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d-criss-news · 3 years

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The Glee star and Emmy winner for The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, Darren Criss, 34, will be releasing his first album of Christmas songs, titled A Very Darren Crissmas (October 8). It includes duets with Adam Lambert, Evan Rachel Wood and an original song, “Drunk on Christmas,” featuring Lainey Wilson.

What was your goal with this Christmas album?

To reintroduce familiar songs in a new way. But I also wanted to take lesser-known songs and make those feel more familiar. And, most importantly, I wanted to take songs that people don’t associate with Christmas but I do—like Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”—and try to make them feel like Christmas songs.

What inspired you to write “Drunk on Christmas”?

It’s about the end of Christmas when everything’s been done. There’s wrapping on the floor, you’ve cleaned things, the in-laws have left and there’s nothing else to do. It’s two people having a sit-on-the couch moment, sipping a glass of cocoa with some SoCo [Southern Comfort] in it.

What is it about Christmas music? Why did you want to do the Christmas album?

Christmas or the holiday season is something that, whether we like it or not, we experience every year, and that comes with a litany of wonderful songs and music that again, whether you have been proactive about listening to it or not, it’s pretty hard to avoid. It’s permeated our cultural consciousness for our entire lives. So if you happen to be someone like me who consumes music at a hyperactive level, I’ve always adored Christmas music.

People say this because of the way that it makes them feel and the things that it reminds them of. There are so many layers to why people enjoy Christmas music. It’s nostalgic, it is very romantic, at least in the true dictionary meaning of the word romantic. And to me, I’ve always loved it for a much more anthropological reason, which is for one month or several weeks out of the year we suddenly subscribe to a certain sentiment that the other 11 we don’t really dial into. We want it all, then we want it to just go away.

What makes Christmas songs different?

As a musician I’ve always loved that Christmas music can employ certain musical elements that otherwise aren’t very popular. To me, it’s incredible that without a doubt the estates of many artists are guaranteed placement on the radio even though many of them have been deceased for many years. The pop charts are dominated by whatever contemporary, awesome artists there are nowadays, but in December you can guarantee that Burl Ives and Dean Martin will be on the radio with the best of them. I find that so charming. It’s because people really, really love this music.

And those songs don’t sound like the sounds that we’re hearing on the radio, sonically, harmonically, rhythmically. They employ a lot of “classic” sounds that evoke the feeling of Christmas. I’m a self-proclaimed genrephile—this is a term I use for myself throughout all the stuff that I do. I can’t help but be so enchanted by this idea that artists have license, and by license I mean an excuse to do things that you ordinarily wouldn’t be encouraged to do, or that audiences wouldn’t necessarily be as quick to absorb.

So, when you’re talking about classic Christmas writing, for lack of a better word, you use clichéd Christmas terminology, you use certain chords, and harmonies, and instrumentations that you just wouldn’t do throughout the year. It leans on the slightly more sophisticated, slightly more musical, and that is really exciting for someone like me.

How much does the fact that your last name is Criss play into this?

If you play music and your last name is Criss, every year someone says, “You know what you should do?” as if they’re the first person who’s ever thought of this idea. So I’ve always wanted to do this; it was just a matter of time. And I also didn’t want it to be phoned in, I didn’t want it to seem like, “Oh, here’s some songs that you know already.”

I wrote this in my liner notes that my favorite thing to do with art, but particularly music, is curate, interpolate, create and personalize. That’s my main thing. I’m an OK singer, I’m an OK musician, but what I really think I have a yen for is trying to interpolate something new that people didn’t know before.

If you think about a song like “Jingle Bells,” it was not written for Christmas. It was a song from 200-something years ago that bears no mention of Christmas whatsoever, but we associate it so heavily with Christmas. Lately I hear Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” come up on Christmas playlists. I think it must have something to do with the Christian angle of the song and the reverence of the word “hallelujah,” but there’s no mention of Christmas.

So there’s a lot of different things that can make people feel like Christmas if you arrange it a certain way, and that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted this cocktail of songs that people didn’t know and I might be able to introduce to them in a really new, interesting way.

You duet with Adam Lambert, Evan Rachel Wood and Lainey Wilson. These people couldn’t be more different. How did you select your song partners for this?

Honestly, people are busy, so I leaned on friends of mine. The album is called A Very Darren Crissmas, and I wanted to make it just that. Songs that are very, very me, doing things that are very me, and using the talents of people who are legitimately in my life. Adam has been a pal for a long time. We’ve known each other from just adventures in Hollywood, but he, of course, was on Glee with me. Evan Rachel is a dear pal of mine; we’ve done some things together. She’s played my festival, and I’ve done comedy sketches with her and stuff. These are all extraordinarily talented singers. As I told them when I asked them to be a part of it, “I’d be very lucky to have you on this record.”

I had not met Lainey Wilson before I started this. But when you’re in Nashville, you are in the Olympic tent of USDA certified prime country singers. And that’s a bit of a blind spot for me as far as who’s on the up and up, who’s somebody that can really give a level of authenticity, legitimacy to a more classic ’50s Nashville sound, which is the song that I wrote called “Drunk on Christmas.” My producer Ron Fair, who has been living in Nashville for a while, suggested Lainey and we got on like a house on fire. She’s an extraordinary talent and I was happy to have her. These were all people that were part of this grassroots friend to friend thing. That’s how I got them and I’m very lucky that they’re on the record.

There are hundreds of Christmas songs. How did you choose what to include?

Choosing was extremely hard. I had a list of about 100 songs. I’m not done; this record is only phase one in my mind. There are so many songs that it will make your head spin. If you go, “Did you think about this song?” The answer is yes, and I absolutely had to deliberate which ones I had to triage out of the sequence.

I even said no to “The Christmas Song,” which is on the album. I didn’t want to do it because I was like, “Everybody knows it; it’s perfect by Nat King Cole,” and Mel Tormé [who wrote it] is one of my favorite artists of all time, much less songwriters and musicians. So I was like, “I don’t want to have to do that.” And on the day when we were there, we just had a guitar and said, “Let’s just do it for fun,” because I love singing that song. But I was like, “It’s been done perfectly too many times, I really don’t want to have to put myself up against that.” But we had a nice take, it’s live in the room. And hey, come on, it’s Christmas. So I left it on there.

If we were to come to your house during the holidays, what would you be listening to?

I’d probably sit you down and play you my favorite songs that you’ve never heard that I think are great Christmas songs. But what’s nice is I’ve now put those songs on this album, hopefully, in a perhaps delusional effort to standardize these songs in the Christmas pantheon. There has to be an air of delusion to being an artist in the first place. If one of these songs that no one’s ever heard before catches on with a family or a person and becomes part of their Christmas playlist every year, then I will have succeeded in my efforts.

What did the Emmy you won for The Assassination of Gianni Versace do for your career?

Although the Emmy has just my name on it, the number one thing that I’m most proud of is it’s more symbolic and representative of the work of the whole team. It is a validation and celebration of the really hard work of people that I spent a lot of time and energy with creating this role.

You have a couple voice roles coming up—in Trese and Yasuke—but what are we going to see you in next, not just hear you?

I don’t know. Let me know if there’s any opportunities. A huge reason for why this album was made was because I had the time. Making records takes a lot of time, and I’m envious of people who are just singers. I don’t know how people do that, that’s just not who I am. I’m a producer, I’m a writer, I’m a musician. It takes so much out of me to make a body of music because someone doesn’t say, “OK, here are the songs, show up on a Tuesday, you sing it and then you leave.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some of my favorite artists can do that and are blessed enough to be able to just do that. I can’t.

It takes so much time for me to really get in the weeds, arrange, edit vocals, edit instrumentation, mix tracks, really getting in the jungle of music production. I can’t function any other way and that takes an extraordinary amount of time. Even when there was a global pandemic, I still had deadlines that we could barely make to finish this album because that’s just how my brain works.

