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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Dust Volume 7, Number 9

Les Filles de Illighadad

Another collection of short reviews closes out this week at Dusted, with selections ranging from avant garde classical to free jazz to whacko punk to an unusually gender-inclusive guitar band from Niger. Writers this time included the usual stalwarts, Bill Meyer, Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Bryon Hayes, Tim Clarke, Andrew Forell and Chris Liberato. Enjoy.

All Set — All Set (RogueArt)

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In 1957, serialist composer Milton Babbitt’s All Set applied his language-transforming compositional tool kit to the sonic resources of a jazz orchestra. Six decades and change down the road, such ideas haven’t exactly infiltrated the mainstream of either jazz or orchestral music, but they’ve become as handy for some music makers as hammers and nails are for carpenters. So, when saxophonic colleagues Ingrid Laubrock (who sticks to tenor here) and Stéphane Payen (playing the straight alto) needed to come up with a framework to make music together, out came Babbitt’s notion, which they did not play straight, but used as a suggestions for writing their own tunes, and for good measure named their band after the Babbitt’s piece The formative influence manifests in zig-zagging intervallic leaps, but instead of treating these of ends in themselves, the saxophonists carry on constant overlapping dialogues. The rhythm section of Chris Tordini (bass) and Tom Rainey (drums) can’t help but swing, but they do so in a shifting, discontinuous fashion that occasionally leaves it to the saxophonists to play the gaps as well as the horns they use the fill them.

Bill Meyer

Rodrigo Amado Motion Trio & Alexander Von Schlippenbach — The Field (No Business)

The Field by Rodrigo Amado Motion Trio & Alexander von Schlippenbach

Motion Trio is one of tenor saxophonist Rodrigo Amado’s more enduring combos. But it’s not one that has played often in the years preceding this concert, a consequence of the growth and success of its members; Amado, cellist Miguel Mira and drummer Gabriel Ferrandini all keep busy with other projects. So, this encounter with pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach, which took place in Vilnius, Lithuania in 2019, was not just a reenactment of the trio’s favorite tactic of improvising with a strong fourth musician, but a reunion of the trio itself. This means that the process-oriented can listen for three comrades finding reviving a common language at the same time that they confront with an outsider’s efforts to deal with it. Schlippenbach’s playing brings an unusual harmonic density to Motion Trio’s music, which seems to coax an especially dynamic and at times reflective response from the saxophonist. Ferandini, on the other hand, proposes shapes and timbres that seem to build out from Schlippenbach’s intricate constructions, while Mira keeps up a steady, almost subliminal stream of contrapuntal commentary that is simultaneously assertive and nearly subliminal. But some of the concert’s most exciting moments come when the pianist lays out for a second, and you can hear Motion Trio’s members responding to each other.

Bill Meyer

BangGang Lonnie Bands — H2K On the Way (TF Entertainment \ Anti Media)

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Lots of artists have watched small projects intended only as appetizers grow to surpass their grander efforts. BangGang Lonnie Bands’ recent work, especially his King of Detroit albums, contained a few gems but were bloated in length. There was an ironic twist, as Lonnie’s claimed the throne to the city where he no longer resides. While it remains to be seen what the rapper brings after H2K On the Way, this 15 minutes long EP is his leanest work in years, leaving a long list of LPs behind. Lonnie no longer flirts with scam rap and returns to murder music, fusing gutsiest Michigan-style punchlines with no hostage Californian approach to verse spitting. He’s the naughtiest when he’s trolling the music industry: “Copped a 100 pounds of crank \ should have bought a verse from Drake.”

Ray Garraty

Buffalo Daughter — We Are the Times (Anniversary)

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Buffalo Daughter always caught in the cracks between mainstream and experimental, layering vocal sweetness over chopped up blippy beats, not as wildly original as OOIOO, but not exactly girl pop either. This latest album comes after a long break and a slightly less lengthy COVID lockdown, and it’s got some prickly, dreamy jams, part dance, part pop, part funk, part inscrutable. “ET (Densha)” is the mad, moody single, full of low-end synth blasts and thundering drums, but leavened by high whispery vocals. It’s like Shackleton sound-tracking a Hello Kitty movie. “Global Warming Will Kill Us All” is similarly ominous, with vocoder chants and trippy pop choruses and blown out by phosphorescent blots of synth, but I like “Don’t Punk Out” the best, because it struts like an animatronic James Brown, the funk percolating through gleaming futuristic swells of sounds. If disco’s going to come back, can it be this weird and disorienting?

