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dream-of-neverland · 3 years

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Old Habits

So I got Covid, which on one hand kinda sucks, but on the other means I have a lot more time to write! I now present to you, dear readers, 4405 words of sick fic.

Agere Janus, CG Virgil, Agere Remus, CG Logan, CG Patton, CG Roman

TW: Sickness, descriptions of overstimulation, nausea, not wanting to eat food due to said nausea, no one actually throws up though.

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As soon as Janus woke up, he knew it was going to be a bad day. His mouth curved into a deep frown as he sat there for a moment, staring up at the light gray ceiling above him. Maybe this is what people meant when they said ‘Waking up on the wrong side of the bed.’ Sighing, he tried to push his blankets off only for it to hit him. And by ‘it’ he meant everything. His head pounded, the heat radiating off his body clashed with the cool air around it, and his throat throbbed in pain as he gasped. Huh. So that’s why he was in such a bad mood.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he felt a sudden anger lash through him. He didn’t wanna be sick! He didn’t wanna stay inside his room all day! He wanted to feel better, he wanted to go outside and play with the others, and- Oh. Oh, he was age regressed. Great. Now on top of everything else, he would have to spend the day as a nine year old. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have been half bad most days. But he had told the others he would tell them if he regressed. They had all promised. Old instincts of hiding away clashed with his desire to be with the others, to be taken care of.

Janus groaned again. All this thinking was making his head hurt even more. Twisting around, he slid off his bed and immediately regretted it. He wanted to borrow back under the covers again. He wouldn’t, though.

Thinking for a bit longer, he decided on a compromise. He didn’t have to tell them he was sick (he could take care of that on his own), but he would still tell them that he had regressed. He would still go out.

He didn’t bother to change out of his pajamas. Since he was regressed, the others probably wouldn’t find it weird, and he couldn’t bring himself to get into anything less comfortable. He did, however, make sure to slip on a green bracelet to symbolize to the others that he was regressed.

Opening his door, he stomped out into the hallway and down to the kitchen, growing grumpier the further he walked. The lights were too bright. The hallway smelled weird. The texture of carpet against his feet felt scratchy. Anything and everything was getting on his nerves, and he had worked himself up into quite the mood by the time he got to the kitchen, the smell of breakfast, but the eggs especially, assaulting his nose.

“Morning Janus!” Patton said just a bit too loudly, his smile glaring widely from across the room.

Janus frowned, folded his arms, and marched over to sit in his chair at the table next to Virgil, who was hunched over his morning coffee, nursing it in comfortable silence. He may have to be outside his room today, but he most certainly did not have to enjoy it.

Patton came around and sat at the chair across from Janus’s. “Well someone’s in a mood today.” He teased, smiling softly as he reached out to touch Janus’s arm. Janus pulled away and glared at Patton, who leaned back in his chair, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright kiddo, no touching today. Gotcha.” Still smiling, Patton quirked his head to the side and continued. “So, how old are you today?”

Maybe if Janus didn’t respond, Patton would leave him alone. But he had no such luck. After about half a minute of uncomfortable silence, Janus finally spat out “I’m not nine.” Why couldn’t Patton just leave him alone?

“Hey.” Virgil interjected firmly, giving Janus a look over his mug. “Try to play nice, Jan.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” Janus muttered, bringing his leg up onto the chair with him and looking off to the side. And before Virgil could respond, a loud voice trumpeted through the air, bursting through the morning calm, not to mention everyone’s eardrums.

“Good MORNING fellow mind palace denizens! Now, what are those absolutely scrumptious things I smell, wafting through the air, giving the kitchen an absolutely heavenly aura?”

It took all of Janus’s self control not to curl up into a ball in response to Roman’s loud proclamations. Patton just giggled and gestured towards the food he had ready on the counter. His head was pounding again, and he could feel himself edging towards tears. But before he could snap at Roman, Virgil beat him to it.

“JESUS princey, do you have an off button?” He said, dramatically moving his hands up to his ears as if checking for blood. “Or at the very least a volume control? Some of us are still waking up.”

“Well, Mr. Short, Snark, and Broody, I’ll have you know that some of us aren’t nocturnal.” Roman shot back, a teasing lilt in his now quieter voice. “Oh and padre,” Roman continued, walking across the kitchen to sit down in his chair with an unnecessary flourish. “Logan said he and Remus will be out in a few minutes. He just needs some extra time to get Remus ready.”

“Oh, so Remus is still regressed then?” Patton said, standing up and grabbing armfuls of food to place on the table.

“Yep.” Roman said, becoming very obviously distracted at the sight of food. “We still have a little devil munchkin on our hands.”

Janus could feel Virgil’s staring at him as he tried to keep glaring at the table. The more people got that he was in a bad mood and left him alone, the less people would figure out he was sick. So why wasn’t Virgil getting it?

Finally, Roman noticed Janus, and more importantly, the green band around Janus’s wrist. “Oh, and what age might you be, little Kaa?”

Janus knew he needed to get his temper under control, and quickly. A bad mood could be a good deterrent, but too much and he could get in trouble. Another part of him, however, simply didn’t care.

“I already said, I’m not nine.” Janus snapped.

Roman raised an eyebrow at Janus’s words. “Well, careful with the fangs there! You could do some real damage with those, you know.” He said, poking Janus playfully. But instead of smiling or poking him back like he usually would, Janus just huffed, still looking down at the table.

After a moment of silence in which Janus could hear the rustling of cloth and see arms move out of the corners of his eyes, Virgil finally said “He’s just in a mood this morning.” And Janus’s frown twisted into a scowl. Just a mood. . .

Patton took to humming a simple tune, filling the silence as he placed the last of the food on the table. The conversation started up again as the other sides helped Patton finish setting up, the familiar banter of Roman and Virgil interspersed with commentary and lighter conversation from Patton. Janus took the calm moment to collect himself again. He couldn’t afford to go picking fights. He just needed to make it through breakfast. He could do this.

Logan walked in just as they began to serve themselves, holding Remus up against his hip. Remus looked around the room with bright eyes, still in a onesie and sucking absentmindedly on one of his pacifiers. Janus watched as Patton cooed at the sight and helped Logan get Remus into his high chair, noting that the band on Remus’s wrist that used to be blue was now purple.

Janus needed to eat, but today the thought of food turned his stomach. He could probably comfortably eat a little, but he would have to eat around his normal amount so as to not be suspicious. Finally, Janus reached for his plate only to find it had already been snatched out from under his nose. He looked up in time to see Virgil put the last of the eggs on his now stuffed plate and place it in front of him.

Irritation curled in his chest again, a self-righteous anger that Janus didn’t bother to question. “I totally can’t serve myself.” Janus said, hunching over what seemed like mountains of eggs and bacon and toast.

“Not if you wait that long you can’t.” Virgil retorted, biting into his toast. Gosh, what was wrong with him today? Janus was beginning to regret not just staying in his room. Out here, it was growing harder and harder not to just snap at everyone and everything.

He bit his lip and turned back to his food. One bite. Then another. Then another. He let himself begin to relax slightly into the conversation around him, mindlessly shoveling the food into his mouth.

Then the intrusive bubbliness of Patton’s voice filled his ears again. “So kiddo, what do you think you’re gonna be up to today? Got any plans?”

Janus had to remind himself to stay calm. It was just Patton. He didn’t mean any harm. “I think I’m gonna go back to bed after breakfast.” Janus said, the words spinning effortlessly from his lips. “Then I’ll probably just hang out. I don’t really have any plans today.”

