#virginia city waltz

[dweemeister]

The Strawberry Blonde (1941)

During the height of the Old Hollywood Studio System – when studios themselves contracted directors, actors, writers, and other craftspersons – Warner Bros. found its niche as the “dark” studio. Warners might not have invented the gangster picture, but they codified its archetypes and tropes, becoming synonymous with the subgenre. In the early 1940s, director Raoul Walsh (a film noir pioneer; 1940’s They Drive by Night and 1941’s High Sierra) was nearing the peak of his career and actor James Cagney (1938’s Angels with Dirty Faces, 1949’s White Heat) was perhaps Warners’ most bankable star. Walsh was known for his proto-noir works and crime dramas; Cagney arguably the era’s definitive gangster actor. By 1941, both needed something different to work with.

Adapted by brothers Julius J. and Philip G. Epstein from James Hagan’s pastoral stage play One Sunday Afternoon, The Strawberry Blonde was exactly what both men sought. The Strawberry Blonde – often billed as a romantic comedy because it is a much lighter adaptation than 1933’s One Sunday Afternoon (starring Gary Cooper and Fay Wray) – is a celebration of simple, unadorned love. Though not a gag-a-minute comedy, Walsh’s uncharacteristic film shines through the performances from Cagney and especially Olivia de Havilland (three years removed from The Adventures of Robin Hood and two from Gone with the Wind). It is a joyous and nostalgic production; perhaps it should be no wonder it was a career favorite film for Walsh and a highlight for Cagney.

The Strawberry Blonde occupies two time periods. The film is set in New York City sometime in the late nineteen aughts or early 1910s, but primarily told through flashback during the late 1890s. In the flashback, Biff Grimes (James Cagney) aspires to become a dentist and yearns for a strawberry blonde socialite named Virginia Brush (Rita Hayworth; whose singing voice is, in a fleeting scene, not dubbed for the only time in her career). Along with his buddy and soon-to-be business partner, Hugo Barnstead (Jack Carson), they go on a messy double date with Virginia and her friend, the nurse and suffragist-leaning Amy Lind (Olivia de Havilland). Upon first impressions, Biff considers Amy to be the less attractive, amusing, and sociable girl. When fate – or, more precisely, Hugo’s duplicity – intervenes, Biff and Amy find love together and marry. While Biff begins studying for a dentistry diploma by mail correspondence, the two navigate financial and personal travails. Despite the marriage, Biff harbors a stewing resentment towards Hugo and a lingering covetousness towards Virginia apparent in the film’s bookends.

Among the bit players are Alan Hale as Biff’s father; George Tobias as Biff’s and Amy’s Greek immigrant friend, Nicholas Pappalas; Una O’Connor as Mrs. Mulcahey; and George Reeves (a future television Superman) as a belligerent, loudmouth, mustachioed college man who – due to his sweater – I choose to believe is from Yale. The four actors listed here, all Warner Bros. contractees at the time, each have their memorable moments.

The Strawberry Blonde serves as a memorialization to the time of Walsh and Cagney’s upbringing, similar to Vincente Minnelli’s Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) and, if one wants to draw a modern throughline, the Duffer Brothers’ Stranger Things. In many ways, the film also feels like a musical. There are numerous diegetic performances of songs – whether by our central cast or a band – popular during the turn of the century. “The Band Played On” (from which the film derives its title; “Casey would waltz with a strawberry blonde / and the band played on”), “Bill Bailey”, “The Fountain in the Park”, “Meet Me in St. Louis”, “Wait ‘Till the Sun Shines, Nellie”, and much more fill the soundtrack. Composer Heinz Roemheld’s (1942’s Yankee Doodle Dandy, 1947’s The Lady from Shanghai) work adapts many of these songs into a boisterous, energetic score. Roemheld knows when to dial his orchestra back during the film’s most intimate scenes, but this wall-to-wall score evokes the period. Ostensibly, according to the screenplay, it was a time of romantic walks and live music performances in almost all social settings. In a sense, these decisions make The Strawberry Blonde into a sort of half-musical.

With his most recent movie being the film noir High Sierra (1941) with Ida Lupino and Humphrey Bogart, the transition from a largely outdoors-set crime drama to interior-heavy romantic comedy nevertheless suited Walsh. Walsh receives immeasurable help from one of the best cinematographers ever in James Wong Howe (1941’s Abe Lincoln in Illinois, 1963’s Hud). Howe’s signature high-contrast, low key lighting – generally associated with film noir – is not present much in The Strawberry Blonde. But what Walsh and Howe accomplish is making a bygone decade contemporary again. Outside the film’s romantic scenes including Cagney and de Havilland or Cagney and Hayworth, the film’s frames overflow with activity. With masterful use of blocking and mise en scène in these moments, Walsh and Howe’s frames are always dynamic, moving – but not swooping – alongside masses of extras and supporting characters rather than staying put, as if taking still photography. A static camera during Biff’s dates out on town would immediately render The Strawberry Blonde as a dusty artifact, a creaky throwback. Stationary cinematography has its uses when there are plenty of actors on-screen, but such a decision would make this remake too much like its 1930s original. Instead, in conjunction with Orry-Kelly’s (1951’s An American in Paris, 1959’s Some Like It Hot) outstanding costume design, the past leaps out of the history books and memories to be present again.

