either better or worse. It's fun when you work with an editor that you trust, but when you're just doing it yourself, you drive yourself batty after some time. But I still love versioning it until it makes sense.

It feels like you're not too precious. You just want to service the song at the end of the day.

Yeah. I try to not be precious. I feel like the songs mostly came out with a fresh spirit. I didn't massage any of them too much. I'm very conversational in how I think of the world. Nothing is the final statement. You say something and then someone says something else and then you say something. And you have to finish what you're saying in order to hear what the other person says. So if that means putting it out into the world without rounding everything off, to me that feels right.

The record begins and ends on the same burning synth tone, like history ready to go around the loop again. What does that synth tone represent for you?

Not to get too mystical, but there's something about the bass that is so embodied. There's something about a really powerful bass that is fundamental, something that just gets to the core. I wanted that core to feel a little uneasy. It's not like the hit at the end of "A Day in the Life" where it’s this clear conclusion. It's a little bit gnarly. It's a little bit not in the right key for the song. It’s something disturbing at the very core of everything.

What has writing and producing this record taught you about yourself?

I found that while I still prize quickness and thoughtfulness and conversational life, this record took longer and took more effort than Policy. It was way less casual. It was not casual in a very good way. I realized this shouldn't be a casual undertaking—even though it can have lightness and humor and breezy elements. Even then, the whole undertaking can still be serious and grounded. It can even be quick without being casual. In the past, I've fallen into thinking, "Just do something first before you think about it too hard." But this was a reminder that you can do something more thoroughly.

Were you writing these songs while working on the next Arcade Fire album? Speaking about intention, how do you compartmentalize those two sides of your creativity?

Yeah, Arcade Fire is always very cyclical. We record for a year and a half, we tour for a year and a half, and then we're off for a year and a half. I was very conscious to do this in a moment when I wasn't distracted by something else. I wanted to focus on this.

I'm still figuring it all out. Right now I'm making a video for the song "Close My Eyes." I have children, two-year-old twins and an eight-year-old, so the spring was just complete family time—net positive, but total chaos. [Laughs.]

https://www.grammy.com/grammys/news/nostalgic-different-future-arcade-fires-will-butler-how-his-new-solo-album-finds

#Arcade Fire #will butler #interview #generations

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oneweekoneband · 3 years

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I’m slightly nauseous already with knowing I’m going to say this, but what does “self-awareness” even mean? In modern parlance, as a descriptive phrase, as a comment on art? I’m asking in earnest, like, I’ve been Googling lately, which for me is basically on par with doctoral study in terms of academic rigor. The self is king, anyway, tyrant, so where is the line of distinction between material that intentionally is nodding at some truth about the artist’s life and what’s just, like, all the rest of the regular navel-gazing bullshit. I mean, I’m all self, I am guilty here. I can’t get it out of my poems or even make it more quiet. This is the tenth time I’ve invoked “I” in the space of six sentences. Processing art has always necessitated a certain amount of grappling with the creator, but the busywork of it lately grows more and more tedious. Joy drains out of my body parsing marks left behind not just in stylistic tendencies and themes, but in literal, intentional tags like graffiti on a water tower. This feels an age old and moth-holed complaint, dull, and I am no historian, or really a serious thinker of any kind. I’ve now complained at some length about self-referential art, but didn’t I love how Martin Scorsese nodded to the famous Goodfellas Copacabana tracking shot with the opening frames of last year’s The Irishman? Didn’t I find that terribly fun and sort of sweet? So there’s distinctions. I’m only saying I don’t know with certainty what they even are. I’m unreliable, and someone smarter than me has likely already solved my quandary about why self-knowledge often transforms into overly precious self-reflexivity in such a way that the knowledge is diminished and obscured, leaving only cutesy Easter eggs behind. Postmodernism has birthed a moralizing culture where art exists to be termed either “self-aware Good” or “self-aware Bad”. Self-referentiality in media is so commonplace, so much the standard, that what was once credited as metatextual inventiveness often feels lazy now. In 1996, Scream was revitalizing a genre. Today, two thirds of all horror movies spend half their running time making sure that you know that they know they’re a horror movie, which is fine, I guess, except sometimes you just wanna watch someone get butchered with an axe in peace.

This is all to say that in 2020 Taylor Swift looked long and hard upon her image in the reflecting pool of her heart and has written yet another song about Gone Girl.

“mirrorball” is a very good piece of Gone Girl —feels insane to tell anyone reading a post on a blog what Gone Girl is but, you know, the extremely popular 2012 novel about a woman who pretends to have been murdered and frames her husband for it, and subsequently the 2014 film adaption where you kinda see Ben Affleck’s dick for a second—fanfiction. It would be a fine song, a good song, really, even if it weren’t that, if it were just something normal and not unhinged written by a chill person who behaves in a regular way, but we need to acknowledge the facts for what they are. When Taylor Swift watched Rosamund Pike toss her freshly self-bobbed hair out of her face and hiss, “You think you’d be happy with some nice Midwestern girl? No way, baby. I’m it!” her brain lit up like a Christmas tree, and she’s never been the same. If you Google “taylor swift gone girl” there waiting for you will be a medium sized lake’s worth of articles speculating about how Gone Girl influenced and is referenced in past Swift singles “Blank Space” and “Look What You Made Me Do”. This is not new behavior, and if anything it’s getting a bit troubling to think that it’s been this long since Taylor’s read another book. Still, while the prior offerings were a fair attempt at this particular feat of depravity, “mirrorball” has brought Taylor’s Amy Elliott Dunne deification to stunning new heights. And most importantly, Taylor has done a service to every person alive with more than six brain cells and a Internet connection by putting an end to the “Cool Girl” discourse once and for all. By the power invested in “mirrorball”, it is hereby decreed that the Cool Girl speech from Gone Girl is neither feminist or antifeminist, not ironic nor aspirational. No. It’s something much better than all that. It’s a threat. I ! Can ! Change ! Everything ! About ! Me ! To ! Fit ! In !

Gone Girl (2012) by Gillian Flynn

“mirrorball” (2020) by Taylor Swift

When the twinkly musical stylings of Jack Antonoff, a man I distinctly distrust, but for no one specific reason, whirl to life at the beginning of this song I feel instantly entranced, blurry-brained and pleasure-pickled like an infant beneath a light-up crib mobile or, I guess, myself in the old times, the outside times, three tequila sodas deep under the disco lights at The Short Stop. Under a mirrorball in my head. I know very little about music, as a craft, and I really don’t care to know more. I’m happy in a world of pure, dumb sensation. I’m not even sure what kind of instruments are making these jangly little sounds. I just like it. I am vibing. We may not ever be able to behave badly in a club again, but I can sway to my stupid Taylor Swift-and-the-brother-of-the-lady-who-makes-like-those-sweatshirts-with-little-sayings-or-like-vulvas-which-famous-white-women-wear-on-instagram-you-know-what-I-mean song, pressing up onto my tiptoes on the linoleum tile of our kitchen floor and can feel for a second or two something approaching bliss. “mirrorball” is a lush sound bath that I like a lot and then also it’s about being all things to all people, chameleoning at a second’s notice, doing Oscar worthy work on every Zoom call, performing the you who is good, performing the you who is funny, performing the you who draws a liter of your own blood and throws it around the kitchen then cleans it up badly all to get your husband sent to jail for sleeping with a college student... Too much talk about making and unmaking of the self is way too, like, 2012 Tumblr for me now, and I start hearing the word “praxis” ring threateningly in my head, but I’m not yet so evolved that I don’t feel a pull. Musings on the disorganized self—on how we are new all the time, and not just because of all the fresh skin coming up under the dead, personhood in the end so frighteningly flexible—are always going to compel me, I’m afraid, but that goes double for musings on the disorganized self which posit that Taylor Swift still thinks Amy Dunne made some points.

Because on “mirrorball” Taylor is for once not hamfistedly addressing some “hater”, in the quiet and the lack of embarrassing martyrdom it actually offers an interesting answer to the complaint that Taylor is insufficiently self-aware. This criticism emerges often in tandem with claiming to have discovered some crack in the chassis of Swift’s public self, revealing the sweetness to be insincere. My instinct is to dismiss this more or less out of hand as just a mutation of the school of thought that presumes all work by women must be autobiography. And, regardless, it is made altogether laughable by the fact that anyone actually paying attention has known since at least Speak Now, a delightful record populated by the most appalling, horrible characters imaginable, and all of them written by a twenty year old Taylor Swift, that this woman is a pure weirdo. To accuse Taylor Swift of lacking in self-awareness is a reductive misunderstanding, I think, of artifice. Being a fake bitch takes work. Which is to say, if we agree that her public self is a calculated performance—eliding the fact that all public selves are a performance to avoid getting too in the weeds yadda yadda— why, then, should it be presumed that performance is rooted in ignorance? Would it not make more sense that, in fact, someone able to contort themselves so ably into various shapes for public consumption would have a certain understanding of the basic materials they’re working with and concealing? Taylor Swift, in a decade and a half of fame, has presented herself from inside a number of distinct packages. The gangly teenager draped in long curls like climbing wisteria who wrote lyrics down her arms in glitter paint gave way to red lipstick, a Diet Coke campaign, and bad dancing at awards shows. There was the period where she was surrounded constantly by a gaggle of models, then suddenly wasn’t anymore, and that rough interlude with the bleached hair. The whole Polaroid thing. Last year she boldly revealed she’s a democrat. Now it’s the end of the world and she’s got frizzy bangs and flannels and muted little piano songs. Perhaps this endless shape-shifting contradicts or undermines, for some, the pose of tender authenticity which has remained static through each phase, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been doing it all on purpose the entire time. I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try...

In the Disney+ documentary—which, in order to watch, I had to grudgingly give the vile mouse seven dollars, because the login information that I’d begged off of my little sister didn’t work and I was too embarrassed to bring it up a second time—Taylor referred to “mirrorball” as the first time on the album where she explicitly addressed the pandemic, referring to the lyrics that start, “And they called off the circus, Burned the disco down,” and end with “I’m still on that tightrope, I’m still trying everything to get you laughing at me,” which actually did made me laugh, feeling sort of warmly foolish and a little fond, because it never would have occurred to me that she was trying to be literal there. I suppose we really do all contain multitudes. Hate that.

#taylor swift #folklore

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path-of-my-childhood · 4 years

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Billboard Woman of the Decade Taylor Swift: 'I Do Want My Music to Live On'

By: Jason Lipshutz for Billboard Magazine Date: December 14th issue

In the 2010s, she went from country superstar to pop titan and broke records with chart-topping albums and blockbuster tours. Now Swift is using her industry clout to fight for artists’ rights and foster the musical community she wished she had coming up.

One evening in late October, before she performed at a benefit concert at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, Taylor Swift’s dressing room became - as it often does - an impromptu summit of music’s biggest names. Swift was there to take part in the American Cancer Society’s annual We Can Survive concert alongside Billie Eilish, Lizzo, Camila Cabello and others, and a few of the artists on the lineup came by to visit.

Eilish, along with her mother and her brother/collaborator, Finneas O’Connell, popped in to say hello - the first time she and Swift had met. Later, Swift joined the exclusive club of people who have seen Marshmello without his signature helmet when the EDM star and his manager stopped by.

“Two dudes walked in - I didn’t know which one was him,” recalls Swift a few weeks later, sitting on a lounge chair in the backyard of a private Beverly Hills residence following a photo shoot. Her momentary confusion turned into a pang of envy. “It’s really smart! Because he’s got a life, and he can get a house that doesn’t have to have a paparazzi-proof entrance.” She stops to adjust her gray sweatshirt dress and lets out a clipped laugh.

Swift, who will celebrate her 30th birthday on Dec. 13, has been impossibly famous for nearly half of her lifetime. She was 16 when she released her self-titled debut album in 2006, and 20 when her second album, Fearless, won the Grammy Award for album of the year in 2010, making her the youngest artist to ever receive the honor. As the decade comes to a close, Swift is one of the most accomplished musical acts of all time: 37.3 million albums sold, according to Nielsen Music; 95 entries on the Billboard Hot 100 (including five No. 1s); 23 Billboard Music Awards; 12 Country Music Association Awards; 10 Grammys; and five world tours.

She also finishes the decade in a totally different realm of the music world from where she started. Swift’s crossover from country to pop - hinted at on 2012’s Red and fully embraced on 2014’s 1989 - reflected a mainstream era in which genres were blended with little abandon, where artists with roots in country, folk and trap music could join forces without anyone raising eyebrows. (See: Swift’s top 20 hit “End Game,” from 2017’s reputation, which featured Ed Sheeran and Future.)

Swift’s new album, Lover, released in August, is both a warm break from the darkness of reputation - which was created during a wave of negative press generated by Swift’s public clash with Kanye West and Kim Kardashian-West - as well as an amalgam of all her stylistic explorations through the years, from dreamy synth-pop to hushed country. “The skies were opening up in my life,” says Swift of the album, which garnered three Grammy nominations, including song of the year for the title track.

She recorded Lover after the Reputation Stadium Tour broke the record for the highest-grossing U.S. tour late last year. In 2020, Swift will embark on Lover Fest, a run of stadium dates that will feature a hand-picked lineup of artists (as yet unannounced) and allow Swift more time off from the road. “This is a year where I have to be there for my family - there’s a lot of question marks throughout the next year, so I wanted to make sure that I could go home,” says Swift, likely referencing her mother’s cancer diagnosis, which inspired the Lover heart-wrencher “Soon You’ll Get Better.”

Now, however, Swift finds herself in a different highly publicized dispute. This time it’s with Scott Borchetta, the head of her former label, Big Machine Records, and Scooter Braun, the manager-mogul whose Ithaca Holdings acquired Big Machine Label Group and its master recordings, which include Swift’s six pre-Lover albums, in June. Upon news of the sale, Swift wrote in a Tumblr post that it was her “worst case scenario,” accusing Braun of “bullying” her throughout her career due to his connections with West. She maintains today that she was never given the opportunity to buy her masters outright. (On Tumblr, she wrote that she was offered the chance to “earn” back the masters to one of her albums for each new album she turned in if she re-signed with Big Machine; Borchetta disputed this characterization, saying she had the opportunity to acquire her masters in exchange for re-signing with the label for a “length of time” - 10 more years, according to screenshots of legal documents posted on the Big Machine website.)

Swift has said that she intends to rerecord her first six albums next year, starting next November, when she says she’s contractually able to - in order to regain control of her recordings. But the back-and-forth appears to be nowhere near over: Last month, Swift alleged that Borchetta and Braun were blocking her from performing her past hits at the American Music Awards or using them in an upcoming Netflix documentary - claims Big Machine characterized as “false information” in a response that did not get into specifics. (Swift ultimately performed the medley she had planned.) In the weeks following this interview, Braun said he was open to “all possibilities” in finding a “resolution,” and Billboard sources say that includes negotiating a sale. Swift remains interested in buying her masters, though the price could be a sticking point, given her rerecording plans, the control she has over the licensing of her music for film and TV, and the market growth since Braun’s acquisition.

However it plays out, the battle over her masters is the latest in a series of moves that has turned Swift into something of an advocate for artists’ rights, and made her a cause that everyone from Halsey to Elizabeth Warren has rallied behind. From 2014 to 2017, Swift withheld her catalog from Spotify to protest the streaming company’s compensation rates, saying in a 2014 interview, “There should be an inherent value placed on art. I didn’t see that happening, perception-wise, when I put my music on Spotify.” In 2015, ahead of the launch of Apple Music, Swift wrote an open letter criticizing Apple for its plan to not pay royalties during the three-month free trial it was set to offer listeners; the company announced a new policy within 24 hours. Most recently, when she signed a new global deal with Universal Music Group in 2018, Swift (who is now on Republic Records) said one of the conditions of her contract was that UMG share proceeds from any sale of its Spotify equity with its roster of artists - and make them non-recoupable against those artists’ earnings.

During a wide-ranging conversation, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade expresses hope that she can help make the lives of creators a little easier in the years to come - and a belief that her behind-the-scenes strides will be as integral to her legacy as her biggest singles. “New artists and producers and writers need work, and they need to be likable and get booked in sessions, and they can’t make noise - but if I can, then I’m going to,” promises Swift. This is where being impossibly famous can be a very good thing. “I know that it seems like I’m very loud about this,” she says, “but it’s because someone has to be.”

While watching some of your performances this year - like SNL and NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert - I was struck by how focused you seemed, like there were no distractions getting in the way of what you were trying to say. That’s a really wonderful way of looking at this phase of my life and my music. I’ve spent a lot of time re-calibrating my life to make it feel manageable. Because there were some years there where I felt like I didn’t quite know what exactly to give people and what to hold back, what to share and what to protect. I think a lot of people go through that, especially in the last decade. I broke through pre-social media, and then there was this phase where social media felt fun and casual and quirky and safe. And then it got to the point where everyone has to evaluate their relationship with social media. So I decided that the best thing I have to offer people is my music. I’m not really here to influence their fashion or their social lives. That has bled through into the live part of what I do.

Meanwhile, you’ve found a way to interact with your fans in this very pure way - on your Tumblr page. Tumblr is the last place on the internet where I feel like I can still make a joke because it feels small, like a neighborhood rather than an entire continent. We can kid around - they literally drag me. It’s fun. That’s a real comfort zone for me. And just like anything else, I need breaks from it sometimes. But when I do participate in that space, it’s always in a very inside-joke, friend vibe. Sometimes, when I open Twitter, I get so overwhelmed that I just immediately close it. I haven’t had Twitter on my phone in a while because I don’t like to have too much news. Like, I follow politics, and that’s it. But I don’t like to follow who has broken up with who, or who wore an interesting pair of shoes. There’s only so much bandwidth my brain can really have.

You’ve spoken in recent interviews about the general expectations you’ve faced, using phrases like “They’ve wanted to see this” and “They hated me for this.” Who is “they”? Is it social media or disparaging think pieces or... It’s sort of an amalgamation of all of it. People who aren’t active fans of your music, who like one song but love to hear who has been canceled on Twitter. I’ve had several upheavals of somehow not being what I should be. And this happens to women in music way more than men. That’s why I get so many phone calls from new artists out of the blue - like, “Hey, I’m getting my first wave of bad press, I’m freaking out, can I talk to you?” And the answer is always yes! I’m talking about more than 20 people who have randomly reached out to me. I take it as a compliment because it means that they see what has happened over the course of my career, over and over again.