“Oh, are you tired? Did you stay up too late last night?” Janus nodded along to Patton’s words. He was starting to get nauseous from all the food. But he had to keep going. He was almost halfway done.

Logan spoke up from the high chair where he was sitting next to Remus, helping the younger side with his food. “Sleeping right after breakfast would be inadvisable. Rather, you should stay up and try for a mid-afternoon nap. You are more used to taking a nap then versus mid morning, so it would disrupt your sleep schedule the least, and studies have shown that going to bed directly after eating can disrupt digestion.”

And in only a few seconds all the self control he had managed to gather disappeared. “Nobody asked you, Logan.” Janus said testily, immediately wishing he could take back his words. Darn it, he was trying! It was everyone else that kept on annoying him.

Logan seemed taken aback at first, but very quickly became distracted as Remus elbowed his sippy cup off the high chair. Instead, it was Virgil who turned towards Janus, looking right at him even as he curled away. “This is your second warning, Janus. Any more attitude and you’re gonna be in trouble. I know you’re tired, but Logan was just trying to help.”

“Yeah because I totally asked for and wanted it. It’s not like he butt into the conversation or anything.” All of Janus’s careful plans and schemes were out the window now. He was tired, he was irritated, nauseous, in pain, overstimulated, and above all just wanted to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?

Janus heard the scraping of wood against tile and jolted as his chair was yanked back and Janus found himself looking directly at an angry Virgil. “You apologize to Logan right now, Janus. That was not okay.”

Janus pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away. He wasn’t going to give in.

Virgil studied his face for a few more seconds before sighing, his expression unreadable. “Go to your room Janus. We’ll talk about things when you’ve calmed down enough to listen.”

Janus twisted around in his seat and marched out of the kitchen, head held high but fists clenched. He went back to his room as quickly as he could, resisting the urge to slam the door behind him. That would only make his headache worse.

Well, things hadn’t gone exactly the way he had wanted them to, but at least he was back in his bedroom. The events of the morning swirled around in his brain, making him angrier the more he thought about them. Why did everyone have to be so annoying!

But he hadn’t meant to be so mean to Logan. He didn’t really mean what he said. He had just wanted to sleep after breakfast. He had given Roman the cold shoulder, pushed at Virgil, and snapped at Patton, poor Patton, who just wanted to be nice, all because he couldn’t stop hiding. Because of a few lies to make himself more comfortable at others expense. At his own expense.

The thought of being completely honest and vulnerable with the others still scared him. Janus had never been one to lay himself out for the world to see. But things were different now. That didn’t mean he magically trusted them, or was going to be honest all the time. It had only been a few months since everyone had decided to suddenly become bff’s, and Janus found that old habits died hard. Still… He should probably tell them he was sick. He owed them that, at least.

Janus was starting to doze by the time that Virgil opened the door, holding in his hands the rest of Janus’s stomach-turning food. Carefully closing the door behind him, set the plate down on his desk and sat gingerly on the bed.

“You up for talking?” Virgil said softly, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. Janus sat up slowly and nodded. Just rip it off. Like a band aid.

“I know you’re tired,” Virgil began, voice getting firmer as he gained momentum. “But you were being mean to everyone who tried to talk to you. You snapped at me and Patton, ignored Roman, and were really rude to Logan, who just wanted to help.”

“Yeah.” Janus said, gaze still fixed on the bedspread. He just needed to open his mouth. Say the words. But now that Virgil was here, he had frozen. It was always so much easier to just stay quiet than to speak up.

“I talked with the others, and we agreed no TV for today, and you need to apologize to each of us personally.” Virgil continued. “And we want you to try and stay up until the afternoon. If you can’t, then we aren’t gonna force you to stay up, but Logan was right. It’s better if you don’t.”

Janus nodded in agreement. Maybe he didn’t have to say anything after all. He could just apologize to everyone and call it a day. Hang out on the couch and play with the others like he’d planned. Try to stay up, but if he ‘accidentally’ fell asleep, no one would question it. There still might be issues if he didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t have to though. Did he really have to?

First things first. Turning towards Virgil, Janus looked down at his fidgeting hands, forcing them to stay still. “I’m sorry for not listening to you.” Janus said, his voice a soft whisper. “You just wanted me to not lash out at everyone, and I did it anyways. I should have listened, and I’m sorry.”

After a moment of silence, Janus could feel Virgil move closer to him on the bed and slowly open up his arms. “Cuddles?” He asked, his head ducking to the side nervously.

And if that didn’t sound wonderful. Nodding, Janus opened his arms and let himself be pulled onto Virgil’s lap. The smell of lavender and coffee filled his nose as he buried his face in Virgil’s shoulder. The warmth of his body seeped through his jacket and the only thing Janus could hear was the sound of hushed breaths filling the air. Slowly, Virgil began to sway back and forth, and if Janus wasn’t careful, he could probably fall asleep right here, wrapped comfortably in his arms.

“Thank you for apologizing, Janus.” Virgil said, voice rippling through the still air. “I know that you’re still getting used to being a kid around the others, and you weren’t at your best today. But.... Janus?” Janus started slightly, replying “Hm?” as Virgil continued to rock.

“So, you know I can get nervous about things, and I can overthink things that aren’t a big deal, or think something means something when it really doesn’t, but, are you sure you’re okay? You usually don’t get irritated like you did, and you’ve barely looked at anyone all day. And I know you’re tired, and it’s probably just that, but I- I just wanna be sure. You’re okay, right? You aren’t hiding things?”

Virgil had always been the best at seeing through Janus’s lies. But his fate wasn’t set in stone yet. All he had to do was say yes. Turn around and give him a reassuring smile, let out a soft laugh when Virgil smiled back in relief that it had just been him overthinking things like always. But Janus could feel the guilt curl up in his chest just thinking about it. He had told them he’d be more honest. He had promised. Like a band aid.

“I-” He started only to have the words stick in his throat. He could do it! Well. Maybe one little lie couldn’t hurt. “I don’t feel like I might be a little sick.” He whispered, trying to get it all out in one quick breath.

Virgil shifted Janus around until he was suddenly staring right into his wide eyes. “You’re sick!?!” Janus winced at the volume, and Virgil reached up to put the back of his hand on Janus’s forehead, bringing the other hand up to run his fingers through Janus’s hair. “Where does it hurt? Do you have a fever? Do you know if you have a fever? Are you sore anywhere? Do you feel nauseous? Did you throw up?”

“It’s not that bad.” Janus whined, leaning back as Virgil fussed over him. He wasn’t dying or anything. Gosh.

Virgil stared at him again, opening his mouth to say something before closing it and looking away. After a few moments had passed, Virgil looked up again, gently shifted Janus out of his lap, and grabbed his hand. “C’mon. We’re gonna have Logan take a look at you.”

Janus whined in protest, but allowed himself to be pulled out the door and, eventually, into the kitchen. Patton was the only one left, humming to himself as he put the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. When that was done, he turned towards Janus and Virgil, smiling as he said “Hey kiddos! You guys sort things out?”

Another pang of guilt hit Janus as he remembered he still needed to apologize. Opening his mouth, he wasn’t even able to make a sound as Virgil promptly cut him off. “Have you seen Logan?” He said, scanning the kitchen intently.

“Oh, um, I think they’re just in the living room.” Patton said, blinking rapidly and pointing towards the room in question.