The notable instances in which Walsh and Howe keep their camera as rigid as possible are when Biff finds himself at the park bench where he and Amy first met. The set for the park also happens to be art director Robert M. Haas’ (1941’s The Maltese Falcon, 1949’s The Inspector General) plainest craftsmanship in the entire film. These scenes are the most obviously soundstage-bound moments – the too-perfect grass, the flatness, and lack of discernible lighting – despite the extras strolling in the deep background. The Strawberry Blonde’s park scenes mark the beginning and the renewal of Biff and Amy’s relationship, rendering them arguably the romantic highlights of the film. The contrast from these scenes to places such as the beer garden, the Central Park Zoo, or the Statue of Liberty make them the least “present” of the film. Some viewers less experienced in Old Hollywood (or those who, wrongfully, dismiss the style altogether) might complain about the obvious artifice in those park bench scenes with Biff and Amy, but my goodness does the aesthetic contrast make one take notice. Not only that, but the Epstein brothers’ dialogue for Cagney and de Havilland here is gently funny, and filled with warmth.

James Cagney, with his vaudeville background, was known for his physically exaggerated performances that nevertheless maintained a raw emotional core. That works to his benefit throughout The Strawberry Blonde, in which the character of Biff often sounds calm and measured, but his words bely fearfulness and bitterness. Despite the tough-guy gangster persona he often played in Warners’ gangster pictures, there are shades of Cagney’s later performance as George M. Cohan in Yankee Doodle Dandy here. Look at the grace in his dancing at the beer garden, a seemingly spontaneous cartwheel upon learning wonderful news, and how he putters about restlessly when conversing with Amy for the first time while expecting Virginia to show up. But also notice his weariness during the film’s bookends, how he accepts – but does not despair about – his station in life.

Olivia de Havilland is Cagney’s equal in this film, and a great foil to Rita Hayworth (whose character of Virginia is depicted as more conventionally attractive, but possesses a casual cruelty and vanity that gradually reveals itself). A middle-class nurse is an unusual role for an actress known at the time for mostly playing rich women and/or Errol Flynn’s love interest in swashbucklers or Westerns. As Amy, de Havilland curiously receives two “introductory” scenes in the film – both radically different from the other in storytelling function, reflecting the rarity of a second first impression and Biff’s tendency to see only surface details. Seemingly reserved but playful when she wishes to be, de Havilland’s Amy is an absolute delight of a character from the moment she appears. One crucial moment late in the film – in which Biff is dancing around an implied truth so that he can soften the blow for Amy – is heartbreaking acting from both. De Havilland’s movement and her glance outside the window in that scene epitomizes the agony in that moment. Knowing both actors’ resumes, I initially came into The Strawberry Blonde thinking that, on paper, Cagney and de Havilland would be a romantic mismatch. What a happy surprise it is to be completely wrong.

Unlike contemporary films that might take a nostalgic trip to a decade like the 1970s, ‘80s, or ‘90s, The Strawberry Blonde feels, at times, truly transporting. The incredible attention to visual details and especially the diegetic music (too often those newer nostalgia-driven movies resort to pin drops of non-diegetic music) help immensely. Though the film suggests an immigrant experience that would have been appropriate for turn-of-the-century New York, The Strawberry Blonde declines to say more about it – most likely a result of the original source material (“pickaninny”, a derogatory term that refers to black or dark-skinned children, is casually used in a song’s lyric).

At the center of this rich period detail lies an honest love between two people flowing through life’s currents. Sometimes their love is troubled with melodramatics, but they find ways to comfort and help the other with humor and goodness. Sure, it can be sentimental stuff. But it endures an upsettingly difficult test. The Strawberry Blonde has no designs to being other than a sincere love story and a fond lookback of another time. As such, it triumphs – with just one more chorus of “The Band Played On”, if you please.

My rating: 7.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL). Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The Strawberry Blonde #Raoul Walsh #James Cagney #Olivia de Havilland #Rita Hayworth #Jack Carson #George Tobias #Una O'Connor #George Reeves #Lucile Fairbanks #Julius J. Epstein #Philip G. Epstein #James Wong Howe #Heinz Roemheld #Hal B. Wallis #Orry Kelly #WB100 #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

[il-nero-virtuoso]

Virginia City Waltz 

Squeek Steele, Pianist

“Draw Poker” By Artist Andy Thomas

#virginia city waltz #western folk songs #old west music #the american west #saloon piano #the old west #audio #audio post #il nero virtuoso

[tcm]

Overlooked Bernard Herrmann Scores By Jessica Pickens

His name is synonymous with staccato violin notes that remind audiences of knife stabbing and have made many reluctant to take a shower. Composer Bernard Herrmann is the master behind iconic scores for films like THE DEVIL AND DANIEL WEBSTER (’41) and PSYCHO (’60). The Academy Award-winning composer scored the two films that are often argued to be the best of all-time: CITIZEN KANE (’41) and VERTIGO (’58). His work continues to be reused in pop culture, from his whistling TWISTED NERVE (’68) theme used in Quentin Tarantino’s KILL BILL: VOLUME 1 (2003) to Lady Gaga using part of VERTIGO’s prelude in her “Born This Way” music video.

Known best for his collaborations with directors Alfred Hitchcock and Orson Welles, other works of Herrmann’s often go overlooked. Below are a few of his scores that are less often discussed.