Jennifer Kelly

Fashion Pimps and the Glamazons — Jazz 4 Johnny (Feel It Records)

Jazz 4 Johnny by Fashion Pimps And The Glamazons

This new EP from Fashion Pimps and the Glamazons manages to fit into the tradition of whacko punk records from Cleveland (and what a tradition that is…) and to comment on the problematic nature of tradition itself. There’s a decided No Wave vibe to Jazz 4 Johnny: listen to it, and you’ll flash on Buy Contortions and on Robert Quine’s attempts to channel Miles Davis and Pharoah Sanders through his guitar. At points you’ll swear there’s a sax somewhere in the buzz and thunder that the Fashion Pimps create — but that’s just Richard Glamazon’s skronky guitar tone, which does Quine one better by not only aping the cadences of a free jazz solo but also the sound of a brassy axe. That’s fun, but we should also recall No Wave’s sharp antipathies for concepts like “tradition” or “perpetuity.” A lot of those bands wanted to neutralize their own existence and thus evade the ultimately conservative action of canonization. Other tunes on Jazz 4 Johnny are more engaged with the later Downtown noise rock scene. The guitar on “Dream Police” gestures toward early Sonic Youth—but even there, the band can’t quite help themselves. Vocalist Steve Chainsaw shouts, “Show me your DNA!” Most of those references are based in Manhattan, so what about Cleveland? The city often recedes into the background when conversations turn to rock-n-roll history, which is too bad. Fashion Pimps and the Glamazons don’t sound all that much like electric eels or Pere Ubu, but the band is tuned into a similarly feral, post-industrial ethos and an avant-garde sensibility that makes anti-art into art you can dance to. Or break things to. Or both. Which may be the best response to the wild and smart tunes on this record.

Jonathan Shaw

Les Filles de Illighadad — At Pioneer Works (Sahel Sounds)

At Pioneer Works by Les Filles de Illighadad

The entrancing At Pioneer Works documents the American touring debut of Niger-based Tuareg ensemble Les Filles de Illighadad, specifically a pair of shows at the eponymous Brooklyn venue. Travelling as a four-piece ensemble, the band created a swirling three-guitar maelstrom, as captured on this pristine-sounding recording. Founder Fatou Seidi Ghali — the first known woman Tuareg guitarist — and her cousin Alamnou Akrouni were joined by Fatimata Ahmadelher, the only other known woman Tuareg guitarist, with Ghali’s brother accompanying on rhythm guitar. Blending the traditional calabash drum and call-and-response vocals of the tende song form with the electric guitar, Ghali and company steep the communal origins of their sound with a gentle clangor. The music is simultaneously hypnotic and driving, the four performers acting as one multi-limbed, multi-throated being. For the most part, Ghali is content setting the pace and playing along with the melody. One exception is the trio of deftly executed solos during “Chakalan,” where she demonstrates her prowess with six strings. Reports from those Brooklyn shows indicate that the band completely enraptured their audience, and if At Pioneer Works represents only a fraction of how powerful Les Filles de Illighadad are live, this writer doesn’t doubt that at all.

Bryon Hayes

Henri Guédon — Karma (Outre National)

Karma by Henri Guédon

You don’t have to be a big fan of R.E.M. to feel overly familiar with “It’s The End of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine).” In dire times, it’s such an easy go-to tune that even adherence to lockdown prescriptions won’t keep it out of your ears. So, deejays, we’ve done your research for you, and found a new tune to soundtrack defiant frugging in the face of disaster. It’s called “Fin Di Mond,” by Martinique-based singer/percussionist/sculptor Henri Guédon. It, and eight more similarly motion-motivating tunes, can be found on Karma, a predominantly celebratory set of retro-futuristic, Franco-Caribbean grooves. Mind you, this music wasn’t retro when Guédon recorded it 46 years ago; the synth lines that swoop through its massed percussion were probably the height of modernity back in the day. Heard now, this music is just the thing to put time itself on pause.

Bill Meyer

HTRK — Rhinestones (Heavy Machinery)

Rhinestones by HTRK

Rhinestones is a sneaky one from Melbourne’s HTRK, a slight but incisive release that seems minor compared to their previous albums but cuts just as deep. Running to a brutally economical 26 minutes, most of the album is built around delayed guitar, drum machine and Jonnine Standish’s ghostly, dejected voice. To a world laid low by the pandemic, Standish sounds startlingly apposite for these times, and track titles like “Sunlight Feels Like Bee Stings,” “Real Headfuck” and “Straight to Hell” signpost the vibe clearly. This is sad, skeletal music, sure to offer a degree of solace if you’re weary, wrung out or wasted — 2021 in a nutshell.

Tim Clarke

Matt Jencik — Matt & Lyra (Trouble In Mind)

Matt & Lyra by matt jencik

Matt Jencik is a member of doomy, spacey Chicago band Implodes, plus he’s released two solo guitar albums: 2017’s Weird Times and 2019’s Dream Character. For his latest, Matt & Lyra, part of Trouble In Mind’s Explorers Series, Jencik focuses on the thick, fuzzy tones of the Russian-built Lyra-8 synthesizer (hence the album title). Having said that, he does pull out his guitars to add some acoustic strumming to “Cmellow Ayellow,” and builds 16-minute closer “Clandestine Half Pipe” around electric guitar drones before the Lyra begins to dominate the frame. Jencik apparently made this music to help him sleep, and while this music is suited to nocturnal listening, with an all-enveloping warmth, there’s also the sense of something looming in the darkness. Whether this presence is reassuring or threatening probably depends on the frame of mind with which you approach this immersive 35-minute release.