Virgil flushed slightly as he looked in the direction that Patton had pointed. “Thanks Pat.” He said, tugging Janus towards the living room. But Janus wasn’t ready to go yet. He dug his heels into the ground and yanked his hand out of Virgil’s.

Spinning around as quickly as he could without falling over, Janus blurted out “I’m sorry Patton. About breakfast- I didn’t mean anything; I was just lashing out. I’m sorry.”

Pattons expression melted from confusion to compassion, and he walked forward to wrap his arms around Janus in a warm embrace. “That’s alright, Jan. Just try not to do it again, okay?” Janus hummed in response and begrudgingly let Patton go as he pulled back.

Janus slowly turned back around and was relieved to see that Virgil didn’t look mad. Instead, he knelt down and held out his arms in a silent invitation. “C’mon.” Janus didn’t usually like being picked up when he was older, but today he found himself eagerly rushing over to Virgil and burying his face into Virgil’s jacket to try to fend off the dizzy rush that came with being lifted into the air too fast.

Virgil started walking again, but Janus kept his head right where he’d put it, instead focusing on the quick, long strides that gave his blissfully dark world rhythm and shape. He could hear Roman and Remus more clearly now, playing some type of game together as Virgil walked into the living room. Too soon, in Janus’s opinion, Virgil came to a halt next to what Janus thought was Logan’s armchair. He was probably reading some book.

“Hey Logan?” Virgil started, his hushed voice rumbling slightly in his chest. “Do you think you could look at Janus? He says he’s not feeling well.”

“Of course. May I?”

Janus resisted the urge to grumble as he was lifted out of Virgil’s embrace and onto Logan’s lap. With a flick of his wrist, a small white case with a red cross appeared in Logan’s hand, which Janus recognized as Logan’s medical kit.

The first thing Logan took out was a stethoscope, and with practiced efficiency he put it on and placed the cold metal up to Janus’s chest. “Can you take a deep breath in for me?” Logan said, looking softly in his eyes. Janus felt his irritation spike. Well obviously. But a gentle squeeze of Virgil’s hand brought him back to his senses. He’d messed up enough for today.

Speaking of which, as soon as Logan was done checking his heartbeat, Janus took in one last deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so. “Logan, I’m sorry about breakfast. I was just tired and when you said that I shouldn’t go to bed I got mad. I shouldn’t’ve said that stuff.”

A moment passed and then “Janus?” He looked out and found himself staring directly into Logan's deep blue eyes. “Apology accepted. I know you did not mean anything that you said.”

With some coaxing and praise from Logan and with Virgil’s hand in Janus’s, he managed to get through the rest of the check up without getting irritated or lashing out (which, although he was loath to admit it, made Janus pretty proud of himself).

“Well, right now it is looking like a minor cold, but we should keep a close eye on him just the same.” Logan said, placing the last of his things back into the white case. “His temperature is no higher than average, but there is the possibility that he could develop a fever.”

“Awww, is my little kiddo sick? Is that what you guys are doing over here?” Patton had scooted across the floor from where he had been playing with Remus and Roman, bringing a hand up to ruffle it gently through Janus’s hair.

Logan hummed. “Indeed. Would you be so kind as to retrieve some Tylenol and lozenges from the medicine cabinet?” Patton nodded and rushed out of the room, and only then did Janus notice Remus, who must’ve been crawling right behind Patton.

“Sick?” Remus said, pointing to Janus and looking back at Roman with a wide-eyed expression.

Roman walked over to where everyone was now and sat down beside Remus, legs criss-crossed together. “Mmm-hmm. He’s feeling yucky.”

“Yugy!” Remus copied, scrunching up his face and clapping his hands together. While Roman and Virgil cooed over Remus, Patton finally brought back the medicine.

Janus eyed it warily. It was probably cherry flavored. The thought of it made him shiver. But he already knew he wasn’t getting out of this. Once that whole terribleness was over, he was finally allowed to squirm out of Logan’s lap and onto the floor.

While the others talked above him, Janus turned his attention to Roman, who was trying to show Remus how to play some form of patty cake.

“Hey Janus. How you holding up?” Roman said eventually as Remus became more interested in playing with Romans fingers than learning the game.

Janus shrugged. He was still tired, but he felt a bit better than before. The benefits of eating breakfast, he supposed.

“Sorry about earlier.” Janus said, looking up at Roman and Remus wearily.

Before he could continue his apology, Roman cut him off with a wave of his free hand. “Consider it water under the bridge. No hard feelings.”

“Janny sad?” Remus said, losing interest in Romans fingers as he looked over at Janus intensely.

“Just tired, Ree.” Janus said with a small smile. A smile which was then immediately wiped off his face as Remus opened his arms wide, leaned forward, and shouted “HUGS!”

Now, normally a hug would be fine. But there were two very important things that little Remus was forgetting. The first was that, at 6’2, he was roughly a foot taller than Janus. The second was that at the angle Remus was coming from, he wasn’t going to hug Janus so much as fall on him.

He only had a second to brace himself before he was tackled onto the carpeted floor. More words flew overhead as lay dazed, head throbbing. He didn’t want to cry, but he could feel the tears already pricking at the edge of his vision. He faintly registered a weight being lifted off of him as arms wrapped around him, picking him up from the floor.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Virgil said as he began to rock back and forth, rubbing circles into Janus’s back. “It’s okay, you can let it out. You can cry.”

That was all it took for him to begin sobbing quietly into his shoulder. He could hear the others soft words of comfort and even a faint “Sowy, sowy!” Shouted from the other side of the room. He could feel Virgil shift into motion as he walked out of the living room, through the kitchen and the hallway, then finally, into his own room.

Once inside, Vigil layed Janus gently on the bed, head on his pillow, pulling the blankets up over him.

“Virgil? What are you doing?” Janus questioned, trying not to rub his eyes. Wasn’t he not supposed to go to bed yet?

Virgil walked over to the dresser before pulling out a night light and plugging it into the wall. “Logan agreed that if you’re sick, you probably need all the sleep you can get. If you weren’t it would be better not to, but it’ll just be for today, so it shouldn’t matter.”

Oh. Well, all that drama for nothing then, Janus supposed. Virgil bent over and placed a quick kiss on Janus’s forehead, grabbed the now cold plate of food from the desk, then went to leave. Looking back, Virgil said “Goodnight Jan-Jan. Sweet dreams.”

“G’night Virgil.”

#sanders sides age regression #sanders sides agere #sanders sides cglre #agere Janus #cg virgil #agere remus #cg logan #cg patton #cg roman #ts agere #sanders sides sick fic

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hannahpanda-agere · 3 years

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☆・・・・・・☆・・・・・・☆・・・・・☆

Agere Asks

💓🐰 i have many stuffies, i do in fact of a caregiver, probably thirty, my favorite time of the year is summer, my favorite princess and prince come from the same movie, princess and the frog

💓🐰 i love mint chocolate ice cream. i tend to hyper fixate on characters, color, do puzzles, watch cartoons. blankies, favorite animal is a red panda, coloring, favorite hobby is playing my trumpet, listening to music, photo editing/manipulation, listening to podcasts.

💓🐰 my favorite disney movie is cinderella, tangled and princess and the frog. one of my favorite snacks is bananas and peanut butter. i love using my pacifier. no but i would want to try them. favorite color is pastel pink!