Did you have someone like that to reach out to? Not really, because my career has existed in lots of different neighborhoods of music. I had so many mentors in country music. Faith Hill was wonderful. She would reach out to me and invite me over and take me on tour, and I knew that I could talk to her. Crossing over to pop is a completely different world. Country music is a real community, and in pop I didn’t see that community as much. Now there is a bit of one between the girls in pop - we all have each other’s numbers and text each other - but when I first started out in pop it was very much you versus you versus you. We didn’t have a network, which is weird because we can help each other through these moments when you just feel completely isolated.

Do you feel like those barriers are actively being broken down now? God, I hope so. I also hope people can call it out, [like] if you see a Grammy prediction article, and it’s just two women’s faces next to each other and feels a bit gratuitous. No one’s going to start out being perfectly educated on the intricacies of gender politics. The key is that people are trying to learn, and that’s great. No one’s going to get it perfect, but, God, please try.

At this point, who is your sounding board, creatively and professionally From a creative standpoint, I’ve been writing alone a lot more. I’m good with being alone, with thinking alone. When I come up with a marketing idea for the Lover tour, the album launch, the merch, I’ll go right to my management company that I’ve put together. I think a team is the best way to be managed. Just from my experience, I don’t think that this overarching, one-person-handles-my-career thing was ever going to work for me. Because that person ends up kind of being me who comes up with most of the ideas, and then I have an amazing team that facilitates those ideas. The behind-the-scenes work is different for every phase of my career that I’m in. Putting together the festival shows that we’re doing for Lover is completely different than putting together the Reputation Stadium Tour. Putting together the reputation launch was so different than putting together the 1989 launch. So we really do attack things case by case, where the creative first informs everything else.

You’ve spoken before about how meaningful the reputation tour’s success was. What did it represent? That tour was something that I wanted to immortalize in the Netflix special that we did because the album was a story, but it almost was like a story that wasn’t fully realized until you saw it live. It was so cool to hear people leaving the show being like, “I understand it now. I fully get it now.” There are a lot of red herrings and bait-and-switches in the choices that I’ll make with albums, because I want people to go and explore the body of work. You can never express how you feel over the course of an album in a single, so why try?

That seems especially true of your last three albums or so. “Shake It Off” is nothing like the rest of 1989. It’s almost like I feel so much pressure with a first single that I don’t want the first single to be something that makes you feel like you’ve figured out what I’ve made on the rest of the project. I still truly believe in albums, whatever form you consume them in - if you want to stream them or buy them or listen to them on vinyl. And I don’t think that makes me a staunch purist. I think that that is a strong feeling throughout the music industry. We’re running really fast toward a singles industry, but you got to believe in something. I still believe that albums are important.

The music industry has become increasingly global during the past decade. Is reaching new markets something you think about? Yeah, and I’m always trying to learn. I’m learning from everyone. I’m learning when I go see Bruce Springsteen or Madonna do a theater show. And I’m learning from new artists who are coming out right now, just seeing what they’re doing and thinking, “That’s really cool.” You need to keep your influences broad and wide-ranging, and my favorite people who make music have always done that. I got to work with Andrew Lloyd Webber on the Cats movie, and Andrew will walk through the door and be like, “I’ve just seen this amazing thing on TikTok!” And I’m like, “You are it! You are it!” Because you cannot look at what quote-unquote “the kids are doing” and roll your eyes. You have to learn.

Have you explored TikTok at all? I only see them when they’re posted to Tumblr, but I love them! I think that they’re hilarious and amazing. Andrew says that they’ve made musicals cool again, because there’s a huge musical facet to TikTok. [He’s] like, “Any way we can do that is good.”

How do you see your involvement in the business side of your career progressing in the next decade? You seem like someone who could eventually start a label or be more hands-on with signing artists. I do think about it every once in a while, but if I was going to do it, I would need to do it with all of my energy. I know how important that is, when you’ve got someone else’s career in your hands, and I know how it feels when someone isn’t generous.

You’ve served as an ambassador of sorts for artists, especially recently - staring down streaming services over payouts, increasing public awareness about the terms of record deals. We have a long way to go. I think that we’re working off of an antiquated contractual system. We’re galloping toward a new industry but not thinking about re-calibrating financial structures and compensation rates, taking care of producers and writers. We need to think about how we handle master recordings, because this isn’t it. When I stood up and talked about this, I saw a lot of fans saying, “Wait, the creators of this work do not own their work, ever?” I spent 10 years of my life trying rigorously to purchase my masters outright and was then denied that opportunity, and I just don’t want that to happen to another artist if I can help it. I want to at least raise my hand and say, “This is something that an artist should be able to earn back over the course of their deal - not as a renegotiation ploy - and something that artists should maybe have the first right of refusal to buy.” God, I would have paid so much for them! Anything to own my work that was an actual sale option, but it wasn’t given to me. Thankfully, there’s power in writing your music. Every week, we get a dozen synch requests to use “Shake It Off” in some advertisement or “Blank Space” in some movie trailer, and we say no to every single one of them. And the reason I’m rerecording my music next year is because I do want my music to live on. I do want it to be in movies, I do want it to be in commercials. But I only want that if I own it.

Do you know how long that rerecording process will take? I don’t know! But it’s going to be fun, because it’ll feel like regaining a freedom and taking back what’s mine. When I created [these songs], I didn’t know what they would grow up to be. Going back in and knowing that it meant something to people is actually a really beautiful way to celebrate what the fans have done for my music.

Ten years ago, on the brink of the 2010s, you were about to turn 20. What advice would you give yourself if you could go back in time? Oh, God - I wouldn’t give myself any advice. I would have done everything exactly the same way. Because even the really tough things I’ve gone through taught me things that I never would have learned any other way. I really appreciate my experience, the ups and downs. And maybe that seems ridiculously Zen, but... I’ve got my friends, who like me for the right reasons. I’ve got my family. I’ve got my boyfriend. I’ve got my fans. I’ve got my cats.

Taylor Swift Discusses 'The Man' & 'It's Nice To Have a Friend' In Cover Story Outtakes

Billboard // by Jason Lipshutz // December 12th 2019

During her cover story interview for Billboard’s Women In Music issue, Taylor Swift discussed several aspects of her mega-selling seventh studio album Lover, including its creation after a personal “recalibrating” period, her stripped-down performances of its songs and her plans to showcase the full-length live with her Lover Fest shows next year. In two moments from the extended conversation that did not make the print story, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade also touched upon two of the album’s highlights, which double as a pair of the more interesting songs in her discography: “The Man” and “It’s Nice To Have A Friend.”

“The Man” imagines how Swift’s experience as a person, artist and figure within the music industry would have been different had she been a man, highlighting how much harder women have to work in order to succeed (“I’m so sick of running as fast as I can / Wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man,” she sings in the chorus). The song has become a fan favorite since the release of Lover, and Swift recently opened a career-spanning medley with the song at the 2019 American Music Awards.

When asked about “The Man,” Swift pointed out specific double standards that exist in everyday life and explained why she wanted to turn that frustration into a pop single. Read Swift’s full thoughts on “The Man” below:

“It was a song that I wrote from my personal experience, but also from a general experience that I’ve heard from women in all parts of our industry. And I think that, the more we can talk about it in a song like that, the better off we’ll be in a place to call it out when it’s happening. So many of these things are ingrained in even women, these perceptions, and it’s really about re-training your own brain to be less critical of women when we are not criticizing men for the same things. So many things that men do, you know, can be phoned-in that cannot be phoned-in for us. We have to really — God, we have to curate and cater everything, but we have to make it look like an accident. Because if we make a mistake, that’s our fault, but if we strategize so that we won’t make a mistake, we’re calculating.

“There is a bit of a damned-if-we-do, damned-if-we-don’t thing happening in music, and that’s why when I can, like, sit and talk and be like ‘Yeah, this sucks for me too,’ that feels good. When I go online and hear the stories of my fans talking about their experience in the working world, or even at school — the more we talk about it, the better off we’ll be. And I wanted to make it catchy for a reason — so that it would get stuck in people’s heads, [so] they would end up with a song about gender inequality stuck in their heads. And for me, that’s a good day.”

Meanwhile, the penultimate song on Lover, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend,” sounds unlike anything in Swift’s catalog thanks to its elliptical structure, lullaby-like tone and incorporation of steel drums and brass. When asked about the song, Swift talked about experimenting with her songwriting, as well as capturing a different angle of the emotional themes at the heart of Lover. Read Swift’s full thoughts on “It’s Nice To Have A Friend” below:

“It was fun to write a song that was just verses, because my whole body and soul wants to make a chorus — every time I sit down to write a song, I’m like, ‘Okay, chorus time, let’s get the chorus done.’ But with that song, it was more of like a poem, and a story and a vibe and a feeling of... I love metaphors that kind of have more than one meaning, and I think I loved the idea that, on an album called Lover, we all want love, we all want to find somebody to see our sights with and hear things with and experience things with.

“But at the end of the day we’ve been searching for that since we were kids! When you had a friend when you were nine years old, and that friend was all you talked about, and you wanted to have sleepovers and you wanted to walk down the street together and sit there drawing pictures together or be silent together, or be talking all night. We’re just looking for that, but endless sparks, as adults.”

Read the full Taylor Swift cover story here, and click here for more info on Billboard’s 2019 Women In Music event, during which Swift will be presented with the first-ever Woman of the Decade award.

[link to this tweet]

Was there ever a part of you that was like, “Oh shit, I like this darker vibe, let’s go even further down that path?” I really Loved Reputation because it felt like a rock opera, or a musical, doing it live. Doing that stadium show was so fun because it was so theatrical and so exciting to perform that, because it’s really cathartic! But I have to follow whatever direction my life is going in emotionally... The skies were opening up in my life. That’s what happened. But in a way that felt like a pink sky, a pink and purple sky, after a storm, and now it looks even more beautiful because it looked so stormy before. And that’s just like, I couldn't stop writing. I’ve never had an album with 18 songs on it before, and a lot of what I do is based on intuition. So, you know, I try not to overthink it. Who knows, there may be another dark album. I plan on doing lots of experimentation over the course of my career. Who knows? But it was a blast, I really loved it.

I mean, look, a Taylor Swift screamo album? I’ll be first in line. I’m so happy to hear that, because I think you might be the only one. Ha! I have a terrible scream. It’s obnoxious.

Why Taylor Swift's Lover Fest Will Be Her Next Big Step

Billboard // by Jason Lipshutz // December 11th 2019 - [Excerpt]

On why she chose to put together Lover fest: “I haven’t really done festivals in years - not since I was a teenager. That’s something that [the fans] don’t expect from me, so that’s why I wanted to do it. I want to challenge myself with new things and at the same time keep giving my fans something to connect to.”

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nerianasims · 3 years

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Billboard #1s 1976

Under the cut.

Bay City Rollers – “Saturday Night” -- January 3, 1976

They prove they can spell Saturday a lot. Anyway, he's going out to dance with his girl on Saturday night. The song is bouncy to a fault -- I feel like the repetitive, samey beat is following one of those balls the mind-controlled kids bounced in A Wrinkle in Time. It sounds like a cheerleading chant. Something to do aerobics to, not to dance to.

C.W. McCall – “Convoy” -- January 10, 1976

So, besides the cb radio fad, 1976 was also the year of the OPEC oil crisis and basically, it seems the reason truckers became folk heroes evading The Man in popular consciousness had its roots in international relations. Anyway, it's a baritone story song, but about truckers instead of cowboys. I like the verse, "Well, we shot the line and we went for broke/ With a thousand screamin' trucks/ An' eleven long-haired Friends o' Jesus/ In a chartreuse micro-bus." It's a silly song with a lot of trucker lingo (or fake trucker lingo, idk), and I don't exactly dislike it, but I'm not gonna listen to it again either.

Barry Manilow – “I Write The Songs” -- January 17, 1976

It's obvious from the first lines "I've been alive forever/ And I wrote the very first songs" that Barry's not singing about himself. It turns out "music" wrote the all the songs. Except that's obnoxious too. People wrote the songs. Also possibly birds, but definitely people. And it's musical goo.

Diana Ross – “Theme From Mahogany (Do You Know Where You’re Going To)” -- January 24, 1976

It's a song about regretting letting an ex go, and probably more. There's a ton of orchestration that sounds like it belongs in a lightweight movie, and Diana Ross doesn't put much emotion into it. It is a thoughtful song, rather than one calling for melodrama, but I would like to hear some emotion here, and I am not getting it. A trifle light as air.

Ohio Players – “Love Rollercoaster” -- January 31, 1976

It's a funk/disco thing. I've listened to it three times trying to get anything from it at all. The lyrics are dumb, asserting love is like this or that amusement park experience. I'd think "love rollercoaster" would be about how there are huge highs and terrifying lows, but it's not. It's horribly repetitive. I guess it's danceable. But I find it dull.

Paul Simon – “50 Ways To Leave Your Lover” -- February 7, 1976

I love how pared down this song is. It's sort of funky, without all the funk orchestration. The simple drums are the main focus. The melody's also simple, without being dull. And the lyrics aren't complex; a woman is encouraging the narrator to leave his official lover for her. "Just get yourself free." But she's doing it so very nicely -- "I wish there were something I could do to make you smile again." Not that the song expects us to believe she or the narrator actually are nice. Or that it's really all that easy to leave your lover. But it doesn't tell you what to think about the situation either. An excellent song.

Rhythm Heritage – “Theme From S.W.A.T.“ -- February 28, 1976

Apparently, there was a TV show about S.W.A.T., and this was its instrumental theme song. Which is exactly what it sounds like. Not a good TV theme either. I looked up 1976 shows, and here are some shows with better TV themes from that year: Charlie's Angels, Alice, M*A*S*H, Happy Days (which surprisingly only hit #5), All in the Family, Barney Miller, Welcome Back Kotter (which hit #1 later), The Jeffersons (that Movin' On Up doesn't seem to have been a hit is shocking), The Mary Tyler Moore Show, Sanford and Son, The Bob Newhart Show... look, all of them. All shows in 1976 that I can find had better theme songs than S.W.A.T., often to a staggering degree. But songs don't reach #1 for being good. Still, usually I can hazard a reason for them. I can't for this one.

The Four Seasons – “December, 1963 (Oh, What A Night)” -- March 13, 1976

It's about the narrator getting laid for the first time. He didn't even know the name of the woman, which completely undercuts anything happy or fun about this song for me, and makes it icky. At least it's not falsetto. I wasn't born when it came out, yet it was overplayed on the oldies stations in the 90s so much that I developed a deep and abiding hatred for it.

Johnnie Taylor – “Disco Lady” -- April 3, 1976

This is a song about disco that isn't a disco song. As such, it confuses me. It's kind of a mild funk/soul song, and it's about how turned on this guy is watching a woman disco. Johnnie Taylor can definitely sing, and I'd like to hear some more traditional soul/jazz stuff from him. This isn't doing it for me.

The Bellamy Brothers – “Let Your Love Flow” -- May 1, 1976

I saw the title and immediately the song shoved itself into my head. It's such a mellow song, but the hook is still monstrous. The song is about how it's the season for love, so grab your lover and "let your love flow." It's one of many 70s songs about sex that sounds like it could be a song about how pretty trees are. It kind of is about how pretty trees are too. I rather like it.

John Sebastian – “Welcome Back” -- May 8, 1976

Welcome Back, Kotter was not on Nick at Nite or WGN or anything else that ran old TV shows when I was watching TV (rather than the internet), so I've never seen it. The theme song lays it all out -- someone moves back to his old neighborhood, where they need him. As TV theme songs go, it's fine. Just fine, though. When "Movin' On Up" and "Love Is All Around" were also theme songs for TV shows in 1976, why this one? The rewards of mediocrity I guess.

The Sylvers – “Boogie Fever” -- May 15, 1976

It's literal. You come in contact with someone who can't stop boogie-ing, and you will catch the Boogie Fever yourself. Listening to the song will certainly make you want to boogie, unless you are immune. A fun dance song, and I wouldn't be surprised if Tik-Tok made it a hit again in the next year.

Wings – “Silly Love Songs” -- May 22, 1976

"Some people want to fill the world with silly love songs / What’s wrong with that?" Nothing. Paul even emphasizes something important in it: "Love isn't silly at all." Still, I can't say it's one of my favorites. I get tired of it about halfway through, and it's a long song. A silly love song shouldn't be nearly 6 minutes long.

Diana Ross – “Love Hangover” -- May 29, 1976

It starts with Diana Ross making sex sounds that I find embarrassing. Then she goes into singing about how she doesn't want to get over "the sweetest love hangover", and a minute and a half in it becomes a disco song. I find the entire thing irritating.

Starland Vocal Band – “Afternoon Delight” -- July 10, 1976

"Afternoon delight" is sex, but these doofuses may as well be singing about tea and scones for all the excitement this song has. It still doesn't deserve the hatred it's gotten. But it's not good either. The number of sexless sex songs in the 70s is just... ugh.

The Manhattans – “Kiss And Say Goodbye” -- July 24, 1976

He has to break up with the person he's been cheating with. It's an achingly sad Philly soul song. It also manages to be way sexier than the vast majority of 70s sex songs. Real emotion (or the ability to fake real emotion) does a lot, as does being able to sing like this. And beautiful backing music. It's so sad, and so good.

Elton John & Kiki Dee – “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” -- August 7, 1976

This song isn't mutual. Elton John's the one who sings "don't go breaking my heart," and Kiki Dee's the one singing "I won't go breaking your heart." It is all and entirely and completely about the male character's feelings. Of course it's an Elton John song so I wouldn't like it anyway, but I really don't like this one, especially because it still gets airplay.

Bee Gees – “You Should Be Dancing” -- September 4, 1976

I hate the Bee Gees. Not on a personal level -- as far as I know they're perfectly decent people -- but their music. And I have a particular hatred for Barry Gibb's voice. His horrible falsetto has caused me immense pain in my life. If I should be dancing, then they need to shut up and sit down and let a band that I can dance to take the stage. As it is, I feel like a dog during the 4th of July; I just want to hide under a bed.

KC & The Sunshine Band – “(Shake, Shake, Shake) Shake Your Booty” -- September 11, 1976

Here's a command to dance that I can get behind. Or that my behind can get behind. Again, a great song for dancing but not for listening to from KC & The Sunshine Band.

Wild Cherry – “Play That Funky Music” -- September 18, 1976

Good for both dancing and listening. How you can listen and not get into that funk groove even when sitting, though, I don't know. Play that funky music till you die.

