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trashyinferno · 3 years

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my life goes on in endless song (raise the seventh, lead me on)

This is a WIP I've been working on off and on for a month now, but I wanted to share a bit of it just to get something out there!

Enjoy some Wilbur Soot and Philza found family... fluff? I think?

No warnings needed :)

From the beginnings of his life in the orphanage (tonic to a minor subdominant) to the moment he ran (minor submediant to a major dominant; raise the seventh, lead it somewhere when you’re running to), he remembers vaguely.

He remembers his caretakers (calm and gentle but not quite, not his – not his tonic). He remembers his playmates (only in sleep, their faces blank). He remembers the guitar he got for Christmas one year (and there’s the beginnings of his melody: one chord, then the next, and then his bass no longer plays in pedal).

There is one thing he remembers very well.

When he left, the melody soared.

And as he took one last look at the cold stone walls that had been his home (not quite, not ever, not his tonic), he knew that his symphony, wild and raucous with the thrill of the unknown, had finally begun.

----

The swirling cacophony of excitement fades a few days later when he realizes that his food stores are dangerously low. He figured he’d find something, but other than the occasional traveler, he hasn’t found anything remotely useful.

(Minor. Minor. Minor.)

He tries not to notice the way the progression sours when he steals a loaf of bread from a campsite someone’s left unattended. He can’t fight the way his gut twists and contorts as he takes the first bite.

(Tonic to major mediant. Push forward to half-diminished supertonic. Thrust into minor dominant. The progression is wrong, all wrong, defying every rule.)

Stealing comes easier after that.

(The people who wrote the rules are all dead, anyway.)

----

He realizes that he’s made a big mistake when the winged man - too big, too tall, wings stretched wide (no escape tone, no appoggiatura) - lands in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. The man’s eyebrow rises up his face, and Wilbur isn’t shaking. He’s not.

(Plagal cadence. No way to move. Finality.)

This is his end. Wilbur drops his gaze; his knees shake.

A hand enters his vision. “Just give me the sword,” the man says with unquestionable authority in his voice. “Keep everything else. Give me the sword.”

The apple in Wilbur’s hand glitters brightly beneath the sword's soft purple glow. He’s never seen a gold apple before, but he’s sure that it’s valuable - maybe more valuable than the blade. He worries at his lip with his teeth.

The hand stretches slightly.

Wilbur drops the sword into its palm.

“Thank you,” the man says as he yanks the hand back. Wilbur watches with curiosity as the man carefully, worriedly, examines the blade with narrowed blue eyes. His shoulders visibly relax when the blade passes its inspection.

Wilbur wants to leave. He should leave, but he’s rooted firmly to the ground when the man swipes at the air experimentally with the suddenly very dangerous looking blade.

(Sharp. Very sharp. Ear-shatteringly sharp.)

The man nods and tucks the sword into a sheath hooked to his belt. He looks at Wilbur thoughtfully, his head cocking ever so slightly to the side. His blue eyes glitter beneath his green and white bucket hat. “You look hungry.”

Wilbur blinks.

“You’re hungry.” The authority is back, and Wilbur can’t help but follow obediently when the man motions for him to follow.

He gets a good meal and an even better full night of sleep for the first time in weeks.

The man, Philza, doesn’t comment when Wilbur trails after him the next morning, but the boy doesn’t miss the small smile on the man’s face as he makes camp for the night.

----

“Do you play?” Philza asks the second night, gesturing to the guitar at Wilbur’s feet with his spoon. Dinner is mushroom stew, again. Not that Wilbur is complaining.

Wilbur glances down at the guitar and lifts his eyes to stare at the man with his best wry expression.

Phil’s hand goes up in surrender. “Just curious, mate.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth with a scowl.

“Y’know, you could play, if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind the music.”

Wilbur ignores the hopeful tone in his voice. He’ll play when he wants to, and not a minute sooner.

(But he wants it. He wants it so badly, the chords flashing through his mind - tonic, inverted supertonic, dominant - almost too quickly to catch.)

His fingers itch with the need to press against harsh wire for the rest of the night.

----

It’s the fourth night when he finally breaks.

(He plays a melancholic progression of A, f#m, and F7 just to spite Philza.)

His guitar hums softly over the crackling of their small campfire. Wilbur’s fingers ache painfully - he hasn’t played since that first night on his own - but the relief (D, A, D7) that he can even play without fear of attracting some mob overrides his sense of self-preservation. He needs the callouses, anyway, especially since he’s going to be playing more often.

(A, f#m, F7.)

If he’s going to be playing more often, he corrects mentally. If.

The twang of carefully tuned guitar strings rings in the quiet forest. Somewhere nearby, a cricket sings along. A soft breeze ruffles Wilbur’s curly brown hair.

Philza is careful to hide his smile when Wilbur looks his way. Wilbur pretends he doesn’t see it.

If.

(f#m, E, D, A.)

----

For some reason, Philza seems to take this as permission to start babbling at him as they walk the next day. Granted, the man had tried to make conversation multiple times in the past few days, but Wilbur had shut that down with non-verbal responses and lots of eye rolling.

Apparently, that tactic isn’t going to work anymore.

“Y’know, I’m quite surprised you haven’t asked where we’re going.”

Of course he hasn’t asked. He’s not sticking around to see Philza’s final destination.

“I’ve got a little cottage a couple days journey from here - right in the middle of the forest. I think you’d like it. Lots of little nooks and crannies for you to hide in.” Philza glances back at Wilbur, a soft, almost wistful, smile on his face. “And you’d like Techno, I think.”

Wilbur doesn’t bother to stifle his snort of disbelief. He’s not going to like this man’s cottage, and he’s certainly not going to like some person named Techno. Seriously, who hated their kid enough to name them Techno?