Tim Clarke

Joakim — Second Nature (Tiger Sushi)

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French producer and Tiger Sushi founder Joakim’s Second Nature is a reflection on the state of the world. It combines samples of whales, elephants, toads and other wildlife with the kind of pop facing ambient techno from aughts chillout compilations. It is testament to his skill as a producer that the record doesn’t wear out its welcome despite the occasional lapse into the anodyne and the associations this kind of gentle background music evokes. When Joakim disturbs the tranquility on tracks like “Sferics & Whistlers” with its crackles of static and breakdown of discordant notes, Angel Bat Dawid’s klezmatic clarinet on “Waves Ahead” and the komische roll of “Kepler-39” that one is jolts from reverie and pays close attention, but at 16 tracks it feels like Second Nature needs more such moments.

Andrew Forell

The Killing Popes — Ego Kills (Shhpuma)

Ego Kills by The Killing Popes

Thank god this unfortunately named combo isn’t someone’s absurd scheme to crossbreed the sounds of Killing Joke and Smoking Popes. Instead, the Berlin-based project exists at the crossroads of jazz and electronics. I know what you’re thinking, and no this isn’t a modern take on acid jazz; this crew makes a jazz-on-acid sort of racket. The core Popes are drummer-percussionist Oli Steidle and multi-instrumentalist Dan Nicholls, who together conjure up a brew with a myriad of ingredients. Their genre-defying fusion of disciplines does have a center, however. Steidle’s dextrous drumming and the elastic band bass proffered by Phil Donkin serve as an anchor point for the other elements — both melodic and bizarre — to revolve around. The addition of vocals inserts the sense of narrative, creating a gravity that tugs at the sounds and prevent them from spiralling out of orbit. As zany as Ego Kills may be, it’s jazz-like enough for afficionados to appreciate. On their own, each of the instrumentalists demonstrates a mastery of their craft; together, they create an uncanny sort of magic.

Bryon Hayes

Norman W. Long — BLACK BROWN GRAY GREEN (Hausu Mountain)

BLACK BROWN GRAY GREEN by Norman W. Long

Chicago soundscapist Norman W. Long walks his southeast Chicago neighborhood, listens deeply and records the ambient sounds of nature, the echoes of railyards, wasteland and industrial sites both working and abandoned. Adding subtle electronics and treatments to his field recordings, Long conjures atmospheres that speak to space, atrophy and the delicate symbiosis between nature and humanity. On BLACK BROWN GRAY GREEN he immerses listeners in the often unnoticed aural richness at the intersection of the built, neglected and the natural. His choices about when to augment or to present his sources as are forms a narrative of associations, displacements and tensions. Long’s is also a story of reclamation and recognition, a rumination on the situation of the largely minority and migrant populations who live in the neighborhood, many of whom toil as essential workers across the city in the face of ongoing prejudice and hostility. Site specificity is integral to Long’s art but his themes are universal.

Andrew Forell

Andy Moor — Music For Safe Piece (Unsounds)

Music For Safe Piece by Andy Moor

Music For Safe Piece is the antidote for every piece of children’s music that’s ever made you want to not hear another played or sung note, ever again. Electric guitarist Andy Moor (the Ex, Dog Faced Hermans) and dancer Valentina Campora have included their sons, Elio and Milo, in onstage performance ever since they were so young, they had to be swaddled and strapped to one of their parents in order to participate. The recorded results of this shared adventure are raw, unpredictable and exhilarating. Moor’s guitar, occasionally augmented by a child’s vocalization, a foot pounding the floor or some choice tune fragments on a cassette tape, blazes a trail of reverberations, scrapes and wobbles. In performance, the boys are known to get in on the act, helping pop to make his sounds while mom handles the movement. This music isn’t particularly pacific, but it’s pretty close to the way kids actually play when no one’s stopping them. The technologically adept will find a QR code inside the CD’s gatefold, which unlocks the short film, “Safe Piece.”

Bill Meyer

RXM Reality — Advent (Orange Milk)

Advent by RXM REALITY

Long-time Hausu Mountain dweller Mike Meegan has relocated to the Orange Milk abode, taming his frenetic brand of electronic mayhem in the process. The blown-out, off-the-grid beats are still plentiful, but with Advent Meegan injects his tunes with melody. He’s also allowed himself to slow down and relax. The vast expanse of “Character Limit” literally breathes deeply as Meegan allows it to swirl around. He drinks up the pleasant melodic aromas of the track before switching gears and unloading burst after burst of explosive beats. “These Days” comes off as an electro-shoegaze hybrid, with gauzy synth pads that float effortlessly among bouncy percussion clusters. Of course, the signature RXM Reality sound — a hybrid of 1990s video game and blockbuster movie — is present and accounted for in tracks like “Allure,” “Screaming,” and “Grip of Evil.” Yet even these balls of energy are tempered with shades of consonance. Having blunted some of the jagged edges of his frantic brand of electronic music, Meegan fits in nicely among the kooky ranks of the Orange Milk imprint.