So I haven’t been able to act. I haven’t had an acting job in almost two years. That’s not entirely true. I’ve had little bit things during the pandemic, but no big series or films or anything like that. It’s just been mostly working from home and being as proactive as I can be. I started a weekly podcast with a friend of mine, I put out an EP. I’ve been extremely busy with high output and low visibility. I’m waiting for the next thing, but I’m not one to sit still. If you give me time, I’m going to fill all the spaces out. So I did that with music this past two years.

Are you going to go back to Broadway now that it’s opening again?

I don’t want to say anything that is not perhaps confirmed 100 percent, but I will say with full confidence that I have always had the intention of going back exactly where we started. I’ll let them announce what’s happening because every show is in its own unique holding pattern. But, yes, right before the shutdown I was doing American Buffalo in New York, and talk about the actor’s dream, that is right up there. Doing a great American play that I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve had a long history with that show, and I finally get to do it for real with two of my favorite actors—Sam Rockwell and Laurence Fishburne. They are two acting heroes of mine.

So I was in rehearsals for that. We were about to go into tech, and things got shut down. But we’re in a very fortunate position where you’ve got two huge movie stars, you have a very well-known play and you have a fixed set and just three guys. There are musicals that have orchestras, big choruses and huge set pieces, and the overhead and upkeep of these productions is quite complicated. And a lot of them, for that reason, fell by the wayside during the pandemic, and it’s an awful tragedy. But our set and our billboard and our posters are exactly where we left them. It’s kind of a trip. If you go to Circle in the Square, I keep telling people it’s the longest I’ve ever been on Broadway because it’s just sitting there dormant, waiting to be resurrected.

I think all of us are planning on going back. I think the show is scheduled to reopen almost to the day that it was supposed to open in 2020. We’ll see how the schedule ends up, but you have three guys whose heart and soul is the theater. I don’t want to speak for the other two guys, but I’m almost positive that all three of us would rather be doing that play on Broadway than anything else. So when I say I haven’t had an acting gig in two years, it’s been a comfort to know that that was waiting for me on the other end. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we’ll be able to do it. We’ll have to make sure that everything is hunky-dory with theater audiences, et cetera, et cetera, but that’s the idea.

How did Ryan Murphy casting you in Glee change your life?

I said during my Emmy speech that actors are only as good as the moments they get. I used to say actors are only as good as the parts they get. Take that with a huge grain of salt, obviously, it’s not entirely true. But in context of that moment, certainly you can understand what I meant. Acting is a proactive craft, but in many respects it’s a passive career, where you have to hope and wait for a benefactor, a patron, a supporter to say, “OK, all right, kid, you’re up. I think you can do it.”

I think any artist’s life is a constant compromise between knowing what you can do and what you want to do, and having other people, audiences and creative authorities alike, have an idea of what you can do. You have to have that balance of somewhere in the middle, where hopefully you can rise to an occasion that you know you can do, that somebody’s going to give you the opportunity to do. But you’re not in control of that relationship, and so you have to sit and hope and pray that someone is going to give you that moment and that opportunity. That was something that I’m fully indebted to with Ryan.

Because he did say, “All right, kid, you’re up,” and gave me that shot. We talked about the The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story series for years before we did it. I didn’t think he was ever going to do it. By the time we started shooting, he probably mentioned it to me three or four years prior. And I kept asking about it like, “Hey, you still want to do this thing?” I think he was just always obsessed with the fact that I was half Filipino and that I bore a certain resemblance to the guy. Age and everything, it seems pretty spot-on. But he was a man of his word, and he really did end up making it. So I’m incredibly indebted to him and I’ve always been very effusive about that.

Now that you have this modicum of fame, what would you like to use it to accomplish?

For me, there are so many things that I love in this world that I don’t think other people are familiar with. One of the things about having a modicum of a platform is hopefully embracing that to use it as a gateway drug for stuff that people might not be familiar with. I don’t know if they’re going to like it as much as I do, but I’m looking at this track list and there are songs that I guarantee that you don’t know.

These are all things where I go, “OK, I have this moment of people’s attention, hopefully, this is a fun way to have them have eyes on something that I think is deserving of eyes, and not because of me, but because of other people who have made something amazing.” And, hopefully, they have the same proactive curiosity that I had growing up where I look at the liner notes and see who wrote the songs and where they came from. But we’ll see. We’ll see if people have that reaction.

You’ve accomplished so much. What’s the dream going forward?

The dream is to keep doing me, really. I think all you can do is be as true to yourself and try and do as accessible and as valuable work as you can. And, hopefully, in so doing, represent people, giving them visibility and encouragement towards their own place in the cultural conversation.

#darren criss #parade magazine #a very darren crissmas #press #oct 2021

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warmbeebosoftbeebo · 4 years

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Truth or Dare? 1/3 probably

much of the details about him in this fic is from things b has said in interviews, on periscope, twitch, twitter... see if you can guess what is true vs details/things i made up. other things, like most of his friends being girls (at least as a kid and teen) i don't think he's ever stated outright but i consider so damn obvious as you learn about him eg the bullying, his best friend in 8th grade was a girl. hopefully, all the things i remember him saying he's actually said and i didn't dream it/imagine it haha. also i love this fic so fucking much if i may say so. one of my faves, to be a braggart. in this universe, he never got introduced to spence or ryan, hence no mentions of them or panic! and him going off to arizona for cosmetology

tag list @greatheromuffinpalace @paypoulterer1 @anyh0w @anobsessioncalled @panicsinning @queerbrendon @prettyoddfiction @iwriteficsnottragediesladies @uriellybrendon @pageoftheclouds @brendonuriesbubblyass @ier0-must-die @itriedallthenamesiwantedaretaken @xfoxtalynx @spacesams00 @satanspuppet-x @1-800-hallelujah @ryrostan @tacobelltylerr @urie-dreams [just message me to be added or taken off the tag list]

----

You're watching Aladdin with Brendon, after Alice in Wonderland but before Bambi because you don't want to wind up crying yet. He's totally like Flower and Bambi. Loves flowers, flirty and doe-eyed, for starters. He's an Aladdin too, and is singing along with you as you're cuddled up on your bed with him, him absentmindedly playing with, brushing your hair. He stopped styling it a while ago, but you love having your hair played with, scalp massaged, neck too, as much as he does... Even that has arousal spreading, tickling over you.

You don't have class tomorrow, but he has a cosmetology one in the morning. He's still excited about not having someone telling him to get to bed though, and you're too relaxed, and uh... you like how you feel around him too much, how simple things, touches kind of turn you on, to suggest he get to sleep or leave your room. Besides, your roommate went home for the weekend. And these blankets and pajamas are comfy. You wind up getting into A Whole New World though: dramatic actions and singing, batting lashes at each other, giggling, pretending the bed is a magic carpet like the dorks you two are...

You offer your lap for his head to get pets in once the song ends... You love touching his hair. Watching his lashes, eyes, lips in the television light. Hearing his breathing deepening, his sighs, a couple mmms when you stroke the nape of his neck, tug his hair, scritch his scalp. You've only known him a couple months, but... whoo boy. Too bad he's gayer than the day is long. And kind of has a boyfriend from his program, George. Well, a friend with benefits.

“Truth or dare, B?” you ask when the movie ends, but neither of you move.

“'M sleepy from all those pets, y/n, so for once, I'm going with truth.”

“Were you like this as a kid? Was it musicals and wanting to do cosmetology and stuff back then too? Like not being... being... different. From how boys were supposed to be.”