Walter Murphy & The Big Apple Band – “A Fifth Of Beethoven” -- October 9, 1976

This was the #1 hit the week I was born. It's a good one for me; it's by a guy who loved classical music enough to write contemporary music based on it. Whenever I'm faced with questions about what kind of music is my favorite, my answer is "the good kind." Anyway, this is a fun song.

Rick Dees And His Cast Of Idiots – “Disco Duck (Part 1)” -- October 16, 1976

Billboard used to base their hit songs on calling record stores and asking what was selling. I think that's how this stupid, stupid song reached number one. I think it was a prank by a bunch of stoned college kids who co-ordinated it over cb radio or something. It's about a duck. Who discos. With an obnoxious voice and obnoxious music. It's by a radio dj, and is as painfully unfunny as radio djs usually are.

Chicago – “If You Leave Me Now” -- October 23, 1976

This song makes me have a weird reaction. It gives me the warm, comfortable fuzzies, and makes me want to sleep. That last part might not be too surprising, as it is a soft song, but to me it is very much more than that. I have always had trouble sleeping at night, since birth. My parents hit on putting me into the car and driving around with soft music playing to get me to go lights out. I need to ask them if they played Chicago during that. I can't think of any other reason for my hindbrain association with this szzzzzzz....

Steve Miller Band – “Rock’n Me” -- November 6, 1976

Good bar rock, since it's the Steve Miller Band. Lyrically, it's also more complex than most of its genre. At first, he sings "I got to please my sweet baby, yeah." Then he starts singing about all the places he's been, including "Northern California where the girls are warm." And then "Babe, you know you are a friend of mine/ And you know that it's true/ That all the things that I do/ Are gonna come back to you in your sweet time." Well then. I can totally see @katatty's Duncan Huckleberry singing this song. And getting away with everything. It's a fun song, though (because?) the narrator is likely a dirtbag.

Rod Stewart – “Tonight’s The Night (Gonna Be Alright)” -- November 13, 1976

It's a sex song, and it is hugely skeevy. "Don't deny your man's desire/ You’d be a fool to stop this tide / Spread your wings and let me come inside." No, asshole, cover it up if you want to come near. And how about if you want her, you care something about her desire? This was a huge hit from a huge star, but I have never heard it until now. Ugh. I need to shower, this is gross. Also I hope whoever he's singing to is packing mace.

BEST OF 1976 -- "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover." I don't even think it's an amazing song, just a very good one, but the 1976 #1s don't leave me much to work with. Fleetwood Mac released some singles, but people wanted "Disco Duck" rather than "Over My Head." Tons of great music has survived from 1976, but most of it is not on this list. WORST OF 1976 -- "Tonight's the Night (Gonna Be Alright)". "Disco Duck" is stupid, but it doesn't make my skin crawl.

#billboard number ones

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moviediary · 4 years

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She’s All That (1999)

Rich and popular makes a bet with his “friend”, whose personality is pretty much summed up by the fact that he has frosted tips, that he can turn any girl into the prom queen after getting dumped by his longtime girlfriend.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love this movie, but every time I watch it I can’t help but be amazed at how absurd it is. I mean, cliché plot aside, every individual piece that makes up this 1 hour and 30 minute ode to the individual is completely insane. What universe does this take place in? What high school do they go to?

That being said, I really like the opening shots to this movie, it definitely gives you a good introduction to the main character. Laney Boggs. She’s political and messy and 100% down to her bones an art student. She isn’t afraid to be dark.

In contrast I feel like the first meeting of the main love interest really doesn’t set him up to be who the writers want you to think he is. I mean he rolls up to school in a bright yellow Jeep with a Mr. Prez vanity plate. Then you see his shoes when he gets out of the car, fuckin’ ugly ass leather loafers. I’m sorry I know this means nothing I just have a hard time believing this jock wears these fucking shoes they’re so god damn ugly.

Every moment that introduces him makes it seem like he should be the villain, he has pretty much no redeeming qualities that we can see besides his wit (barely) and good looks. I just don’t understand why we’re supposed to like him, this is Sixteen Candles all over again. Hot rich guy, is an asshole, for some reason I still root for and love him. How does that work? What makes these characters so grossly likable? I mean, his name is Zack. That alone raises a red flag for me. That’s a frat boy asshole name. Zacks are friends of Kyle that’s all I’m saying.

Once we get through his painfully douchey introduction we get introduced to Zack’s equally douchey friends frosted tips and Gus from psych. (don’t ask me what their actual names are it’s not important anyway, that is essentially their personalities) The first thing we hear is them talking about summer break and their vacations, further driving home how rich they are and how weird it is that adults write movies about teenagers having gratuitous amounts of sex with adults. Then Zach tries unsuccessfully to say something philosophical about them graduating soon (I have to keep reminding myself that he’s supposed to have like the 4th highest GPA in their class) They then meet the most 90s girls I have ever seen. Who I guess are supposed to be popular? One thing I do like is how diverse all the characters are, they don’t all look exactly the same which I feel tends to be a problem with high school movies.

So we finally meet the “popular girl” Taylor Vaughn, Zack’s girlfriend and she immediately breaks up with him (which honestly is probably a good idea anyway) and his “friends” fucking laugh at him which he really had coming. I mean. Look at his hair.

This launches what is probably one of my favorite narrated flashback scenes of all time, not because the topic is particularly interesting but because I love the way they have Zach interrupt her inside of the flashback. It’s a very small addition that really gives the scene style. Also we see this hot girl start dating Shaggy??? Also one of the villains from the original Scream???( he only really plays one character.) Makes me laugh every time. Also makes me a little uncomfortable every time since she’s in high school and he’s who knows how old but whatever not important. This also leads to one of my favorite exchanges in the whole movie.

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Taylor wraps up her spring break story time with one of the rawest lines I've ever seen in a 90s movie (she really did that to him) and the director throws in a classic high school movie trope, everyone actually caring enough to stop and watch this exchange. And while I usually hate this kind of character worship, since this movie is already so bizarre and unrealistic it actually kinda fits

We then cut to Laney’s art class which includes her teacher that for some reason thinks her art isn’t personal enough and two clown obsessed Lydia Deetz knock offs. I have to say I do love this part where the art students literally suggest that she kill herself in order to have her art recognized. Very realistic conversation between art students.

That whole scene is really funny though because it doesn’t feel like it belongs in this movie. Even the music doesn't fit which is only emphasized by the sudden bell ringing transition back into a stereotypical high school movie. It reminds me of movies like the craft, the way it’s cut together, the way the characters talk, how Laney just stares straight ahead after not saying anything. It seems like she could have chosen a completely different movie to be in. Like if the movie was a chose your own adventure, she could have been in a different genre entirely and the movie would have been about her and those girls faking her death to get recognition and make money from her paintings. which would have been sick. but that isn't the movie I’m watching. Which I’m reminded of when fucking Zack comes back on screen.

Also right before the scene where the actual bet is introduced we meet the school’s resident DJ??? which isn’t important at all but is so strange that I feel the need to point it out. Like they don’t just have a guy who does the announcements they have like a disc jockey who is just there all the time??? There are just so many little things in this movie that make it so weird.

So fucking Brock pukashells pulls up and Zach just flips. Which is understandable it is a very gross moment but he just fucking goes off about Taylor and how she’s not that great and he could get with any girl in the school. His friends point out that bitch boy forgot that Taylor Vaughn is “an institution” and basically Zach with tits. She’s very important. This is something I never get about movies like this, has anyone actually been to a high school where someone was that well known. But also not liked? Like sure she’s hot, but she’s also a grade A bitch to everyone. and according to Zach nothing more than a C minus GPA in a Wonderbra.

Once you get through the misogyny plus ultra scene and they finally make the bet, frosted tips has picked the girl Zach has to turn into the prom queen. Scary inaccessible Laney Boggs. He’s got 6 weeks to make her popular. He starts off his first exchange with her in the best way possible. By calling her brother Spaz (as his name). Again, we’re supposed to like this guy I think. I don’t know when he’s supposed to become a likable character but I can’t imagine it’s during all these scenes where he just legit insults people.

I also love all of the clips we get to see from Brock’s time on The Real World Which make me really question why all the girls fan girl over him given that he’s actually the worst, even on the show. We also get introduced to Zack’s sister who probably should have been a lesbian given how queer coded her character is besides the fact that she desperately wants a boyfriend. She even goes to an all girls school it would have been perfect. But alas, this movie is gay-less.

We are then introduced to another b-plot in this movie, Zack’s indecision about college. This was I guess to make him more human? or something? To sort of flesh him out and give him problems but honestly he doesn't have any problems. Later in the movie Laney points this out to him, he can do whatever he wants. This whole college thing is resolved fairly quickly later in the film too, it’s not very important it’s just the only thing we see about Zack besides being a perfect high schooler throughout the whole movie. Well that and his terrible performance art and being an asshole.

After we see that Zack has been accepted by every Ivy League school and their mother (I’m not jealous I swear) we take a brief Taylor being a bitch detour before getting back to Zack making an ass of himself. This time he’s bothering Laney at her job which is awesome we love that. Again I don’t know why we like this guy he does like 3 nice things the whole movie. Anyway she gets defensive like she always does and he fumbles around trying to talk like he’s a normal person and not a walking cliché and then there’s this really strange exchange where he tries to asked her for help in art classes and she says “you don’t take art” and he’s like “how do you know?” and she’s like “Why haven't I seen you in any of my classes?” and like, I get what they were going for but what kind of high school is this? how does she have time to take more than one art class? How is she already an art major before she’s in college that’s not how high school works. I only ever had one school where I could take more than two extra curriculars and that was in middle school and it was only because they fucked up and put me in four hours of study hall and so I just went to all of the art classes that were offered. But that’s different. And am I way over analyzing this movie? yes. Does anyone but me care about this shit? probably not, but I’m gonna talk about it anyway.

I also really like Laney’s best friend who’s kind of just there, all the time, he’s such a good wing man. He also made the best excuse to get out of seeing that weird ass art show she’s in. He’s like, oh good I don’t have to see another Mitch show. He’s probably in his underwear in all of them, I wouldn’t want to go either. I think it really says something about the performance art world though, because this is probably the most believable part of the whole movie. If someone told me that his is just an actual performance art piece that they used in this movie I would absolutely believe them. Also one of the weird gremlins in this piece says what is probably my favorite quote ever which is “my soul is an island, my car is a Ford” like what the fuck is that I love that so much.

I really want to know how they came up with this shit, it’s so perfect. It also is another one of these parts in the movie that doesn’t really add anything. A lot of the movie is like this, I feel like 90% of this movie is weird filler scenes and the rest in plot. Like it’s so obvious how it’s going to end that you barely even need to watch most of the movie, and even when you do watch most of the movie it always kind of feels like it only half has something to do with the plot. I’m not even going to talk about the weird hacky Sack scene, I can’t handle how embarrassing and cringey it is I pretty much always skip through it. What a dick move of Laney’s to even put him in that situation. The whole “your eyes are really beautiful” scene is also really strange, both his lines and her reaction don’t really make sense. Through most of this movie when they actually talk to each other I feel like they don’t have any chemistry. It’s the same when he subtly blackmails her into going to the beach with him. He’s awkward and barely says anything that prompts a response and then she just goes full WOKE EMO on him and like, they really do have nothing in common I do not understand their relationship. And then his friends show up and he’s like, “If we’re gonna be friends we’ll have to deal with them eventually” which like, 1: wow get some friends you actually like maybe? And 2: how are you guys friends, you’ve barely ever managed to exchange civil words on screen. Actually maybe that makes sense, this is why he thinks this is okay (besides the whole bet thing) maybe he doesn’t realize he’s supposed to actually like his friends and girlfriend. Because it really seems like he doesn’t like any of them, which I get. Except for Gus (not his name but whatever) because that guy’s actually pretty funny and spends the whole movie calling frosted tips out whenever he sounds too much like Kenny from Can’t Hardly Wait.

The whole beach scene is kinda take it or leave it too, there are a lot of moments where we see Laney hang out with Zack and other people but honestly through the whole movie there really isn’t a whole lot of growth. We don’t actually really see them bond or talk, we’re supposed to believe their relationship is growing but I guess that must be happening off screen because I don’t see it.

One of my favorite parts is when Zack forces the JV soccer team to clean Laney’s house, the kid answering the jeopardy question and her dad just realizing they were there. Oh man, gets me every time. The makeover scene is also pretty cute, I always love those. Also the whole “new, not improved, but different Laney Boggs” thing is adorable and I appreciate it.

The evolving of the characters and their relationships don’t happen gradually, what little is actually shown is pretty much in like 3 parts, the opening, the party scene, and the end. The characters are very flat for most of the movie and they have very little personality, but the party scene is very fun to watch. From “Gracias, papi!” to Laney turning Misty into a clown, and then the Give it to Me dance sequence. And even though the characters haven’t really given me a good reason to care about them my heart still hurts a little for Laney when Taylor ruins her dress. That’s the thing about this movie, I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t like these characters, but I still do, and I have no idea why.

The Brock dumping Taylor thing was great, the parallel was expected but I actually think it added to the story. In fact most of the things after the party actually feel necessary to the movie which is nice. Even the soccer practice actually leads to something. I don’t know what it is about the 2nd quarter of this movie that feels so empty but whatever it is it’s enough that I saw a noticeable difference when I got to the third act of this movie.

It’s a small part but I also really love the alternative clubs that make signs in favor of Laney for prom queen. They’re just so fucking funny to me. I mean, Hygiene club? Prisoners club??? What?

Then they pull another fast feelings thing on me again. They throw the mom painting scene at me and like, wow that’s sad. Then Zack tries to garner sympathy for the problems that he makes for himself. Then boom they flip on me again they’re cute and I like them. Then she says that weird thing about prom and he just dips man. And like, Why do they gotta do me like that? I cannot seem to decide if I like these characters or not it’s so weird how this dialogue is written.

And then the dream happens? Definitely one of the best scenes in the whole movie. So fucking perfect. It really just adds to the weird slight surrealness of this whole movie.

Then we go back to the school and suddenly everyone is dressing like Laney? In support I guess? Again can I just ask what fucking school they go to? And then there’s the beat boxing scene? Where they rap about who’s gonna be prom queen? I’ve never even met anybody that invested in the outcome of who’s gonna be prom queen except for those running. I don’t even think I know anybody who voted. Even so, I do love the beat box scene, they really spit some bars.

Also I just noticed that in that super fucked cafeteria scene, you can see Buffy make a cameo? Just a fun little trivia fact. But seriously that cafeteria scene is fucked. Like, the pubes on the pizza? I wish no one had thought of that ever. Also can I just say I would undoubtedly rather get my ass kicked than be forced to eat pubes. I don’t know what they were thinking that isn’t even a question.

It’s also really uncomfortable how good frosted tips is at acting like he’s not a douchebag. What a creep. If that were a real guy I’d be tempted to call him a sociopath. So gross. But I suppose it’s good for the story line.

The end of the movie wraps up pretty fast honestly. Zack’s dad and him finally communicate which fixes Zack’s only problem immediately because that’s just how easy it is. He was just projecting the whole time, his dad had literally no problems other than being a typical rich dad. Then of course we get another moment with the school DJ who I guess just gets to play and say what ever he wants whenever he wants. Am I the only one who thinks it’s really inappropriate how sexual that guy’s announcements about prom are? Maybe it’s just me and I had a really different high school experience but I feel like people are way too focused on sex when they make movies about high school. Other shit was going on you know? It’s just odd for me to think about grown adults writing and pitching this movie.

Zack really is such a bitch boy though, he doesn’t even try to explain anything to her, just lets her get hurt and lets Taylor be a bitch to her without saying anything. He doesn’t even try to tell her that frosted tips was just as much a part of it as he was. Honestly I kind of wish that frosted tips wasn’t such an asshole his whole heart to heart with her at the door before prom could have been really cute if I didn’t already know he was a lying scumbag. But I guess Laney just gets the lesser of the douchebags.

We finally get to the prom, inarguably the best part of the whole movie, all the little bits and pieces. The sex doll guy is always funny as hell. The DJ being the school DJ works really well brings a lot of closure to that whole weirdness. Also that dance scene is fucking great, has absolutely nothing to do with the plot, which actually works since about 40% of the things in this movie have nothing to do with the plot of this movie. I absolutely unironically tried to learn this dance, man I fucking wish prom was actually like this. I don’t know about you guys but for me, both of my proms were not nearly this theatrical. I spent my first one playing black jack the whole time and my senior prom was full of people that were way too white to dance. Anyway, Laney doesn’t win and she leaves early. Zack gives a pretty boring speech. Taylor goes off on everyone. Frosted tips tries to get Laney in bed and everyone gets upset.

The whole thing ends with Laney coming home to find Zach waiting for her to make sure she’s okay, which is sweet and all but like I can’t help wondering how long he had just been standing there waiting. Especially since it seemed like her dad was just ignoring him. That’s just a funny image to me. Anyway, they dance in the backyard. They kiss. It’s cute. Zack loses the bet so he accepts his diploma naked which I’m pretty sure is indecent public exposure but sure.

Overall it’s a very cute movie. The clichés are sort of made up for by all the weird 90s movie things. Plus it has a pretty great soundtrack. I know I sort of really went in on this movie but to be honest I really enjoy watching it. I’m not sure why. It’s pretty bad when you think about it any deeper than surface level. But it’s also just really fun and the characters are weird and there’s too many duffel bags to be normal and it’s just funny. It’s really weirdly funny. And it has that same non-conclusion that a lot of teen rom-coms have where they just can’t really give you all that much and just make sure they’re happy even if you know there is no way they can continue a relationship outside of high school. It may sound like it, but I’m not mad at it. If you haven’t already I’d say watch it. Watch it as a relaxing mindless good time activity. At the very least you won’t be bored, but if you get sympathy embarrassment like I do then maybe skip a few parts.

As of right now this movie is not available for free on any streaming sites (yes I own it on DVD don’t @ me)

Final Verdict:

Actual movie review: 6/10

How fun is it to watch?: 8/10

#she's all that #90s movies #movie review

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glamrockmonarch · 5 years

Text

The Best Friend's Wedding

Present day!Roger Taylor x Reader

Summary: The one in which R!Reader and Roger get married but it’s also a description of how R!Reader and B!Reader became friends.

Warnings: Slight angst at the beginning but then it is all fluff, I swear.