Bryon Hayes

Macie Stewart — Mouth Full of Glass (Orindal)

Mouth Full of Glass by Macie Stewart

You might already know Macie Stewart as one-half of the complicated indie rock duo Ohmme or for her regular appearances as violinist of choice in Chicago jazz and experimental music scenes, but this solo LP shows another side. These eight songs are lushly, intricately arranged with strings, orchestral instruments and brass, recorded with precision and clarity, but nonetheless personal and introspective. “Garter Snake” sheathes flaying honesty with baroque instrumental flourishes. Stewart’s voice is bare and unaffected as she confides, “I am addicted…to indecision,” but she makes riveting choices in framing the melody. Old-fashioned movie strings swell in the spaces between talking-right-to-you verses; agile guitar chords mark time. “Finally” begins in bare, Bahian guitar play, as Stewart’s voice flutters and floats an unpredictable but fetching tune. Strings swoop in at the end of the phrase, lavish and lucid. The title track unlooses massed, harmonized vocals on the spare architecture of picked guitar, a shock of extravagant sung beauty in an otherwise restrained palette. Like Wendy Eisenberg, but with different instruments, Stewart weaves post-modern complexity into the delicate fabric of pop songs. The difficulty — combined with the beauty — makes this music memorable.

Jennifer Kelly

Stingray — Feeding Time (La Vida es un Mus)

Feeding Time by Stingray

In places where heavy music is played and endlessly debated, 1982 might be most strongly associated with English street punk — see the ersatz “genre” of UK82, which enshrines the year and ties it to acid green liberty spikes and scuffed Doc Martens. Fair enough. But street punk was thoroughly informed by the dirty working-class metal being made by bands like Motörhead and Venom, and this new EP by Stingray celebrates those noisy intersections of influence. Of course, Stingray’s version of celebration likely involves several cases of Bass Ale, an eightball of something white and a fistfight or two. Or five. The English band features members of other current hard-driving acts, including Subdued, the Chisel and Chain of Flowers, but Stingray doesn’t prize currency. The songs are short, hard and nasty, landing their punches like a “Bomber” and also like a bunch of “Death Dealers.” The guys in Stingray understand the past they’re drawing on, but does music like this have a future? Fuck knows. Do any of us have a future? Does the earthball? The tunes are less interested in such flights of existential angst, and more intent on their rapacious appetites for speed, sweat and raunch. It’s Feeding Time. Get it while you can.

Jonathan Shaw

Nick Storring — Newfoundout (Mappa)

Newfoundout by Nick Storring

You’ll miss some towns if you blink. The ones that have given their names to the compositions on Newfoundout might confound both eyesight and your GPS, since they are all ghost towns in Ontario, Canada. The music that Nick Storring has made to go with these titles is correspondingly elusive. Performed entirely by the composer, using strings, percussion and whatever bric-a-brac happened to be at hand, it is by turns lush, staccato and propulsive. “The sounds are never particularly difficult, but they rarely telegraph where they’re going, so if you listen passively, sooner or later you’ll look up in dismay, wondering how things got from where they were to where they are now. “Khartum,” for example, starts out sounding a lot like “In A Silent Way,” and finishes up sounding like a respectfully paced conference of grandfather clock chimes. So, put your head back and your ears forward, and let Mr. Storring do the driving.

Bill Meyer

Ten Ka — Sonic Geometry: Structures, Patterns And Forms (Jersika)

sonic geometry: structures, patterns and forms by TEN KA

Ten Ka is experimental side project of Deniss Pashkevich, a Latvian woodwinds player. The album title’s invocation of mathematics is apt, since this music is produced by dissimilar musical values acting upon each other. Pashkevich’s sound on tenor sax is full and soft around the edges, which is probably what it takes to be a working musician in a part of the world that doesn’t have much of a jazz tradition; on flutes, and especially the Bansuri, he hints at a far Eastern vibe. He also plays Fender Rhodes and prepared acoustic piano, bringing in further elements of user-friendly jazz, but also some sharp, Cage-y edges. But most of the nine tracks on Sonic Geometry: Structures, Patterns And Forms feature modular synths, which provide a foundation of pulsing bass patterns and some intriguing disruptive, acidic sizzles. It all adds up to something simultaneously familiar and out of the ordinary.

Bill Meyer

Luis Vicente / Vasco Trilla — Made Of Dust (577 Records)

Made of Mist by Luis Vicente & Vasco Trilla

Not many improvisational settings are more exposed that the drums and trumpet duet. The two instruments are sufficiently different in timbre and frequency range that you can’t help but hear everything each player does, and also how those actions fit together. Trumpeter Luis Vicente and percussionist Vasco Trilla approach this situation with a combination of relaxed consideration and wholly earned confidence. Vicente can power-play when necessary, but for this session, he exercises restraint, using mutes to extract the most lyrical and vocal sounds he can muster. Trilla likewise seeks out the extremities of his kit, drawing continuous ribbons of widely differing characters, such as the alarm clock-like clatter and low-scrubbed drumskin heard on “Swirling Mist.” Their interactions are not just sonically novel, but trusting and deeply intimate.