💓🐰 i believe im a libra, i don’t really believe in zodiacs. i would want to spend all day and all night with my caregiver, in and out of agere. not sure, haven’t been to either. im a kitty, bunny, and puppy. yes, it’s a princess blanket and a blanket with zoo animals on it!

💓🐰 i tend to regress to 2-6, sometimes older. all cats even though i am very allergic, some of my favorite shows are craig of the creek, ok ko, clarence and many more. i love playing chinese checkers! tigger is my favorite. hmm, maybe whisper from yokai watch!

💓🐰 i love carrots, strawberries, bananas and peanut butter and a bunch of sweets! so many things, like a playmat, basically an entire nursery. something unique about me is that im extremely energetic and make people laugh!

☆・・・・・・☆・・・・・・☆・・・・・☆

#💓 l asks

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leaharchives · 2 years

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So CTV thinks Leah Miller can host

By Basem Boshra

And lest you think that Miller got the ultra-high-profile gig purely because of her admittedly pretty face, CTV, in its release trumpeting Miller’s hire, takes great pains to head that assumption off at the pass: “A music and dance aficionado, Miller tapped into the dance world at a young age when she was enrolled in baby ballet class. Miller won the title of “Miss Junior Dance of Canada” when she was 13 and danced competitively until the age of 16. That experience gives her first hand knowledge of the hard work and dedication it takes to become a competitive dancer. Miller has huge respect for dancers at the level the series demands. Her passion for the fine arts and previous hosting and interviewing experience prepares her for this exciting leap into her latest gig.” So there! (I’m actually being needlessly sarcastic here. Prurient interests aside, Miller is actually one of the more bearable of the Much VJs, ably handling interviews with some of the biggest acts on the planet while tween-agers scream relentlessly in the background – that’s no easy feat.) (Montreal Gazette, April 2008)

#leah miller #so you think you can dance canada #sytycd canada #articles #2008 #2009

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yasbxxgie · 4 years

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How Charlie Parker Defined the Sound and Substance of Bebop Jazz

The roots of bebop were formed in the nineteen-thirties, when Thelonious Monk was playing largely in private in New York, Dizzy Gillespie was shaking up the Cab Calloway trumpet section, Kenny Clarke reconfigured his drum kit in Teddy Hill’s band, and Charlie Parker fell through a music warp while playing “Cherokee” in a jam session. But it found its form and flourished in the nineteen-forties, and it’s Parker, whose centenary falls on Saturday, who lends the music its definitive sound, tone, legend, influence, and curse.

In the abstract, bop is the harmonic and rhythmic complexification of jazz, based on the substitution of a new and more elaborate framework of chords for the ones originally anchoring pop songs. Organizationally, it’s the shift away from big bands (with their emphasis on compositions, arrangements, and unison playing) and toward individual soloists playing in small groups centered on extended improvisations. Aesthetically, it’s musicians’ self-aware transformation of jazz into an exemplary element of artistic modernism. And in tone, it’s a virtual sonic documentary of the world as the musicians experienced it at the time of its flowering—a musical representation of anguish, irony, derision, and idealistic yearning.

Bebop (the term wasn’t the musicians’ own; Clarke said, “We called ourselves modern”) arose on the brink of the Second World War, and came to fruition while the war was being waged. It’s one of the triumvirate of modernisms that was born from a generation of noncombatants, of 4-Fs. Like Jackson Pollock and Orson Welles, Parker, Monk, and Gillespie were deemed ineligible for service; what Welles did for film direction and Pollock did for painting, Parker, in particular, did for jazz, by representing the unrepresentable. Parker’s art is one of sonic images that give form to ideas that were hiding in plain sight or off the map of American mainstream culture; his tone embodies the very urgency of these representations. The abstractions of his art expressed the violence, the horror, the existential danger of wartime; furthermore, his art also gave voice to the blare of total mobilization in pursuit of victory in the war—and the injustices and indignities borne by Black Americans at home, which mocked the ideals of that national effort.

People could and did dance to Parker’s music, but it was essentially concert music; it wouldn’t have served to back a floor show (as many big bands did, despite the epochal inventiveness of their music). With its intricate harmonies, Parker—nicknamed Bird, which was in turn short for Yardbird—turned soloing into a jittery and skittering rope dance of chord changes that made his melodic inventiveness, his depth of feeling, his supersonic virtuosity, and his mercurial imagination all the more astounding. Parker’s music had an effect akin to that of Welles’s deep-focus complexities in “Citizen Kane,” uniting the foreground and the background, rendering the complex musical framework conspicuous. Like Abstract Expressionism, it rendered the surfaces of music turbulent and cosmically intricate.

Among the local horrors of racism at the time was the drafting of Black men to fight in the war—in segregated outfits—when, at home, their rights were denied. A leading Harlem nightspot, the Savoy Ballroom, was closed because of racist paranoia and policies. A white police officer’s shooting of a Black soldier named Robert Bandy resulted in a riot, in Harlem, in August, 1943. When the war ended and Black servicemen returned home, the agonizing contradiction between that outcome and the ongoing racism and segregation (as cited in Leo Hurwitz’s documentary “Strange Victory,” from 1948), poverty and police violence, which was amped up by the spread of heroin through Harlem, and the psychological dislocations and unaddressed traumas of postwar life. (As James Baldwin wrote, in “The New Lost Generation,” about the postwar years, “If one gave a party, it was virtually certain that someone, quite possibly oneself, would have a crying jag or have to be restrained from murder or suicide.”)

Parker was born and raised in Kansas City, where he began his career as a teen-ager. From his earliest successes to the end of his life, he was a consummate, authoritative, bone-shivering blues artist, even as his musical passions ran toward Bartók, Stravinsky, and other European modernists. To those accustomed to swing, let alone New Orleans styles, Parker’s music sounds hectic, disjointed, and scribble-scrabulous, but it quickly became a vital inspiration to a younger generation of musicians. (Miles Davis was still a teen-ager when he first performed and recorded with Parker, in 1945). Parker’s music is jumpy, crowded, energized to the breaking point, recklessly exposed—and, although he was joined by other musicians of similar inspiration (such as the pianist Bud Powell), Parker was the most self-revealing, the most vulnerable of them all. The sense of thrilling and terrifying existential adventure in his playing is reflected in the consuming furies of his life—and in the glorious yet burdensome mythology that turned him into a legend even while he lived and performed.

The stories (both true and false) that accreted around Parker included those of the heroin addict (seemingly, since adolescence) who nodded out on the bandstand only to wake up in a flash and take wondrous solos; the unreliable friend who borrowed money casually and pawned borrowed saxophones; the figure of immense appetites, who drank whiskey by the quart, was seen taking eight double shots before going onstage, and consumed Benzedrine pills by the literal handful. Even as his addictions deepened, his fame rose, culminating in the opening, in 1949, of the New York jazz club Birdland. (He had no financial stake in it; it borrowed his name and fame without paying him for it, though he played there often—until he was banned, on the grounds of his erratic behavior.) The fans and revellers who surrounded Parker included unofficial musical amanuenses, who followed him from gig to gig, recording his every note. As a result, Parker’s studio recordings, treasures though they are, take second place to the flood of bootlegs that preserve his musical legacy at its most inspired and uninhibited. (There's a playlist below.)