He chuckles. “Pretty much. Did skateboarding for years, and some soccer, but that was pretty much the extent of the manly shit. Well, the heavy metal too. And lots of people did pot. But mostly the kind of things people thought boys shouldn't do. Most of my friends were girls. Still are. Liked making people laugh, entertaining them. Gymnastics, dance; just messing around not pro. Did sets for the drama kids in high school. I fit in with some guys, mostly chill stoner or art types, guys who weren't straight, but not many. Sometimes I had to fake it to get by with guys, if it even worked. But mostly stuff like the dress up box.”

“What'd you dress up as?”

“Different musical roles, like Maria and Cosette, Jean Valjean. I remember being about five and wrapping curtains around myself like a dress and singing Sound of Music. Cheerleader with the miniskirt and all from my older sister Kara. Uh... pirate, cowboy, or cowgirl. Elvis, Carly Simon, Gwen. Wanted to sound like her so bad. Beyonce. David Bowie in Labyrinth, without a proper wig though. And a few of the personas he had different eras too. Jareth was mixed up in a crush on him. Like I wasn't sure how much I wanted to play that role versus liked David... At twelve, with Jessica Alba, that was a lot clearer. Make up too, some wigs. Lots of my mom's clothes. I'm sure you can tell on that last one.” He still wears women's jeans now. And hoodies, shirts, a couple pairs of sneakers...

“Oh, a weird flower boy version of Rambo,” he laughs. “Like the headband, but my mom's blouse and jeans, a bouquet of flowers, heels, dad's sunglasses... Still have a picture of that one. And we have lots of home movies of stuff. Me being a lounge singer with a feather boa and gold dress... seducing my mom. Oh, shit, can't believe I just admitted that aloud. Anyway, there was firefighter, seamstress, servant, scuba diver, vet... Vampire, fairy, witch. Playing a mom or sister in plays, like sometimes one of my sisters would be the dad, I'd be the mom, or we'd be three sisters. Or they'd be the mom and dad and I'd be their baby. I remember one where I was pregnant—pillow and doll baby, haha—and Kyla was the pirate doctor helping me deliver on the ship. Or the damsel in distress being rescued by them. Or kidnapped by them. Or we had to save our mom, the queen, from a dragon or evil king.”

They were imaginative too! You're picturing them, little Brendon in these outfits, roles. So cute, and silly, and did you say cute? He must've been adorable, playful and an entertainer back then, too. He's done an open mic a few times and sings and plays at parties with friends. You've seen him do it last Saturday, nervous but eager to sing and play guitar, or keyboard. He said that music was his favourite hobby, that he loves doing it, especially for people, but you had no idea how deep it went.

“Me in my sister's gymnastic leotard, but over my shorts because she didn't want it so close to my crotch.”

The crotch part makes you think of it: if he wears... uh, panties too? The thought makes you flush and feel embarrassed. You haven't seen him in a dress or skirt either, but he used to wear those. You wonder if he still does and you just haven't seen it. You think they'd suit him for some reason. The lavender hoodie, the pink sneakers, plus a miniskirt? Denim, or black. God, you bet that he'd look even better, draw you to him more.

“Wish we had dress up stuff to play with here, B. Bet it was fun. And I bet you looked so cute.”

He gets up, but it's to turn on the lamp; the tv had gone dark. He bats his lashes. “Oh, I did.”

You both laugh as you throw a pillow at him. “Goofball. Don't ever let me tell you you still look cute, then. And that I actually would want to see you with a dress up box.”

“Truth or dare?” he asks. You'd forgotten how this started.

“Truth?” Neither is a safe bet, so you just go with what he went with to even it out.

“Would you want to see me dressed up? Like... in things here... of yours?”

Your breath catches. Are you that obvious? You nod, asking “Truth or dare?”

He grins. “Whattaya think, y/n? Dare.”

“M-maybe... uh... a skirt? On you, I mean?”

“That can be arranged.” He practically bounces over to your closet, sorts through, deciding on a long soft blue and lilac hippieish flowery one that goes to your ankles, a purple plaid one that comes to your knees but would be two to three inches shorter on him, and your denim one that's so short it would be a mini on him. You wear it with black tights or other pants it's so short. Really, he picked most of them; you only have two others. He holds them out one by one, then places them over his hips: “Which one would fit me best?”

You get flustered, because you want to see the denim one most, but worry it would be too short for him. The plaid one? It gives “naughty schoolgirl” vibes to boys and men, older pervs included, so you don't wear it much, even though it reminds you of a newly formed coven of witches stuck at a Catholic school for some reason (you blame The Craft). You wonder what'd look like on him. You bet he's worn skirt school uniforms before, and that he'd get cheesy with it, calling you Miss and asking hammily but flirtatiously about extra credit, asking you to teach him, maybe bending over... which not going to lie, you do want if it got sexily funny, but you know it couldn't mean anything.

He grins. "Warning ya, my legs are really hairy, so you might wanna go with the longest one. What can I say, I've got Jewish legs."

You snort. "Guess I've got Jewish legs too: my hair is a light brown, but there's lots of it below my knees. I stopped shaving now that it's November." You can't help wondering if he's dressed up for Hallowe'en in a girl's costume, or in drag, and what he'd look like; even some guys who are kind of sexist and homophobic do that for Hallowe'en, so it wouldn't be out of the ordinary even outside of the gay bar you and he were let into a few times, because George knew the bouncer. Both of your first one, bar or gay bar.

"Oh, I bet I've got more than you," he jokes, and slides his pant leg up a bit, doing a "banananana" strip tease music thing, shaking his leg, making you both giggle.

"Go with the shortest one, B. Bet you'd look super sexy," you reply, hammily winking.

"No peeking!" he admonishes teasingly, hiding behind your closet door, but he pops his booty out and sways it before hiding again. His jeans quickly get flung towards you to him laughing, "Hey, you ever see that British film The Full Monty?"

"It's kinda tight on my ass, but loose on my hips. What can I say? I bring the booty. But your hips are more womanly than mine, alas," he sighs dramatically. “And your thighs are damn. Um. At least it covers my underwear. Pretty much.” He peeks out, excited. "Ready? I just wanna make sure you're prepared for my hairy ass legs, oh and my stunningly gorgeous ass."

"Pshaw, I know that that booty brings all the boys to your yard, you tramp." He's really a tease at that bar. Both guys his age and kind of older, but only one creep. He always drinks for free, gets you drinks too, and you alternately keep close and watch from afar and let him do his thing with said boys. He only talks with most, often dances, but if he likes the guy, the dancing goes beyond pg territory, kissing too, and he even went home with one of them.

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etraytin · 7 years

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Emergency Backup Fic of the Day

I am finally home from my protracted holiday travel (Since December 16, for those of you playing along at home), after ten hours in the car and a morning full of packing before that. I am still sick. I am completely and utterly exhausted and there is no fic in me today. Blargh.

Luckily, Past Etraytin, in all her wisdom, foresaw such a moment might occur sometime before the the end of the Fic A Day! Way back in October, I wrote an extra fic and saved it back against the day that something bad happened or writer’s block hit or I was just too damn tired. Now, with one day left in the 100-Day Fic-a-Day, I am pulling the cord and deploying the Emergency Fic.

Today’s fic is actually the start of a multipart story (the other reason I held off on posting it!) that focuses on the East Wing during the Santos Administration. How does Donna adjust to being Chief of Staff? More importantly, how does Helen Santos adjust to being First Lady? What has to get lost or adjusted along the way? Here’s Chapter One.

...

“Okay, so Annabeth will be coordinating with Lou in the Communications Office to come up with a joint strategy for publicizing the youth music initiative, but right now we've got feelers out to symphony orchestras in DC, New York City, Chicago and Los Angeles to expand their field trip programs with underserved youths and to promote instrumental music in schools.” Donna checked off that item on her list and glanced around at the other staffers in the East Wing sitting room. “I think that's all on the agenda right now. Has anybody got anything else?”