JANE EYRE (’43)

In this adaptation of Charlotte Brontë’s novel, Jane Eyre (Joan Fontaine), who is hired by the wealthy Edward Rochester (Orson Welles), works as the governess for Rochester’s daughter which leads to her discovering secrets in the house. “On a project like ‘Jane Eyre,’ I didn’t need to see the film beforehand. One just remembers the book,” Herrmann said in a 1975 interview, discussing this film’s score.

JANE EYRE was Herrmann’s first project with 20th Century-Fox, which started a 19-year partnership with the studio and a long friendship with composer and Fox music director Alfred Newman. Fox studio head Darryl F. Zanuck initially sought composer Igor Stravinsky to score the film, but negotiations fell through. Producer David O. Selznick and Welles were the driving force behind hiring Herrmann for the project, according to Herrmann’s biographer Steven Smith.

Herrmann’s score has a dark, gothic feel that matches the theme of the novel. New York Herald Tribune composer critic Paul Bowles described the score as “gothic extravagance and poetic morbidities. It contains some of the most carefully wrought effects to be found in recent film scores,” Bowles wrote. According to Smith, Herrmann called it his first “screen opera.” The score foreshadowed work on another Brontë project — his “Wuthering Heights” opera that didn’t see a full theatrical performance until 2011.

ON DANGEROUS GROUND (‘51)

Directed by Nicholas Ray, an adaptation of Gerald Butler’s book Mad with Much Heart. The film follows a rough city police officer, Jim Wilson (Robert Ryan). After Jim is too violent with a suspect, he is sent to a rural area as punishment. His job is to help with a manhunt for the murderer of a child. A blind woman, Mary Malden (Ida Lupino) is the sister of the murderer, and she tries to convince Jim to protect her brother.

ON DANGEROUS GROUND is one of Herrmann’s few film noir scores. Film noir expert and host of TCM’s Noir Alley Eddie Muller said, "Herrmann's score is one of the most distinctive crime scores of the era." In a June 2019 introduction of the film, Muller noted “Herrmann’s score is unlike any other music written for film noir. A dramatic clash of brass, strings and percussion that goes a long way to unify the film’s unusual — almost schizophrenia — structure.”

Herrmann admired Ray’s storytelling and engineered a creative score that illustrated good and evil. For Lupino’s character, Herrmann used the viola soloist Virginia Majewski, who Herrmann advocated to have on-screen credit. Herrmann also had the rare freedom to compose, orchestra and conduct the entire score. The most notable cue is “The Death Hunt,” that has a driving, frantic tempo and can be compared to his later NORTH BY NORTHWEST (’59) score. Muller noted that to make sure “The Death Hunt” cue was effective, Herrmann fought to have the sound mix corrected during the scene so that the barking dogs wouldn’t drown out his score.

THE SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO (1952)

Based on an Ernest Hemingway short story, Gregory Peck plays Harry, a novelist who uses his earnings to travel. While on safari in Africa, Harry suffers an injury that results in a deadly infection. As he lies dying, he thinks back on his life and past romances, and his safari companion Helen, played by Susan Hayward, nurses Harry through his illness.

While some of Herrmann’s most famous scores drive thrillers and adventures, scores like THE SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO show he can create beautiful, gentle and charming tunes. His cues are dreamy and wistful, matching the mental state of the ill Harry, whose mind travels to the past while on his death bed. Herrmann’s cue entitled, “The Memory Waltz,” is particularly dreamy. Herrmann said he tried to create music of “a highly nostalgic nature” as a man dies and deals with his “emotional past.”

On the film’s release, New York Times film critic Bosley Crowther praised Herrmann’s score. “For it is Mr. Herrmann’s music, singing sadly and hauntingly, that helps one sense the pathos of dead romances and a wasted career. A saxophone and a piano in a Paris studio, an accordion on an old Left Bank bar and an arrogant guitarist in a Spanish café—these are also actors in the film. Perhaps they come closer to stating what Hemingway had to say.”

MARNIE (1964)

Marnie (Tippi Hedren) is a thief who suffers from psychological trauma of her past, which comes to a head after she marries a widower (Sean Connery) from a wealthy Philadelphia family who does not readily accept her. MARNIE was the end of an era. It marked the last of seven films that Herrmann collaborated on with director Alfred Hitchcock on, beginning with THE TROUBLE WITH HARRY (’55).

Much had changed for both Herrmann and Hitchcock by 1964, including how they were both viewed by Hollywood executives. Herrmann and Hitchcock were being pressured to be more “hip” for 1960s audiences. The studio even urged Hitchcock not to hire “old-fashioned” Herrmann. But if Hitchcock did hire Herrmann, they encouraged him to also have a title pop song, according to Smith. The film was a box-office failure — Hitchcock’s first failure in many years. Today, the film is now appreciated by audiences, but Herrmann’s score still is often overlooked when compared to other Hitchcock titles.

The main title of MARNIE features blaring horns, which sound haphazard against more melodic violins — illustrating the mix of trauma and beauty. A notable cue is “The Foxhunt,” which begins with a jaunty, almost cheerful, tune filled with horns and violins. But the cue turns more haphazard and frantic as it continues. While this was Herrmann’s last completed score for Hitchcock, Herrmann started work on TORN CURTAIN (’66) but was replaced due to artistic differences.