“If you want to join me the rest of the way, that is,” Philza adds quickly. “You can stay a few days, maybe get some food in you before you head out again?”

Even Wilbur has to admit that the man’s suggestion makes sense.

If his stomach rumbles in response, no one mentions it.

--------

The sound of wood cracking loudly behind Wilbur cuts through his mellow chord progression like it’s butter. His hands still as Philza shoots upright, his hand thrusting out in a stopping motion toward Wil.

Wait. The hand tells him. Let me take care of this.

A fuzzy feeling warms Wil’s chest. He feels… He isn’t sure what he feels.

Philza pulls his sword - purple, shimmering in the night, but not the one Wilbur stole, which still hangs in its sheath from his belt - from the other sheath on his waist and glares over Wil’s shoulder.

“I’ll be right back,” the man murmurs. His black wings flare out once before they tuck tightly at his back, and then Philza is noiselessly creeping around Wilbur.

He hears a moan behind him, a soft chk, and the sound of something thumping against crunchy brown leaves. There’s a soft sigh, and Philza walks back into view. Hideous green goop coats the deadly purple blade in his hand, but outside of that, there’s no indication that anything might have happened.

Philza settles back into a comfortable seated position. He smiles at Wilbur warmly, like there’s something Wilbur did in the past couple minutes that helped him. Wil raises a curious eyebrow.

“Zombie,” the man says with a shrug. “The adults aren’t a big deal, but the babies can be a bit of a problem if they catch you off guard.” His face scrunches in distaste as he looks off into the distance. “Learned that one the hard way,” he says bitterly. “Techno still hasn’t let me live it down.”

Wilbur isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to this, so he returns to playing.

(D, G, A7.)

Philza’s expression softens. He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it after a moment of thought.

The feeling of warmth returns with a vengeance, and this time, Wilbur thinks he has an idea of what it might be.

He feels protected.

#mcyt fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #i think haha #wilbur soot #philza #dream smp #found family #work in process #sbi #sleepy bois inc #i have so many music nerd things in here #this shouldn't surprise anyone lol

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sontagfag · 5 years

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THE PREDATORY WASP OF THE PALISADES IS OUT TO GET US: a full analysis

NOTE: everything i know about music theory i learned from the internet so it very well may all be nonsense; take what i say with a grain of salt. this is long as hell and mainly my ramblings about a song i love with all my heart by one of my favorite artists. all under the cut.

first of all, there’s the title. immediately we see the main symbol of the song—the wasp—being characterized as “predatory”, reinforced by the fact that it’s “out to get us”. the wasp, in this sense, is seen as a villain, or as a predator, preying on sufjan and his friend. more on that later. sufjan also gives us our setting- the mississippi palisades, a stretch of bluffs along the mississippi river near savannah, illinois. while you could choose to view this as metaphoric for the story (ie contrasting the sweeping surroundings with the mundanity of the story sufjan’s telling) i choose to believe it’s just there because it was the literal setting of the story.

the next thing worth noting before actually getting into the meat of the lyrics/music, is the song that comes before it on Illinois, A conjunction of drones simulating the way in which Sufjan Stevens has an existential crisis in the Great Godfrey Maze. the song is 19 seconds long, and consists of synth chords and some cymbals. it’s an interesting track, considering that it is simultaneously the most overtly personal, title-wise, on the album (as sufjan’s known to speak heavily in metaphor), yet also the least revealing in its actual content. sufjan chooses to follow this enigma of a track with Palisades, which i’d consider to be the emotional heart of the whole album. perhaps this could be considered to be an emotional prelude to Palisades.

the song opens minimally, with an arrangement of flute, guitar, and piano, contrasting the often orchestral big band feel the album has. i think that this smaller arrangement makes the song feel more personal, more authentic— the only other song on the record to do similar is John Wayne Gacy, Jr., which absolutely uses the even more minimal arrangement to give a more confessional feel. also noteworthy is that the song is in 6/8, which for the less musically inclined means that every measure consists of 6 eighth notes. 6/8 is commonly used for folk dance music like jigs or polkas, so it’s interesting sufjan uses it here. alternatively, you could think of it like two triplets per beat, a sort of double 3/4.

the song is also in e major, which is a key generally associated with joy and delight (according to Christian Schubart’s Ideen zu einer Aesthetik der Tonkunst). the chord progression, as far as i can discern, is E, C#madd11, Amaj7, F#m9. In the key of E, this is considered going from the I chord, to the vi chord, to the IV chord, to the ii. going from the I to the iv is not unusual, and is used in the famous “ice cream changes”, its effect being to prolong the tonic. in addition, it’s a submediant chord, which wants to resolve to the predominant. the chord also has a d# in it, which helps bring it a little closer to the Amaj7 chord. like the ice cream changes, the iv resolves to the IV here. contrary to the ice cream changes, though, this I-vi-IV progression is not just to add interest as opposed to just immediately going from the I to V. instead, sufjan does a little descending thirds type dealio. the Amaj7 gives us a little bit of the feeling of resolve because Amaj7 and E both have an e and an g# in common, but mostly provides the tension of wanting to resolve to the tonic. finally, sufjan takes us to the ii, which is a supertonic, or the I chord sung a step up, providing the release of tension wanted from the subdominant. also interesting about this progression is that every chord in it contains a g#, helping ease the transition from chord to chord. essentially, this progression is essentially a variation on the descending thirds progression, but with a little added flair. my last note here is that it’s an interesting contrast to descend with the chords while the intro flutes play an ascending melody.

wow, that was a lot of music theory, something i don’t know that much about! the song keeps this same progression pretty much throughout the whole song, except for the instrumental sections and the ending, but we’ll get to that in a bit. let’s get into the lyrics now, starting with the first verse:

“Thinking outrageously I write in cursive

I hide in my bed with the lights on the floor

Wearing three layers of coats and leg warmers

I see my own breath on the face of the door”

this first line is particularly beautiful, i think— we get the juxtaposition of his thoughts to how he is writing them down (in cursive), the translation of thoughts into action. cursive is inherently controlled, and meant to be beautiful, unlike his thoughts. there’s also a kind of self-censorship in writing in cursive, as opposed to writing in your own handwriting, because you are eliminating the less sightly parts of how you write and conforming to a certain way that people have decided words are meant to be written. i think you could even translate this to the entire song’s themes of how tiny actions are interpreted to be huge, sweeping statements. there’s also that once the vocals kick in, all the other instruments go out except for the guitar, and occasionally some vocal harmonies in the background, again giving this a very confessional and ethereal feel.

the rest of this verse is spent setting the mood of the story—lights on the floor, hiding in bed, a mood of secrecy. the “lights on the floor” particularly reminds me of my own experiences of summer camp, lying in bed with flashlights under the sheets while i read. i’d also interpret the reference to “leg warmers” as a callback to the 80s- sufjan’s said that this “was written in 1986”. there’s also this implied cold, what with the three layers and being able to see your breath, which i think is another juxtaposition to when the story took place, summer camp.

“Oh, I am not quite sleeping

Oh, I am fast in bed

There on the wall in the bedroom creeping

I see a wasp with her wings outstretched”

this second verse is a little bit puzzling. i’ve always puzzled over what “i am fast in bed” means, and the way i see it there are two interpretations: either sufjan physically got into bed quickly, or the one i like more, he’s kind of shortening “fast asleep” by saying “fast in bed”. I think these lyrics also add that cloud of sleepiness to the whole thing, like this is just a memory that comes to mind right before he falls asleep. and here is also where we first see the wasp, the catalyst for this memory. It’s described as “creeping”, again adding to the secretive nature of the memory, and also the possibly dream-like quality to the wasp. it’s also interesting that sufjan chooses here to characterize the wasp as female- the only way i can see to interpret this is that apparently female wasps, after mating, become solitary, so perhaps it has something to do with that?

then we have a little instrumental break, going from b to a, which are the V and IV chords, respectively. this is pretty standard, going from the dominant, which creates tension, back to a tonic. however, it’s here that the song’s arrangement gets a little more boisterous. along with the guitar come back the flutes playing a repeating melody line along with some percussion, and a strings section if i’m not mistaken? i couldn’t find performance credits for this song in particular so you’ll just have to take my word for it. as soon as this instrumental break ends, though, it goes straight back into just guitar.

“North of Savannah we swim in the palisades

I come out wearing my brother’s red hat

There on his shoulder my best friend is bit seven times

He runs washing his face in his hands”

here again sufjan is setting the scene, with tiny details- the swimming, the red hat. the interesting thing about this story is that its real life counterpart takes place in michigan, where he was born, but he moved it to illinois for the sake of the album. i think that this little twist of reality adds even more to the whole quality of this song as unreal, perhaps just a dream. while i’m tempted to say the red hat could be a reference to Catcher in the Rye, i did make it past 8th grade english so i’m not going to. here, also, is the first appearance of sufjan’s friend- named muppet, franco, or frankie, depending on what live video you’re watching. interesting that sufjan simply introduces him as a “we” here, like he’s just retelling the story to himself. we can also see that the actual wasp bites are not the actual thing in pain here, since he’s not washing his shoulder- he’s washing his face. something about this scene to me screams embarrassment, that he’s running, with his face in his hands. just as the wasp was only a metaphor, so too is the bite- for shame, for hurting. also worth considering is seven times- my boy suf is very religious and so we can certainly extrapolate something otherworldly about this, what with seven being a holy number.

“Oh, how I meant to tease him

Oh, how I meant no harm

Touching his back with my hand I kiss him

I see the wasp on the length of my arm”

the harmonic vocals are back in, giving this whole section a very holy feel as well. again, we have the “oh”s preceding two matching statements. some nice poetic repetition. this section in particular is also very interesting- even before sufjan tells us what he’s done, he’s defending himself. the way i see it, the wasp symbolizes the encroachment of the outside world, what others might think. we know sufjan knows that he should feel ashamed from the first two lines of the verse and just this simple declaration- that he kissed his friend- provokes the fear of being stung by the wasp, of hurting his friend through this small gesture because of society’s expectations. i also just love the simple detail that he’s touching his friend’s back, what a tender line? it’s also hard not to notice the imagery here with talking about bodies, first in the last stanza with the shoulder/hands/face, and here with the back/hand/arms. it’s also implied, at least to me, that they aren’t wearing shirts, seeing as they’re swimming, which adds to the raw vulnerability of this moment. anyway, it’s gay.

here there’s another instrumental break, this time with the same chords as the verse but with a trumpet part. It’s descending, following the chord progression, but also giving this section a kind of deflated and lonely feel. it repeats, again, with another trumpet harmonizing the melody line. this is kind of the last quiet moment in the song before it goes, as i’d say, Full Sufjan, with the arrangement. Immediately after, there’s a quick moment of quiet before the drums burst in, along with the flute intro melody, a harmonized lyrical part, and something that kind of sounds like a marimba? the chords also change here to a more major progression, that being E, B, F#m, A. that would be going from I, to the V, to the ii, to the IV. this is another pretty standard progression, with only one chord difference from the famous 4 Chords by Axis of Awesome progression. the only difference is that instead of going from the V to the vi, it goes to the ii. that creates a little more unresolve, because it’s going from a dominant to a subdominant instead of to a tonic, which creates the feeling of home. it is interesting, however, how sufjan then chooses to resolve the subdominant to another subdominant, which just continues that feeling of unresolve until it gets back to the tonic.