Sandy, the First Lady's personal secretary, opened her mouth to add something. She was preempted by Helen Santos herself, who'd been watching the entire meeting in near silence from her perch in one of the uncomfortable wingback chairs. “So what y'all are telling me,” Helen drawled, “is that my agenda this week consists of dinner with the prime minister of Belgium and his wife, six appearances for photo-ops at various school summer programs, a really horrible party in Chicago to help Matt talk up the budget bill, three dressy luncheons to do the same thing, and a visit to church on Sunday where we're the last ones in and the first ones out?”

“Miranda also has a dentist appointment on Tuesday,” Sandy said in a small voice, “and you're meeting with the historic preservation office on Friday morning to get an update on mold remediation efforts under the press room and the third floor bedroom rehab project.”

“Of course,” Helen said crisply, “I wouldn't want to forget any of that. Good job everybody, keep on truckin'!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Santos,” Donna said as all the staffers rose to their feet. Helen gave her a somewhat cool look, then swept out towards the living quarters. Donna frowned for just a second, then turned to her team. Besides Sandy, there was Otto, the gifted young speechwriter she'd shamelessly poached from Josh during transition, Miri, who'd been Donna's favorite assistant deputy chief of staff in the last administration, and Annabeth, who'd been offered Deputy Press Secretary but didn't want that side of the building anymore. Not exactly the most experienced team, but running the East Wing was a lot different than running the West Wing. They'd made it through the first six months in office with no major disasters, knock on wood.

“All right everybody, we've got plenty of work to do this week. Otto, get me drafts on the school speeches by the end of the day, then start working ahead for the Congressional Women's Dinner in two weeks,” she instructed crisply. “Annabeth, you're with Lou, Miri, you're harassing Sam and/or Congress till they give that extra ten million for music programs.” She thought a second. “Sandy, can you see about freeing up another two or three days for the Santos' trip to Houston next month? Even if the President can't come, maybe we can get the family a few extra days.” They all walked out of the sitting room together, heading back to the East Wing office block. Normally Donna held staff meetings in her office, which was more than big enough, but it got awkward trying to sit at her desk with the First Lady sitting in.

As everyone broke off to their various jobs, Annabeth followed Donna into her office and sat down neatly on the edge of her chair, looking like a pixie in squared-off glasses and a neatly pressed business suit. “Something's wrong with the First Lady,” she announced without preamble.

Donna took her own seat and began looking through a pile of folders. Her own assistant, Jacelyn, still had a long way to go in terms of mastering index cards and post-it notes. “It's allergies,” she agreed without looking up. “The White House doctor prescribed Claritin and silk flowers.”

“That's not what I meant,” Annabeth countered, “though my sinuses are already singing a tiny little hallelujah chorus about the flowers.” She side-eyed the large bouquet on Donna's side table, one of dozens in the East Wing at any given time. “I think she's about to start a prison riot.”

“Do what?” Donna looked up, furrowed her brow. “We're not going to any prisons, and we haven't got anything on our agenda.” Her eyes widened a little. “You don't think she's going to want to go after sufferage for felons again, do you?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “There was a time,” she told Donna, “long, long ago in the days when you got enough sleep, that you were able to understand figurative language.”

Donna glared at her without any real anger. “That's a lie. I've never gotten enough sleep.” She considered Annabeth's words a little harder, finally putting down the pile of folders. “You think she's feeling trapped in the White House,” she surmised. “And that's what the little thing in staff today was about.”

“I think she's ready to find herself a tin cup and start banging it against the windows,” Annabeth said dryly. “And I don't really blame her. She had a life back in Houston. She had friends and she was on the PTA, and she probably had a book club or one of those groups where they pretend to sew or knit and just drink wine and gossip all evening. What's she got now? This place is just a big ol' white cage for the First Family, and she hasn't even got days at school or the weight of the free world to distract her. Not everyone's built for the monklike lives of austerity that staff members around here seem to prefer. Present company excepted,” she added, tongue-in-cheek.

Donna flushed, her alabaster skin going pink all the way down her neck. “I wouldn't exactly call it monastic,” she said with great delicacy.

“You had a hickey last week,” Annabeth reminded her gleefully.

Donna gave Annabeth a slightly more pointed glare, but inwardly she was feeling rather pleased. Not just because of the hickey thing, which had been fun enough to make the embarrassment nearly worth it, but because Annabeth was joking about relationships again. Optics were Annabeth's stock in trade and she covered her emotions very well most of the time, but Donna had seen how undone she'd been after Leo's death. It hadn't taken too long to suss out why. At this point there was nothing to be said about whether a relationship would've been wise or appropriate, what did it even matter?

Annabeth was completely unwilling to talk about it, so all Donna had was her own speculation, but if she and Leo had been a thing, it couldn't have been for very long. That really didn't matter either, she supposed. She wondered, when she could bear to think about it, what she herself might have done if something had happened to Josh at the end of the campaign trail, back in late 1998. She'd have been devastated by the loss, of course, but not completely destroyed the way she would've been a few years later at Rosslyn, or any time after that. Today seemed like a good sign that maybe Annabeth was starting to bounce back. “Aren't we talking about the First Lady here?”

“She hasn't had many hickies lately,” Annabeth commented, raising a quelling hand at Donna's sputter. “What I mean to say, she doesn't seem very satisfied on any level lately, and that's not usual for her. And you know what they say, if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. If the President's not happy, the entire country suffers. We have an obligation.”

Donna massaged her temples delicately, suspecting she was about to have a headache. “I'm not sure there's anything we can do about the fact that her friends and her life are all back in Houston and this place is secured like a bunker most of the time. But at least she's got the trip coming up.”

“Which will probably make things worse,” Annabeth pointed out, swinging her legs idly off the edge of the desk. “She's just starting to get strung out now, craving her old life. Let her go to Houston and give her a quick hit of what she's missing, then send her back to the methadone clinic of blue-hair luncheons and boring fundraisers with professional brown-nosers, all she's going to be thinking about is what she doesn't have.”

“I think you rode that metaphor way out of the pasture there, but I see what you mean.” Donna replied dryly. “What do you suggest we do about it?”

“She needs friends here. People, ideally women, close to her own age, who she doesn't have to be so formal with all the time,” Annabeth said decisively.

Donna cocked her head. “Are you suggesting we set up a playdate for the First Lady?”

“If by playdate you mean 'you and I take her a bottle of wine and try to remember to call her Helen for a couple of hours,' it's not a bad place to start,” Annabeth offered. “I don't know about you, but I don't have any friends in DC who don't work here. And vetting anybody is going to be a serious hassle. At least if we can get her to open up a little, maybe we can find out some of what she'd like to do.”

“That could work,” Donna agreed, resting her chin on her fist thoughtfully. “The president is out of town Thursday night and the nanny's on duty. I'll ask her about it tomorrow and see if she's interested.”

“DAR's Thurday lunch,” Annabeth pointed out. “We might need a couple bottles.”

(This fic is also archived, along with any new chapters I may write, at AO3, same author name, under the title “Iron Bars A Cage.”

#the west wing #fanfiction #iron bars a cage #donna moss #helen santos #now i'm just gonna close my eyes for a little tiny minute

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morningrainmusic · 7 years

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Untangling the Enigma that is Portugal. The Man’s Live Show

Photo courtesy of Joe Bertoni

6/16/17

It’s been a while since I’ve written a concert review, but I felt compelled to cover Portugal. The Man’s show Wednesday night at The Riviera. I went with my sister and brother-in-law. It was a warm, wet, overcast night in Chicago. We arrived in time for the last few songs of Electric Guest’s set, which I enjoyed. The show was 18+ so it was a relatively young crowd. Nothing unusual or outside the norm happened in the first hour upon arriving.