IT’S ALIVE (’74)

The Davies family (Sharon Farrell and John P. Ryan) are expecting their second child. But when their baby is born, he is a monster who kills anyone in his path. The 1970s marked a new era for Bernard Herrmann. He began working with younger filmmakers who appreciated his work of the past. These included Martin Scorsese and Brian De Palma. One of these collaborations spawned a friendship with director of IT’S ALIVE, Larry Cohen, who cited Herrmann as a major influence in his career up until his death in 2019.

Herrmann enjoyed the experience with his film because he enjoyed working with Cohen. To add to the eerie, creepy vibe of the film, Herrmann incorporated a Moog synthesizer into the score. He also uses a viola for a mournful note, according to Smith. Herrmann also had fun naming his cues, such as “The Milkman Goeth” when the baby kills the milkman.

Herrmann was set to work with Cohen again for the film GOD TOLD ME TO (’76), but Herrmann died in 1975 before he could begin.

#Bernard Herrmann #scores #music scores #compositions #theme songs #Vertigo #Marnie #Alfred Hitchcock #Larry Cohen #Orson Welles #Gregory Peck #Ida Lupino #TCM #Turner Classic Movies #Jessica Pickens

[katie-writes24]

Cursed Blessings - Chpt.2

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x reader

Warnings: Language, angst, suggestive material, misunderstandings and bad researched background of job titles.

Chpt. 1 ~ Chpt.3

Wow, I don't like how I wrote this part at all. But bare with me, I swear we’re getting somewhere...eventually. The plot line is there, it’s just...coming together slowly. I hope yall will continue to read this series, if you could call it that? So yeah, I apologize for the rusty chapter. Lemme know if you want to be tagged. Enjoy!

Three years later

Flying made him nervous. It was just a big box floating in the air, and it was unsettling to think there was nothing but clouds around him. 

The stewardess was shooting him concerning looks as Thomas kept ordering alcohol. He doesn’t blame her, but it wasn’t like he was going to become a loose drunk, especially not when he’s so anxious to get on the ground. 

New York was not his favorite place to be, especially not in the winter. Bustling traffic, tourists looking for a white Christmas, and Thomas was just trying to keep this branch under control. Washington said that they were still new, that the office needed someone who was ‘experienced.’ 

As if the years of keeping his office door shut, retorting quickly, and even making an employee cry was considered “experienced.”

Maybe he’s been a little more preoccupied with work than usual, but it’s been busy. There was a lot to do, always time to work. Call him a workaholic, but you could never call him lazy. Thomas was productive when it came to his job, never one to let anyone else step over how much dedication he put into his work. 

But this is where he’d stay for now at least. His temporary penthouse was near a bar and a coffee shop, which he figured he would be spending a lot of time at both. As soon as he landed, he got a cab and moved his stuff in. Two hours later after a visit to the store, he was on the couch in his pajamas, eating and watching terrible tv dramas. 

And that was pretty much the next two days. New York was just like any other city he’s visited, it was nothing special. He was perfectly fine with lounging around until he needed to go in for work. 

That was until he ran out of his basic necessities, and was forced to throw on pants to go outside. There wasn’t a supermarket far from his place, and given it was late on a Sunday night, it was pretty quiet. 

Thomas roamed the aisles slowly, and thought about how exhausting the next couple of months were going to be. He wasn’t one to volunteer to practically train an entire office floor, neither was he sure that he could do it patiently. Hence he had an enclosed office back in Virginia where he could keep to himself. If the workers back home could barely do their job, surely these people couldn’t either.

Lost in his thoughts, he turned the corner and almost knocked over a small child. His hand automatically reached out to stop her from falling. But she just looked up at him with wide eyes and smiled as if he didn’t almost run her over. Thomas was about to walk around, but she held her hand up, showing off a small rocket.

Thomas slowly took the toy from her, gesturing towards it and shrugging. “Very nice.”

She grinned at his approval, and Thomas didn’t even know if she could understand him. 

There was a loud shout behind him, and before he could turn around-

“Sorry, she just got out of my sight for a second.”

Well, Thomas could recognize that voice anywhere.

Y/N still looked the same, but her hair was a bit shorter now. Those sharp eyes always made him catch his breath. But how she looked at him now, Thomas didn’t know what to think.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

They just stared at each other for what felt like hours. He didn’t mind it, because he didn’t know what he was going to say if he pulled his eyes away. However, there was some babbling and then something hit his leg. Thomas completely forgot about the toddler at his feet.

“Sorry,” Y/N walked around him and picked her up. And he could see it now.

The matching eyes, except hers were much brighter. They have the same mole just below their jaw, and their noses have the same little curve. 

And how could he miss those curls?

His heart caught in his throat.

“She’s pretty fast...I can’t keep up with her sometimes,” Y/N sighs as she avoids his eyes.

“It’s fine…” Thomas can’t take his eyes off her.

“You’re staring?”

He blinked and looked between the two. Clearing his throat, he couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “You have a daughter.”

Perhaps he said it too excitedly, but Y/N looked almost sad. Like she didn’t have a gift, that they didn’t have a gift. Something Thomas only dreamed about when they were together.

“I do...” Y/N brushed her daughter’s hair back. It looked so domestic, so loving, Thomas almost reached out and did the same. 