The first batch of records under Parker’s leadership is from 1945. By 1949, he was reportedly seeking a new musical pathway out of the style that he already exemplified, and that was already widely emulated by the best of younger musicians (many of whom, of course, would enter musical history in their own right). The early nineteen-fifties sped by—with the loss of Parker’s cabaret card (thus rendering him ineligible to perform in New York night clubs) and the death of his infant daughter, Pree. He suffered from depression, attempted suicide, and was again hospitalized. His alcoholism worsened, his health deteriorated, and he had premonitions of his death—even as he was forging advances on his style, with ever wider harmonic extremes, ever more fragmentary phrases, ever more daring effacements of the regularly pulsating beat.

When Parker died, in 1955, at the age of thirty-four, jazz was undergoing another revolution—with Davis at its forefront and other musicians, such as John Coltrane and Cecil Taylor, emerging. Above all, American society was on the verge of historic progress, owing to the devotion and the sacrifice of Black people demanding civil rights and an end to segregation. Parker didn’t live to see either transformation. Parker’s drive toward perpetual revolution in ideas and styles, and in personal bearing, foreshadowed the history of jazz to come. And his martyrdom to an art of self-revelation, demonstration, defiance, and revolt foreshadowed the tragic heroism of a generation of civil-rights leaders to come.

#charlie parker #yardbird #bird #jazz #bebop jazz #kansas city #the new yorker #music #black music #rip #amerikkka #racism #black soldiers #robert bandy #harlem

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shankarjaikishanfansassnintl · 4 years

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Three Cheers for the Timeless Thrill of ‘Teesri Manzil’! Remembering RDB

Subramanium Viswanathan

Remembering RDB on his birthday ... and reposting my ‘matinee experience’, which made me sit up, and take notice of him!

Three Cheers for the Timeless Thrill of ‘Teesri Manzil’!

1971. SIES College of Arts & Science, Sion, Mumbai.

I had just stepped out of S.I.E.S High School and entered the S.I.E.S College as a First Year Science student. I was pleasantly surprised at the new-found privileges of being a college student, which included the freedom of ‘cutting classes’ (something unthinkable at school), whenever one just was not in a mood to attend the lectures, or whenever there was some ‘unavoidable circumstance’, such as having to attend the matinee show at the near-by theatre.

Rupam at Sion Circle (now PVR Multiplex or something) was strategically located near the college. The theatre was just a stone’s throw away from the college, but the students preferred to throw themselves at the spot, more often than into class-rooms.

Now before you all get my credentials wrong, let me declare that I was not the irresponsible undisciplined ‘tapori’ type of teen-ager that you would imagine. I was a shy, sincere, serious, studious and spectacled student that time. Bunking classes for a matinee show was not in my nature at all. But there are moments in a teenager’s life, when one succumbs to peer pressure. I had a few close friends who apparently had seen ‘Teesri Manzil’ before, and they all strongly felt that ‘TM’ was a better way of spending the afternoon, than attending the Physics and Zoology lectures. After all, Newton’s Laws are not going anywhere, they will remain to trouble you throughout the year till the exams. But ‘Teesri Manzil’ may disappear from Rupam by next week. Also the Zoology lecture was all about the slimy Amoeba, which luckily one can draw in any shape and get away with passing marks. So my friends rationalize with me. Also, since I had not seen the film before, they take upon themselves the responsibility of dragging me along. I start to roll my tongue to say, ‘No, but …’, but it’s too late.

So at 11.15 am we are already inside the AC comfort of Rupam, after a great deal of pushing and pulling at the ticket counter. There is chaos all around. It appears as if the entire college is inside the auditorium. Noisy banter, loud laughter, whistling etc. The commercials are on. Nobody is paying a damn heed to the ads. I think, why can’t these guys maintain some discipline and sit down quietly. Soon a documentary of Film Divisions on Rural Development starts. One student gets impatient and shouts towards the man at the projector, ‘Arre! Main Picture chalu karo re!’. Another gentleman from the matured uncles’ minority in the audience sounds an admonishing ‘Shhh!’ to the errant student, but poor uncle is instantly greeted back with hoots and ridicule. As Rural Development makes its painful way towards the conclusion, the catcalls grow louder. At last Film Divisions prove their point that Sanitation and Sewage System have indeed improved in some remote village of U.P.

Suddenly there is a hush as the Censors’ certificate of the main film is displayed. Somebody reads aloud the number of reels for the benefit of the short-sighted among us. Then the real show starts with a bang, a big banner of NH (Nasir Hussain) films and a thundering Urdu couplet. The audience screams for no apparent reason. I wonder, what is there to scream about an Urdu couplet that they don’t understand.

As the banner fades out, ‘Teesri Manzil’ explodes right on the face! Right from the first frame, this guy called Rahul Dev Burman who seemed to be hiding behind the screen for the attack, suddenly unleashes his deadly instruments on you! On the screen, a car is chasing another along the hill-ways on a rainy night. Two short violin pieces play continuously in quick succession exactly simulating the pace and tension of the situation. The credits roll on. The lady driving the first car gets down and runs towards a building. You can see from the glass pane outside, her silhouette rushing up the stairs followed by another shadow of a man close on heels. 1st floor, 2nd floor and further up—and then she desperately knocks at a door, ‘Rocky, Darwaza kholo!, Rocky, Darwaza kholo!’, as the shadow of the man is fast closing in on her. The back-ground music turns ominous and suddenly stops for a second, as the shrieking woman is bodily lifted and thrown by her predator from the ‘Teesri Manzil’!

RDB announces the bloody event with a loud trumpet, pauses a bit, then crashes his cymbals and goes at his drums with a beat that is sort of a cross between ‘Pink Panther’ theme and the 007 title track, but with lots of more punch. The camera swirls around the shocked faces including Shammi Kapoor’s, collected around the gravitated lady’s corpse. RDB’s beats raise the tempo culminating with the last credit-slide –‘Directed by Vijay Anand’. By now the audience is univocally vociferous giving out, not those hoots reserved for ‘Films Division’, but shrill shrieks of excitement and anticipation of more thrills!

‘Teesri Manzil’ was all thrills, not just because it was a murder mystery, but also because it was a musical wonder. Apparently unlike me, most of the audience were seeing the film for umpteenth time, as they knew exactly when to scream at RDB’s notes! I think, RDB would have jumped like a hungry tiger at the offer made by Nasir Hussain, who also knew his music fundas well, right from the time of ‘Tumsa nahin dekha’(OPN) and ‘Jab pyar kisise hota hai’(S-J) days! So for the cynics like me who had always wanted Shankar-Jaikishen for a Shammi Kappor movie (that included Shammi Kapoor himself), RDB silenced everybody’s ‘bolti’ with the opening orchestral blast!

It was not that ‘TM’ was an out-and-out RDB show. Apart from music, it had great style! Vijay Anand’s narration of a crime caper was slick and imaginative with loads of thrills and fun too! After the credits, you find Shammi Kapoor on the top berth of a compartment with Asha Parekh sitting below and one pot-bellied man (Ram Avtar?) sitting opposite to her. Shammi makes monkey-faces at the fatso and forces him to break into uncontrollable peals of laughter which invites Asha Parkh’s wrath and she starts bashing the poor ‘mota’!

Asha is on the track of one ‘Rocky’, a band-player to avenge the death of her sister. She traces him to the hotel where Rocky plays his band daily. Shammi Kapoor (Rocky) who is also trying to get to the bottom of ‘Third Floor Throw-out’ puzzle hood-winks Asha about his real identity. He says he is substituting on the drums for ‘Rocky’ who is on leave. Asha pouts contemptuously that she had come to hear Rocky’s drums and she had to listen to this non-entity. Shammi takes on the challenge. So does RDB, and throws at you ‘O haseena zulfonwali …’.