Before I go any further, I think I should break down where Portugal. The Man are at in their career and give some general background. The band is from Portland by way of Alaska and formed in 2004. They’ve put out seven albums since 2006. Their fourth, 2009’s The Satanic Satanist was their big breakthrough album and their last, 2013’s Evil Friends is their poppiest and arguably their best, though it has a couple duds on it. They had a big following before then, but the Danger Mouse-produced record really raised their profile. Their next album, Woodstock came out the other day. I haven’t listened to all of it yet, but if the four tracks they released before the full LP are any indication, P.TM is continuing down the road of shameless hip-hop-tinged pop-rock. Which isn’t surprising because the band has an excellent track record in that wheelhouse, and the album was produced by the Beastie Boys’ Mike D.

T-shirts at the merch table read in large capital letters “I liked Portugal. The Man before they sold out.” Another said something like, “Nothing can be counted on except love and the first twelve Portugal. The Man albums.” While P.TM’s new merch has some clear tongue-in-cheek connotations, I’ve always interpreted their lyrics as nothing but fully sincere and at times almost painfully obvious. Let’s put it this way: the band has a knack for making catchy, sometimes quite musically interesting tunes, but there’s not much digging to be done in terms of what they’re trying to communicate in the words. I doubt even diehard P.TM fans would refute that with much vigor.

But back to the Riviera. After Electric Guest finished up the three of us made our way to the back of the floor level, taking advantage of the post-opener shift that typically occurs, cautiously nudging past folks who’d already planted roots. Is it a bit of an a-hole move? Yes, I will acknowledge that. But it is also not at all uncommon at GA shows, plus there were only three of us and we were being mindful of the people around us so as to not blatantly block anyone’s view.

Whilst performing this delicate dance, the three of us settled (very temporarily as it would turn out) upon a spot near a group of girls that would best be described as “highly abrasive” and “having none of it.” One in particular, a young lady in her mid-twenties who was presumably paying rent on the spot she and her crew of urban pirates had claimed, got in my face spewing disapproval. She and her early bird cronies had been in that spot FOR HOURS and some 6-foot dickwad in a soccer jersey was not about to stand in front, next to, OR behind her. (For the record she didn’t call me a dickwad, she actually at one point said “you seem like a nice guy but…” in the way hostile/touchy people sometimes try to express that they don’t think you’re a total piece of shit despite their disgusted tone suggesting nothing but malice and contempt). On we moved down the line to a more accepting region of less territorial folk. A good spot was obtained, but it was also in the unfortunate position of within earshot of what must haven been the most annoying guy in the building. Way too vocally expressive of his effusive enthusiasm, chatty, yelling drum fills seconds before the actual drum fills, etc etc. “Let me know if I’m bothering you man” he kindly told me at one point. Looking back, I sort of wish I was the kind of person who wouldn’t think twice about telling him my honest thoughts.

Did these two instances taint my experience? Yes. Is it fair to judge a band based on your impression of some of its fans? That’s a tough question to answer, but in this particular instance, I’m going to say no. Nonetheless, it will very likely impact my impression of all P.TM fans going forward. These few folks probably aren’t representative of them all, but also, who’s to say for sure? I had zero negative interactions when I saw the band at the Eagles Ballroom in Milwaukee in 2014, so I’m going to attribute this to Shitty Chicagoans, P.TM’s continued ascension in popularity, and all around bad luck on my part.

These unfortunate crowd encounters excluded, the show was equal parts entertaining and confounding. Portugal. The Man can be called many things, but slackers is certainly not one of them. They are performers. One might even call their set list “adventurous,” though I’d have to disagree. Opening with a Metallica song and playing a 15-plus minute opus of “All Your Light” with an Abbey Road track peppered in are certainly interesting choices, but I don’t really understand them. So many great tracks left out because they’ve made a habit of tossing in covers and closing with the Oasis anthem, “Don’t Look Back in Anger.” I get it, it’s a great song and a lot of fun to shout the chorus with 500 other people at a concert, but hit me with some prime Majestic Majesty tracks or one of your dozens of other good tunes. As for the drawn out “All Your Light” take, it was impressive, but also just exhausting, wasteful, and indulgent. Missed opportunity city.

Sometimes a band will have a track that’s so nice they can’t help but play it twice. For young bands one or two albums in with a huge standout crowd favorite, this makes sense. P.TM are definitely not one of those bands. And while “Feel It Still” is a really good song (their website describes it as a “global hit” which kinda makes me wonder who they’re trying to impress), there is absolutely no need to play it twice. Again, play more Portugal. I’m not being a hater…that is downright unacceptable.

I also don’t know that P.TM are quite qualified to have any business covering The Beatles. Here’s who should be allowed to cover The Beatles live: -Kids in high school bands who don’t know any better -tribute/cover bands -Superstar acts that have achieved or have been in consideration for “biggest band in the world” status -Rock’s living legends -Noel and Liam Gallagher in solo shows/side projects

P.TM fit none of these criteria.

Minimal talking from any band members between songs except for Zachary Carother’s comments about Chicago being a city they love to play because they’ve had so many wild and crazy nights in this town. He added “let’s party” before busting into the encore. “Let’s party” feels like a very appropriate phrase coming from the lips of any member of P.TM. It encapsulates the band’s ethos pretty nicely. These guys make such a concerted effort in their songs to put forth their anti-establishment attitudes, “fight the power” mentality, and rebellious “just for kicks” nature, it becomes a bit redundant at times. At least in a live setting, the band is at their best when they’re playing the catchy sing-alongs with lyrics seemingly built to be shouted by audience members doing that emphatic extended arm waving thing more common at hip hop shows. I’m thinking specifically of songs like “Hip Hop Kids” and the slightly better “Head Is A Flame.” These are not “thinkers” in any way, shape, or form. Party on, indeed.

Lastly, I want to address one of the more distracting elements of P.TM’s live experience: their video backdrop. In what appears to be part of their overall effort to incite strong reactions, the band has elected to use a series of befuddling, bizarre, and vaguely off-putting images of androgynous humanoid figures, usually in some sort of sexual position. The least androgynous one came towards the end: it was a largely jet-black mannequin-type figure thrusting against a beach ball held between its thighs in slow motion. This wasn’t all their backdrops, but it was a lot of them. I don’t really have anything to offer in the way of decoding or explaining this. I didn’t like it. And to say it was overdone would be THE understatement of this entire post. Be better, Portugal.

I came out of the show feeling like my relationship with the band had changed. Perhaps they’re more of a headphones band and not the kind I’m into enough to pony up $40 to be harassed/annoyed by concertgoers and visually assaulted with “artistically bold” rotating, flesh-colored crash test dummies. I wish they’d played a set closer to the one I saw in Milwaukee years ago. That being said, I had a great time and so did my sister and brother-in-law. And hey, they got a reaction out of me. It’s been two days and I’m not done thinking (and writing) about the show. May be over now, but I feel it still.

Setlist

1. For Whom the Bell Tolls (Metallica cover) 2. Another Brick in the Wall (Pink Floyd cover) / Purple Yellow Red and Blue 3. Feel It Still 4. Head Is A Flame (Cool With It) 5. Got It All (This Can’t Be Living Now) 6. Once Was One 7. Waves 8. Modern Jesus 9. All Your Light (Times Like These) / A Kilo / The Home / I Want You (She’s So Heavy) (Beatles cover) 10. So American 11. Hip Hop Kids 12. Holy Roller (Hallelujah) 13. Feel It Still 14. Don’t Look Back In Anger (Oasis cover)

Encore 15. Atomic Man

*People Say was also mixed in there somewhere

#live

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clevergirrrl-blog · 7 years

Text

First Birthday

Dear Fox,

Tomorrow you will be one year old.