A/N: I kinda imagine B!Reader spends a lot of time in Scotland (we shall get more on that soon)... I am not a big fan of weddings for some reason, but I wanted to give R!Reader out there a beautiful story too! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

| Guide to The Original Timeline |

• 7 hours before the wedding

"Oh, come on!" The brunette smiled at her best friend, a coffee cup in her hand.

“I am not making a fuss!” The young bride cried into the air throwing her head back.

“It’s nothin’! A tiny pimple, no big deal really...” Her friend tapped the r.

“Are you gonna talk like that from now on?” The annoyed blonde turned back to her friend from the image bothering her in the mirror.

R!Reader bit back a smile and opened her eyes wide at the other woman in her hotel room.

The two stood facing each other in their pajamas, staring as one made fun of the other first thing in the morning.

“You don’t have to be mean about it.” She blushed, taking a step back and clearing her throat to remind herself of the usual way in which she spoke. “I spent almost an entire year working with Scots, something had to stick, right?”

“History!” R!Reader stuck out her hip and brought her hand to her side. “You are the poshest little thing since Regattas!”

“Ugh, that’s nonsense!” She shook her head much like her husband often did. “And such a rich comment coming from the one who spent her summer on a boat in Ibiza...”

B!Reader rolled her eyes and strolled around the suite until she could put her coffee down on the small table across the room.

“Roger likes boats, what can I say?” She shrugged.

R!Reader looked back at herself in the mirror and returned to her primary concern of the morning. A pimple on the side of her jawline. A horrible surprise for her wedding day. She had pictured that everything would go as planned this day; with her hair and makeup getting done right before lunch she would have the chance to really get through her morning routine without any rush. She had invited B!Reader for dinner the night before, she came along with Lola and Rory, but the young Taylors left before it got too late, making sure they would then be in top shape for the long day ahead with being maids of honour and all...

The only one who stayed behind was B!Reader. They probably should not have stayed up till late...but they did. They definitely did not have to eat crisps at 2 am either. And the opening of a bottle of sparkling white wine each was without a doubt uncalled for.

“I knew the snacks were a bad idea!” The blonde grunted.

“Ah, you’ll be fine!”

While the blonde bride moaned about in the bathroom, B!Reader went back to the room and threw herself face-first into the bed. She was glad just then that R!Reader was not her friend when she got married to Brian, in that case, she would have for sure been sporting a hangover on her way down the aisle. For the time being, she knew she had to call Brian and let him know she was okay. If she knew him, he would have finished his morning routine on the bike by then.

“Do you know those bastards from the Sun called me “a shameless golddigger with a little mind and not much to offer but a pretty face ”?” I am actually quoting it, they wrote that after we made the announcement.”

B!Reader turned around on the fluffy bedsheets and duvet and looked at her friend with a crinkled nose and low brow.

There it was: the good reason for her insecurities. The press.

“They know nothing about you!” She sat up, pushing herself with her elbows and then straightening her spine. “Look at us, for instance! I wasn’t sure about you at first... and then when we started talking... I realised just how funny and smart you are! Clever too! R!Reader, you’ve done things I would never dare do... and now you’re here! Don’t let these people who don’t know you put you down - at least not today!”

The blonde crossed her arms over her chest and the corners of her mouth twitched upwards.

“You hated me,” She declared with certain disdain.

“No, I didn’t hate you...” B!Reader explained shaking her head.

“You didn’t like me,” R!Reader nudged her friend and sat next to her while she agreed on that one.

The two women looked at the clock on the bedside table reading almost noon. The curtains were drawn closed and the room was still except for the tray of breakfast foods across from the pair, a steaming cup of coffee sat there. Grey lines of warmth drew shapes in the air floating around the elegant china, the French press coffee waited right next to it.

With a grin, R!Reader looked down at her left hand and had a look at her engagement ring. The large rock shinning in her finger was surrounded by other smaller and similarly glowing rocks. She turned her head and searched for B!Reader’s eyes.

“What do you mean...things you would never do?” She tilted her head the side, eyes narrowing at her friend’s shock.

The brunette’s face heated up with blush and she stuttered when she spoke again.

“Well, what I mean...what I wanted to say is... I-” She cut herself and blinked a few times before sighing and starting over. “What I mean doesn’t sound nice... I would have never cheated.”

R!Reader looked away feeling the weight of disappointment on the pit of her stomach once again. It had been a familiar feeling to her for over a year, although sometimes it still caught her off guard. It was the knowledge that she had been the other woman, and she did not like it...but it was the way it was. Many would judge for sleeping with a married man, touch and be touched by a man whose hands should have already been bound to someone else. Many people thought of her as a nasty woman. A worthless human who hurt people just because.

These people could not be further from the truth. That whole situation was killing R!Reader slowly. Being the other woman did not mean she would wait for Roger to swing by and fuck. They did get carried away more than occasionally, yet it was not the root of their relationship. They would always speak for hours, sometimes Roger would arrive at R!Reader’s a little bit earlier than they had agreed and he would watch her make dinner, helping the slightest and distracting her the entire time. Some days she would feel ill, or be in a mood and Roger would have to swing by and hold her for a while to soothe her. Some other times he would be the one having a rough day, and the younger one would then let him rest his head on her chest and read for him. They could spend hours together and not even kiss... she knew that although for many that did not matter as much as the sex did, this need they had to be with each other was the actual cheating. The part that was wrong and that would hurt Roger’s wife. It made R!Reader’s stomach turn, and flip around inside her. She could feel her heart sink in her chest when Roger left in the evenings, leaving her to her quiet flat and empty bed. Her body always fell limp and her mouth went dry when her friends asked about her love life. “You are such a catch, why aren’t you seeing anyone?” Some would say. It hurt even worse when the comments came from Tigerlily or Rufus. She felt responsible, guilty.

As responsible and guilty as she felt right sitting there next to B!Reader. A woman who fell for a man obviously too old for her and did not care. A woman her age who never cheated.

“...I wanted to,” she admitted in a whisper, making the blonde’s neck snap back up, her eyes round in shock. “We probably had many chances... with Anita going on tour with her productions and me living on my own...” She shook her head and put her hand on R!Reader’s knee, “I was too scared. I loved him already. But what if he didn’t have the strength to leave his wife? I though... I didn’t want to push him to just- use me? I... don’t know. I figured Brian already had enough on his plate, didn’t need to add more guilt on top of everything.” They looked at each other, “I wasn’t brave enough. Strong enough.”

“You did the best for Brian, though.” The blonde whispered. “He is such a softy your husband...”

B!Reader broke into a smile and laughed, nodding with enthusiasm. “Yes, you can say that!”

After a moment, the bride spoke again.

“You know... in great part, Roger and I didn’t even have sex all the time! People like that to shame me for being his mistress or whatever... but mostly, we did what you used to do with Brian!”

“Hang out,” B!Reader smiled, “have fun.”

“Forget about the world!” R!Reader smiled up at the ceiling.

Her friend giggled and narrowed her eyes at her. “There must have been a lot of touching still.”

The blonde laughed, looking back at B!Reader, she was already leaning forward to stand up. “You know us!”

With a snort, B!Reader rushed her friend so she got into the shower so they could have breakfast once she came out. For the best part of the morning, they chatted and sat back to let the professionals do their hair and makeup. All of Roger’s girls, except for Rory were there that morning too, the older one had decided she would get ready on her own and assist her brothers and father with their own wedding day preparations.

R!Reader had never been a quiet girl. From a young age, she would get in trouble constantly for being too honest and too vocal about her opinions. it... it took her a few years of practice to read the people around her before speaking up, but even then she knew how to get away with small talk. Everyone buzzing about in her hotel suite was aware of all of this, which made them all think it was odd how she was so quiet and calm today.

She spent most of that time thinking while she was getting her hair and makeup done. She recalled her last conversation with Roger before his divorce. It had been nothing short of horrible. Their biggest argument yet. A full-on fight. She was desperate, clinging on to anything to stay afloat when it seemed that Roger was not going to go forward with ending his marriage...she felt dirty, broken and used. She called Roger “a disgusting piece of what used to be a man” because she was so hurt. He did not even defend himself, pursing his lips he let her blow like a bomb run out of time. That should have been the end of it; she thought when he left her place looking as mad as he had ever been, that there was no way they would see each other again.

But Roger came back.

After a moment, before she even finished calling him names and blaming him for their peculiar situation, Roger realised what the problem was. He saw her constantly closing her large sweater over her body, shielding her chest with her arms, found her eyes shining with tears and he knew. He knew those were not the result of anger but of pain. A pain he caused, there was no use in denying it like he would have done in his youth. So Roger took the verbal beating and left without saying a word.

They met that same weekend, Roger had dropped the bomb on his wife, and it was not a pleasant thing to do...but at least it helped his relationship with R!Reader. Only a few months later his divorce was settled and the first thing he did was show up at her place with a big rock in his pocket and propose.

• 3 hours before the wedding

“Earth to R!Reader!” Lola sang, moving her hand before her eyes. “You are so zen today!”

“Are you okay?” One of her childhood friends said from the makeup chair where she was getting her hair braided.

“I’m fine!” R!Reader rolled her eyes, “I’m just...” she licked her lips and sighed “overwhelmed.”

“Aw, that’s alright!” Tigerlily came up behind her and leaned on the sofa to wrap her arms around her shoulders and put her chin on her friend’s shoulder. “It’s a big day!”

“I kinda wish we had eloped...”

Her mother called her by her full name with a furrowed brow, making the rest of the women there laugh or giggle.

B!Reader clapped her hands and turned to the bride’s mother. “I guess it’s time to get her dressed...”

It was not the best day for a wedding, the weather was awful. Rain all day, clouds crowding the sky all afternoon. As R!Reader stepped into the car to get to the venue, she met her father at the door. She looked up for a second and smiled at her dad, shrugging like a child.

The bright white Cadillac awaited, her father held her for a second and helped her in. With her eyes, at last, ignoring the sky she turned to talk to her dad. A short conversation that put them both in a good mood. From the first time, she told her father that she liked a boy when she was only 5 to highschool dates and the last of them when she brought Roger home and nobody in the family knew why in the world was she dating a man almost 50 years older than her.

“It’s a weird thing... but you were always brave. Always head first into it!” He patted his daughter’s hand. “But you always made sense. You had your way to go about things, still, do.” He paused and looked out the window, seeing the venue appearing ahead, meaning they would have to get out of the car soon. “I trust you know what you’re doing. You are old enough to.”

R!Reader remained quiet for a moment and stretched out in the spacious car to wrap her arms around her father’s shoulders.

“Thank you.” She whispered into their embrace.

A moment later she stepped out of the car and stood at the end of a line with her father by her side. The walk down the aisle went by in a second to her. She watched as the guests sitting down turned their heads, necks stretching, to get a glimpse of her. The long veil covered her face and hands, going further down. She scanned through the big names, artists and famous people in the crowd. Roger could not help himself...the guest list seemed to be getting bigger and bigger every time they sat down to go over wedding details, in the end, they invited 800 people - somehow!

Roger looked brilliant. In a three-piece burgundy suit, he was also quite happy when his young bride arrived at the temporary altar and winked at him. The two smiling at each other. Her father pulled the veil off of his daughter’s face and kissed her cheek before letting her take Roger’s tattooed hand.

The wedding was beautiful, both Roger and R!Reader spent the entirety of the ceremony part giggling and stealing glances at each other. R!Reader at some point mouthed a “stop it!” at Rog when he winked at her and made her blush in front of one of the many cameras they had hired to film and photograph the event. Once Felix stepped forward and brought them the rings, he rolled his eyes at the couple, trust his dad to be fooling around in the middle of his own wedding... although it made sense and bothered no one who realised it: the odd couple had waited for too long to be able to be public and the treatment R!Reader got from the media left a lot to be desired. Now they did not care, and they were paying no attention to anyone else but each other today. Felix was almost completely ignored by the groom and bride, who grabbed the rings and put them on each other’s fingers without taking their eyes from each other. Roger did not bother hiding his smile as he did so, and his bride struggled to contain her joy in a smile through tight lips and gleaming eyes.

By the time the ceremony came to an end, R!Reader was sniffing, some tears had slipped but she wiped them quickly before turning to her husband. Oh, because they were now married. The knot was tied, and now they were free to not give a fuck about the press together. As it should have always been. And not one person in the guests’ list was surprised when Roger wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her close.

She put her arms around his neck and let her right wrist fall on top of the left one as she smiled up at him, grinning in pure joy before he kissed her lips long and hard. People behind them cheered and clapped, and she giggled, pecking his lips to put her forehead against his.

“I can’t believe it’s done...” She whispered.

To which Roger replied by saying: “easy as that!”

She cupped his cheek and pecked his lips again before the finally turned to their guests to walk outside to the smaller bar part of the venue so the planner and his crew could get the salon ready for the reception. It was in this time that R!Reader and Roger took a chance to go to a different salon and have their pictures taken, first only the couple and then with the maids of honour, all three of Roger’s daughters and B!Reader; and the best men, both Felix and Rufus, plus Adam and Brian.

The reception started a good fifteen minutes later with the couple being introduced as they came out to perform their first dance, the two stepped out to the piano playing the first few notes of the song the couple chose, the interpreters on stage, as a personal favour to Roger; Elton came through to play one song but not without giving R!Reader a small surprise by bringing his - almost - baby son Taron on stage to sing with him for them.

“It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside...” Elton sang from the piano as Roger held R!Reader.

She had no idea Roger had arranged for the interpreters of the song to be something else than a good recording... She was over the moon, singing along and holding on to her husband. The two would not stop singing to each other quietly.

“I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind That I put down in words How wonderful life is while you're in the world”

The two kissed as the last notes played and their guests clapped around them in an echo they could barely hear.

...

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fanfic #roger x reader #2019!roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x young reader #r!reader #r!reader stuff #original timeline #present day roger x reader #present day roger x young reader #present day roger taylor

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chasholidays · 5 years

Note

bellarke but clarke and murphy have a weird understanding slash ride or die friendship that they don’t admit to

according to my notes, this also coincidentally fulfills @pepperf’s prompt for Bellamy in makeup, so although tumblr will not let me tag you I hope you see this anyway

Before Clarke and Murphy became friends, Clarke didn’t really think Murphy had friends. He was the kid who sat in the back of every class and made sarcastic comments and never seemed to really interact with anyone else. If someone had told Clarke that he just ceased to exist when he exited her line of sight, she would have believed them. He certainly never seemed to do anything with a lasting impact.

And then, he shows up at the first GSA meeting of tenth grade.

As someone who joined thinking she was on the “straight” side of the alliance, Clarke does get that not everyone who joins the GSA is gay, but she has trouble imagining Murphy just showing up to be a supportive ally. Even if he is somewhere on the LGBT+ spectrum, Clarke is still kind of shocked he’s showing up. She didn’t think Murphy participated in groups of any kind.

Not that he really participates in GSA either. He introduces himself only as “Murphy” every time they go around the circle for names/orientations, and then he sits in the back and cracks quiet jokes when the opportunity arises. It’s like having another class with him, except that no one is forcing him to be there. This is what he chooses to do with his time.

“It’s weird, right?” she asks Finn. He doesn’t belong to the GSA, but she gives him the updates.

Finn shrugs. “I guess. Why do you care what Murphy does?”

“I just don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to understand everything, princess,” he teases, and Clarke just rolls her eyes. Obviously she doesn’t have to understand, but she still wants to.

Sign-ups for the group trip to Pride happen in May, and Murphy is behind her in line, so he’s there when Taylor asks, “You’re coming, Clarke?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Pride is for LGBT members, not allies.”

“I’m bi, remember?” It’s still new, saying it out loud, a word that tastes clunky in her mouth, but it feels right. After she and Finn break up, she’d like to date a girl. That’s an experience she wants to have.

“Oh, well, still,” says Taylor, like that’s somehow all he needs to say.

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up. “Still what?”

“Well, you’re with Finn. I feel like it doesn’t look good for straight-passing people to be in the group.”

Clarke’s jaw drops, and she’s glad it’s anger that floods her veins and not humiliation. Taylor’s never been her favorite person, but even from him, this is a lot.

Defenses crowd her mind, but so do the inevitable counterarguments. She’s had this debate with herself so many times, if she can really be bi if she’s never kissed a girl, how she can know, how she can consider herself a part of the community when she’s dating a guy. She got through all of those things for herself, but if Taylor doesn’t think she’s bi enough for Pride, she doesn’t have any better argument than “I think I am.”

Unexpectedly, Murphy pipes up. “Hey, dipshit, she’s bi, that means she can go to Pride. What’s the holdup?”

“And whybare you going, Murphy?” Taylor shoots back. “I still don’t know why you’re here in the first place.”

“You don’t get to vet people’s sexual orientations,” Clarke says. “We all heard Pride isn’t for allies, so anyone signing up is queer. Like me.”

“I’m asexual,” Murphy says. “Is that good enough for you? I’m genuinely curious,” he adds. “If you think bi girls with boyfriends don’t belong, I’m guessing you’re not real big on letters that don’t even make the main acronym.”

Taylor’s jaw works. “Obviously, if you think you should come, I can’t stop you, I just think you should consider that it’s not entirely appropriate for–”

“You know what? Fine. I’m not coming with you.” Clarke grabs a sharpie from the bucket on the desk, crossing her name out so hard it’s probably going to bleed through to the table. “But I’ll see you there. Because I belong there.”

She’s out of the classroom before she realizes Murphy followed her.

“If I stayed there I was just going to have to talk to Taylor,” he says, with a small shrug. “Didn’t seem worth it.”

Clarke smiles with half her mouth. “Yeah, I guess not. You want a ride to Pride?”

“If you’re driving, yeah.”

And just like that, they’re friends.

Junior year, motivated primarily by spite and a mutual dislike of Taylor, Clarke and Murphy start a Queer Student Union, open to everyone who identifies as queer. To Clarke’s surprise, Murphy not only cares about LGBT issues, he’s actually shockingly informed about them. He identifies as biromantic asexual, although he admits the biromantic part feels a lot more theoretical than the asexual part, mostly because he has yet to meet anyone he likes enough he wants to be romantic with them. But he’s theoretically open to it. He’s done a lot of reading on not only sexuality stuff, but feminism and general activism, mostly because he seems interested in it. Academically, he’s not the greatest, but he’s intellectually curious, likes learning when he’s engaged.

When Finn cheats on her a few months later, he eggs Finn’s car, which is one of those things that Clarke would never approve of and would have told him not to do if he asked, but since he didn’t and she had no idea until several days after it happened, she doesn’t have to even pretend to not be happy.