“What...uh, what’s her nam-”

“Thomas, why are you in New York?” 

Right, Thomas wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be going to this branch, he wasn’t supposed to fly in on a Friday and he wasn’t supposed to be at the store right now. He shouldn’t be so giddy about this discovery.

“For work. I, uh, I have to visit a new branch in the city tomorrow.” 

She nodded slowly, almost as if she was trying to sense if he was telling the truth. 

“What about you? What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” 

That was understandable; it’s a big city, he knew that she had some friends from college living in the city. Thomas also knew why she would want to get out of Virginia, out of the town. 

“Cora.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Her name...it’s Cora,” Y/N didn’t look at him, instead looking at her daughter like she was the entire world. She now had her head tucked into Y/N’s neck and staring at him with tired eyes.

As Thomas repeated her name, the air seemed to thicken with tension. He had so many questions, he just wanted to know what Y/N was up to now, how this happened, when it happened? But he couldn’t ask in the middle of an aisle at the store. 

“Do you think we could sit down somewhere? Maybe grab a coffee or something?”

“I, uh...I don’t think that’s a good idea, Thomas.” Her grip tightened on her shopping basket as her eyes grew wide.

“Wait, Y/N, please-”

“I gotta go.” And just like that, Thomas lost her again. The only thing remaining was the toy rocket in his hand.

~~~

“You’re back! You won’t believe the shit I just heard.”

Y/N put Cora down and watched her waddle towards the kitchen. She had been crying the whole car ride home; after an entire car search, Y/N couldn’t find her toy and she wasn’t going to go back to the store to see if she left it.

Y/N couldn’t let herself do that.

“Yeah, well you won’t believe what just happened either.”

Closing the door, she followed her daughter inside and set the bags down. She walked in to see her sitting on the counter, a popsicle already in her hand.

“Dude, seriously?” Y/N put a hand to her hip. “I was just about to start dinner.”

“Relax, she’s fine.” A hand swept through her hair as Y/N tried to stop the sticky mess running down Cora’s arm. “As I was saying, do you believe some stuck up southerner is going to sit in as management tomorrow? You believe that? As if he can waltz right in and make some changes. Who does he think he is?”

“I think you’re being a bit dramatic,” The amount of stories that Y/N had heard the last months of idiotic lawyers and disobedient clients were a bit overreacted. 

“Believe me, I would never over exaggerate anything when it comes to my job.”

It made Y/N pause, for a second she even thought Cora could understand how ridiculous it sounded.

“Anyways, there is no way that I’m going to sit back and let him take over,” She was sure that her of course you won’t comment was ignored. “But I don’t know how it will affect my schedule.”

“Don’t stress, I’ll find someone to watch Cora when I’m out.” 

“You know I would but-”

“It’s fine, Alexander.”

The man straightened at her tone, but nodded nevertheless. He moved around the counter to the fridge. “So, what was it you were going to say?”

Right.

“You won’t believe who I just saw…”

Alexander turned, wide eyed and careful to note her far off look. It could have been a list of people; there had been lots of promising moments ever since Y/N came to New York, lots of friends made, lots of sites seen. However, there were also a lot of complications, lots of threatening emails sent, lots of pressure she was under. 

And as her whole mood seemed to stutter into a daze, Alexander could connect the dots easily. 

After all, it was the same look she had months into her pregnancy. Months after she left. Months after she stopped getting phone calls. Months after she stopped caring about him.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!!

Jefferson Taglist:  @notebookgirl30 @dontblinkumightmiss @checkurwindow @einfachniemand @astralaffairs @daveeddiggsit @ramp-it-up @ohsoverykeri-blog @i-know-i-can @tinywhim

#thomas jefferson x reader #thomas Jefferson x oc #thomas jefferson imagine #thomas jefferson #hamilton fic #hamilton imagine #hamilton fanfic #hamilton fanfiction #thomas jefferson fanfic #cursed blessings #my writings #was it meant to be a plottwist at the end? yes #did it happen? i doubt it

[jemej3m]

a really bad (good) blind date

OKAY - there will be other parts to this i promise

*

Andrew was exhausted.

There were many reasons for that fact: he was halfway through his final year of the police academy, his brother had been broken up with (again) and had moved back in to live with Andrew (again) and Nicky had set him up for an evening out with a man he didn’t know (again). 

It was the last time Andrew would put up with these sordid blind date fiascos. Nicky insisted that he didn’t want Andrew to be lonely around the holiday season, and that it’d be perfect timing to have a significant other on Valentine’s Day, and had been extremely resistant to Andrew’s refusals. 

This one would be the last. He’d get a good night’s rest over the winter break, ignore Nicky’s pestering and continue on with life as normal when the half-yearly examinations finally ended. 

He hadn’t even bothered changing out of the jeans and sweater he’d been ambling around the house in all morning, merely shaving and spritzing on cologne to give a false sense that he’d put effort in. 

He wish Nicky had let them meet up in a club. It was much easier to preface a one-night-stand with little talking, dancing and a glass of whisky. He usually wouldn’t even bother taking them home, seeing as he knew the staff access code to the lounge at Eden’s Twilight.

Instead, he shuffled in through the doors of a restaurant, where the lights were just low enough that hopefully this guy wouldn’t see the shadows under his eyes, the sallowness of his skin. Maybe Andrew should just be his usual, sullen self, end the date early and go home and sleep. 