Holy shit.

I’m sitting here writing this alone in our living room, which is something that doesn’t happen too often since you were born. Not the sitting in the living room part; the alone part. You’re almost always with me, other than the hours you sleep in your crib at night. I miss you during those hours. I often sneak in to look at you, to touch your face, and sometimes - much to your dad’s annoyance - I actually pick you up while you’re sleeping and rock you in my arms for as long as I can get away with it.

I’m feeling pretty emotional thinking about you turning one. It’s probably not helping that it’s pouring rain outside and I’m listening to Hallelujah on repeat while I try to write this. The Jeff Buckley cover; the one your dad will always argue is the best. He’s right.

Since you were born, it’s my favourite song.

It’s the first song I sang to you when you were born. I sang it to you for weeks and months on end. I sang it when I myself was in a dark place after your birth, for so long. When I thought I would never heal, never be the same again, never feel the same again, never be me again.

I sang it when I was scared that I wasn’t doing this motherhood thing right. Scared that I would somehow hurt you or damage you. Scared that you would be taken away. Scared that this happiness couldn’t possibly be real.

I sang it when I was the most in love I’ve ever been, staring at your sweet face day after day, night after night. I sang it while holding you on my breast, feeding you for hours, smelling your head and listening to you breathe.

I sang it when I needed the courage to face another day, to tell myself that we would both be ok. I sang it when I didn’t know how to put into words how much I loved you.

To this day, I can’t sing it or even hear it without crying. Without thinking of you.

Hallelujah.

I remember the day I found out we were having you. We’d been trying for what felt like an eternity, though in the grand scheme of things it was nothing: six months. It felt especially long and agonizing, I think, because we lost our first baby while I was pregnant - just before you. We wanted you so badly, or we wanted him so badly, or we wanted to stop the pain so badly and just fast forward to joy.

Life doesn’t work that way. Healing takes time. Heartache lingers until you’re finally ready to let it go, and then it stays a while longer.

After several months of feeling sorry for myself, I was doing my best to live again. To be ok without him, without you, with just me. With your dad. We went out all the time and we stayed in together and we cooked and laughed and travelled and spent time with our friends and we worked hard and bought flowers and new sheets and we talked and cried and started over every day. I started running again, started really smiling again. That’s when you decided to show up.

I didn’t allow myself to really believe it when I saw the plus sign that morning, on January 28 - the day before your dad’s birthday. I started shaking so I sat down on the bathroom floor and let my head fall back against the wall and clenched the stick in my hand and squeezed it so hard my fingers went numb. I took a cab to the doctor’s office without an appointment and made them see me and test me and tell me that it was true, that you were real. They did and you were and I cried all day at work.

I waited until the next morning to tell your dad. I wanted to hold the news in my own heart for just a minute, to feel you glowing inside of me, just the two of us. On the morning of your dad’s birthday, I gave him a silly gift, wrapped half-heartedly in a brown paper bag with some tissue paper stuffed on top for good measure. It was a bright red “onesie” set of pyjamas. The kind you only wear at Christmas in front of your family, much to everyone’s delight and disgust. I bought a matching set in newborn size, and slid it under his adult-sized one in the bag. He picked it up and he looked at me and I had tears in my eyes and I started laughing and he knew right away.

The first time I felt you kick, we were on a beach in Sicily. I was 4.5 months pregnant and we figured it was our last chance to travel just the two of us for a while. I wasn’t sure what it was at first. It felt like a weird little flutter; quick, easy to miss. But a few seconds later you pounded on the roof of your little home so hard that we could both see and feel it, and we screamed and died laughing and spent way too much time touching my belly and waiting for it to happen again. Your dad proudly declared that you obviously loved the beach. It felt like our first clue about who you would be.

Labour started out peacefully and excitedly, around 11:30 pm on October 6, 2016. It quickly escalated into terror and panic and intense suffering. I can’t imagine ever doing it again. I still cry when I think about it, and I feel afraid. Afraid of feeling that kind of pain ever again, afraid of dying, afraid in my own body.

You came out at 11:37 am on October 7 with the help of some big scissors and without the help of any drugs. When you finally came rushing out, I have never felt more powerful, more aware, more alive. The joy I felt when they first placed you on my chest and the air was filled with your voice, crying out for me, is indescribable.

A full year later, I haven’t recovered. I can still feel it all. My body is forever marked and broken. I am changed, physically, for worse. In every other way, I am changed for the better.

I’d love to tell you what happens next, but it’s all a blur after that. It feels like I was carrying you home from the hospital in my arms just yesterday. I want to remember every month, every milestone, every minute, but I can’t. All I can tell you is how I felt during the past year, and how I feel right now.

I feel exhausted. Like I’ll never actually sleep again and like I’m constantly on the verge of either death or a nervous breakdown. I’m so tired that I can barely think most days, let alone string two sentences together on a piece of paper. I’m so tired that sometimes I forget what I’m saying as soon as I open my mouth. I forget my keys everywhere and I forget why I went to the store and I usually forget what day it is.

There are moments where I feel like the most vulnerable person in the world. I feel like someone is going to burst in through my front door and tell me I’m doing it all wrong and take you away and everyone will know that I’m a terrible mother.

I feel guilty for not spending enough quality time with you. And for yelling at you sometimes and for not breastfeeding you long enough and for letting you fall off the change table that one time and for being on my phone so often and for everything, really.

I feel sad that I’ve lost so many parts of myself. Sad that I don’t write anymore, that I can’t run anymore. Sad that you’re growing so quickly and I’m not paying close enough attention or cherishing every moment. Sad that you don’t cuddle me like you used to, that you’re not my tiny baby anymore. Sad that you don’t need me like you used to.

I also feel proud as hell. Proud that I made you with my body and pushed you out like a warrior and lived to tell the tale. Proud that I can do everything I used to do faster and better and more efficiently, even with a baby on my hip. Proud of my strong mom arms. Proud that I know what your different cries mean and that I know what to do to comfort you and that I how to make you smile and laugh. Proud that I breastfed you for almost 10 months. Proud that I support you financially and am going back to work to keep doing that. Proud that you’ll have a strong feminist role model to look up to your entire life. Proud of the amazing person I can already see you becoming, proud of all you’ve learned this year, proud that we both made it this far.

After surviving this first year of motherhood, I feel stronger than ever. I feel like there’s nothing I can’t do or face or overcome. I really believe that I can do anything I set my mind to, because I can finally see that I’m a hero and a boss. I’m not afraid of much anymore. I’m pretty sure I could kick anyone’s ass.

Above all else, I feel so, so happy. You make me so, so happy. The way you look at me. The way you suck your thumb and curl into me when you’re upset. The way you peak around a corner and giggle when you catch my eye. The way you make an exaggerated O-face every time something surprises or scares you. The way you laugh when I tickle you or make a silly face or pretend to get hurt. The way you look genuinely concerned when you think I might actually be hurt. The way you say my name. The way you clap and crawl and shuffle and try to climb the stairs. The way you smell and the sound of your baby voice. Everything about you.

I took a break in the middle of writing this to mother again. To take you for a walk, feed you dinner, watch your dad give you a bath, watch you drink your bottle, and finally, to put you to bed. Your dad was going to be the one to put you to bed tonight, and usually you’re more than happy to let him, but tonight you cried out for me.

You reached out and called my name and I dropped what I was doing and I came to you. We sat in the rocking chair. The last couple of months, you haven’t wanted to be held or rocked, which breaks my heart. I long for the days when you fell asleep on me.

Tonight, however, something was different. I sat down with you in the rocking chair and instead of pushing me away, or arching your back, you nestled in. I took a chance and cradled you like a real baby, like a tiny newborn. You don’t normally like being held that way anymore, but you were silent and unmoving. I could feel your weight in my arms. It was very dark, but I could sense you looking up at me.