Bill Meyer

Simon Waldram — So It Goes (Self-released)

So It Goes by Simon Waldram

Simon Waldram’s refrain-heavy eighth solo album, So It Goes, is a song cycle on love, loss and acceptance influenced by classic indie pop bands like The Field Mice, The Fat Tulips and The Go-Betweens. Indeed, it was the Grant McLennan-channelling “Don’t Worry,” a plaintive reassurance to a past lover, that initially caught my attention. But “I Miss The Sun” betters it, really laying on the Hammond, and squeezing in something noticeably absent from the other songs: a bridge. “When will we see the lull again/Feels like these dark days will never end,” Waldram sings, reestablishing buoyancy as it winds down repeating the title phrase. There’s promise elsewhere, like on the 1960’s-flavored psych strummer “Boats In The Sky,” before it lifts its bow in harmonic repetition a few too many times without checking its fuel gauge first, stranding itself in the firmament. “The Wild Wanderings of Wildebeests” is another one with potential, but its flawless first verse’s worth of strum and fuzz just recurs instead of building towards something of greater impact. The record hits its lowest point on the nearly nine-minute “Windswept,'' a “Primitive Painters'' rip that goes nowhere productive. When Waldram starts repeating ad infinitum “I miss you so much/ I can’t let go of this dream of ours,” you wish you could step in and save him from himself. A pleasant enough acoustic instrumental with birdsong follows in the form of “One May Afternoon,” serving as a much-needed palate cleanser and bridging the gap to the album’s closer. However, “Shimmer” is another moaner that never quite rounds into shape and instead fades out and then, unremarkably, back in. There’s an EP’s worth of good material on So It Goes, but as an album it only ends up burning itself with the flame its carrying, leaving the listener wondering, “Who hurt you, Simon?”

Chris Liberato

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grownups-are-the-real-monsters · 4 years

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Just leave it up to you

Summary: McVries ignored the question. “You can forget the heels though. My feet wouldn’t look so hot in those strappy’s being that all that’s left of 'em is blistered skin with red goo in the middle like a donut.” He clicked his tongue and Ray found a bit of anger well up from that ‘bee-sting’ again. “The point here, Garraty, is...” What was either a clap of thunder or a gunshot rang out (honestly who could tell the difference at his point?)

Ships: Gavries

Word Count: 3,789

Not until some time after the incident with Jan & his mother did Peter McVries attempt another conversation with Garraty. But when the sky bled from blue to black, the boy had drifted his way back to Ray’s side. Nights on the walk were lonely & scary, it did one well to have a buddy. And Ray didn’t prefer anyone above McVries.

“I’m jealous, Ray.” Pete--McVries slanted his grin to the right as he spoke, looking like a boy trapped inside an oil painted night sky. His eyes seemed gravely distant, glazed over & being hung out to dry. The promise Abraham mentioned burned deep in Ray like an internal bee-sting. ‘Number 61 coming up the road is lookin’ about ready to pop, wouldn’t you say?’

Garraty swallowed a thick ball of mucus. “Of what?” He whispered with hesitation. No one was all that close to them but something about what was coming seemed personal.

“Jan.” A guttural sort of chuckle broke up his throat.

That answer shocked Garraty some...maybe a lot. McVries hadn’t ever seemed interested in talk of Jan let alone...the girl herself. “Well, I’m sure a lot of guys here would’ve loved to grab onto a chick like her-”

McVries shook his head, the hair which wasn’t plastered down by sweat flayed out and sprinkled. “You’ve misunderstood me, my dear.” Turning then, his eyes were fully alive again. They once more reflected the hot inside Pete’s internal organs like a Jack-O-Lantern. “I wish I was your girl back home, Ray.” The cynical joke was hard to find under the tender voice but Garraty was almost sure that it had to be there.

“Don’t know if you’d look as good in a skirt, Pete.” He chuckled, unwavering but nervous at the same time.

“Oh, I would.” Pete shook a finger under his chin, smirking proudly. “These legs love to tease, Ray-Baby.”

Garraty blushed hard. “Why do you say shit like that?”

McVries ignored the question. “You can forget the heels though. My feet wouldn’t look so hot in those strappy’s being that all that’s left of 'em is blistered skin with red goo in the middle like a donut.” He clicked his tongue and Ray found a bit of anger well up from that ‘bee-sting’ again. “The point here, Garraty, is...” What was either a clap of thunder or a gunshot rang out (honestly who could tell the difference at his point?)

“If it wasn’t for you, Garraty, I’d want to die a whole lot more than how badly I actually want to live right now.” Earnest & hoarse emotion sang in his voice. So much it began to frighten Ray to a shocked silence.

“You could win this damn thing. Though, I’m still a bit of victim to cynicism for thinking Stebbins might just run us all down...Ray, you have a real chance.” Pete looked like he might just stop to shake him by the shoulders which turned Ray’s stomach. “If I was your girl back home...”

Garraty waited for the big joke from the cynically insane. Something like ‘Then I could jerk you off’ because it would validate everything McVries had said was bullshit. All of it. That would be ok...Ray might be able to live with that.

“Then you could come home and hold me when this hell was over.”

That....That was what he couldn’t live with. Thoughts of Jimmy Owens danced through his panicked mind. “Pete, are you ok?” A damn insult of a question.

Pete’s eyes blazed with anger. “What? I express an attraction to a guy so that must mean the walk is starting to get to me?” He challenged but gave no time for argument. “Priscilla and I had a threesome once.” Was added onto the end of his statement but not to brag...

Ray didn’t really know what it was for. That sticky-dryness began to coat the pink of his throat again. A hot blush crept over his ‘innocent’ face but something like anger beat hard in his chest. “What did he look like?” It was the dumbest question to possibly ask but it’s what he vomited out. Even Pete looked a little dumbfounded.