“Oh, great sights upon this state! Hallelujah!

Wonders bright, and rivers, lake. Hallelujah!”

this bit is a little less connected with this individual song over the album as a whole, with the overall themes of nature as religious experience. maybe it could also be interpreted as him feeling like this experience as a whole was holy, both in its setting and its content? not sure.

“We were in love, we were in love,

Palisades, Palisades

I can wait, I can wait”

oh god, the way this overlaps with the first vocal part just absolutely murders me. this right here is an undeniable declamation of the relationship between sufjan and his friend. it’s kind of like he’s saying “fuck you” to the wasp and making his love heard, but also intertwining it indelibly with the setting, with how it’s only halfway audible between all the other instrumentation going on. the way that this sole vocal line just comes bursting out of the background also just makes it feel like he was just so possessed by the beauty of his surroundings that he had to say it. also just- “i can wait”- like he knows that he’s not allowed this love now, but he can wait, he knows the palisades and his friend will still be there for him when he’s ready. around here is where the song really starts to feel dense and triumphant.

“Trail of Tears and Horseshoe Lake. Hallelujah!”

it’s interesting he chooses to bring up the trail of tears here, something terrible and heartbreaking that happened in Illinois, in the same breath as extolling the greatness of its land. perhaps this is his way of acknowledging the terrible things that can happen in beautiful places, how we can never quite separate the joy of a place without knowing that it was stolen from someone else.

then the vocals take a break for a second, to let the horns do the opposite of their line before, playing an ascending line, alongside some little xylophone twinkles and a woodwinds section. then returns the “we were in love, we were in love” line. this time it builds over that, with the guitars coming back in, the choral background, and more dramatic percussion.

“Lamb of god, we sound the horn. Hallelujah

Unto us your ghost is born. Hallelu-!”

okay, so lamb of god obviously refers to jesus christ. horns are a disputed symbol in christianity, simultaneously being used as symbols of strength or divine power and haughtiness or arrogance. in this case though, where the horn is being used as an instrument, i think that it’s being used as a call to action, or to battle, like in Psalm 81:3, “Sound the ram's horn at the New Moon, and when the moon is full, on the day of our festival”. based on the second lyric, i think that this is reference to the birth of jesus, since “unto us your ghost is born” mirrors the Christmas hymn in Isaiah 9:6: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders.” however, it could also be talking about the love between sufjan and his friend, saying one should rejoice in it. Genius interprets the second line as God’s ghost being born, but seeing as the original line is talking about Jesus being born, I’m inclined to believe that this is Jesus’s ghost being born. i think that this is referencing the Transfiguration of Jesus, since for the most part Christians don’t believe in ghosts, but i’m not sure how it connects to the rest of the song. perhaps sufjan is saying that Jesus’s reincarnation was in the love between him and his friend? if anyone who’s more well-versed in interpreting religious imagery wants to pitch in, be my guest. this next verse is a little long, so i’m going to split it in two.

“I can’t explain the state that I’m in

The state of my heart, he was my best friend

Into the car, from the back seat

Oh, admiration in falling asleep”

here all the joyous instrumentation of before cuts out and it’s just sufjan and flutes. first there’s a nice little double entendre with “state” meaning both emotional state and physical geographical state. this verse i think he’s facing his own fear at loving someone he’s not supposed to love. It’s kind of like an argument with himself- we weren’t in love, we couldn’t have been because he’s my best friend. the next few lines are pretty vague, but to me they read like sufjan and his friend hooking up in the back of a car, and the tender moments in which he watches his friend sleep.

“All of my powers, day after day

I can tell you, we swaggered and swayed

Deep in the tower, the prairies below

I can tell you—the telling gets old”

the backing vocal harmonies come back in here on “i can tell you”, sort of giving it a holy feel, plus some piano gets added in here. once again, this is pretty vague. the way i see it, sufjan is saying that despite “all of my powers”, however much he wants to repress it, he still loves his friend. i’m not sure what sufjan means by “swaggered and swayed” but it does really remind me of that one scene from Call Me By Your Name. “deep in the tower, prairies below” could be more imagery, especially since sufjan describes this camp as a high up tower on a hill, but maybe it could also be a reference to the tower of babel, since that’s the most popular tower in christianity. the last line i like a lot, both repeating the line a couple lines before and juxtaposing it with “i can’t explain the state that i’m in”, sort of saying that it’s something that can’t really be explained except for in flashes of memories. then the “oh great sights upon this state” bit begins to repeat again, starting to build the drama.

“Terrible sting, and terrible storm

I can tell you the day we were born

My friend is gone, he ran away

I can tell you, I love him each day”

this first line implies that what they have feared has happened- something happened between them so that they suffered from the opinions of others as a result of their love. this is strengthened by the third line, which also calls back to his friend running after getting stung, as if the shame of this love has gotten to him. the second line seems to me to connect back to “unto us your ghost in born”, and it’s interesting that he says “we” here, and says to me that this is not a birth, per say, but a rebirth, through their love. there’s also again the double repetition of “i can tell you”, again making it feel like this is a confession, or a story being told. this verse just strengthens to me the fact that this is a love song, perhaps one that ends in tragedy, but a love song nonetheless.