Now the shrieking session has revived! Shammi thrashes the drums, Helen swoops down a curved ramp and the collegians cry hoarse almost deafening the voices of Rafi and Asha Bhosle! Then Shammi and Helen sizzle on the floor to Majrooh Sultanpuri’s rapid repartee:

‘Garm hai, tez hai, yeh nigaahen meri

Kaam aa jaayengi sard aahen meri

Hey, Tum kisi raah-mein phir miloge kahin,

Arre, Ishq hoon, Main kahin teherta hi nahin!

Main bhi hoon galiyon-ki parchhai, Kabhi yahan Kabhi wahaan …’

Then RDB’s violins take you to high pitch and tug at you three times before dropping!

The steps and movements are wild, yet so gracefully executed, a far cry from some of today’s crude ‘item numbers’! Shammi tinkers with a glass and then blows a saxophone. Guitars and violins pump adrenalin into the auditorium. Now I am beginning to enjoy all this ‘shor’ around me! I don’t know what one calls it –Rock, Pop or Jazz, but ‘Jo bhi hai, khuda-ki kasam lajawaab hai’! I find myself rocking involuntarily on my seat to the RDB beats. Then I tell myself ‘Sit straight properly, like you were told at school’.

As the song ends, I compose myself and sit straight. But there is no respite. The second song starts soon. For prelude, RDB plays a crazy guitar piece that does somersaults repeatedly three or four times and hands over the mike to Rafi and Asha Bhosle. This time it is Shammi wooing Asha Parekh with ‘Aa jaa aa jaa, main hoon pyar tera …’, feverishly shaking his head and repeating ‘Ah-ha aa jaa’ eight times for emphasis. Parekh in pink swirls around Shammi giving him the slip and ‘pehnao’-ing him the ‘topi’. Shammi dances with ruffled hair and goes berserk gesticulating in eight different ways for each ‘aa jaa’ while Asha swings fluttering her eyelashes. All that frenetic head-shaking and hip-swinging on screen with trumpets blowing and drums beating, drive the public to delirious frenzy. I suppress my own urge to scream. Aakhir, discipline bhi koi cheez hai!

Agatha Christie’s whodunits could grip you, but you don’t read the same novel repeatedly. Alfred Hitchcock was a master of suspense who packed in some of the most bizarre situations in his script, some of them exciting and funny at the same time (Remember ‘North by North-West’ in which Cary Grant is left alone to drive on a treacherous hilly road after being forced to gulp a full bottle of Bourbon by a bunch of goons!). Nobody can beat Hitchcock when it comes to an intriguing plot, but Hitchcock Saab-ke filmon-mein aisa music kahan hota hai (if you don’t count ‘Que Sera Sera’ in ‘The Man Who Knew Too Much’)? Here our own Vijay Anand mixes all the ingredients like suspense, music, romance and comedy in the right proportions like an expert ‘bhel-puri-wala’ from Juhu and gives on the platter ekdum ‘paisa-wasool’ entertainment, worth every penny of your hard-extracted pocket-money from Daddy’s hard-earned money.

The first-half is great fun and romance giving RDB the avenue to come up with another two very pleasant numbers, ‘Diwana mujhsa nahin‘, a Rafi solo and ‘O mere sona-re sona-re’, a Rafi-Asha duet in which Asha Parekh concedes to Shammi Kapoor’s ‘patao-ing’. Before you know, it is already ‘Interval’. Now there is commotion at the Samosa stall outside! No Sir, I don’t join the mad scramble for a few samosas! I told you already that I was not the irresponsible undisciplined ‘tapori’ type of teen-ager that you would imagine! I was still a shy, sincere, spectacled student.

I try to take my mind off from the missed Samosas and focus on the second half. The plot thickens now … quite like the thick Tomato Ketchup that goes so well with Samosas! Now a whole lot of suspicious characters are hovering around the screen like Prem Chopra who points a rifle to shoot a distant bird, Iftekhar who leaves a misty cigarette smoke from wherever he spies on other suspects, Premnath (who generally opens his dialogue in most of his films with ‘Bloody Bushhtaard’) urf Rai Bahadur Singh who lives lavishly alone in a Dak Banglow, and K.N.Singh , Rai Saab’s drunken house-keeper. The needle of suspicion keeps swinging.

Who killed the lady? Well, that can wait. Meanwhile let’s have more of RDB. So we have a delightfully crazy ‘Dekhiye Sahibon’ in which Asha lets loose the ‘public’ on Shammi who clings to a ‘Merry-go- Round’ to avoid getting bashed up by a group of Sardars. The song is good fun with great camerawork matching the mood of the music.

It is time to get a bit serious. Helen has a ‘Raaz’ tucked up in her sleeveless. So she gets shot the same way as the ‘broads get the bullets’ in James Hadley Chase novels, before she could divulge the ‘secret’ to Shammi Kapoor. Shammi himself gets exposed as the real ‘Rocky’ making him eligible for titles like’Jhoothe’,’Makhhar’,‘Dhokebaaz’ etc. from Asha Parekh, but not before delivering a superb last song, a solo by Rafi, my most favourite in the film - ‘Tumne mujhe dekha hokar mehrban---Rukh gayi yeh zameen, tham gayaa aasmaan, Jaane man, Jaan-e-Jaan …’. What a song!

'Lekar yeh haseen jalwe, Tum bhi na kahan pahunche

Aakhir to mere dil tak kadmon-ke nishaan pahunche …’

One can as well sing these lines to that fantastic trio of Majrooh-RDB-Rafi for such an exquisite composition!

The stock of songs is sadly over, but RDB still has a fantastic piece in store, when Shammi discovers the identity of the murderer by his host’s coat in which one diamond stud is conspicuously missing. The missing button had been tightly clutched in the fist of the dead woman. Terrific close-ups of a sweaty shocked Shammi’s face when he realizes the truth, are accentuated with a more terrific back-ground score by RDB! Finally after a scuffle, the killer himself drops himself to death from an altitude equivalent to that from which he had thrown the lady in the title-scene. The police arrive dutifully after all action is over. The film ends with a funny note with Shammi and Asha again in a train compartment, this time on honey-moon, encountering the same pot-bellied man who tries to escape from them to avoid trouble!

Vijay Anand’s crisp and creative direction makes the film a gripping entertainer and places it a cut above the rest of typical crime thrillers. But ‘Teesri Manzil’ is more remembered as a musical classic that changed the trend of Hindi film music irreversibly! The film was released way back in 1966. But Rahul Dev Burman was a maverick clearly much ahead of his time. He broke all the rules and raised the tempo of Hindi film music to a feverish pitch several ‘manzil’s higher! Western music never sounded more jazzy and classy in any other Indian film, before or after ‘TM’. So it is no wonder that after five decades, the film and its music still rocks in memories, if not in matinees.

Well, to cut the long story short, we were back in college corridor next day and discussing the ‘TM’ experience. One of them starts, ‘Listen.Today is Thursday’. ‘So?’. ‘So, Today is the last day matinee show of ‘Teesri Manzil’ at Rupam. So why not we …’. I nod my head vehemently, ‘No, No … that’s too much… well … OK, Why not? OK, Sure’. The would-be IIM aspirant amongst us steps forward to manage the immediate crisis, ‘Let’s see what have we today? Oh! Physics Lab? The same silly experiment of moving the convex lens to and fro till you remove parallax. We can skip it. Journal? Not to worry, we can copy from that front-benchwala Bakul Mehta’.