I started to sing the only song that seems to really calm you. The only song that has ever put you to sleep.

Well I heard there was a secret chord

That David played and it pleased the Lord

But you don’t really care for music, do you?

Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, and the major lift

The baffled king composing “Hallelujah”

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I started to cry as quietly as I could.

You could tell that I was crying, the way you always can. Whenever it happens, you stay perfectly calm. You know exactly how to soothe me. You wait until I’m done before you start softly cooing or singing, to remind me to keep singing. Sometimes you touch my face or my hair, like you did tonight. You pulled a few loose strands between your tiny fingers and you held on gently, letting me know that you’re listening, that you understand, that you’re here.

I held you close and whispered that I love you over and over. I kissed your head and your nose and your eyes and your lips. Your little hands, your baby feet. I kissed your neck and your ears and I kept singing while I rocked you and I said happy birthday, my love.

I finished the song and I put you in your crib. You sucked your thumb while I rubbed your back for a few minutes. I stood in the dark listening to the sound of both of our hearts beating.

I hope that I did an OK job this first year, Fox. I hope that when you look at me and hear my voice and feel my arms around you, you feel the same love for me as I feel for you. I hope that you can sense that I am your protector, that I would do anything for you, that I will always be here for you. I hope that you can see in my eyes that I am so proud of you and that I will never stop loving you.

Hallelujah.

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supervictoriagarcialove-blog · 6 years

Text

12/17/17

3:09 PM

I’ve been trying to avoid Jose since yesterday. I told him last night that I was still super upset. We slept in separate beds.

This morning I wake up around 11, and I know that I absolutely do not want to go to church. I don’t want to go EVER, but especially today. I go to walk out the door to go do the shopping that we were supposed to do yesterday together. He doesn’t ask me where I’m going, doesn’t ask me how I am, doesn’t ask me anything that matters. He asks me “Vas al iglesia?” (are you going to church today?) Motherfucker NO I’M NOT. That’s the LAST fucking thing I want to do. All day err day ESPECIALLY TODAY. How the fuck you gon ask me that? I swear to fucking god that’s all he cares about. And he does this every. single. time. He did it last week when we were arguing about god knows what. Asked me that Sunday if I was going to church. Really? You think I want to go to church when I’m feeling this way about you?

Now. I haven’t been to church in about a month in a half. If it’s not because we’ve been fighting, it’s because I didn’t feel well (lie) or something else. So he’s probably getting upset that I haven’t gone in a long time. But idgaf, don’t fucking ask me if I’m going to church after you fucking humiliate me in public the day before. Fuck off.

In the beginning of our relationship, I was honest with Jose and told him that I didn’t believe in god. It wasn’t a deal breaker for him, but he was shocked. I don’t think he had ever met anyone in his life that didn’t believe in god. He didn’t really go to church himself but maybe a couple times a year, but he had a very strong faith. After we had been dating about a year, his younger sister died at the age of 26 of some kind of bone disease. It shook him to his core, and that’s when he started going to church. I think he was desperate to make himself believe his sister didn’t just go into the ground and nothing else. So he grasped onto his religion that he already had, but didn’t practice. I went to church with him, because I wanted to make him happy, but I did not want to. I ended up lying to him after several months, and told him that I had started to believe.

We started going to church once or twice a month on Sundays. Then it became every Sunday. Then it became some Tuesdays and some Thursdays. Then it became additional events or gatherings that they had on Friday or Saturday. Then he stops listening to secular music. At this point, I’m about to lose my mind. I can’t handle it anymore. I stop going on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and this upsets him. I go so far as to change my schedule at work to work in the late afternoon, so I have the excuse that I CAN’T go, and he can’t blame me. For awhile, I was going every Sunday. But for the past 4 months, it’s been sporadic, and the past month and a half, I haven’t gone at all. Sometimes he doesn’t go, but sometimes he goes without me. I think deep down, he doesn’t like to go either. I think he would rather stay home and relax, watch soccer on TV, or do anything else. But something inside of him makes him go, to make sense of the death of his sister.

So this church is interesting. It’s a Spanish speaking Pentecostal church. They don’t handle snakes or anything, but they speak in tongues and (the women) writhe around when they are filled with the spirit. I’ve never seen the men “writhe”, and I’m not sure why. The people are very nice to me. It’s mostly people from Honduras, Puerto Rico, Cuba, and Dominican Republic.

The sermons begin with a male member of the church speaking up front for about 15 minutes, while pacing back and forth. It’s not a story or a sermon, it’s usually just “Hallelujah” or “Praise God” or worship like that. They will get emotional and start shouting.

That follows with about 3-4 members of the church going up front to sing songs. There is a 4 piece band to accompany them. A keyboardist, bassist, rhythm guitar, and drums. Most of the time they are slow worship songs, sometimes they are fast inspirational songs. When they sing the fast songs, someone will play a “guira” (I had to look this up). It’s like a cylindrical cheese grater, and you swipe a metal brush up and down on it to the beat of the music. Apparently it’s a Dominican instrument, but I’ve heard it in cumbia and bachata music. It’s actually cool as hell. They usually do about 4 songs, but the songs are about 10 minutes long apiece, singing the chorus over and over and over and over.

After the music comes the sermon from the pastor. It takes about an hour or so.

After this, people from the church will go up front to where the pastor is, sing songs and pray. This is typically when people start going crazy and shaking (well, the women). Sometimes they will go so crazy they will collapse on the floor, and another woman from the church will cover her with a sheet. This is about 20-30 minutes long.

After this, they collect the tithe, and the pastor or someone else will make announcements (birthdays, marriages, births, future events, etc). This can take another 5-15 minutes.

So the whole thing can last anywhere from 2 and a half to 3 and a half hours (there were a couple times it was 4 hours!), usually 2 hours and 45 minutes.

There is this one woman, I believe she might be Dominican, she’s probably about 50 years old. She has this amazing sheaf of thick, black, healthy shoulder length hair. It bounces around when she dances or is playing the guira. No gray. I’m super jealous.

This other Dominican guy, he’s young, like late 20′s I believe. Attractive guy. His wife is afro latina and beautiful. He has talked about his past, how he was into drugs, gangs, and was in prison for some time. But he has completely turned his life around.

The pastor is nice...but strange. He’s from Honduras, and so is his wife. His wife speaks perfect English, but he struggles with it. He’s a small man, about 5′6, slender build, bald, with a gray mustache. He’s 62, and his wife is 49 (I was nosy and looked them up in the county clerk of courts). When the church is singing, he will be up front sometimes. Part of the time, he’s got his eyes closed, singing and worshiping along with everyone else. The rest of the time, he’s scanning the people in the church. Observing. Almost like he’s checking to make sure everyone is doing that they are supposed to be doing. I could be wrong, maybe he’s just observing people in a totally innocent way, but his eyes seem piercing and accusing. He is super aware of everything going on in that church. I am completely uncomfortable with this.

He has brought up his past a couple of times in his sermons. He talks about how he used to live in Miami, and he was addicted to drugs, and had sex with prostitutes. I really think it’s amazing how people can do a complete 360 from drugs and prostitutes to Christian pastor.

No one else in the church is notable or unique. Even though they are all nice to me, they all annoy me because they are gullible and blind, and waste their lives worshiping a fictional book and man, and deprive themselves of harmless things like music and recreational alcohol and drug use. Sometimes I will look at someone in the church (usually a younger member, 30 and under), and wonder if they really truly have 100% faith. There has got to be 1 or more people in that church that aren’t really into it, but go because they are forced or coerced by family. I always try to figure out who it is, but I can’t. Or maybe I’m wrong, Maybe every single person that church is 100% faithful and devoted. But it would be super interesting to find out who is not, and talk to them. I wonder if anyone else has figured out that I’m not 100% into it. Surely they have. I feel like I’m so obvious.