“Though we have sparred, wrestled, and raged

I can tell you, I love him each day”

this first line i see multiple interpretations of. one is that “we” is him and the wasp, saying he’s literally struggled with his sexuality and how others might react to it. the second is that he is still talking about him and his friend, saying that they fought, but in a loving way only obvious to them. right after this the “we were in love, we were in love” line comes back in and the song reaches its final peak with three dueling vocal lines. but then, the song does something unexpected, the vocal lines fading out and ending mid “hallelujah”, just to be replaced by cymbal sounds and a droning guitar chord. this continues for a long 20 seconds, giving a very anxious feeling to the end of the song before just abruptly ending and going into They Are Night Zombies!! They Are Neighbors!! They Have Come Back From the Dead!! Ahhhh!!.

in conclusion, this is a love song, told through the framing device of the wasp. this is the story of a love that couldn’t be, but it still exists, frozen in time in the palisades, something like a dream. this is everything we could not be, capsulized into tiny fragments that we can hold forever.

#sufjan stevens #sufjan #illinois #asthmatic kitty #the predatory wasp of the palisades is out to get us

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verytiny · 5 years

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tell us about your skincare routine!!

i love this question!

i use the youth to the people superfood cleanser in the morning, tone with glamglows exfoliating supertoner (it’s amazing!) then i usually just apply my daily spf which is currently the krave beauty the beet shield. at night i’m lazy and just use the bliss beauty makeup wipes which i love, them usually the same yttp cleanser i use in the morning. i also use the glamglow toner again or something calmer like the boscia balancing facial tonic. i’ve been lazy lately and haven’t used any serums besides the ordinary’s hyalouronic acid and also haven’t masked much. lastly i use a benzoyl peroxide + adapalene combo gel and then i use yttp’s adaptogen moisturizer which i love!!!!! it’s prob the best moisturizer i’ve ever used

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drivingspain · 3 years

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Week 2 - Foundations of Music Composition

11/10/2021 - Composing Harmony 01

Learning outcomes

Construct diatonic major and minor chord progressions utilising a perfect/plagal cadence.

Understand the relationship of relative chords using the circle of fifths and use this knowledge to construct a chord sequence with a musically satisfying contour.

Demonstrate understanding of harmonic rhythm in simple time signatures through the construction of a chord sequence.

Circle of Fifths

The circle of fifths is a diagram of the relationship between the 12 tones of the Chromatic Scale. For example, the scales of F Ionian and G Ionian differ from the scale of C Ionian by just one note, which is why they're placed either side of C Ionian. The relationship continues around the circle with keys that are close together sharing more notes than those further away. This is true for both the outer and middle ring

There is also a relationship between the outer ring (Major keys) and the middle ring (Minor Keys). Of the 3 Minor Scales, the Aeolian is referenced in the circle of fifths. Every Aeolian scale shares the same notes (albeit in a different order) with it's relative Ionian scale. For example, A Aeolian consists of A B C D E F G A while its relative C Ionian consists of C D E F G A B C. This is why they are aligned with each other on the circle and explains the relationship between all other pairs of Ionian/Aeolian keys

Scales and Chord Progressions

The Ionian and Aeolian scales contain 7 notes and each of these notes form the root of their own chord. Therefore, every Ionian and Aeolian scale has its own unique set of 7 chords

Ionian - Major (I), minor (ii), minor (iii), Major (IV), Major (V), minor (vi), Diminished (vii°)

Aeolian - minor (i), Diminished (ii°), Major (III), minor (iv), minor (v), Major (VI), Major (VII)

Each of the degrees has a unique name.

Tonic

Supertonic (super is Latin for 'above')

Mediant (means 'middle')

Subdominant (sub is Latin for 'under')

Dominant

Submediant (in the middle of the subdominant and the octave)

Subtonic (because it's under the tonic)

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johnnyleftwich · 6 years

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Today’s the day! Thelma and The Sleaze are going on tour! Check the dates below, compare them to your current city, and go see the show nearest you for a sleazy good rock n’ rollin’ time! July 19 Southgate House Cincinnati OH July 20 Happy Dog Cleveland OH July 21 Annabelle's Akron OH July 22 The Spirit Pittsburgh PA July 23 Kung Fu Necktie Philadelphia PA July 24 Chameleon Club Lancaster PA July 25 CONEY ISLAND BABY New York NY July 26 Divera Drive Brooklyn NY July 27 Meltasia NY July 28 Supertone Music Festival July 29 Middle East (Sonia Room) Boston MA July 30 Askew Providence Rhode Island July 31 day off Aug 1 Mohawk BUFFALO NY Aug 2 Outer Limits Detroit MI Aug 3 Tonic Room Chicago IL (Fuckapalooza Fest) Aug 4 Cactus Club Milwaukee WI Aug 5 Vaudeville Mews Des Moines Iowa Aug 6 Riot Room Kansas City MO Aug 7 Sinkhole St Louis MO Get yer tickets at www.thelmaandthesleaze.com #TheBackstageVan #BSV #Music #Photography #Blog #Podcast #Patreon #Van #Vanlife #LiveMusic #MusicPhotography #Guitar #Bass #Drums #RockNRoll #RockAndRoll #Travel #JohnnyLeftwich #ThelmaAndTheSleaze #Nashville (at United States)

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tundrainafrica · 6 years

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Somewhere Between Life and Death (Chapter 4)

Summary: Dia de los Muertos isn’t the only day the dead can visit the living. Miguel is reunited with Hector, Imelda and his other relatives from the other side but in one of the worst ways possible and he finds himself caught in a struggle between life and death.

Note: Reposted from ao3 and fanfic, same name, same author

I just needed to post some coco content I made on my own on Tumblr because I will definitely not be able to contribute in the arts side.

Post canon, sickfic, expect hurt comfort, loads of angst, kidnappings. Miguel has a very long and very fatal near death experience basically.

You can follow this fic on tumblr under the tag TundrainAfrica

Link to: Chapter 1- Chapter 2- Chapter 3

Chapter 4: Admissions

“Four hours?!”