So we are back again at Rupam, throwing all shame to the rains outside! There is chaos all around inside. The same FD documentary is on. One voice shouts ‘Arre! Main Picture chalu karo re!’. I turn towards the voice and am shocked to find that the shouter is none other than Bakul Mehta, the front-benchwala of college! I start fretting and mutter to my friend ‘Just look at that Bakul! What’s he doing here? How irresponsible! He is supposed to be at the Lab this time! Now how the hell are we going to finish our journals?’. My cool friend admonishes me, ‘Let’s worry about all that after the film. Relax. Try to concentrate on the movie. Don’t disturb, Pay attention … This is not Calculus class’.

So I pay attention all over again. The show starts with a bang … the big banner of NH (Nasir Hussain) films and the thundering Urdu couplet. People shriek cheeringly. And to my horror, I find myself whistling and screaming hoarse along with them for no apparent reason!

Now please don’t get my credentials wrong. I was not the irresponsible undisciplined student …. well, may be till I was coerced to see 'Teesri Manzil’ twice in quick succession, during peak college hours!

https://youtu.be/dDtKEtDA8sM

#shankar #shankarjaikishan #rdb #rdburman #pancham

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prince-honeypaw · 2 years

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If I could offer some fresh faces to play with, perhaps we could get some regressors Trumpet and Skeptic hcs? Maybe something like a playdate?

♡ This is a lethal matchup. It's a bit clunky since I just do not see these two getting along, but I hope it's good enough!

♡ Koku has a very broad regression range, able to shift from one to thirteen depending on the mood of the day. He's rather dramatic in his younger space and absolutely cheeky in his older space. His age can slide up or down during the time he is regressed and it will often show.

♡ On the other hand, Tomoyasu's regression is strictly in the small range. He will either be one or two, and is very fussy on either end. The poster child for the phrase, "Terrible Twos".

♡ Tomoyasu is also not a social tyke. He is a solitary creature that would prefer to dismantle a Blu-ray player with a rattle than engage in a playdate with anyone. If you're lucky he might do parallel play.

♡ Koku is not very lucky.

♡ Really, he doesn't even know how he gets roped into these dysfunctional events (it's Curious's fault), but no matter what they always happen and follow a very similar formula.

♡ Step 1: Curious leaves the room.

♡ Step 2: Absolute baby anarchy.

♡ What happens between steps one and two? Typically Koku will start around thirteen to ten and politely tell Miss Chitose that he can handle a toddler for a measly thirty minutes! Surely nothing bad will happen this time.

♡ Chitose, praying to whoever will listen, lets him try to handle little Tomoyasu on his own in hopes that he will wise up next time. (He will not and this will happen again.)

♡ It starts quiet, Koku opting to read while Tomoyasu plays with his toys, when the toddler will ultimately choose violence and throw a plush block at his playmate's head.

♡ Block time is then brought to an abrupt close and an activity with less projectiles is chosen: TV.

♡ TV is brought to a quick close when Tomoyasu gets bored and starts pulling on Koku's ahoge and he threatens to call the police on a Fisher-Price phone.

♡ At that point, Koku would have slid down to about seven and decide that coloring is easy and inoffensive enough! They can do that very far apart...

♡ Tomoyasu claims all the crayons and leaves Koku with the Crayola markers, hissing like a cat on its hackles. Koku is now six and losing patience.

♡ Thankfully, Chitose usually enters at the twenty minute mark and declares a swift nap for the younger boy! Koku sees an opportunity.

♡ Koku slides down to a cool four after drawing on Tomoyasu while he's sleeping and tells Chitose he would like to speak to a lawyer when asked if he was the one that doodled on the baby.

♡ False accusations, come back with a warrant.

♡ They'll inevitably be doing this again next week with a net zero knowledge gain.

#sfw agere #bnha agere #Agere Trumpet #Agere Skeptic #Honey HCs

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theinsatiables · 7 years

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“There may be a proper story tucked away in this movie, but I’m damned if I can find it. Much of the action revolves around Jamie, who lacks a father figure; by way of compensation, Dorothea recruits Abbie and Julie to assist in raising him—or, at any rate, in wising him up. “How do you be a good man?” she asks. In Abbie’s case, the answer is to load the lad with core texts of contemporary feminism, such as “Our Bodies, Ourselves” and “Sisterhood Is Powerful: An Anthology of Writings from the Women’s Liberation Movement.” Far from rearing back in alarm, Jamie delves in like a true believer, steeping himself in the lingo of empowerment, the result being that he lectures a fellow-teen-ager—a braggart, trumpeting his easy conquests—on the primacy of the clitoral orgasm, and gets beaten up for his pains. No surprise there. Such are the ironies in which Mills, at his most winning, likes to deal; rather than take sarcastic shots at earnestness, he stays with it and waits for the comic overreach. As Abbie and William fool around one evening, she remarks that his hair smells nice. “I make my own shampoo,” he says. “Of course you do,” she replies.”

-Anthony Lane on 20th Century Women

#Film #Mike Mills #20th Century Women #Favorites #Jeff Östberg

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starliters-blog · 7 years

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thirty questions!

catching up with tags from eons ago (probably from my hiatus), i was tagged by @chalight to do this!!! thank you <3

one / nicknames i have a bunch! there’s ‘kashi’, my main one along with just ‘kash’. then there’s stuff like ‘uncle kashif’, ‘kash ketchum’, ‘kush’ and my favourite, ‘seven whole grains on a mission’. two / gender female! three / zodiac sign pisces. four / height i’m a short mf. i stand at 5′3′‘ to 5′4′’ or around 165 cm! five / time it’s 5:59pm and i just got back from work. okay now its 6:00pm. six / birthday i’m a march baby born on the 6th. 8^) seven / favourite bands this being a vixx/gugudan-biased blog, i’ll start off with vixx and gugudan! in kpop, i also like exo, bts, btob, b1a4, red velvet, f(x), kard, dreamcatcher, loona, tvxq, mamamoo-- this list will continue. for non-kpop, i like the used, fall out boy, studio killers, coldplay, hedley and the prodigy! eight / favourite solo singers sunmi, luna, iu, sia, zayn, ariana grande, boa, jinsoul (SHE COUNTS IN MY HEART), aaaaaand seohyun nine / songs stuck in my head these days its pied piper by bts, esp kook’s ‘i’m taking over you’ part aaaaaaaHHHH! ten / last movie i watched admittedly, i don’t want movies all that often but i watched hidden figures on my trip to london AND BOI I SHED SO MANY TEARS. i would honestly recommend this movie to other woc engineers/engineering students it moved me so much!!! eleven / last show watched i don’t watch shows either but it would have to be the 2016 chuseok special of isac LMAO. i watched it yesterday bc i just wanted to see jaehwan pancake into jin again i’m not even sorry twelve / when was this blog created? i? actually don’t remember? i’ve been on tumblr since 2010 but this blog is fairly new? i think mid-2014 for this blog. thirteen / what do i post? as the unofficial mom-ager for vixx and gugudan, i usually post what my children are doing, support them and luv them in my tags. i also post dumb memes bc they make me happy in this shitty world fourteen / last thing i googled asianjunkie bc i open up that website like i would read the newspaper in the morning fifteen / do you have other blogs? i do, actually! sans my roleplay blogs i have my anime/more-shit-tier-memes (majidere) blog, which was my main acct for a while before kpop happened. and i have a gross sm-stan (10velies) acct. i haven’t posted anything yet, but trust me it will be filled with my luv for kyungsoo, lay, ten, yunho, changmin, luna, wendy, joy, seulgi, heechul--- you get it. i also had a kard (ilybm) acct but i don’t remember the email associated with it;;;;

sixteen / do you get asks? sometimes!