The thought of dealing with Nicky’s blatant look of disappointment when he inevitably heard of Andrew’s less than amicable behaviour was worse than the idea of talking to a cute guy (Nicky’s taste wasn’t bad). A worser fate than death would be Betsy’s eventual involvement, if Nicky thought Andrew wasn’t being social enough. His first-therapist-adoptive-mother-saviour-figure had a monopoly on Andrew’s tolerance of others, whether he liked it or not.  

He took a table, not seeing anyone with the alleged red hair, blue eyes or leather satchel - Nicky said he never went anywhere without it. That had been odd enough to pique Andrew’s curiosity, but not really in a good way. 

He took his place at the table and busied himself with a menu, even though he’d already elected what he’d eat prior to arriving. The few moments to himself allowed him to centre himself, readying for whatever bullshit his cousin had signed him up for this time. 

He supposed that no amount of time would have allowed him to anticipate what he was dealt, as the man who he was to have dinner with collapsed into the chair opposite. His hair was wild, auburn curls and a freshly buzzed undercut matching expressive brows and awfully long lashes - of which framed the clearest blues Andrew had ever seen. His freckles were like constellations across his cheeks. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he managed, swinging the leather satchel across the back of the chair. His buttons were askew but he hadn’t seemed to notice. It allowed Andrew to see the flush that ran down his neck and the hint of a puckered scar on his collarbone. 

A gunshot wound. 

Interesting, he thought. 

“Should we order?” the man asked. 

“I’m Andrew,” he said, pointedly. 

“Oh, right,” he ducked his head with a grimace. “I’m - Neil.” 

Andrew shrugged. “You can have a few minutes, if you’d like.”

Neil didn’t need time. He must have come prepared, as Andrew had. He took note of a few things as they ordered - he was health-conscious, only having a salmon dish and salad - he didn’t drink, not even the lightest champagne the place had to offer - and that he had the most elegant fingers. For some strange reason, Andrew could envision him spinning Andrew’s knives deftly. 

“So,” Neil started, awkward. “What do normal people talk about on dates?”

Andrew arched an eyebrow. 

Neil cleared his throat. “That wasn’t a testament of you being - abnormal - I’ve just never done something like this before, a friend put me up to it - I mean, I’m sure you’re interesting -” 

“It’s alright,” Andrew cut in, because Neil was truly digging himself a sufficient grave. “You should tell me three things you’ve never told anyone.” 

Neil blinked. “Why?”

Andrew shrugged. “Why not? I’ll give you one: I’m afraid of heights.”

“Cockroaches,” Neil echoed, cocking his head to the side. “You’ve never told anyone you’re afraid of heights?”

“What use does that information have?”

“Why can I have it, then?”

Andrew wanted to hear more of this petulant, argumentative tone that Neil had gradually developed. “Must everything have a reason?”

“Of course not,” Neil tapped a lithe finger on the rim of his glass. “But most things - or people - do. That’s what they tell themselves, at least.”

“Profound,” Andrew acknowledged, tipping their glasses together. 

Neil wasn’t uninteresting. There was something underneath those ocean eyes.

Neil liked maths - he’d gone out of state to study for a few years, in Virginia - and cats and took the strawberry from Andrew’s dessert because he hated sweets but would eat fruit any day. He’d also clipped the lip of a waiter who’d expressed irritation that they asked for a split bill, finding the other waiter who’d served them to give the nicer girl a fiver tip. 

It was an odd balance, Andrew observed, between real facets of ‘Neil’ escaping and a formulated restraint, clearly years in the making. Andrew couldn’t believe how late it’d gotten by the time they’d left. Even the way Neil smoked was baffling, holding the light by his chin and looking out into the dimly lit street that stretched out before them. 

“How’d you get roped into this, anyway?” Neil inquired.

Andrew shrugged. “My cousin likes to mess with my life. How does Nicky know your friend, anyway?”

“I think they might’ve had an economics class together in college, and decided they shared a passion for exuberance and high-heels,” Neil chuckled, taking a slow drag. “Allison always said Nicky Nights were the most fun she’d ever had.”

“Allison,” Andrew considered. He wasn’t really familiar with the name. 

“I should probably be heading off,” Neil said, idly checking a watch. He wore a watch. It didn’t look cheap, either. “Have to deal with - family mess.” The way he said family mess had Andrew practically in stitches with intrigue. There was simply nothing simple about Neil, nothing Andrew could put together without time and patience. He simply nodded, watching cars drive past as Neil leant off the wall. 

He’d already written his number on the receipt: fingers hooked into Neil’s sleeve, he spun the young man around, just before he could waltz off to his nice car and drive on home. 

“Here,” he said offhandedly, ignoring the way his heart skipped and leaped. 

Neil took the number slowly, tucking it into his pocket. 

“I’m going to be a bit touch-and-go for a little while,” he said. “Family’s back in town and all. But I’ll text you,” he rolled his lips into his mouth as his cheeks went red. “I will text you.”

Andrew waved him off. “I don’t care what you do.”

Neil’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Okay. I’ll see you later, Andrew.”

Andrew watched as Neil walked away, arriving at a sleek black car that ought to be keyed in a city like Baltimore. Before he set off, he leaned into the passenger seat, rummaging for something. 

Just as Andrew was thinking I didn’t even get his last name, he noticed an odd glinting of something from within Neil’s car. Something reflecting the streetlight, almost into his eyes.