Miguel opened his eyes, as the shoulder he was leaning on suddenly jolted and his ears rang with the sound of his mother's voice.

“Shhh… Lower your voice."

“No. Miguel should have been inside long before the child with the nosebleed or the kid with the broken arm. What did the nurse say? Why did they let them go first?”

“It's ER rules we can't complain.”

“But we still have a right to know why they're not calling him yet… Excuse me!”

“Luisa! What are you---”

Miguel heard heels clacking on the floor and it was getting louder and faster. He quickly closed his eyes again hoping nobody noticed that he was awake for a moment. If his mother was going to start a fight with a nurse, he didn't want to be part of it.

“Hello, may I help you?”

“Why hasn't anyone called my son yet. We’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

“What's your son's name? We’ll ask a the front---”

“No need, my husband already asked. They said four hours but it shouldn't take this long.”

“Sorry it's been very busy. That means there are people much sicker…”

“My son is sick too.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t the one who assessed your son. Let me just call the nurse who assessed him she might be able to help. What's your son's name?”

“Miguel Rivera”

There was a clacking of heels that slowly faded into the other noises of the emergency room.

“Luisa what are you thinking?”

“It is our right to know why they’re making us wait this long.”

“They will call us eventually."

“Four hours is a lot of time Enrique. A lot of time for Miguel to get sicker.”

At the word sicker, Miguel felt a heave creeping up his throat as if it was reacting to the word. He held his breath forcing the heave back down. This was no time to worry his mother anymore. Soon another clacking of heels was audible and like the ones of a while ago, it was getting louder as its owner came nearer.

“Hello, Miguel Rivera right? I talked to the nurse in charge. No fever. No apparent symptoms. Blood pressure is within normal range. She classified him as non- urgent.”

“Non urgent?!”

Miguel felt his mother's chest rise. He slowly pulled away, feigning sleepiness. As far as they know, he was just shifting sleeping position from his mother to his father. He was in no way waking up and capable of participating in whatever scuffle his mother starts.

His father put his arms around him. He kept his eyes half open and watched his mother make her way to the nurses desk in the front as the nurse who had informed of the long wait, watched helplessly from behind her.

“Hayy, Luisa…” His father muttered.

Miguel watched the scene in front of him with half opened eyes, letting himself relax as his father caressed his shoulder with one hand. He cringed internally as he watched his mother slam her hands on the table and waved her hands at the nurse. Her back was to him so he couldn't even guess what she was saying.

He thought if he tried he could possibly make out part of what she was saying. He heard her voice but it was hard to make out the words when many people were talking at the same time and the words were easily swallowed by the other voices and the horrible acoustics of the ER.

After his mother gesticulated what looked like intimidations and threats for less than a minute, the nurse eventually sighed in defeat and pressed a button on the desk and talked into some sort of intercom. A nurse guided them through the big doors only to another room which looked to Miguel like an extension of the waiting room outside except much quieter.

His mother had helped him walk the stretch of the rooms. He wasn't surprised though when he started to feel a tightness in his chest as they walked. He was exhausted after all.

The nurse led them to a stretcher on the hallway before saying something to his mother in soft whispers. Soon after she left, Luisa helped Miguel on the stretcher.

“It's not much, but at least you're more comfortable.” His mother said as she sat in front of him, brushing his bangs from his eyes.

Miguel had lain back on the stretcher at first but as he noticed that gravity was only adding to the heaviness on his chest, he opted to turn to the side facing his mother. He made eye contact with her even with his heavy lidded eyes. It was at that moment of eye contact that he wheezed and the fact that his breathing had been heavy and slowly getting faster since a while ago became apparent. And his mother noticed.

This time she didn't bother asking her son how he felt. She ran to the nurses desk. Miguel followed her with his eyes. The nurse had her head down and Miguel couldn't tell if she was talking to his mother or ignoring her altogether.

“How are you feeling?”

Miguel could see his father's face from his peripherals. He shook his head without taking his eyes of his mother. He didn't want to worry them anymore but he didn't want to lie either. Instead he picked the safest option and kept quiet. Besides, he didn't know if he could actually say anything else without it coming out like a wheeze.

He closed his eyes, trying to fall asleep so he could forget the ominous tightening of his chest. It was scary. It had started off as a dull ache but it had grown to be its own monster. He closed his eyes tighter, willing himself to fall asleep. He held one hand to his chest and grabbed tightly at the skin on top, as if it was possible to rip off his skin and give himself space to breath. The dull pain in his stomach was also starting to make itself known once again

He tried to imagine other things.

He wasn't sick in the ER. He was back in the Dia de los Muertos only a month ago. He was playing music for his abuelita, his cousins, his parents and his baby sister Coco. He couldn't help but feel he had taken for granted when he ever felt that good.

He imagined the feeling of his fingers on the guitar. His right hand would caress the nylon strings before he starts playing. His left hand was always a little more uncomfortable having to press the fret the whole song. It was painful when he first tried it out but the years of playing made the tip of his left fingers harder and these days, he wouldn't notice the pain at all.

Does it work with this type of pain too? He thought to himself. It was a stupid question and he didn't bother answering it.

He moved on to his favorite part of playing the guitar. The touch was magical on its own, just imagining it was a good distraction from the tightness building up in his chest, and for a while, he felt like it alleviated the pain. Like for all musicians though, touching the instrument was only the rising action to the climax of actually creating the music. The happiness that made itself known through silent shivers and a gradual quickening of one's heartbeat the music was not from touching the instrument itself but from the excitement of knowing that in a few seconds, they will be creating something beautiful.