It feels like the kind of relationship that might not survive college, but they both end up in Boston. Clarke’s at Harvard because she’s that over-achieving legacy kid, and Murphy goes to UMass because Clarke pointed out he could actually get a BA in Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies while still avoiding the classes he hates, which is his ideal learning environment.

It turns out he’s a good litmus test for her pretentious Harvard friends, less because he’s a good judge of character and more because it’s useful to see how other people react to him. Clarke doesn’t really care if they like Murphy–Murphy doesn’t care about being liked much–but how and why they dislike him and how they deal with it tends to give her some good insight into whether or not they’re worth befriending. She and Lexa break up in part because Murphy and Lexa never figure out how to coexist, while Murphy and Niylah’s weird friendship is part of why Clarke starts hooking up with her.

“He’s like all the parts of you that you want to pretend you don’t have,” Niylah observes one night, and Clarke frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re supposed to be–The perfect princess. Rich, straight A’s, top of your class at Harvard. And then there’s Murphy, your excuse for not liking people. The scapegoat for all your worst instincts.”

“You have a very weird idea of what makes good pillow talk,” Clarke teases.

“I just think it’s interesting. Have you ever heard the term morality pet?”

“No, psych major.”

Niylah doesn’t bother responding to that. “It’s a concept in fiction. You’ve got a bad character you need to humanize, so they have a morality pet, the sympathetic character that they actually treat well, the one who’s there to make you think the villain isn’t all bad. Murphy’s your immorality pet. He’s the asshole you like because part of you is an asshole too.”

“I can’t believe this is what you think about right after sex.”

Niylah grins, rolls over for a kiss. “I just think it’s an interesting dynamic. The two of you simultaneously make each other better and worse people.”

“That sounds about right,” Clarke agrees, and tugs her closer, ending the talking for a while.

She and Niylah never get quite to being in a relationship, so when they graduate, they don’t break up so much as move apart. Niylah goes back to California, and Clarke stays in Boston in a cheap two-bedroom apartment with Murphy.

Sometimes, she thinks about what her ninth-grade self would think about her life: openly and comfortably bisexual, working in a museum instead of going to med school, living with John Murphy. Even her post-college self has trouble believing it’s real. But it’s good.

After six months of largely successful cohabitation when Murphy comes home late on a Saturday night with a giant bottle of flavored vodka and says, “We need to get drunk.”

Clarke never needs to be asked to drink shitty liquor twice. “Okay.”

Murphy roots around the fridge, frowning when all he finds is Coke and green powerade. “I thought we had lemonade.”

“Nope.”

“Well, this is going to taste shitty with the mixers we’ve got,” he says, frowning at the vodka, which is apparently raspberry flavored.

Clarke grabs the Coke. “If we drink the first one fast enough we won’t taste the second one.”

“Cheers to that,” says Murphy, and pours one generous slosh of booze into his world’s okayest sister mug and another into Clarke’s novelty Pikachu glass.

They’re adults.

After a glass and a half of raspberry-Coke vodka, Clarke asks, “Why are we getting drunk?”

“You need a reason?”

“I don’t, but it was your idea. What happened?”

Murphy makes a face, then drains his drink. “I think I’ve got a crush on a girl.”

It shouldn’t be unthinkable; romantic interest has always been a theoretical possibility for Murphy. He’s always said he could like someone, but Clarke sort of assumed he wouldn’t. It was just hard to imagine what Murphy with a crush would look like, and even harder to imagine Murphy’s type. What does he even like, in a person?

She wants to ask about a thousand questions, but she knows better. Murphy would just shut down. So instead she grabs the vodka, pours him more, and tops it off with what’s left of the Coke. “What girl?”

“She works at the pawn shop.”

John Murphy is probably the only person she knows who, in 2018, not only goes to a pawn shop, but goes to a pawn shop regularly enough to have developed feelings for someone who works there. It’s just so painfully Murphy.

“Is she just being polite to you because you’re a customer?”

He snorts. “She’s not polite to me. She’s an asshole. I keep trying to bring in stuff to sell and she tells me to get better shit.”

“That sounds about right, yeah.”

“So what do I do?”

“Can you just ask her if she wants to get a drink sometime?”

He pulls a face. “Pass.”

“Can you figure out a way to see her outside of the pawn shop without actually asking her?”

“I think she’s in a band.”

“So you got me drunk to agree to go to your crush’s concert with you? I’d do that anyway.”

“Isn’t that weird? Like–going to her concert?”

“How do you know she has a band?”

“She told me.”

“And the concert?”

“There’s a flyer by the register.”

“Did she ever mention it?”

“I asked her what it was and she said it was her band and they were decent.”

“So that seems like a pretty normal way to express interest in someone. You can just say you were curious or bored or whatever.”

“And you’re coming?”

“I’m coming.”

“Cool.” He groans and flops onto his back. “This already sucks.”

Clarke pats his shoulder. “You get used to it.”

Murphy’s crush’s name is Emori and she plays drums in a band called “Jose Chung’s ‘From Outer Space,’” which seems like a lot of name for one band, but Murphy tells her it’s an X-Files reference, so at least it makes some sense. There are four of them, two other women on bass and guitar, and the lead singer, a guy with messy black hair and sharp black eyeliner who looks too pretty to be a real person. He’s got a decent voice too, deep and kind of rough, an unvarnished kind of sound that Clarke feels down to her toes.

“Do you know any of the other ones?” she asks Murphy.

“Nope,” he says. “She was right, though, they’re not bad.”

“They aren’t.” She pulls her attention away from the lead singer to focus on Emori, taking her in. She’s cute, with a big face tattoo that must have hurt like hell to get, and long brown hair pulled away from her face by a red bandanna. She’s wearing a black tank top that leaves her shoulders bare, showing off more ink that clearly continues under the fabric.

She’s not who she would have pictured for Murphy, but she also doesn’t know who she would have pictured. She’s always thought Murphy’s type was more about personality than appearance.

Jose Chung’s “From Outer Space” are the first of three no-name local bands in the set, and Murphy, being the disaster that he is, wants to just leaveas soon they’re off the stage. But Clarke sees the lead singer making his way to the bar, so she makes a quick decision.

“I’m going to go make friends with the rest of the band,” she says. “If you want to run away, you can go, but you’re own your own.”

She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, but she hears some spluttered protests that let her know he is following her, and bites back on her smile. It’s definitely a little bit selfish, but only a little; Murphy did ask for her help. Sort of.

There’s just enough free space next to the singer for Clarke to wedge herself in, and the guy glances over, mildly curious, but doesn’t say anything. She checks around for Murphy, finds he’s hanging back, and leans in to murmur, “Sorry, I’m trying to force my friend to flirt with your drummer.”

The guy’s eyebrows go up. This close, he’s even prettier, tan skin dotted with freckles, a small scar placed perfectly to bring attention to his lips, the eyeliner the icing on the cake. “I’m not sure how this is helping your friend flirt with my drummer,” he replies, just as low.

��If I’m here, he can’t talk to me.”

“My drummer eats guys alive.”

“I think he’s into that. That seems to be his type.”

“Huh.”

Clarke flags down the bartender and orders a beer. “You guys are really good,” she offers.

“Thanks.”

Okay, so, he’s hot, but aloof, and a little too full of himself, if Clarke is honest. The band is really good, but they’re playing a small venue in Cambridge. They’re not big enough that he should be above talking to people, so it’s probably just a personality trait.

“What’s your friend’s name?” he asks, not looking at her.

“Murphy.”

“He probably doesn’t have a chance.”

Clarke shrugs. “I’ll be proud of him if he just gives it a try.”

“Low standards, huh?” says the guy.

“He doesn’t get out much.”

“So, how long do I have to stay here for this?”

Clarke blinks. “Sorry?”

“You’re hitting on me. How long do I have to stay?”

“I didn’t know you were in a big hurry to be gone. I assumed you were at the bar because you wanted a drink. But I can go hit on someone else. Is your bass player into women?”

That perks him up, because he’s apparently the kind of asshole who thinks girl-on-girl is hot. “Possibly, but she’s got a boyfriend right now. Sorry.”

Clarke cracks her neck as an excuse to look around. Murphy is talking to Emori and she’s smiling, which means Clarke’s work here is done and she can leave the surly asshole alone. It’s always a shame when a hot boy in eyeliner lets her down, but she’ll live. “Oh well. Murphy’s set, so you should have a good rest of the night.”

He looks a little surprised. “Oh, uh, yeah. You too.”

Clarke raises her glass in salute and slides away from him, moving down the bar to a less crowded spot. She doesn’t let herself look back to see if he’s watching her, but she does let herself hope.

It would serve him right.

Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, Murphy doesn’t come up with a better way to flirt with Emori than going to her shows, which means that Clarke is also going to her shows, to be a supportive friend, and getting to know Emori and by extension the rest of the band.

Emori, at least, she likes. She’s quick and funny and takes no shit, which is perfect for Murphy, and despite what the surly singer said, she does seem kind of fond of him. It’s hard to get a great read on her, but she keeps coming to talk to Murphy, and Clarke doesn’t think she’s the type to talk to people unless she actually wants to. Their whole relationship seems to be based on talking shit, but that’s got to be Murphy’s type.

Raven and Echo–the bass and guitar players, respectively–are cool too, easy for Clarke to hang out with while Murphy’s busy with Emori. She likes them all, really. It’s not a hardship.

Except that there’s Bellamy, too.

She does want to like Bellamy, but she can’t get over thinking he’s just kind of an asshole. He’s never really as aloof as he was that first night again, seems to warm up once he’s realized that Emori doesn’t seem to be planning to kick Murphy’s ass, but he’s still kind of cold. And part of her can’t help feeling like she should get over it, that it’s unfair of her to hold a grudge for one night, but she just can’t figure out how to get along with Bellamy.

She does try, but from what she can tell, he doesn’t. She asks him about the band and he deflects, talking about how they’re not really that good, it’s just a hobby. She asks what his real job is and he makes a face, says it’s boring. It’s not as if every conversation is like that, but she always feels like he’s not that interested in the conversation, like he’s waiting for her to just stop talking to him.

“So stop talking to him,” Murphy says, with a shrug. “Who cares?”

“Do you like him?”

“I guess. It’s not like I’m making him a friendship bracelet or anything. Does it matter?”

“You’re my barometer, remember?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You want to date Bellamy?”

“No!” she says, but it’s too late. Murphy’s running with it.

“I guess he’s probably kind of hot? Not my type, but makes sense for you. And you’re pissed because he’s not interested.”

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this is news.” It seems like a safer tactic than arguing. “I told you I tried to flirt with him the first day, it obviously didn’t work.”

“Yeah, but you’re still pissed,” he says. “So you’re still into him.”

“I want him to be into me.” If she can’t tell Murphy these things, what good is he? “I don’t get why he’s not.”

“Okay, but if you’re not into him, who cares? He doesn’t like you, you don’t like him, no harm, no foul, right? Way better than the alternative.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. He should like me. At least as a person.”

“I think he’d be good for you.”

That actually does surprise her; she’s not sure he’s ever offered an unsolicited opinion on whether or not she should date someone.

“You do?”

“Yeah, probably. He’s a pretty decent guy and we have fun hanging out. Doesn’t take my shit and gives as good as he gets.”

“But he’s not into me, so I don’t know why we’re having this conversation.”

“Because you wanted to talk about him. You started it.”

“I was complaining.”

“You complain about him a lot.” Murphy groans. “Look, like him, don’t like him, I don’t give a shit. But if you don’t like him, stop caring what he thinks, stop talking to him, and let it go.”

It’s exactly what she should be doing; she flops onto his stomach with a groan of her own. “I hate you she says.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, I owe you an apology.”

It’s a week after her conversation with Murphy and Clarke has admitted, at least privately, that she still wants to make out with Bellamy and still might kind of like Bellamy, despite all logic and reason.

And now he’s smiling at her, nervous and casual in a t-shirt and glasses at Raven’s game night, and she has no idea what’s happening.

“You do?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re talking about and we can go from there? Because I’m kind of lost.”

He clears his throat. “So, uh–I didn’t know Murphy’s name was John.”

“And you’re apologizing to me for that?”

“The first night we met you said your friend was flirting with Emori, and I knew she liked this customer of hers named John, so I thought you were distracting me so some asshole she didn’t like could slobber all over her. So I was annoyed.”

“And you only just realized Murphy was her customer crush?” she asks, stuck between amusement and disbelief. “It’s been months!”

“I know! I thought he just got lucky and she liked him, but then she said John was coming tonight and I said I hadn’t met him and the rest of the band made fun of me for like an hour.”

“It kind of sounds like you deserved it.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly, and Clarke smiles too. “Anyway, I feel like–I never knew how to explain without telling you I thought Emori was into someone else. And I still kind of thought you were a dick for trying to distract me with your feminine wiles.”

“I was joking!”

He laughs. “Yeah, uh–anyway. Sorry?”

“You don’t really have to apologize for that,” she says. “It’s not like you were–you’re pretty polite mostly. I thought you had a bad night. And didn’t like me much.”

“Yeah. But I want us to do better, so–can we start over?”

It’s strange, because part of Clarke feels like they never actually started. Like this is actually going to be their first try.

Which makes it easy. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

It should fix all her problems, or at least all the problems she’s admitting she has, but less than two weeks later she slams a bag into the island and says, “I bought vanilla vodka and orange juice and I want it to taste like a creamsicle.”

“Won’t work but okay,” says Murphy. “What did Bellamy do?”

“Who says it’s about Bellamy?”

“Can we skip the bullshit and you just tell me?”

Clarke considers. “Drink first.”

They make it through the first round and then Clarke says, “He likes me now.”

“And you hate him?”

“No, I still want to make out with him.” She sighs. “You were right, I’m totally into him, and now we’re getting along, and everything sucks. He’s really cute.”

Murphy takes another drink of his vanilla screwdriver. “So ask him to make out. At least you’re not trying to tell him you’re into him but not into sex and you’ve never actually dated anyone before. Why are you complaining?”

“Have you figured out a way to mention you’re ace yet?” she asks.

“Nope. It doesn’t really come up in conversation. No one’s like, how much does everyone love sex? They just assume the answer is a lot and don’t bother asking.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Keep complaining about your thing, that helps.”

She flops onto her back. “He’s just so pretty.”

Murphy pats her leg. “Yeah, that sucks.”

Murphy’s problem seems easier to solve than hers, especially in early May. Clarke gives it a week and then, when they’re out drinking with the whole band, asks, “Oh, is anyone going to Pride? Do you guys need a ride?”

“You’re going to Pride?” Echo asks.

“She’s bi,” Bellamy says, even though Clarke’s never told him that. “Or pan?” he adds, glancing at her for approval.

“I usually go with bi, but as long as it covers no gender preference I’m good.”

“I’m biromantic asexual,” says Murphy. Clarke didn’t warn him, but he’s pretty quick with this stuff.

“We always go to Pride because that’s how we got to be friends. Some asshole in our high-school GSA told us neither of us belonged there because we weren’t queer enough.”

“Jesus Christ,” says Bellamy. “Well, I could use a ride.”

Clarke will admit to startling, just a little. She didn’t really think anyone in the band was queer, had just wanted to give Murphy an excuse to share his sexuality. It was always possible she’d get a taker, but it hasn’t seemed likely.

But Bellamy wants to join them. If he’s gay, that kind of sucks, at least for her. But he’s bi or trans–into women at all and queer, basically–he might be her dream guy.

“I know it’s shitty to ask why people want to go to Pride, but I still want to know,” Murphy says.

“Also bi,” says Bellamy, so, yeah. Clarke wants to marry him. “I’ve never actually been to Boston Pride, though. I don’t like going alone.”

“Then you should definitely come with us,” says Clarke, and he gives her one of his melting smiles.

“Thanks.”

“Can I come along as a supportive outsider who would happily make out with a girl if the opportunity presented itself?” Emori asks.

“Definitely,” says Murphy. “Just don’t talk about ally pride or whatever and we’re good. And kiss a girl if you can, I hear it’s cool.”

Echo’s interested to learn that he’s never kissed a girl, and she and Emori and Raven get drawn into that conversation, leaving Clarke and Bellamy off on their own.

“So, that first day we met,” she says.

Bellamy cocks his head. “What about it?”

“I asked if anyone else in the band liked girls and you kind of–” She shrugs. “I thought you were one of those guys who thinks girls kissing is hot and for your benefit. But you were excited I was queer.”

He laughs. “Shit, I didn’t know you noticed. But yeah, I always like meeting more bisexuals. I was rethinking you.”

“Where did you end up?”

“What do you mean?”

She smiles. “You rethought me, so–what did you end up thinking of me?”

He bites the corner of his mouth, glances over at his band mates. They’re not paying attention that Clarke can tell, but she knows Murphy still has part of his focus on the two of them. The rest of the band probably does too. That’s the kind of group dynamic they have going.

Bellamy must be thinking the same thing. “You want to get another round?” he asks.

“Maybe at another bar.”

He laughs again, this bright, pleased laugh, at odds with his rock-star makeup. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

Outside, he says, “I thought I should have picked you up when I had the chance. I was kicking myself for–I’m still kicking myself for not flirting back.”

Her own smile creeps up, starting small but never stopping growing. “You still could.”

“We could just get a drink at my place.”

“I’d love to.”

“How much do you think Taylor Macdonald would hate us going on a double date to Pride with our straight-passing partners?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy pauses in his application of glitter to Murphy. Apparently he’s as good as makeup as he is because he taught his sister how to do hers, which works out really well. Clarke sucks at makeup; it’s nice that they have complementary skill sets.

“Straight passing?” he asks, dubious.

“His words.”

“Dick.”

Murphy grins. “I figure if I’m pissing off Taylor Macdonald, I’m doing something right. I hope every time I’m happy, he feels like someone walked over his grave.”

Clarke offers her hand and he high-fives her; Emori smiles. “I’m starting to see why the two of you are such good friends. It didn’t quite add up before.”

“Spite and stubbornness,” says Clarke.

“Our main motivations in life.”

“Exactly,” says Emori. “It makes perfect sense.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bellamy teases, but Clarke just smiles.

“Whatever. We’ve got it all figured out.”

#idleafterthoughts

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bluephoenixdruidicprincess · 5 years

Text

Taylor Swift Lover Reaction

The day's here. Taylor Swift released her new album Lover, so I'm going to talk about it. I've been super hyped for this album ever since Me! was released and I was excited to see what Taylor was going to do after Reputation. It definitely looked that after the darker tone of Reputation, we were going to get more of a lighter tone for the TS7 era.