In the compartment of the door was a knife-handle, a cleaver blade attached. It was so carelessly thrown into the door shelf that it seemed to (still?) have a few mild specks of something red across its spine.

Andrew let his cigarette fall to the ground, shoving his hands into his pockets as Neil glanced over his shoulder to give Andrew another one of his little smiles, something Andrew wanted to hold and cherish in spite of the probable weapon left in the passenger seat’s door. As the car skidded away, Andrew remained utterly still, the amalgamation of emotions swirling within his usually void-like chest cavity. 

how was the date???????????? Nicky texted. 

bad, Andrew responded. Because - in spite of everything, the awkwardness, the lack of punctuality, the gunshot scar, the probably bloodied knife in his car - Andrew wanted to see him again. In spite of everything, it had been a good evening. 

oh well! Nicky sent back, with a cheerful smiley face and a bunch of needless xoxo’s. Andrew’s phone buzzed twice as another text came through - this time from an unknown number.

hi this is neil’s number - figured i would text at the traffic light before i lost this receipt :D

Fuck it, Andrew thought. 

*

hi neil. this is andrew.

*

tadaaaa

blind date!! also, neil, dont leave bloody cleavers in the passenger seat door, you dumbass 

#andreil #mobster/cop au #cop!andrew #butcher!neil #first meeting #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg #all for the game #yeehaw i love this but its so stupid lol #jem writes

[krispyweiss]

Album Review: Sierra Ferrell - Long Time Coming

Long Time Coming is an apt title for an album from a singer whose vocals sound like they were recorded 60 to 80 years ago and transposed over high-fidelity modern music played in an old-timey way.

Sierra Ferrell’s major-label debut culls all the best country music has to offer and eschews all its weaknesses across 12 tracks and 40 minutes of music that emanates equally from the holler - her voice and “West Virginia Waltz” - Music City (“Give it Time”), the Bluegrass State (“Bells of Every Chapel”), Tijuana (“Far Away Across the Sea”) and the Big Easy (“At the End of the Rainbow”).

Ferrell wrote or co-wrote every track and gets support from Billy Strings, who plays like Tony Rice on “Bells;” Jerry Douglas on Dobro and other stringed instruments; Tim O’Brien on vocals; Sarah Jarosz on banjo, mandolin and vocals; and a slew of other compatriots including steel guitar, violin, trumpet and clarinet players.

The result is a staggering variety of musical styles all tied together by Farrell’s powerful twang that’s instilled with the DNA of Loretta Lynn, Kitty Wells and Patsy Cline but is uniquely her own as it springboards toward impossibly high vibratos. When you hear Farrell sing once, you’ll be able to identify her instantly forevermore.

The only misstep comes in the inclusion of the 2020 single “Jeremiah,” which is too similar to “In Dreams” to merit its presence. The latter’s existential lyrics make it the superior choice as Ferrell sings:

But that river will flow on/even after we’re all long gone/that river will flow on/take me with you now before I’m one

It’s a minor quibble and easily forgotten when one realizes too much is always preferable to not enough. And Long Time Coming suggests too much Ferrell is impossible.

Grade card: Sierra Ferrell - Long Time Coming - A

8/26/21

#sierra ferrell #long time coming #billy strings #tony rice #jerry douglas #alison krauss and union station #sarah jarosz #i’m with her #tim o’brien #loretta lynn #kitty wells #patsy cline #2021 albums

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter twenty-two: sticks and stones

Marla had run back home for a few moments so she could change into her witch's robe but for the time being Sam, Aurora, and Belinda gathered on the far side of the room with Cliff, Frank, and a couple of Bloody Maries. Belinda adjusted the threads on her white dress with those blue scissors while in their art class, but she still managed to look like a doll as she had originally imagined. Sam glanced about the room in search of Marla and Charlie somewhere on the floor.

The interior of L'Amour had been decorated with shiny black and orange garlands. Clusters of little orange and white gourds hung all along the bar behind them. Orange and dark yellow lights shone down upon their heads, but every so often, they switched over to a soft purple. The whole room smelled of pepper courtesy of the Bloody Maries and cinnamon courtesy of a series of scented candles behind the bar to keep the place from reeking of alcohol and God knew what else. Every whiff of the cinnamon made Sam think of the cup of hot chocolate she made for Cliff and she knew she would have to make more of those for him following that night.

“It's gonna be a bit before they're coming back, though,” Frank told her at one point: his lush dark hair brushed over his shoulders like the ears of a dog. He awaited Charlie and the black and white Kiss face paint, given he already had a low cut white shirt on and extra tight black leather jeans as well as high heeled black boots which made him appear taller than he had originally appeared before.

But then the Cherry Suicides took to the stage in their black pointed witch hats: Zelda ducked behind her drum kit with her hat off kilter on her head. Sam noticed that was the only thing she had on to even remotely resemble to a witch's costume.

“Consider yourselves lucky, New York City,” Morgan announced into the microphone; Sam noticed she had on bright pearly orange lip gloss on her dark lips painted on in stripes so it looked like she had caterpillars on her mouth, “we've got a series of new songs in honor of this show here tonight. We haven't even debuted these back home in Rhode Island! The first one was helped on by a woman—you may've heard of her, she's more batshit insane than we are. Her name is Wendy O Williams.”

Frank yelped out at the sound of her name.

“It's called 'Scream for Me'!”