seventeen / why did you choose this url? the name ‘jelpi’ is a shorter (and cuter) way to say jellyfish, vixx and ggd’s company! since we’re talking bout this, i’d like to mention i chose it for jelpi’s artists, not bc i like jelpi as a management. (they aight but they could do better)

eighteen / following? 316!

nineteen / followers? not disclosing awksss

twenty / favourite food? MY BROWN ASS LOVES BIRYANI, TAEKWOON WHO sorry taek

twenty one / favourite colour? i like both pink and purple equally! pink is just pretty and purple bc it was associated with my favourite blanket as a kid :’^) its also my faculty colour.

twenty two / sleeping hours? lel okay let’s see if i can pinpoint a decent schedule. during my work terms/co-op terms, i sleep at around 9pm to 10pm and wake up at 5:30am. during school terms, i’ll be lucky if i go to sleep at 12am, but generally its either 1am or 2am, and then i wake up at 6:30am.

twenty three / lucky number? the only luck i believe in is leo and hyuk 10 sits well with me.

twenty four / play any instruments? i played the trumpet in middle school but i never picked it up, or any inst up, after.

twenty five / what are you wearing? idk what to call them? i guess they’re kind of like palazzo or gaucho pants, but i call em’ dividers and they yellow + a grey engineering faculty shirt.

twenty six / how many blankets do you sleep with? one! i think the better question would be how do i sleep and that would be always on my right side, one blanket, two pillows (one under my head and one on my side) and the ac on full blast.

twenty seven / dream job? uhm. idk how to tell you this, but it’s water treatment! i guess i want to work with organizations that help get clean drinking water to third-world countries, maybe develop cheap water filters for well water as well?

twenty eight / dream trip? i’d like to take a tour of europe and asia? go to new york, paris, london, venice, greece, bangladesh, india, australia and nz, japan and korea!

twenty nine / nationality? bengali-canadian!

thirty / favourite song? (answering this for recent songs only) pied piper by bts, singing in the rain by jinsoul, whisper by lr, and v recently rollin’ by b1a4!

i tag anyone who sees and hasn’t done this already, whoops looks like ya gotta do it now -- and tag me bc i want to know people <3

#questions #thank you v much for the tag!

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mizbabygirl · 7 years

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Ana Eases Into Singing Career As Cbs Records' Youngest Artist (April 12, 1987) [from the archives of the Orlando Sentinel newspaper]

Another portion of the fuse that could set off a pop music career was lighted Monday in Winter Park. Ana, CBS Records' youngest recording artist and an Orlando resident, opened two shows for trumpeter Doc Severinsen at the Cheek to Cheek Lounge in her first professional appearances. The Meadowbrook Junior High School eighth- grader treated a sellout crowd to some uptempo pop tunes and power ballads from her self-titled debut album, due for release in early June.

By summer's end Ana could join pop divas Whitney Houston, Janet Jackson and Madonna at the top of the charts, if all goes according to the plans of the recording industry veterans who are working to launch her career. The LP was recorded at Orlando's Parc Records studios at Full Sail Recorders Inc., a CBS Records associated label. It was produced by Karl Richardson, co-producer and engineer of the Bee Gees' Saturday Night Fever and Barbra Streisand's Guilty. Frank Wildhorn, who has written for Stacy Lattisaw and Whitney Houston and Sue Shiffren (who wrote some of Tina Turner's and Olivia Newton-John's hits) wrote some of the 10 songs on the LP. The first single, “Shy Boys” (due for release by mid-May) will be remixed for dance clubs and the airwaves by John “Jellybean'” Benitez, best known for his work with Madonna. “I'm very fortunate that I got together with these people,” said Ana, 13. (Like Madonna, she will use only her first name as a professional handle.) “Recording was a big experience. I learned a lot from the team.” ''Normally you wouldn't sign someone that young, because of the voice changes that can take place,'' said Pat Armstrong, Parc Records president and executive officer of the Pat Armstrong & Associates Inc. management firm. ''But we decided to take a chance because she's a real, natural talent.''

Armstrong first heard of Ana four years ago while on business in Miami, where the singer and her family settled after leaving their native Cuba in 1979. (The family has since relocated to Orlando.) A recording industry colleague recommended that he listen to a demonstration tape that Ana's father had sent to the studio. “The tape wasn't strong enough to convince me, so I asked her to sing a capella,” Armstrong said. “There was some magic that I heard in her voice and I knew all she needed was the right songs.” “She was born with that type of natural vocation,” said Ana's father, Miguel Rodriguez. “She would sing all day long while playing around the house, since she was 1. When she was about 9, I said, 'Oh my God, I think this is something serious here.” At that point Ana began taking lessons with Miami-based voice teacher Gina Moretto, whose students have included the Bee Gees and Miami Sound Machine's Gloria Estefan. Rodriguez said Miami Sound Machine leader Emilio Estefan Jr. was one of the first to propose a recording contract for his daughter. “But Emilio wanted her to record in Spanish, too, and I couldn't agree with that. She feels more comfortable singing in English. She has American soul. In the future, she'll sing in Spanish, Italian, Japanese. We want to make her an international talent. But now, our dream is to make her a big American talent.” Ana may have inherited her musical talent from her father, who continues to help guide her career. “I played drums in a rock group in Cuba when I was a young teen-ager. But it was nothing serious, because my family never supported me. I feel the music in my heart and I see that dream in my daughter.” Besides the full support of her father, Ana has the backing of her mother, also named Ana, and of little brother Miguel Jr. “I feel that her voice is a gift from God,” said the elder Ana Rodriguez. “She would put such feeling into songs and hit such notes, even when she was very little, that I knew this was something special. We've talked often about it. By now she knows that this is a very difficult career, that's it's not a game anymore. She's aware of all this, and, God willing, all will go well. She has been an exemplary daughter and we're very proud of her.”

And what is Ana's assessment of the fruits her talents have borne? “The only thing that has changed in my life is that now I can say to myself, 'I have an album, promotional pictures, and I met people CBS executives. There's nothing different. I'm still the same person. I still go to school. I still have the same friends. I look at this as a hard and really fun time. On the airplane en route to Los Angeles to meet the CBS executives, I was thinking, 'Oh my God, I hope they like me.' Then I thought, 'Well, if they do like me I'm going to have so much fun! I'll get to go out to restaurants and buy clothes.' So I started thinking of that.”

Parc Records president Armstrong (who also manages rockers Molly Hatchet) said that Ana's Cheek to Cheek appearances were intended to give her a small taste of the things to come.

“If the album does what we think it will, she's going to be thrown out into some very big crowds very quickly. . . . CBS is looking to do Johnny Carson, David Letterman and all the morning shows. . . . We just want to kind of dip her in. It's like jumping into an ice cold pool. If you inch your way in, it's not so bad.” (article written by Agnes Torres)

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