How I'm going to do this, with each song, I'm just going to give some thoughts I have on it. Some songs, I have more to say and others, I have less to say.

1. I Forgot That You Existed

It's an interesting song to start the album with. The first part of the journey into the Lover era is moving away from the toxicity you've experienced which makes sense, once you move away from the hate, you can begin to love. Interesting to see where it'll lead. And I totally feel Taylor on this. It really is a magical moment when you've been bothered by someone so much but then bam! a moment hits and you realize you don't care about them anymore. It really is kind of freeing.

2. Cruel Summer

Hello, Speak Now days! How I've missed you! I've never really complained about Taylor's change in genre, I really liked both 1989 and Reputation but I still do carry a flame for Speak Now when she had that mix of country, rock, and pop and I'll always miss those days. So to hear the style come back a little bit in the form of the wide, all-encompassing bombastic sound this song had, well, it was a real treat for sure.

3. Lover

A song I'm familiar with. This was released early as a single so it's gotten some radio play. It's a cute song and I love the slightest echo she puts on her voice in post production to create the sound. It really gives something to the overall vibe of the song. With all that said, Lover is not a song I'm too terribly "in love with", pardon the pun. I don't mind it, I think it's cute and I'll sing along with it on the radio, but it's not something I'll go out of my way to listen to. It's actually kind of interesting that I feel this way for the titular track on this album because I felt the same way for the titular track on Speak Now. But it's not a slight on either of the albums. The songs may not be the best imo, but the themes they represent over the course of their albums is why they're titled that way so I completely understand why they were used. So maybe Taylor is using a lot of inspiration when writing the Lover album that came from the Speak Now era.

4. The Man

We got a fast-paced song here that's super catchy. I like it.

5. The Archer

It's track 5. The fabled Track 5. If you're familiar with Taylor Swift and how she sets up her albums, you know track 5 is usually reserved for an emotional, hard-hitting track. So Reputation had Delicate, Red has All Too Well, Speak Now has Dear John, Fearless has White Horse, and the self-titled first album has Cold As You...all are just gut-wrenching emotional. I did leave out 1989 because for me, that one seems more like it was an exception to the rule but maybe there are folks out there who thought All You Had To Do Was Stay was gut-wrenching.

Everytime I listen to The Archer, it chokes me up. As much as I hate it because I want Taylor to be happy, she does heartbreak real well and she knows how to bring out those emotions with her writing in the best ways. There's just something so bittersweet and defeated in the overall vibe of The Archer and it's heart-breaking.

6. I Think He Knows

Such a retro but also very modern sound and also the perfect song you need coming out of The Archer. It's fun and upbeat and cute.

7. Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince

I don't even know how to describe this song and my feelings for it, it was that good definitely on par with my love with Getaway Car from the Reputation era. I really like it, I'm definitely going to listen to it again, and the metaphor used for this song was implemented perfectly.

8. Paper Rings

Another fun, cute song that I'm going to have fun singing and dancing along with as I listen to the album over again.

9. Cornelia Street

I think this might be my favorite song of the album. It was just a perfect mix of the new Taylor sound with the old Taylor writing style.

10. Death by a Thousand Cuts

Definitely not my favorite on the album and certainly Cornelia Street was in no danger of being replaced. This song isn't bad, it's a song that's just kind of there, but if it wasn't, I probably wouldn't miss it. It doesn't really illicit any kind of emotion in me.

11. London Boy

Taylor is just on a roll in this album with her quirky, happy, upbeat kind of songs. I feel like she was really try to perk us up after The Archer. But I'll definitely listen to London Boy again.

12. Soon You'll Get Better (feat. Dixie Chicks)

Of course, since I made a comment about how fun and quirky the songs have been since The Archer, that means Taylor has to bring us back down to another heavy-hitter, and it's featuring the Dixie Chicks so I expected nothing less than a soul-crushing track. This song is hard to sit through with dry eyes. The hopelessness of the situation Taylor is lamenting about but still clinging onto hope because that's all you have is really truly gut-wrenching and I can see myself listening to this song over and over again and crying each time.

13. False God

For a song that made a few references to NYC, I kept on getting hardcore New Orleans vibes from the instrumentals in this song. Maybe that was a part of the metaphor as this song is about a relationship that is out of flux, not quite matching up with the ideal so the instrumentals having the same vibe makes sense. But even if that wasn't intentional, who cares. That's my interpretation and I'm going with it.

14. You Need To Calm Down

Another song I'm very familiar with, another single. It's a fun, summery kind of song despite all the controversy it had. I had a lot of fun laughing at the irony of the situation within the controversy as I'm sure Taylor did as well -- the song is about not putting all of your energy into something you hate and that's exactly what the Taylor haters did when this song was released, thereby proving Taylor's point and it was hilarious for me to watch unfold.

15. Afterglow

Still not quite on the level as Cornelia Street but I can see this one definitely making it into my Top 5 for this album. I know this song is going to be in my head for a while.

Speaking of songs that get stuck in your head, we've finally gotten there, let's jam to Me!.

16. Me! (Feat Brendon Urie)

The first single released and I love this song, I know the lyrics by heart. I was super obsessed with it when the single released. And spoiler alert: it definitely will make it into my Top 5 for this album. But I am sad Taylor went back into the recording and took out the "spelling is fun" part of the audio. I don't appreciate the censorship, I'm just saying. The "spelling is fun" line was cute and was a really nice segway into -- girl, there ain't no "I" in team, but you know there is a ME, you can't spell "awesome" without ME. It fit perfectly with that verse and anyone who hated it or thought it was cringy simply has no taste...that's right, if you don't like the things I like, you have no taste😛.

But Taylor and Brendon was just the perfect combination of artists I didn't know I wanted a collab with until I got it. They both are just so weird and dramatic in their own ways and it really shined through in this song. I hope we get more collabs from them in the future.

17. It's Nice To Have A Friend

I love the instrumentals and harmonizing going on in the background of this song. It was actually really hard to pay attention to the lyrics because I kept on getting distracted with the cool sounds going on in the background.

18. Daylight

What a great song to end this album on. The entire album has been exploring the theme of Love and all the different facets and shades it comes in and it all culminates into Taylor reminiscing through this song the trials and tribulations she's been through and how now she can see everything clearly because she's finally found the daylight. It's just a great way to end the album. And there's a little message at the end of the song where Taylor is speaking, "I want to be defined by the things I love, not the things I hate...you are what you love." And that's such a great message to send. Too often, we all get caught up in negativity and the things we hate when we should be putting all of our energy into things we love. And it kind of takes you full circle to the first track which was I Forgot You Existed where Taylor was making the decision to move on, to end the hate, and just be apathetic towards that person. It was such a great way to end the album.

So overall thoughts in the album? This is definitely something I'm going to have to listen to a few times to really have any definite feelings on. I mean, we're talking 18 tracks here, this was a huge album and this wasn't even the deluxe version. When I get my hands on the deluxe version, we'll see what that one has. So yeah, there is a lot of material to sift through on this album. But I guess premature thoughts? It's a cute album. I don't know if it's my favorite. Speak Now probably still holds that title but this album is definitely enjoyable to listen to particularly if you do like Taylor Swift. If you were a hardcore fan of Taylor's older stuff and you weren't really feeling the genre change, have no fear, you might like this album. It still has that very modernized pop sound but there are definitely elements of her country roots here that you'll probably enjoy. Ultimately, this album, soundwise, is a real nice amalgamation of all of Taylor Swift's different sounds just like lyrically, this album is the culmination of everything she's learned and grown through over the course of her previous albums. This album is really aptly named and I'm so glad to see Taylor release this kind of album. She feels things so much, whether she's happy or sad, and music is her outlet. She really is a Lover who wants to share that with the world and I think we're incredibly lucky to have her.

So my Top 5 currently for this album is as follows.

5. Afterglow

4. Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince

3. The Archer

2. Me!

Was there any question what my favorite track on this album was going to be?

1. Cornelia Street

Awesome job, Taylor! As per usual, you never disappoint. Another fantastic album.

#taylor swift #taylorswift #taylorswiftpositivityparty #taylornation #i love taylor swift #ts7 #lover album #lover

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every-last-inch-of-me · 5 years

Text

Bar-awling || Fab(ber) 5

A fight breaks loose at the Hunted Deer.

@freddie-eddie-wiggins, @hngrylikethewoolf, @hellfire-damnation

(Max + Clayton no longer in play but we didn’t want to lose everyone’s hard work)

[TW: violence, gore, blood, sexism, homophobia]

FREDDIE:

Freddie pushed his glass halfway across the bar, waiting for the hose to hover above and dispense whatever concoction Gaston felt like bestowing on him in that moment. It had become somewhat of a running joke, the barely drinkable beverages that graced Freddie’s glass whenever he set foot in the Deer. Though, the company tonight was somewhat better than it usually was. Fred unhooked one of his heels from the barstool’s footrest and crossed his legs, brushing invisible dust from his trousers.

“So, I get called into the meeting with my boss, told I’m being reassigned, which honestly is a nightmare, because I was just starting to find common ground with…” He paused, taking his drink and thanking Gaston, “...anyway, it’s been a nightmare, and I can’t bear to be in my flat right now, it’s a complete mess, and Percy spent all last night crying and pissing in the kitchen.” Freddie sighed, catching Gaston’s eye again. “Can I get a glass of white as well, large please?”

ERROL:

It was nice, gettin' to talk to Freddie like this again. It had been a few days since the last time they'd gotten together, brunch after a late morning. After that the sheriff had been slammed with paperwork and calls, breaking the new bloke into the town beat, and general other headache-inducing business. Came with the territory, but a drink out was much preferable to staying in these days.

He swirled his brandy around the glass, and took a swallow, listening to the younger man speak with his head resting on a hand. The noise of the bar was stuck in the background, something Errol was easily able to tune out. No one else was his problem here, anyhow, not until they made themselves that way. No, he was here off duty and he was here with Freddie and he was going to make sure they had a decent time of it.

Raising a brow, the Irishman snorted. "Right, an' his grounds fer yer "reassignment" were what, exactly?" Shaking his head, he signaled for another drink from Gaston, thanked him quietly when he got one, and then turned his attention right back where it belonged. He shrugged a shoulder, almost artfully nonchalant, before saying on the tail end of another drink: "Stay at mine. Percy likes Del, they'd be fine. An' I can get 'im tah stop pissin' everywhere real quick like." He smirked slightly, a boyish quality to it, before sobering up. "Doors always open, Fred."

CLAYTON:

It was a relatively crowded night at The Hunted Deer. Relative to the fact that William had only been in Swynlake a number of weeks. Still, the werewolf restriction petition (has nobody thought of an acronym yet? This town: imbecilic) was of hot topic in accordance with two instances of werewolf promulgation in town. Two werewolves just out in the open. It was laughable. And if two identified publicly, how many were still scared and hiding? Had he stumbled upon an entire pack?

Coming back into the bar from the loo, William saw that someone had taken his seat near the more crowded area, where the debate had broken out. Considering his true beliefs were on the more extreme end of the Magick spectrum, his public, Clayton persona, took a more reserved stance. It was all about inflicting fear. They’re dangerous, unpredictable. It was a bar, and everyone had a couple hours of drinking tucked under their belts by now. Slurs began getting tossed around. ‘Beasts’ they were called.

Moving down the bar a bit, William leaned his forearms against the wooden edge and waited for Gaston to walk his way. Beside him, his ear couldn’t help but pick up the sound of a persona he thought only existed in movies. Not being able to help himself, his eyes took a cautious look across the pair of... men before settling on their feet.

FREDDIE:

“Jon just left. I don’t know, had to go back to London, found something better, moved departments. Whatever it is, he’s no longer in need of my services, and Taylor, the guy I was assisting before, just up and died, so now I’m just temping for this one guy while they replace Jon and give me to that guy.” Freddie said, taking up the glass of wine and a couple of large mouthfuls from it.

He considered Errol’s proposition for less than a second. Memories of Errol’s flat, charming as it was, flashed before him, and he shook his head. “I don’t think that’ll work, my shoes alone wouldn’t fit in your wardrobe, and your living room window isn’t south facing.” Freddie said, dismissing that thought without having to fully entertain what it meant. There was something heavy in the word cohabiting that had Freddie mentally backing away, no matter how warm the idea of lazy mornings and quiet evenings was.

That was when he noticed the man behind Errol. Freddie didn’t notice men as often as he used to, but this one was staring...at his feet. He glanced down, thinking he might have scuffed the Louboutins, but no, they seemed fine. He looked back up then, meeting the other’s eye and cocking his head in challenge, gaze stony.

CLAYTON:

William held the man’s gaze for a second, before pulling away and turning to lean against the bar with his back to both of them. Luckily within the same moment, Gaston walked over to him.

Not knowing the night would be so lively he had started the evening out with a few glasses of whiskey-- soon, he was clinking glasses with half the bar. Stepping down to beer wasn’t ideal, but after some hearty ‘rounds with the boys,’ there was no going back.

“Beer.” He told his friend. “You know perhaps it’s worth adding whether men should wear heels to this discussion? Or, maybe now that I think about it, it shouldn’t really be up for debate at all,” he joked with a wicked grin.

GASTON:

Gaston followed his friend's eyes to the heels in question. He'd almost got used to Freddie trotting into the bar like a giant rat, last seen on a makeover TV show and, after the initial distaste, he was nearly coming to not completely dislike the fellow. After all, he had to give it to him, he usually drank the shit Gaston put in his glass. A lot of supposedly bigger blokes wouldn't.

But as always, when presented with something to pick at, Gaston did his best to join in. "Don't really think it's up for debate. They don't put them in the men's section for a reason," he said, pulling the head on the pint and pushing it over. Gaston partitioned most things in life into sections. Beer and hunting and women were men's things. Cocktails and high heels and other men were women's things. If it was something he knew his grandfather would see and grunt 'people at home wouldn't let you get away with shows like that', it probably meant it was in the wrong section. That was the thing with the country, it had grasped the natural order of things at the roots and, by right of being there first, refused to let go. Even if there was a new natural order of things called 'letting everybody bloody well get on with it'.

He shot a sideways glance at the priest, who peered over his glasses with eyes that said 'don't', and shrugged. "Bet there's a dirty corner in the Bible that the bloody do-gooders pretend isn't there anymore that says something like 'Thou shalt not tit around in your mother's clothing' and then something about death by stoning."

ERROL:

The Irishman made a sound at the back of his throat and shook his head. "Shame, 'at. Know he wasn' always amazin' but was still familiar. An' a guy dyin' is jus'...shite." He didn't really know what to say to that, honestly. There were few things he really could say, beside condolences and commiseration. Errol snorted into his glass at the dismissal of his offer, nodding his head a bit and then giving a shrug. "'S a change o' pace fer ye. If he wanna stay wif me, ye can. Yer welcome tah. Yer place 'as more room, mine's cozy." The inflection on the word was intentional and he smirked a bit, wiggling his brows at the other man in a bit of a tease. He wanted him to know he understood; the offer was always open though, as was Errol's door.

The sheriff glanced where Freddie was looking, his shoes, a bit of a frown on his face. He was confused for a second before he caught the younger man staring at a bloke behind them, eyes hard and challenging. Then he heard the commentary and grit his teeth. He would have let it go, honestly. People were going to be wankers no matter what he did or said. But hate speech was illegal in England, and it sounded like this particular strain of topic had gone on well into the evening.

And he was off duty.

"Why don' ye shove it where th' sun don' shine, boyo? Maybe it'll shove th' stick outta yer arse." Or push it further in and impale him. "'S none o' yer damn business." That was a warning and it would be the only one this guy would get. Errol wasn't about to badge him but if it came down to it, he would. He'd wanted a peaceful evening, some drinks with Freddie. And this is what he got.

Errol knew Freddie could take care of himself, mumbled as much when he turned back towards him with stiffened shoulders. His eyes were hard, glaring at the barkeep as he continued on. Off to the side, he could see the local priest glaring just as crossley at the man, clear disapproval on his face. Good. At least someone else was bothered by it.

CLAYTON:

Oi. The mouth on this bloke.

Suddenly, William felt almost giddy.

“No,” he said, turning to face them, looking amused, “that’s certainly not any sort of business I partake in,” his eyes flicked to the one with long hair, “’ shoving things up arses,’ as you say.” Looking back to the older man, William didn’t even try to hide the smirk that played on his lips. With a lift of his chin towards the effeminate one, he said, “However, if you’re looking for advice, I’m sure your girlfriend was working in that industry back when you still thought you were a genuine man.”

Turning back to Gaston, William clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, chum, it’s been a busy night, you’ve been working hard--” Pulling a £20 quid from his wallet, he slid it across the bar over to Gaston. “And I hear you’re getting a bit lonely. No shame in it, my friend, no shame. Tonight, your dry-spell ends on me.” Tossing a casual glance to the man in heels as he slid over another £20, William said, “How much, darling? Seeing as this old chap can afford you, I assume it’s not much.”

FREDDIE:

And suddenly Freddie knew this man. He’d seen him in his father’s board meetings. Read him in the comments on those videos. Glimpsed him every time he stepped out of the house in heels and had to tolerate getting looked up and down and sneered at. It just so happened tonight his patience wore from “thin” to “out”. It had been years since he had a fight, and Freddie’s palms itched. He looked down at the note and smiled, chuckling down at his chest as he took the hair band from his wrist and pulled his hair back in a bun. Didn’t want to give the prick anything loose to yank on.

He passed Errol, cupping his cheek and leaving a quick kiss on his lips. “For you, gorgeous…” He said, voice sickly sweet as he reeled back (thumb over fingers, aim past the face, swing from the shoulder) and made contact with that crunch. The crunch that hit him harder than the coke did, with the same high. He reached out beside him and pocketed the 20. “I’d say twenty quid about covers that.” He said, stamping on the other’s foot with the high heel he’d hated so much.

“Consider that one on the house.” 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

CLAYTON:

William moved, not a lot, but he budged. The man in heels walloped a punch that hit hard enough to daze him, staying almost completely frozen in place until he felt him crush one of his toes. Another crunch.

It won a round of “Ooooo’s” from the rest of the bar.

Then, there was a moment of silence. He was hunched, having jolted from the pain in his foot. His vision went red, matching the blood now running from his nose onto his shirt.