Sometimes I get emotional during the music, because I’ll be thinking about something sad. Like when Jose’s sister died, and how destroyed he was. Or I’ll be thinking about the people like the pastor and the Dominican guy, how unhappy they were with their lives before, and how much they must have struggled with depression before they found god. Or I’ll be thinking about how I know this whole religion thing is inevitably going to destroy my marriage with my husband, because I can’t handle it (or his attitude). That stuff makes me cry. And I’m sure everyone thinks I am crying because I am filled with the spirit. Sorry, but no. I wish I was.

When everyone is singing or praising, I close my eyes and mouth the words to songs. But it’s not Christian songs. It’s either No Doubt or Salt N Pepa. I don’t know why I always gravitate towards these 2 groups, because I have such an extensive library of songs in my memory going back to childhood. I think it’s amusing that while everyone else is praising Jesus, I am singing about twelve inches to a yard have you soundin like a retard.

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tune-collective · 7 years

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Brendon Urie's Stylist on the Panic! at the Disco Singer's Colorful Tailormade Style

For Panic! at the Disco frontman Brendon Urie, the embrace of “emo” spans at least a decade. But thanks to stylist Anthony Franco, the band is changing its tune, donning a new, colorfully clad style.

The self-taught designer and stylist first cut his teeth in the ’80s and ’90s dressing Janet Jackson, Boyz II Men and Lauryn Hill and outfitting MC Hammer for his “2 Legit 2 Quit” video. “When you come from making clothes for stars, you can’t give it up, which is why I like working with Panic!,” Franco says in the interview.

After being introduced to the Las Vegas-bred group through their Nothing Rhymes With Circus tour director — who Franco worked with while styling Fall Out Boy — it was a match made in sartorial heaven. “I just threw a whole bunch of stuff in my bag from working on films like Waterworld and X-Men, made a bunch of sh–, met the boys, and they were like, ‘We love you,’” he recalls. “They were babies, 17 to 20 years old, and I was already in my 30s, but from that point on, I became really close with them and have literally done every single thing with the band and Brendon since.”

How would you describe Brendon’s style?

The thing I love about the band is they’re from Vegas, so they kinda had a Rat Pack vibe with emo elements to them. With all groups, it’s the singer who usually has their individual style, and Brendon will wear anything I ask him to. He trusts me, and that’s a big thing; when an artist does not allow their stylist or creative team to help them create an image, a lot of times it looks like it’s forced. Personally, I can’t think of anyone out there with his sense of style. He loves his shiny fabrics, has stage presence, and to me, he’s always been a one-man show. He does take over, and the fans love it, and it’s great.

He seems to be a big fan of colorful and patterned tuxedo jackets, along with high-collar shirts. Is that your influence?

Yeah, the high-collar thing came about when we were doing the “Hallelujah” video, where it’s a play on clergymen in a confessional. Instead of doing the band in collars — which is a direct reference to priesthood — we implemented that element into the shirts by raising the collar up. I love how Karl Lagerfeld dresses with his collars, so that’s what we go for. It gives an emperor’s look as opposed to looking like a preacher.

Brendon @brendonurie @panicatthedisco ready to give you an amazing performance tonite on @fallontonight – #brendonurie #panicatthedisco #tonight

A post shared by Anthony Franco (@afrancodesigner) on Jan 19, 2017 at 5:01pm PST

What about the colorful and patterned tuxedo jackets?

This started around the ‘05 Vaudeville eyeliner emo look, but I began noticing that the clothing started to elevate itself with shine and color. I wasn’t so nervous about it since I knew Brendon could pull it off, but it was also something that nobody at the time was doing, and it sort of came across as really Liberace. To avoid looking like a Vegas lounge singer, his fit had to be perfectly tailored and custom-made. I didn’t want to just throw him in clothing that we had to alter but didn’t work for him. As his stylist, I want to make sure that every time he’s out there performing or on the red carpet, he looks different, but it’s still his style.

Is there a pattern or color Brendon wouldn’t wear?

I don’t know if I would ever put him in plaid. I like textures, and leopard works perfectly for him. I think there is not a color now that we haven’t used. That’s why when we did the Grammy red carpet, we went for a clean slate with the white tux with silver thread in it and a fattened collared shirt (exclusive sketch below). Kind of like [Grammy-nominated best rock album] Death of a Bachelor, where a bride wears white. We flew in the shiny fabric from London, and I made the full look (tux, pant and shirt) within a week, because I have his pattern down perfectly. That’s fast for us, but with him, I don’t like to do things with too much of a lead time because we’re so creative we might change our minds. His fans love him, and it’s nice when they get in really close and can spot a new detail within that look.

What influences Brendon’s style the most: comfortability or design interest?

Since he’s an active performer, his pants have a little stretch in them, and his shoes have to be super comfortable. But up top, he will wear anything. I also have to be aware of sweating because he’s performing, so I will never use wool. He’ll start the show looking head-to-toe perfect and will start stripping stuff off, and before you know it, he ends up shirtless. [Laughs] For him, I think it’s really about a full look at the beginning, and then he’ll sort of taper down to get himself into it. For the red carpet, he wants to look perfect from head-to-toe.

When it comes to fashion, what excites Brendon?

He’s interesting because we know it’s the element of dress-up, and he knows that people love him for his music and his clothing. He gets inspired by fashion and is not an off-the-rack kind of guy. Brendon will never follow a designer just because everyone else is following a trend. It’s dress-up, but it’s not a costume nor gimmicky.

Brendon @brendonurie looks so good at the 59th Annual Grammy Awards – he’s wearing a custom Diamond White Tuxedo–We’ve done almost every color in the rainbow — This shining beauty is definitely one of my favorites. #brendonurie #panicatthedisco #grammys

A post shared by Anthony Franco (@afrancodesigner) on Feb 13, 2017 at 10:31am PST

How do you keep it from looking gimmicky?

The good thing is, with well-made clothing; it never looks cheap. And we put a lot into making sure the fit of the fabric and details are expensive, a.k.a. well-thought-out and -executed.

When he’s not performing, what does Brendon gravitate towards?

He’s all casual. Jeans, T-shirt, a hoodie and Adidas sneakers. He is straight-up comfort.

Even at nighttime?

Oh yeah, he would never dress up to go to dinners and stuff like that. That persona of him is strictly onstage.

Brendon @brendonurie giving you one hell of a performance yesterday @iheartradio – wearing one of my favorite jackets in Army Green Lacquer ☠️ #brendonurie #iheartradio #performance

A post shared by Anthony Franco (@afrancodesigner) on Sep 25, 2016 at 10:50am PDT

What is your most memorable styling moment with Brendon?

His light-blue jacket with leopard T-shirt from his last tour. A couple, who met at a Panic! concert and eventually got married, sent a photo of their baby dressed up for Halloween in a leopard shirt and blue onesie jacket over it. It was so damn cute, and when fans start re-creating his looks, it’s flattering for us. The most incredible moment was when Brendon met President Obama after performing at the Kennedy Center Honors in a gorgeous bronze tuxedo, which we custom designed. It photographed beautifully, and I felt so proud to see my work on him while meeting the president.

One of my favorite fashion moments – Brendon @brendonurie & Sarah @sarahurie at the Kennedy Center Honors 2013, both look so stunning wearing my designs. #love #friends

A post shared by Anthony Franco (@afrancodesigner) on Nov 11, 2016 at 2:35pm PST

Source: Billboard

http://tunecollective.com/2017/02/25/brendon-uries-stylist-on-the-panic-at-the-disco-singers-colorful-tailormade-style/

#brendon #colorful #Disco #Exclusive #panic #singers #Style #stylist #tailormade #uries

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