He took in some air. “A bit like Stebbins.” He tilted his chin to the blonde, much closer than he’d been at the beginning to their conversation. “If I’m being honest.” He shrugged, keeping a neutral expression and pace. “The point is that I found them both attractive, Ray.”

“Who? The guy and Stebbins?”

Pete laughed again, not harshly but with amusement. “The guy and Pris, dear-one.” He melted with some exaggeration. “You though...” He looked Ray up and down. “You, I could eat with a spoon.”

“Could you be serious for once?”

McVries pulled away, looking almost insulted. “I’m not asking you to confess something back to me.” His voice hitched. “You got a girl back home, I know that. Just meeting you and being your friend’s been enough for me.” He closed his eyes like a sharp pain had cut through him. “So if you’re looking for the punchline, there isn’t one. This ain’t a joke.” Pete smiled, miserable & soft, shoved his hands into his pockets and left.

Ray was the most confused he’d ever been in his entire life.

Stebbins quickened his pace to join his side with something like joyful vigor. He very well could’ve started skipping. He hated the boy for it. “The masochism continues. McVries claims his love before succumbing to his suicidal ideations.” His laugh was manic yet calm.

“Fuck off.” Ray growled with anger yet barely paid him any mind. His eyes stayed focused on the back of McVries.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stebbins had been walking in pace with Ray ever since Abraham had gotten his ticket from Scramm’s contagious cold. Garraty missed him. Five more boys had lost their lives & the weirdo kept busy.

“Another one down.” Stebbins whistled casually, talking up at Ray like they were the best of friends. It annoyed him to no end but at least it was better than silence. That was until he glanced at Garraty with an eager-push. “How’s the bittersweet love story, huh?”

Frustration pumped into his body as it so often did when interacting with the headache of a person. But a part of his head drowned in the thoughts of actually missing the boy when the time came to win or die. Ray silently hoped for death before having to ever witness McVries’s come to pass. He looked at the sad remains of his feet. “What do I do Stebbins?”

The blonde’s stare grew cold like an old dinner, astonished and nothing short of it. Ray guessed Stebbins wasn’t expecting such a show of vulnerability now from him now. In all honesty, he’d shocked himself with that one too. Boiling tears attempted to pour down his cheeks as he stared ahead at Baker and McVries. Poor, poor Baker covered in his ‘rain’ being accompanied by a haunted friendly escort. For a maddening moment, Raymond Garraty felt the flood of ‘rain’ break from his nose & waterfall down his clothes, warm & wet.

He panicked, organs twisting deep in his gut as he gasped for a breath that didn't gurgle.

Stebbins cold hand on his shoulder woke him up from his bloody hallucinations. "Hey, what are you doing old boy?"

Ray spit up plain clear mucus (no blood) onto the road and coughed into his fist. McVries had turned to watch in subtle alarm. He walked backwards, still next to Baker, with adoring eyes for the boy with spit running down his chin.

Stebbins couldn't help but roll his eyes fondly at the idiots until Ray dribbled the mucus onto his shoes. He picked up his toes and frowned. "Aim with the eye, shoot with the mind, kill with the heart.”

"-What?" Ray wiped his sleeve against his lips.

Stebbins shrugged, pursed his lips and walked off towards the others.

Garraty pleaded for more time with Art Baker but that didn’t give him shit. Sobs painfully ricocheted through his body but ultimately made no change in his pace which was difficult but the art was masterful now...upsettingly. Turns out a person got good at shit like that if faced with enough practice time.

‘Lead-lined’

Ray nearly vomited for the millionth time. “Walk a little longer, Art.”

A glimmering sheet of tears filled Art’s eyes like a final curtain. “No--I can’t.” He shook his head, covered in rusty ‘rain’. He spoke more unrehearsed lines which broke whatever the hell was left of Ray’s heart.

McVries found his way back to him though. That was something at the very least. The dark haired boy came upon Ray with enough leg-room in the hell-hole hint contract to press a small kiss onto Garraty’s temple. He received a warning for slowing pace but didn’t seem too concerned.

The heat from his mouth alone caused a shutter through Ray’s body.

“Another time, another place.” Stebbins repeated Art Baker’s final words without even a hint of emotion. Pete & Ray intended to ignore the rabbit but the kid made it difficult. He glanced at the only other boys left in the walk, something awakening inside him. Garraty habitually darted closer to McVries.

While Stebbins kept on mumbling to himself; words that Garraty didn’t completely understand, Pete started drifting towards the crowd. The hand Ray wasn’t even aware was grabbing his, started to fall from the grip. Skin sliding against skin as it dropped.

“Pete!”

Helplessly he grabbed whatever he could reach and yanked him back straight. He expected Stebbins to protest--to let him alone--but the kid was still isolated in his own world. “Pete, no!”

McVries opened his eyes, squinted like an old cowboy and smiled. “No, Ray. It’s time to sit.” Horror struck Garraty so badly that it nearly knocked him onto the road first.

He did what only he could. He blubbered. “Pete--please, walk a little longer. Please, please-” Hopelessly he grabbed onto his boy. The boy who just wanted to be held by Garraty was getting a twisted sense of his wish now. “Please, Pete. I-...I love you.” He whimpered.