With a snarl, not unlike a growl, William glowered at the assailant. These people. Small-town nothings. He wiped his mouth against the back of his sleeve to keep from spitting. They had no idea who they were testing.

Some idiot from across the bar shouted, “Fag!” and for a moment William wondered if he was the one being jeered at.

He lunged.

With one hand around his attacker’s neck, while his other arm was barred against the man’s chest to block his arms, William took three massive steps forward, forcing the other man back, before throwing him down, crashing across the row of bar stools.

Suddenly, the bar erupted into chaos.

ERROL:

Errol knew what was going to happen the moment he saw Freddie's smile fall. There was something there that he had never seen before, some burning light, like anger and hatred and pain all rolled into one. It made him wonder who had caused it, made a flare of protective instinct swell in his chest. The fact that the bastard behind them had the gall to call Freddie a hooker because of his choice in footwear, then had the audacity to call Errol his John was the last straw.

The Irishman didn't have to do much, really. He'd already shucked his coat off and tossed it over the back of his bar stool, but he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them all the way to his elbows anyway. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Freddie pulling his hair up. A smirk twisted his features, a stab of pride washing through him. Atta boy, he thought, ready to turn on his heel and wallop the man sound enough he'd be shitting his teeth out for a week.

Instead, Freddie's hands caught him, stilled him. They froze in time and, brow furrowing, the silver-haired man registered what he was about to do a second too late. Even if he'd wanted to stop him, he couldn't. Freddie was already reeling back and taking a swing and, fuck, what a swing it was. The lummox barely swayed, but he was dazed, and blood trickled down from his nose. The sight was satisfying to watch.

And, then, all hell broke loose.

Someone from the crowd around them shouted, a slur that he was all too familiar with, and the arsehole lunged. He had Freddie round the neck and slammed him into the stools. And Errol saw red. There was no hesitation, even as the bar erupted around them, as he stood, squared his stance off and kicked off the ground in a perfect arch. His dominant leg came up, whip-fast from the left, and slammed across the back of the bloke's head.

The sheer satisfaction of watching him stumble away from Freddie wasn't enough, however. Now, Errol was looking for blood. He'd do his job in a moment. He just wanted another shot at him. Shifting his stance, the Irishman shifted back and then launched into a forward kick. His foot landed square in the man's chest. He stumbled again, backwards this time, and Errol smiled.

The message should have been clear but, if not, he was ready to go a few more rounds.

Around them, fights were breaking out and furniture was being tossed about. Straightening, Errol fished out his badge, palmed it, and got ready to fuck up everyone's evening.

CLAYTON:

The first kick was enough to make William forget about his original problem, one that he had not been convinced was completely dealt with yet. The second kick sent him tumbling backward over a table and crashing to the floor.

As the brawl rushed in around them, William became separated from the couple. His head throbbed. With one hand gingerly guarding the sore spot on the back of his skull, he stumbled his way over to the far wall. Steadying himself for a moment, it took all his concentration to calm a severe wave of nausea-- a clear sign of a being concussed.

Sensing something to his left, William snapped his attention to the man he caught in his peripheral. Claude. Gaston’s meek, nosy friend.

William was breathing heavily, all of his senses on fire. With grunts and screams echoing across the bar he recalled Claude’s attitude towards him earlier: dismissive. Like he didn’t respect William... Most men were intimidated or awed by him, but he was seldom simply overlooked.

Livid at the notion that he hadn’t landed a hit on his second attacker, William ached to hit the closest thing to him. With an evil smile curling around his lips, he grabbed Claude by the collar, and without exchanging so much as one word, he decked him. A solid shiner on the left eye, one hit across the face, and then he dropped the sorry man. Straightening up, William took a deep breath, re-broke his nose back into place, and then walked back into the fight.

CLAUDE:

The priest had been watching the altercation across the bar from a distance, eyes drawn there originally by Gaston's purposeful commentary. He had originally come to the bar that evening to visit with his friend, perhaps study for his upcoming exams. What he had not expected, however, was the surly man Gaston had latched onto to be there. He certainly hadn't expected to be accosted, either, though Clayton's entire being reeked of self-importance and booze.

A pitiful combination and a cowardly one, at that. It reminded Claude so viscerally of Laurent that the man had found himself shying away, purposefully avoiding that side of the bar all evening. He'd listened as Clayton and, following his poor example, Gaston spoke ill of not only the magicks in town but of numerous other "ingrates." Though Clayton hadn't used the word (and Claude wondered if he even possessed the vocabulary to understand what it meant, let alone use it) the meaning was there all the same.

When he went after that man in the high heels, Claude's gut sank into the bar floor.

When the man's companion retaliated and the bar erupted into chaos Claude's heart leapt into his throat. He would have stayed where he was, away from the fight that had his hands shaking and his anxiety skyrocketing, but another patron had been thrown into his table. The priest scrambled away only to be dragged up into the air by his collar. He could see above the crowd, the sea of fists, and was staring into the pure malice of Clayton's face.

Whatever he had done to incite such a reaction (beyond ignore him entirely), Claude flinched away from the man's fist as it came crashing into his face, a blow that cut open the skin across his cheekbone and had his left eye throbbing in pain. If he'd had his glasses on, they would have shattered. From the feeling of it, he knew from experience that it would swell and that his face would be mottled black and blue come the morning.

Temporarily unbalanced, the priest crumpled to the floor. He narrowly missed another patron's booted foot kicking him in the groin. It caught his ribs instead with a harsh thud! Curling in on himself and breathing shallowly now from the pain, Claude dragged himself upwards and towards the bar.

He didn't realize there were glass shards caught in his hands, falling from his clothing, from the bottles and glasses that had been smashed by the brawl.

GASTON:

The barman watched the scene quickly unfold in front of him. He'd seen fights before. Two separate people on two separate occasions had had their ears bitten off outside his pub. But they tended to be small things. If people got involved, they got involved because they were good friends of the participants. And if he got involved, it was only to take bets from the gathering crowd of onlookers. He'd never seen a fight like this. Likely, he imagined, because the best part of his patrons had been coming since it opened, another part had been dragged along as wives and children of said patrons, and the rest had come for a cheap but relatively tasty meal. Or so he thought. Apparently today they'd decided to air their age old grievances with the crowd.

An American movie style brawl. The first and probably the last in the bar's history.

He would have laughed if it wasn't for the crunch of a table halfway across the room and the sight of someone picking up their plate and stepping back from the impending doom as their peas tumbled across the floor. Well, and the shame. The little voice in his head that sounded like his mother but was probably actually just the shadow of his conscience sighed. 'This was supposed to be a family pub,' it said. 'How do you expect ladies to want to come here when you let things like this-'

The thought was cut off however by the sight of the priest raising into the air, acquiring a nice purple bruise and falling back into the crowd. Gaston found him a moment later scrambling across the floor towards the bar and, when he was in arm's reach, hauled him by the scruff of his shirt over the counter.

Boy o' boy would there be some reckoning.

He was already writing the banning notices in his head and totting up the furniture and utensils he was going to be putting on a certain Frederick's tab. And that was the least of it.

But for the moment, he crouched with the priest, his fingers taking his chin and pulling back his hair a little to expose the damage. He'd seen a hard punch and received a few himself. It looked bad. Worse than bad. Even so, it wasn't life threatening.

"Stay there," he grunted, pulling the crow bar that his father had kept under the bar for events like this and thought for a moment on what exactly he was going to do.

ERROL:

The chaos that had erupted around him and Freddie, while separating the two a bit, also kept that arsehole away from the other man. That was fine with him. But he also figured that, without Freddie or Errol himself to beat on, the bloke would find another target. Call it a bit of a hunch but he'd been around the block a time or two. He knew his type. If you couldn't hit one weaker person, you hit another. Made you feel powerful or some such bollocks.

To Errol, it was cowardly.

The sheriff was proven right or, at least, he thought he was. He could see the priest scrambling across the bar floor when there was a break in the mob. Though he was a bit away from him, Errol could plainly see the already swelling face and the blood, the cuts and the fear in his eyes. Something glazed over, like. It was a look he'd seen countless times, for different reasons, and it made anger well up in his belly.

The priest was pulled behind the bar by the owner and Errol made a mental note to ask the man how he was fairing after this was all cleaned up.

His badge was still in his hand but Errol had to shove it into the front pocket of his jeans. Needed both hands to be able to push through the crowd. If he needed to he was gonna hop up on the ruddy bar to get their attention. And that was his plan until someone laid into him from the side, a right hook that caught him on the chin. It barely moved him, really, but it pissed him off. He just wanted to get back to Freddie and he considered ignoring it but he knew the dumbarse might be drunk enough to try to follow.

"Swing at me again, boyo, I dare yah," he growled, eyes bright with anger. Whatever the man saw on his face made him back away, but the snarl stayed as he stalked the way he'd been heading, a fair bit satisfied that his old commander's voice had worked.

FREDDIE:

Freddie wasn’t sure where Errol was in the mob, but it had been a long time since he’d been in a proper bar fight, and now he just wanted blood. He broke the nose of the man that pulled his hair, broke the foot of the one that went for his gut, and almost clawed an eye out of the man who spat at him. He could taste blood, and feel his cheek split and throbbing, but he felt alive.

He was laughing, high and loud, spitting blood at the floor and continuing to laugh, adrenaline coursing through him at a brutal pace. It was chaos. Absolute warfare. No matter how feminine he presented, the testosterone, the drive to conquer had taken a front seat in his mind. So after a brief pause for breath, and with his mascara smudged down his face, he dove back into the fight. He heard Errol snarl from somewhere close behind him and for a moment was sobered by the thought of how much trouble he’d be in when all of this calmed down.

MAX:

Max was technically off duty. Not by much, but technically he was off duty. He fancied a drink, and knew Gaston’s was a sound place. Not many women or men interested in men, but Max wasn’t out on the pull, he just wanted a quiet pint and a de-stress from the mountain of paperwork he’d had to endure today. He knew Errol would only be breathing down his neck if he didn’t get it done.

Max could hear a ruckus from outside, but hadn’t realised he was stepping right into World War Three.

So much for a quiet pint.

He saw Errol’s head bob up out of the fray and elbowed his way through the jumped-up wannabe Hard Men™ to grab his boss by the shoulder of his shirt. “Oi, need some backup?” He asked, catching sight of Gaston as well, giving him a certain nod to let him know he had things under control now… or would do, shortly.

GASTON:

With his head just above the line of the bar, Gaston spotted the policeman enter the pub, meeting his gaze for a moment. From what he could tell, there were at least two of them. Though he wasn't sure he trusted either of them to slow the crowd down. There were too many people and not enough of them.

Besides, he had his part to play and he wanted to hit at least one person for ruining his bar.

After a moment's breath, he leapt onto the counter, wielding the crowbar and staring into the middle of the crowd. "OKAY!" He yelled, though at first, no one turned. So he picked up a glass and threw it directly at the head of a nearby patron. "I SAID. O. K."

For a second the noise lulled as a few heads turned his way and he gave the weapon a demonstrative swing. "IF YOU ALL DON'T STOP THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW, I'M GONNA COME DOWN THERE AND START BREAKING SOME KNEECAPS." His jaw twitched. "AND JUST FOR REFERENCE, THAT'LL BE AFTER THOSE BASTARDS HAVE ARRESTED YOU."

Clayton:

It was too easy.

William grabbed the collar of one bloke and punched his lights out, knocking him into two more sorry fools. He had lost track of who his friends were supposed to be in this fight and who he should’ve been aiming for.

But that was the best kind of fight, wasn’t it? A free for all.

It meant anyone who came within a five-foot radius of him was getting hit.

From what he could tell, the worst of his injuries was a cut on the back of his head. Some idiot had smashed a glass against his skull. “Are you trying to turn this into a knife fight?” He had roared in a blind rage as he threw the man over the bar, smashing… too much glass in the process.

Suddenly someone in the background was bellowing. Usually a sign of someone wanting a challenge, or that the police had shown up.

He looked up to see it was Gaston.

Deciding that the fight, or at least the better part of it, was over, William dropped the guy he’d been holding up about to punch. Wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his sleeve, William sniffed and waited for Gaston’s cue.

***

GASTON:

The next hour passed in a blur of silver stars and blue uniforms, all of whom he was trying his best to avoid. And too, it seemed, were the best part of the pub's patrons - bloodied and blue and running home to bed. They'd never find all of them and for that he was thankful. After all, police were bad for the health.

He waited until the sheriff was out of the building and slowly pulled the door to, trying not to think about just what the inside of his bar would look like when he turned around.

"Fuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk."

#cnvos #bar-awling #convos claude #convos freddie #convos errol #tw: violence #tw: gore #tw: blood #tw: sexism

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leggigoesabroad · 5 years

Text

we’re only here on borrowed time

Sitting on a lovely, smooth, high-speed train from Nuremberg, Germany to Paris. Yesterday was a day from hell which I'll lightly get into but not dwell on, but for now, I'm so happy. I'd be remiss to not mention why!! Part of the reason I decided to book the train instead of flying from Prague to Paris was for many uninterrupted hours to listen to this new book my doctor recommended for me, called "Stress Less, Accomplish More" but Emily Fletcher. It obviously sounds like a typical self-help book, but I have a crush on my doctor and she really sold it for me. (BTW she's no older than like, 32, is married with two kids, super pretty, and totally gets me. She's very female-centric and one time said 'I'll never let you leave here without a prescription for more birth control, we will never let the system be the reason you're struggling with something' after asking if I had enough for the foreseeable future. Joke's on her, I'm single AF, but it really spoke to me.) She said it's a book about meditation and although I've tried meditating before, I am a little bit of a natural skeptic as to allllllllll of its listed benefits. She said this super simple technique helps you sleep better, greatly reduces anxiety/depression, get sick less often, be more effective at work, eliminate jet lag, on and on. She said she honestly can't say enough about it and it completely changed her life. I took this as a way to be more like her and immediately bought it. Also because I wanted her to like me. Incidentally, she texted me a few days ago inviting me to a new women's group she's developing for people in my demographic who are going through the same things. Because like of COURSE she did!! She also tells me to call her Casey instead of by "Doctor" and man I should stop now this is getting weird.

Anyway, this book is by an ex-Broadway performer who noticed she was going grey at age 28 (cough cough I am too) and was sick of all the medications she used to treat these symptoms and wanted to get more at the root. She talks about how simple this meditation method is - 15 minutes twice a day - and how it is literally the best thing she's ever done for herself in her life. After her course, she asks people how much money it would take to stop meditating. They all say something between "500 million dollars" and "no amount of money in the world, because what would be the point without everything else meditation gives me?" I booked the train so I could set aside several hours to listen to the book, especially on this trip, because we all know from the Thailand blog era that being far away in new countries is often what helps me make decisions in life and really self-reflect. Yes, I hear how extra that sounds, but I'm fine with it. I'm only on Chapter 5 and I keep intermittently crying!! We haven't even gotten to the part where she tells me HOW to meditate! Just her background on why it works and the entire theory behind it. The author talks about one case in which a guy with advanced Parkinson's started her sessions and after literally the first one, his tremors disappeared during the entire 15 minutes and for 5 minutes after. She said when they both opened their eyes he asked if she had noticed, and she said she did, and started crying because it was arguably the most profound moment of her career. I'm crying typing this. Ugh. She doesn't claim that meditation will cure chronic illnesses of course, but rather that it's the best thing one can possibly do to supplement medical instruction and for some ailments, it can indeed end up replacing them. She said after she started the practice, she didn't get sick again (cold, flu, anything) for EIGHT AND A HALF YEARS!! Because when the body can use sleep at night to fully rest and not just as a band-aid for stress relief, your immune system can work at its intended level and not allow any of these small things to come into play. You'd think I'd be getting paid for this post, but alas, I'm only 5 chapters in and get ready for me to be even more insufferable than usual when I get home.

Onward. Last I left off I was in a cafe with Lizzy in Prague. We stayed for a few hours and actually got a lot of work done! Turns out my freelance deadlines don't disappear when I go to Europe, hmm. We then walked to an area called Petrin, which from afar just looks like a tree-covered hill. It's actually an uphill path in an expansive park that ultimately overlooks the entire city of Prague. The more we went up, I kept thinking "we must be at the top by now" and then new buildings and castles and paths and orchards would appear. It felt like a hidden fairyland with twists and turns and new beautiful sights along the way. I posted a pic on the gram, but at one point we came to a clearing and there was a picture-perfect snapshot of the entire city through the trees. With the red roofs and striking architecture I again almost felt like crying. Also saw a bunch of couples making out in the orchards with no shame all, so that was something. Good on 'em, ay. We stopped for a glass of wine at the top (duh) and ended up chatting about work/management styles/feelings about jobs/etc. Something great about Lizzy is that it turns out for everything I'm interested in, she's in grad school for. I felt like she was the manifestation of all things fascinating to me. Kinda like when you meet someone really smart who is able to vocalize all the things you feel about things, but better. Like Hilary, but not my sister. Like Jay Wong, but not my boss! We talked about Kitty and her job search and then got into the concept of finding a job by figuring out what you love and what comes naturally to you, and then seeing how you can get paid for it. She loved hearing about Kitty and SpotX and the proposal she had to do about team-building and customer engagement, and we chatted all about different marketable skills. I remember crying to Hil many years ago (Hil if you read this, do you remember??) about how I *thought* I was smart but I hated studying/learning/school and my grades reflected that, and how I've squandered all my potential, I'm actually really dumb, etc. BTW in retrospect I now see a lot of that as my undiagnosed ADHD and I wish I had understood it earlier to get ahead of it, but it's okay. Hil at the time told me that she may have great grades and a good job, etc., but that she can't walk into a room and command attention or just become friends with everyone, and that skills come in all shapes and sizes and one isn't better than another. I'M GETTING EMOTIONAL AGAIN. Remember when my blogs used to be carefree and funny? Me either.