Just listening to music alone is something else. It had the power to manipulate feelings and memories, it soothed, it healed, it amplified, it alleviated, it aggravated. It could do almost anything to someone with the write melody, lyrics and harmony.

What Miguel soon learned after he started learning to play his own music was that touch also amplified his wonder. Similar to adding a left hand to music, it added an extension to his senses, something else for them to indulge on and he couldn't help but marvel at his own capability to play the melodies, coordinate them, create harmonies and finally, create music.

Because of his simple and strictly musicless upbringing, he couldn't pick up the theory of it. Words like tonic, supertonic, submediant and subdominant, although vital to music theory flew over his head. To be a musician though, science and theory were only secondary.

Although Miguel did not know the names of the notes, he made up for it with his spot-on ears. He knew by heart the sound that each string made when pressed on a certain fret, knowledge he picked up through endless nights experimenting with his guitar. His ability to point out the notes after playing came up after listening to Ernesto de la Cruz songs and trying to hit the right note on the guitar again and again and again until he was able to mimic the melody and harmony on his guitar down to a T. Good ears make a good and very useful skill when songwriting and at his age. After many years doing the same thing and maybe through some inborn talent, he had developed ears good enough to create his song and plan the guitar accompaniment within minutes without even touching the guitar.

That was what Miguel decided to do the next few minutes to distract himself.

At first, it was difficult to imagine the soft cloth of the bed cover of stretcher was in any way similar to the hard wood and nylon strings that dug into his skin. When he was closing his eyes and starting to doze off, it started to become easier. It was no feat at all for his mind to imagine something it had been doing everyday for years.

Say that I'm crazy or call me a fool.

The tabs that he had created long ago played along in his mind as he started to sing.

But last night it seemed that I dreamed about you.

When I opened my mouth, what came out was a song.

And you knew every word and we all sang along.

He knew the melody created by his tabs by heart and he found himself adding along to it as his fingers played an extra melody in time with the instrumental in his head. He had created one for his cousins Abel and Rosa almost a year ago when the music ban was uplifted and they hesitantly mentioned that they wanted to learn to play music and started learning to play the accordion and violin.

The twins had been starting to show interest in music only recently. Their mother had been talking about investing in a piano. If they learned soon, they could definitely join in their Dia de los Muertos performance. As he thought about it, he found himself pressing the frets on his imaginary guitar, creating a new melody to teach his cousins when they learn to play the piano.

To a melody--- He felt a pain on his chest and ended up hacking and wheezing. It was only then did he realize that he had started singing aloud.

His chest had been filling with something and it was climbing up his chest and his throat. He had mistaken it for excitement and joy at first. His cough had brought him back to reality. It felt like he was drowning. How could he be drowning when his throat was so dry? He did not have much time to ponder that because, what had been filling his chest was trying to make its presence more known. It was pushing itself up his chest and throat.

“Hey. Hey. You okay?”

He felt his father's hand lightly tapping on his cheek.

His own eyes were wet. He had been crying.

“It hurts. Make it stop.” He finally said. Or at least that's what he tried to say. What came out was a wheeze or a gurgle.

Luisa!

He opened his mouth and tried to inhale some oxygen and get air into his system but as if he really was underwater, his mouth had filled with liquid instead. If he were a little more aware of his surroundings, he would have tasted the blood but as he tried to sit up, his only thought was to spit it out.

Miguel! Spit it out here. We need some help!

After vomiting, he lay back limp on the stretcher. He didn't bother opening his eyes anymore. He was exhausted. He wasn't asleep yet, he knew he was still in the emergency room. He continued to hear the hushed voices and feel the stretcher under him but it was as if his brain was having difficulty associating creating contrasts between what he felt and heard. Was it his mother? Was it his father? Or was it the nurse talking?

He heard distant and urgent voices, footsteps coming closer. He heard someone, screaming and crying.

He felt someone putting something on his face, he felt the cold air around his mouth, he inhaled the air almost hesitantly. He could have said that the air he was trying to inhale was more welcoming than that of a while ago and the tightness in his chest dissipated only lightly. At that point, it felt like an indulgence to him. Someone took his hand and and slip it inside a board. Soon after, he felt a prick on his left hand. He would have wanted to pull away but it felt as if his body didn't have the energy for that anymore. Staying limp felt like the most comfortable decision at that point.

Start him on a simple solution, we need to first treat the dehydration. What's his blood type?

More urgent footsteps. He felt another poke on his other hand.

Have them send the blood results as soon as possible. We might have to run some other tests.

We administered some sedatives through an IV . It’s best that he's asleep during the tests…

We will need you to sign here to authorize the tests…

Some procedures may be invasive but we will make sure to take good care of your son.

The last thing Miguel had pondered before finally falling asleep and losing all awareness of his surroundings was who they had been talking about when they said 'your son.’

Somewhere Between Life and Death

Dengue fever

That's what the doctor in the clinic said yesterday. He didn't have to undergo that many tests did he?

His complete blood count points to dengue but the disease had progressed far too quickly than most patients. We had to make sure it couldn't be any other virus. If we give him the wrong treatment in this condition, we could kill him.

The first thing Miguel took note of was that the tightness in his chest was gone, his head didn't hurt. He didn't need to vomit. He was breathing. His mouth was wet. It didn't feel like he was cured though. It felt like a trade off. The pains of a while ago were replaced once again with a new set of discomforts.

His body felt sore. It wasn't like the searing pain his joints and bones of yesterday. He just felt bruised and tired. The sensation was the dull type reminiscent of unhealed wounds that only made themselves known when pushed and prodded but on any regular day were quiet and behaved. In some way though, it was different but Miguel could not put a ring on why he felt the way he did.