McVries broke into the most delicately beautiful smile that Ray had ever seen in his life.

“He’s right. Time to sit, Garraty.” Stebbins finally woke. Ray turned with venom but found the kid was standing lone within something gentle & true; no gross selfishness marked in his tone. He lost interest in staring at Ray and spoke into the air past the soldiers. “We are ka-tet. We are one from many...” He mumbled.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Garraty turned back to McVries, scarred and beautiful but looking ready to die. “Honestly, shut the fuck up for once, Stebbins!”

Pete giggled at that, still walking but wilting towards the ground all the same. Stebbins ignored Garraty and spoke to their only friend left. “McVries can you wait ten more seconds?”

Pete blinked. But his loud-mouth remained shut, feet still pounding against the road. Stebbins took that to mean yes and aligned his eyes with Garraty’s again. “I’m going to win this.” He spoke, winningly but added. “So are you two fucking assholes.” a smirk then he began to count-down quietly.

The crowd hushed but still couldn’t manage to hear Stebbins. The soldiers drew closer but there wasn’t much to do in the case of three boys still continuing to walk in pace.

At the number 6...Ray finally clicked on to the meaning & couldn’t believe what was happening. Never once had the idea crossed his mind and hell, maybe Stebbins was pulling a fast one on them but he found that it did not matter if he could die with Pete. This gave him an out.

“3...2...1″

Three boys from different states & in different states of mind, dropped like falling boulders. Ass first onto the road at the exact same time. In a perfect semicircle with their backs up against each other, they let out horrendous sighs of pain-relief.

For a long time, the only sound was their low breathing & hesitant stomping of soldier boots, up and down the road. Men so unsure of what to do that it ignited terror through Ray’s gut but he kept his eyes closed. His head leaned against Stebbins & McVries’s.

Two seconds before The Major himself came upon the group...one of many...Ray supposed, Stebbins spoke up again. “A long road, like a tall Tower, must be most be conquered one step at a time...” He took in air like a balloon. “Forgot where I heard that, Ray but we got to the end of the road--to the top of the Tower--”

McVries hummed.

“I knew it was time for the wheel to run Peter over. But I figured the plan. Ka is a wheel but I am a driver...Ha!” He wasn’t making a lick of sense & Garraty would’ve gladly reminded him of the other Musketeers he let die before his little ‘revelation’ but...

According to The Major, they had to decide which two of them would be sacrificing themselves. ‘Ha! What a laugh, huh?’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They would not be celebrated.

They were to quietly be paid off & to have their lives spared.

It was to never happen again.

Rules would be re-evaluated for the next go of The Long Walk.

The boys were to be treated in hospital for what was needed and no more. Garraty--Maine’s own--laid in bed hoping that Art Baker got his wish. That it wasn’t dark & that he could remember them. Too he hoped for his friend not to be mad. Their plan could’ve worked for him...though Ray excepted that Baker would’ve had to have been saved before the rainfall of blood.

He thought that all over in the morning just before Jan--sweet & kind came to visit him for the very first time.

“You pulled quite the stunt.” She spoke two seconds after the nurse left the room, wasting no time. Her smile was full of love that Garraty hated being on the receiving end of for the first time.

“Stebbins did.” He clicked his tongue, grabbing her soft hand.

“Which one was he?”

Garraty bit into his cheek. “The blonde. Purple pants.”

Jan nodded, looking to the TV in the corner of the room with quiet debates going on in her mind. “He’s the one with no visitors.” Turning back, her expression lost all joy. “Heard some rumors he’d gone manic.”

Not surprising. Garraty frowned. “Hope that isn’t true. He was basically already in manicville at the start” He shrugged. He tried to think of anyone but Pete but it was just about the hardest shit to do--besides the damn walk itself.

He blinked up at his girlfriend still sitting on the edge of the white-sheeted bed with a matching skin-tone. “The other boy’s parents & little sister have come today.”

It was as if she knew & she most likely did. “Talked about how happy they were in the elevator up. The staff accompanying us--I think he was a male nurse--” She looked off in thought before deciding it mattered none & came back down on him with despair. “He said they ought to be ashamed. Raised a cheater, he said. Nobody likes a ‘hero’ who does only to serve himself.” Her hair fell against her chin. “97 sons--their mother’s boys--lost their lives thinking only one boy got to win. Not three queers who decided they were bigger than The Major.”

“And what do you think, Jan?” He muttered. The girl rolled her eyes.

“I’d be agreeing if I thought the same, wouldn’t I?” She let one tear loose. “Screw The Major.” She wiped down her cheeks and Ray vibrated from pure astonishment. “It wasn’t in the rules. And three boys were saved. They were given second chances.”

That idea terrified Ray. He was given a second chance curtesy of Stebbins & how in the Hell could he make-up for the 97 lives gone?

“If this is the part where you break up with my because you’ve grown past me or-or grown tired of me, please just do it quickly.” More tears threatened to spill but she kept those ones in.

Ray felt sick to his stomach. “If it helps, it’s neither of those things.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nurse Barnes was a bitch.

Garraty found that out rather quickly considering she had he own opinion on the Long Walk end results. ‘But it barely effected her work, great news!!’ She just did everything expected of her extremely aggressively like petulant child.