After that, Lizzy and I walked all through the grounds of the Prague Castle and wound our way down the hill to the Charles Bridge, and stopped for another drink. Then we got into a whole discussion about relationships and sexuality. Later, when we were hanging out with her husband, Rob, I found myself saying over and over: "It's like what Lizzy and I were talking about earlier..." and he was like "how did you guys somehow talk about EVERYTHING today?!" Females, man. Eventually she went back to her place to shower and I checked into my Airbnb across the street. Got SO EXHAUSTED and almost fell dead asleep while waiting for her before dinner, but rallied, and so glad I did. We took the tram up the hill to a nice restaurant for dinner, then went to an Irish pub to watch the Liverpool/Barcelona game. No one there remembered the epic call from 2010 World Cup that Ned and I quote all the time, but hey, we do and that's what counts. ("AND YOU COULD NOT WRITE... A STORY LIKE THIS.") We got there at halftime and were ordering drinks at the bar when a guy sitting at the bar was a real dick and says to me and Lizzy, "just so you know, when the game's on again, you've gotta move. I sat here on purpose for a good view, so make sure you move." Then turned to his partner and we could clearly hear him saying things like, "Fuckin' ridiculous they're standing right there during the game... I'm not going to let that happen... no fuckin' way" Um, a) it's half time. b) it's a bar and we're at the bar ordering drinks. c) WE KNOW. d) fuck off. He kept talking about us after we moved and she and I briefly thought about starting shit but you know, foreign country and all that. Luckily he was cheering for Liverpool and they got stomped in the second half to lose the game and we rejoiced. :)

Went to a weird, dark "Books" bar after that and we were almost the only people there. There were condoms in the bathroom and I took one as a joke to show Rob and Lizzy, but now it's still in my bag and freaks me out every time I reach for my Chapstick. We went back to their house afterwards and I kid you not, just watched Harry Styles videos. Turns out they both love him, especially Rob, which is so rich to me. He was like "this guy is just like coolness personified and he's so talented and he's weirdly attractive in kind of a feminine way but also masculine and he has such a nice voice and swagger...." you'd think I planted Rob to say this to me, but no. We watched the entirety of his Carpool Karaoke as I told them all of my favorite parts ("I was back middle." "Why am I always Julia Roberts??" "I cry in like, a cool way.") It's like when someone says to me, "you know, I'd love to know more about the meanings behind Taylor Swift's songs but I never learned, what are all of the albums about?" And I look around expecting that I'm being Punk'd. Parted ways with them and thanked them for everything and told them I was very grateful for our summer camp relationship. You know, the kind that is intensely strong, and very brief. I may never see them again and yet we spent 15 hours straight together on Wednesday and I had one of the best days ever. See you in another life, brotha.

A series of hiccups led to a very stressful morning on Thursday that I won't fully get into because my poor family already lived through it with me via WhatsApp... but it started with extreme random nausea, (the kind you have a serious internal talk with yourself about: "no. you are okay. take deep, slow breaths. do not throw up here. you are completely fine, this will pass. breathe. you're not sick. this is just random. you cannot throw up here.") and then I got on what was supposed to be a train from Prague to Nuremberg with a stop in Schwandorf, but there was a service interruption on the first leg and everyone knew but me. Probably because everyone speaks Czech and I, ya know, do not. BTW so far Czech is the least intuitive language I've ever come across. I could read an entire book in it and wouldn't be able to give you even the slightest context, like you can with French/Spanish/German. I know, romance languages and all that, but man I really underestimated how important it is to know some of the language when you're traveling through remote towns. I notice everyone in Plzen has gotten off the train and I think "well that's weird, but maybe they're all local commuters." A lady comes by and yells at me to get off, I say, "English?" She says, "NO. Bus." and shoos me off. In the panic I forget my suitcase from where I stored it - thank the heavens above, it was still there when I realized 15 minutes later and fought my way back on a closed train. I have such PTSD today and can't fathom what would have happened if the train had left. Imagine my suitcase just taking off on a train to the Czech countryside by itself. Zero percent chance I get that back. Work computer, my treasured leather jacket from Kathy that I swear I'd save in a fire, all of my toiletries and pills and prescriptions...ugh I can't even think about it.

No one spoke English except for a kind man at the info desk who spoke very little, and gave me directions ("directions" is a loose term here, I did a lot of critical thinking and problem solving to vaguely understand what I was supposed to be doing next) to take a bus in an hour that would take me to Stod, where I could then catch my train to Schwandorf and hopefully ultimately Nuremberg. After a series of mishaps and incredible uncertainty, eventually all of that happened. I walked into the hotel in Nuremberg and almost kissed the floor. I had big plans to wake up early and explore, but alas, I'm embarrassed to admit that all I did in Nuremberg was buy some wine/chocolate/gummy bears and stay in all night and sleep late this morning. Bodies need rest, y'all. My audiobook author would tell me that my body is in recovery mode after releasing an unnatural amount of adrenaline and cortisol. NEVERTHELESS SHE PERSISTED!

I'll be staying with rig friend Angie and her family in Paris, and seeing rig Aaron there too. He messaged me yesterday and said, "so do you want to see museums and such? Or I can show you my favorite brasseries?" I said, "I've been to Paris, I'd just like to day drink honestly." Luckily he is on board, shawoooooooo. Oddly there's no WiFi on this train like they said there would be, but it's not that bad because it's so smooth and comfortable and I still have my audiobook. Will post this blog sometime later when the WiFi shows up. Cross your fingers that I get the romantic countryside train ride I pined for. And happy weekend!!!

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australiandentalschools · 3 years

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5 life lessons I’ve learned from pulling teeth

Greetings from the sunny shores of Sydney! My name is Tyler and I am a dental student at the University of Sydney with less than a year to go until I am finished. Having been in school for a few years now, I’ve dabbled in all the dental disciplines. Though I’ve enjoyed endodontics (root canals) and prosthodontics (dentures and crowns), I have to say my favourite specialty is oral surgery so far.

While it is our last resort as dentists, sometimes an unsalvageable tooth requires an extraction and there’s something incredibly rewarding about removing an offending tooth, delivering this treatment pain-free and ultimately relieving the patient of discomfort at the end of the appointment. It is often one of the scariest things to have done to you, but I enjoy making the worst outcome a pleasant experience.

Today, I want to share with you some bite-sized lessons I’ve learned during my time spent in extraction clinics.

1. Do as you think, not as you’re told I’m not suggesting to be rebellious, I suppose a better way of saying that is to have a healthy dose of curiosity and objective skepticism.

I was once scheduled to extract a tooth from an older man whose hearing and English were not so good. Something didn’t add up as I was doing my tests: The tooth indicated on the notes to be removed was actually perfectly fine, which made me question whether I was somehow messing up my examination. That’s when I realized the radiograph was actually backwards—we were looking at a mirrored image of the x-ray, so essentially what we thought was the left side was actually the right. Someone wrote down the wrong tooth in the notes and it didn’t get picked up until I noticed it.

I always ask myself: Why should this tooth be removed? If I can agree, I continue. If I don’t, I question the instructions I’ve been given.

Even the best of us are prone to making mistakes, but that’s why it’s important to be judicious for even the most routine of decisions, especially when there’s no going back. Think twice, cut once!

2. Fake it ’til you make it No one ever feels truly confident starting something brand new. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either exceptionally gifted, a little bit delusional, or just straight-up lying. My extensive experiences as a kid pulling out my own baby teeth somehow did not prepare me adequately for the first few times I stepped up to my patient forceps in hand, about to pop out one of these chompers in our dental hospital’s exodontia clinic (exo = take out; dont = tooth).

If you didn’t know, the numbing “local anaesthetic” solution we give you only takes away the pain. But you still feel pressure… and the vibrations. The same kind of vibrations my patient is feeling as their head is rumbling as my forearms are visibly shaking from muscular fatigue as a result of gripping these instruments so hard trying to maintain the appropriate angulation, pressure, and technique as I’m coaxing this tooth out of the bony socket it’s called home for the last 50 years.

As I’m rehearsing in my head all the movements I need to do, memory runs wild trying to recall every bit of information I’ve learned to help me make it through the next few minutes as beads of sweat start trickling down my face like teardrops on Taylor’s guitar. I’m legitimately not even an anxious person, but in that moment, the panic is real. Not the most confidence-inspiring situation for the patient, let me tell you from second-hand experience. The seconds felt like minutes and the minutes felt like hours.

That was my first ever extraction, or an “exo” as we call it for short, and though it only lasted about 8 minutes, man oh man, it was the longest decade of my life. It didn’t help that my first-ever patient came in with dental anxiety, which made everything even more nerve-wracking from the start. But fortunately, every exo since then has been much better because I’ve learned that the patient panics when they see you panic. So the secret, whether you’re removing teeth, giving a speech, or coaching high school track kids (all true stories from my life by the way), is just pretending to know what you’re doing until you actually get there: Just fake it ’til you make it.

3. Plan for success but prepare for failure You have to have a plan. I always tell my patients that we need to do something called “treatment planning,” which is a fancy way of saying we need to take the entire first appointment to figure out where we’re were starting from and planning all the treatment they need to resolve their problems and fulfill their needs. It’s like planning a road trip with friends—you need to establish a roadmap of all the places we need to visit on our way to our dream destination. Yes, it’s important to hit all the tourist attractions, but there’s also necessary checkpoints like gas stations and Macca’s (Australian slang for McDonald’s) breaks if we want to survive the journey. It also doesn’t do anyone any good to set out without an idea of what direction you need to head in because driving fast in the wrong direction sets you back more than it propels you forward. Furthermore, despite our best intentions, things inevitably go wrong.

The reality of patient care (or life in general) is that almost nothing goes to plan. I am known in my cohort for being meticulous for my appointment plans. My treatments are always tailored to every individual patient with my procedures scheduled down to the minute. I take great pride in my preparation for clinics, and though I am getting much better at anticipating the unexpected twists and turns of healthcare, it’s not uncommon for appointments to not go to plan.

As you can imagine, there are a number of points during a surgical procedure where things can go wrong. The patient might fail to attend (FTA); the patient may have skipped their medications that day (resulting in excessively high blood pressure or blood sugar levels beyond what is safe to treat); maybe there’s a global pandemic shutting down the entire hospital for months on end. In short, you can’t do the procedure. Tough luck. The anaesthesia might not work (due to infection, due to natural resilience or desensitization due to drug use, due to operator error, due to accessory innervation). Maybe the tooth won’t come out; perhaps it’s trickier than the x-rays suggest. Maybe the roots flare too much, or perhaps the roots are ankylosed to the bone. And when you finally pull the tooth out, maybe a piece breaks off, or maybe a part of the floor of the maxillary sinus comes along with it and now you have an oroantral communication (OAC).

Of course, 💩 happens, but if you know the possible ways a plan can fall apart, you’ll be better prepared to handle things if and when that happens.

4. With great power comes great responsibility I think Uncle Ben said it best, but there’s an enormous amount of trust given to dentists because we’re specialists in a field and making judgment calls to proactively treat our patients. When this treatment comes with a high cost, there’s a natural tendency to question why a currently asymptomatic tooth requires preventative treatment when there’s nothing perceptibly wrong with it.

But there’s often a lot of problems we’re unaware of in our own mouths, and by the time you detect there’s something wrong (e.g., you’re experiencing pain or sensitivity or maybe you see/feel a hole in the tooth) it’s often far too late. In our quest in detecting and preventing problems, there is often a fine line between being reasonably cautious and overprescribing treatment. Even in student clinics, obviously there is no money involved, but I still try to educate my patients on why they need a filling replaced or a tooth removed.

Have you ever seen a radiograph of a tooth? Ever notice how the dentist always shows you this black and white image and explains it to you as though you can understand what’s going on? I really try to do my best to explain to my patients, but the reality is for a field that literally operates in black and white, we’re actually dealing in a lot of grey area. What one clinician may deem as being a cavity to drill and fill, a more conservative dentist may opt to wait and see. It’s a fine balance, one that I myself am trying to master. I strive to be the kind of dentist who is conservative, informative, and acting in the best interests for my patients as they can’t reliably decide for themselves what the best course of action is because they didn’t spend four years in dental school. I made myself a promise to do only what I think is needed and not more than what my patient requires—I promise to pull the tooth, the whole tooth, and nothing but the tooth.

5. Loss is a part of life Sometimes even despite our best intentions, things just don’t last. Whether we’re talking about relationships or our dentition, there comes a time when certain circumstances just don’t allow us to keep the things we hold dearest to our hearts (or our jaws). I’ve seen perfectly good teeth need removal just because of an unlucky accident. I’ve seen some pretty bad teeth hanging in long past their “expiry date.” There are always examples either way you look at it, but the reality is that we are doomed to lose that which we do not put the effort in to maintain.

Teeth are lost for a number of reasons, but the big ones are trauma, erosion, periodontal disease, and decay. These are natural processes for the most part, but they are indeed avoidable if only we put in a small effort every day to be diligent with good oral hygiene habits. Floss between your teeth before brushing. Brush your teeth twice a day (ideally 30 minutes after eating/drinking) and most importantly before going to bed. Use a fluoridated toothpaste. Spit—don’t rinse your toothpaste with water after brushing.

If you hate your dentist, do these three simple tricks to put them out of a job! It doesn’t take much, but for some reason, it takes a lot out of us at the end of a long day to invest just 5 minutes doing the simple stuff for our teeth. Missing a day here or there is not the end of the world, but missing a day here or there regularly, however, will indeed add up.

At some point, the teeth that have been neglected will come around to me to have to pull out in order to prevent further pain or infection. Prevention of the problem is always better (and less expensive) than treating the problem! By the time you notice there’s an issue, it’s generally getting to be too late.

Other things like watching what you eat (keep sugars and acidic foods/beverages low), snacking less, and drinking plenty of water will help save your teeth down the road. There are so many things we do on the daily that are bad for our teeth that the average person wouldn’t expect to have such drastic effects on our dentition… but we’ll save that info for another time.

OzTREKK Student Ambassador: Tyler Nguyen University: The University of Sydney Program: Doctor of Dental Medicine Follow Tyler on Instagram: @dmd.toothpics

#dentistry student #study dentistry #university of sydney #study abroad #dental schools

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douxreviews · 5 years

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Planet of the Apes (1968) Review

[This review includes spoilers.]

Taylor: "I can't help thinking that somewhere in the universe, there has to be something better than man. Has to be."

If it weren't so utterly cool, Planet of the Apes would be a massive downer. The premise is that human beings are such abysmal failures as a species, so unworthy of the ownership of our planet, that it is inevitable that we will destroy ourselves and something else will take our place.

Planet of the Apes offers more to the viewer than pessimism, though, and like most complex science fiction movies, it can be interpreted in a lot of different ways. I have only recently read that some see this movie as a rather nasty allegory about race. It was a surprise to me. (Although the "damned dirty ape" line does sort of support that viewpoint.) I always thought, though, that Planet of the Apes does what all good science fiction should do: it shows us society from a completely different perspective, and in a way that makes us think. There's something fascinating about seeing a white male -- an astronaut, the pinnacle of our civilization -- treated as the most insignificant and physically revolting of parasites. A lot of this movie is outright uncomfortable, like a funhouse mirror without the fun.

At any rate, the characters who come out as the superior beings are the pacifist chimpanzee scientists, played so skillfully under prosthetics by Roddy McDowall and Kim Hunter. Cornelius and Zira are intelligent, open-minded, and compassionate to the point of risking their lives and careers for someone they see as a rather nasty talking house pet. Taylor, our anti-hero, is nowhere near as likable as Cornelius and Zira, even though it's hard not to root for him to prevail (especially during that climactic escape-and-recapture scene). Taylor is sarcastic, individualistic, hates people, and believes life is meaningless, and he has just found proof that he was right all along. (In truth, a man as antisocial as Taylor would never have cut it at NASA.)

If there's a message about inequality in this movie, I'd definitely go for sexism over racism. Taylor winds up with Nova, a gorgeous, obedient, bikini-clad Eve who will never be able to talk back to him. Stuart, the dead female astronaut, is referred to as "cargo". And Taylor's sperm is so incredibly important and powerful that Zaius makes an unsuccessful attempt to have Taylor castrated.

It's also obvious that the theme of the movie could be seen as a commentary on how human beings treat animals, with the medical experimentation on Taylor, the leashes, the above-mentioned gelding, and of course, the numerous scenes with Taylor in a cage. (During the third season of Lost, Sawyer and Kate were kept in similar cages, and I kept thinking of Taylor and Nova.)

I have no idea why mainstream movie star Charlton Heston chose to do this movie. Why did the man who played Moses, Michelangelo, Marc Antony, and Ben Hur decide to do movies like Planet of the Apes, The Omega Man, and Soylent Green? Heston was also nearly naked for the entire movie (and he looked damned good, for that matter). It's common practice now, but big name male stars didn't do that sort of thing in 1968. Heston's star power and considerable acting talent added gravitas to Planet of the Apes; it was like he helped legitimize the science fiction movie genre. I doubt that it would have hit so hard and made such a lasting impression without him.

And Planet of the Apes is visually such a striking movie -- the stark isolation of the three astronauts on what appears to be a dead world; the organic architecture of the ape city; the amazing iconic shot of the statue of Liberty. I've seen this movie many times and it's still a treat to watch.

Bits and pieces:

-- The action takes place in the year 3978. Taylor and company left Earth in 1972.

-- The human/ape reversal presents an opportunity for some outstanding but uncomfortable humor. Zira calling Taylor "Bright Eyes." "Human see, human do." The theory that apes descended from humans.

-- The prejudice and religious fundamentalism of the orangutans and the brainless warmongering of the gorillas is particularly interesting because of the parallels to certain people we all know.

-- There are several candidates for Most Obvious Symbolism. After many miles of lifeless landscape, the astronauts find a tiny, living plant... and they rip it out of the earth. Taylor is leashed, gagged, and stripped naked at his own trial. And at one point, Taylor and Cornelius have an important conversation while standing on either side of an immense gorge.

-- Clearly, the people should have all been running around completely naked. But hey, it's a movie. What else could they do?

-- The score is jagged and discordant and at times mimics the grunting of an ape.

-- Yes, I saw the remake. It's a prime example of the adage that you should leave the classics alone. Why remake a brilliant movie? Isn't the original good enough? I'm not wild about the sequels, either. A couple of them were worth watching, but just barely and I don't recommend them. There's a new sequel coming soon, too, which is one reason why I'm posting this review.

Quotes:

Taylor: "If this is the best they've got around here, in six months we'll be running this planet."

Julius: "You know the saying. 'Human see, human do'."

Taylor: "You Nova. Yeah. Me Tarzan, you Jane."

Taylor: "It's a madhouse! A madhouse!"

Taylor: "Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape!"

Taylor: "Doctor, I'd like to kiss you goodbye." Zira: "All right. (pause) But you're so damned ugly."

Four out of four crushed paper airplanes,

Billie Doux loves good television and spends way too much time writing about it.

#Planet of the Apes #Planet of the Apes 1968 #Doux Reviews #Movie Reviews #something from the archive

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