He tried swallowing some of the moisture from his mouth only to choke on it half way through. He couldn't stifle the cough that followed.

He's awake.

Miguel opened his eyes at the sound of his mother's voice coming from just a few inches away.

Before opening his eyes, his soreness felt was spread out, a conglomeration of discomforts that he could not comprehend. As he took in his surroundings and the numerous wires that seemed to be connected to many parts of his body, the discomfort he was feeling started to take a more distinct shape.

The first thing he noticed was the mask on his face. As he tried to put up his hand to feel it, he felt something pulling on his hand then someone's gentle hand pushing his hand back down.

“Mijo, you scared us back there.”

Miguel looked to the other side to see his father and a man in a lab coat. His father was sitting on a chair by the bed while the other man stood along the foot of the bed.

“It’s an oxygen mask.“ He explained as he pointed at his own mouth.”You were having a hard time breathing.”

Miguel looked expectantly at his mother and father. Am I getting better? He wanted to ask. He was getting impatient. He wanted to go home, sleep on his own bed, spend Christmas vacation in the plaza or playing with his cousins. He wanted to play his guitar again. Heck, he was even excited to go back to the workshop and make shoes.

The doctor cleared his throat. “We gave you something to help you sleep back in the ER and you slept through all the tests. We were able to confirm the dengue virus. It’s a little more aggressive than the normal one.”

“What's the cure?” His father asked.

“Like all viruses, there's no cure. All we can do is keep him alive until the virus passes. Watch out for complications…”

Miguel had wanted to ask questions, he wanted to listen and comprehend what the doctors were explaining to his parents. It felt like such a feat though to say anything loud enough that it won't get drowned out by the whirring and beeping of the machines next to him.

Also, when the doctor started mentioning words like sedation and endotracheal intubation, he found himself dozing off. It was too much of an effort to make sense of the medical jargon the doctor was spouting out every few words.

Distracting himself with the tubes and wires surrounding his body was much less an effort. He understood the big one that started at the mask on his face connected to a machine on the side. He followed the tubes that were connected to his hand. One was connected to a colorless solution, the other to a bag which looked like it contained blood. He quickly looked away in disgust and closed his eyes. He didn't know how long he was going to be there and how many more tubes or wires he had connected to his body but he knew it would be gone much faster if he was asleep the whole time.

He relaxed on the bed and let the steady beeping of the machines put him to sleep. It was much easier to sleep on the bed than in the ER and in his condition, it felt like his body was actually begging for the rest.

He didn't know how much time had past but every now and then, he would wake up to a nurse taking some more of his blood through what looked like another tube or changing the bags that fed into his hands. Most times he woke up, it was his mother by his bedside, brushing his bangs off of his forehead, telling him to go back to sleep so he could recover faster.

He wasn't keeping track of the time though and it may have been a few hours or a few days later when he woke up to his parents arguing in soft whispers in the corner of the room.

Enrique, I don't think those are allowed in the ICU.

This is a single room anyway. As long as we play softly, we shouldn't be a bother to the other patients.

What about Miguel? He might not be able to sleep properly if we make too much noise.

Luisa, do you remember when Miguel played a song for Mama Coco?

Oh? When she recovered enough to tell us about her father?

Yes, I found the song. It’s a stupid idea but… what if music can actually help Miguel recover faster?

Most times Miguel was lucid enough to hear the conversations between his parents and the doctor or between themselves, he would let it pass and go back to sleep. What had caught his attention with that conversation was that his father had possibly brought his guitar to the hospital.

He opened his eyes a bit to see its familiar white shape in his peripherals. His father was at his bedside fiddling with it. His mother was nowhere to be seen, probably in the toilet or something. No one had noticed that he had opened his eyes for a while and he quickly closed it to keep the peace. His chest was starting to hurt and he didn't think he was up to responding to the fussing of his parents. Besides, he wanted to listen to his father play the guitar.

After a few minutes of just lying there half asleep, he heard his father take a deep breath.

Remember me. Though I have to say goodbye.

His father was strumming at all the right syllables but Miguel couldn't help but notice that the chords were all wrong. At some parts, his father was pressing too many frets that the chord came out completely different from intended or he wasn't pressing them hard enough to hear the actual change in the pitch of the strings. In some parts, he would hear the vibration of the strings but not the melody. In some parts, his father was actually playing the wrong notes.

If his chest wasn't starting to hurt and he wasn't falling deep into his exhaustion, he may have given his father pointers or pointed out the errors in his playing.

Instead, he had allowed himself to give in to the most recent dose of sedatives, attributing the chest pain to just another feature of the dull pain and discomforts of the whole hospital ordeal.

A fatal mistake.

The next thing he remembered was erratic beating and urgent voices. He couldn't make sense of what was happening but he had recognized his mothers cries. He saw some nurses at the sides of his bed that short moment he was lucid.

They pulled out wires and tubes. He remembered being carried by one of them then the feeling of the bed moving under him, the creaking of the stretcher as it moved, footsteps following the stretcher and his parents urgent voices.

As his eyes started to narrow from the bright white lights, his ears strained to hear the urgent questions of his parents. The words were mostly inaudible but as a nurse started to fuss with the IV line and he started to lose consciousness, he was able to make out a few of what the doctors saying.

Mr. Rivera, Your son's body is a mess. His heart is working overtime…

You may not like this but it may be the only way to keep him alive…

Is there any other option? It sounded like his mother's voice. She sounded like she was close to sobbing.

We understand that this is a difficult decision to make...

Do what you need to do.

Hope you enjoyed! Like always, do tell me what you think :D

#pixar coco #coco fandom #coco fanfiction #dia de los muertos coco #coco fanfic #hector rivera #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #rivera family #tundrainafrica #fanfic

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