Ray allowed her to escort him to Pete’s room and did his best to ignore her grimaces, annoyed sighs & mutterings. It could not dampen his great sense of relief and joy to see the person he turned out to love more than anyone else in the world.

When Barnes turned the door-handle, Ray nearly fell to the floor in a heap of nervous sweat. “Give us privacy, please.” He would’ve mumbled the request, usual of him but a new fire burned inside him since he awoke in the hospital. Barnes slammed the door shut after him. No words.

Pete McVries was getting up from his bed with caution for feet that still ached with pain but were getting better. He’d been on Garraty’s mind like nobody had ever been in all his life & he was the most beautiful sight in the world.

“I’ve been focusing on getting my feet stable for weeks now.” Ray spoke slowly, eyes never leaving Pete.

“Way to show off, Ray.” He managed a laugh.

“Meaning, I can hold you now if you want, Pete.” He opened his arms wide. “That is, if you’d still have me?”

McVries got up like the wind, almost as if his feet weren’t bloody and basically useless just some weeks ago. Ray assumed Pete was betting a lot on his recovery because he wasted no time jumping into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist.

Unfortunately Garraty wasn’t quite there yet & the cute moment lasted just five seconds before they collapsed together onto the clean white floor. Their laughter blended together effortlessly in sweet harmony. Pete climbed atop Ray slowly, bumping their thighs together in the process.

It killed most every calm nerve in Ray’s body staring up at the man he’d fallen in love with. His dark hair waved in contrast to the stark white of the ceiling as he drew closer & closer...noses touching.

“I thought Priscilla was my great love...” he whispered, breath against Ray’s lips. “But Ray, you changed my life. I don’t want to die anymore. Every night, I kept walking just so I could see your face in the sunlight one more time.” He scrunched up his face in the cutest way.

“Sappy shit sounds so cute coming out of your mouth.” Ray giggled, reaching a hand up to stroke his cheek along the scar.

Pete pulled back, sitting now on Garraty’s lap. Ray brought himself to a seated position. “What about Jan?” his voice was small and almost accusatory but Ray could hardly blame him.

“I broke it off with Jan.”

Pete tried to hide his grin, seemingly sick of letting all his emotions pour out like a broken faucet. But Ray caught a gorgeous glimpse. “I love you, Pete.” He added, brushing his hand against the boy’s hair once more.

“I love you too.”

“Can you accept the thank you or not? I’m never giving you another one.” McVries huffed, staring down at Stebbins who was merely sitting in his bed and flipping through a paperback. Garraty was sitting at the edge of the bed, knitting him a ‘Thank you’ scarf because it helped with his anxiety. Plus, he figured the blonde wasn’t much one for facing his own rewards. He might just take a lame scarf for it though if it meant no talking about his generosity.

He looked up. “I’ll accept your compliment of a good plan because I’m a fucking genius for it.” He smiled, crooked yet nice. “But no, I won’t accept a thank you for saving your asses. I couldn’t have been in my right mind for that one.” He chuckled.

Pete groaned. “Great. Good.” His eyes rolled as he gently scooched Ray over to sit next to him on the bed at Stebbins feet. Pete watched his boy knit with adoration that almost sickened Stebbins. “You gonna let him talk to us like that, Ray?” He poked him.

Garraty held up what he had of the scarf so far and smirked when Stebbins just nodded. “Do you remember what you said?”

Stebbins looked off towards the wall and shrugged.

Ray ignored his clear indication that he was done talking about it. “You called us a Ka-tet? What did you mean by that?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter McVries vowed to keep Ray safe & happy.

Once out of the hospital & freshly encouraged to keep as far from the public as possible, he moved his boy into his boyhood home until they could get on their own feet. It was strange but the McVries family was warm and welcoming. Garraty enjoyed this stage in his life immensely.

After that, came a cabin-style home nestled deep in Boulder, Colorado. Far from Maine but Ray’s mother was welcome to visit all she wanted, same with Pete’s parents and wonderful little sister--who had never looked so happy before as she did that first day in the hospital. Her big brother was alive and could still hug her.

Stebbins had gone off on his own but was likely to pop by for visits, Garraty was almost sure of it. McVries felt he owed the strange boy something for what he’d done no matter how many times he rejected the idea. So he hoped to see him again. But for now...

Pete’s ebony hair dripped water down in a slinky path against his dewy skin, tired droplets paused and waited as flybys sped down to collide against them. Smoke breezed from Pete’s mouth and settled into the air. He took a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed with satisfaction as the heat in his chest returned.

He brought his legs down to stretch as his back straightened, making his body a true reflection of his current state. Tiny pins and needles poked from under the bottoms of his feet, He wiggled his toes. But after a few seconds, he let them be. Sometimes it was a little euphoric to feel that little vibration of sleeping limbs.

Ray carefully came into the bedroom looking tired from a long day of his new little life & slipped the cigarette from Pete’s fingers, taking his own drag. He coughed as he handed it back. "Cute.” McVries mumbled happily.

Ray hummed, neck hot from a lingering blush and life truly felt amazing.

#gavries #i dont even know #my fanfiction #The Long Walk #stephen king #Richard Bachman #Ray Garraty #peter mcvries #stebbins

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