Zelda tapped on the cymbal closest to her so it made a noise akin to a bell. And they were all met with an intense wall of sound courtesy of Rosita and Minerva; Zelda's hat stayed in place atop her head as she pounded away as if she was a blacksmith swinging her hammer. Morgan brought the head of the microphone close to her striped lips: the first notes out of her mouth were low and harsh, but strong and tight.

“Morgan really upped her scream game, didn't she?” Cliff said to Frank.

“Yeah, she did!” Frank brought his glass of Bloody Mary close to his mouth but he never took a sip.

Belinda gaped at what she saw before her. Her eyes were wide with amazement, and she held onto her skirt as if she was stepping over a puddle. Sam and Aurora glanced at one another. A Halloween show needed a girl who could scream on a song of revenge like it meant business. Not a girl who was under the knife, but rather she was giving the knife to someone who asked for it.

Sam glanced over to the left side of the room, to Louie, who stood next to the side doors wrapped in a heavy black coat with a big hood upon his head. She spotted something shiny and pointed behind him—a bit triangular point upon a long dark pole. And she realized he was Death, and he could prance around with that thing and take under one of the souls before them at any given moment. He flexed his fingers and she noticed some white markings on the back of his hand: even from a distance, she could tell those were bones. Skeleton gloves for a good costume!

“There's Marla!” Aurora pointed out, and Sam and Belinda turned their attention to the right side of the room.

Indeed, they recognized Marla's violet hair on the far side of the room. Right before her was Charlie and his head of thick dark curls, and it took Sam a second to realize they were slow dancing to the music. Such a morbid song about killing someone for fun and then eating them and yet they danced as if it was a simple waltz instead. Charlie twirled her as Zelda unleashed a drum solo which followed Morgan's last powerful screech. A drum solo followed by a short picking guitar solo courtesy of Minerva and her big floppy witch's hat.

A guy in front of them punched another person in the face and Belinda lunged back at the sight of it, but Cliff and Frank laughed out loud at that.

The Cherry Suicides played another new song, called “Broomsticks”, followed by another one called “Bitches' Brew” and another one called “Dia de Los Muertos”, the latter of which Morgan let Rosita sing and in Spanish to boot. The whole entire time, Zelda never lost her pointed witch hat even as she played at a quick pace.

Charlie let go of Marla at one point and she disappeared behind the bar for something. She returned to their side with a series of what resembled to little white pearls on either of her hands, and she handed one of each to Belinda, then Sam and Aurora: Sam held up the pearls to the violet light for a better look at the little dots on the sides. Little skulls of different colors.

“Of course, Day of the Dead!” Aurora proclaimed as she threw the necklace over her head. Belinda and Sam followed suit.

“They're candy!” Frank added as Marla took the black and white make up out of her purse.

“I dunno if you'd wanna eat them, though,” she pointed out. “At least, that was what Charlie told me. But they're for Day of the Dead, though!”

The violet lights gave way to the golden and amber ones but Marla was only able to paint a black and white star on the side of Frank's face. Indeed, the next new song the Cherry Suicides debuted was called “White Star” and the four of them sang in unison. Even with her being seated behind the drum kit, Sam wished she could hear more of Zelda's singing voice. She yelled during the chorus but her voice carried enough to where she wondered if she could sing something to exemplify her voice.

By nine o'clock, they had finished up their Halloween set and Zelda chucked a handful of candy to the audience. Marla waved at her and she pointed in her direction. The four girls disappeared behind the curtain on the side there and the amber lights returned to their rich deep violet.

“It's okay, Charlie didn't get the make up on either,” Marla assured Frank, whose face fell when he realized he missed the full make up. “There's always a Day of the Dead celebration for later, though. We can do that tonight if you wish. Halloween into the Day of the Dead. Have it all as part of Samhain.”

“True. But it's still Halloween, though, Marla.”

Sam turned her attention to Cliff, who sipped on the remainder of his Bloody Mary. She thought about their little potential trip back out West to visit each other's parents, and she hoped they could do it on what money they had.

She then felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned around: Zelda stood behind her with her witch hat still off kilter upon her head and with a handful of salt water taffies held out before her.

“Ooh, yes please!” said Sam as she took the bright pink one for herself. Cliff meanwhile took the dark brown one.

“Root beer,” he noted while he unwrapped the piece of taffy. “You ever been to Virginia City?”

“Me?” Sam asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Not since I was little, no.”

“Maybe when you and I go visit our parents in a couple of months, we can go there for a day or something.”

“Ooh, yes! Sounds like a plan.”

“Just looking at these taffies made me think of Virginia City and the candy shop there.” Cliff slipped the taffy into his mouth and he squinted his eyes from the contrast of taste, between the root beer and the tomato juice. Sam giggled at him as did Belinda and Aurora, but he took it in stride. A Legacy show plus a meeting with her parents as well as his, and then a trip to Virginia City. It was all something to bear in mind even as Cliff returned home to California in time for Day of the Dead itself, and the whole prospect of the trip remained firmly on Sam's mind for a whole two weeks until she crossed paths with Joey on the way home from school one afternoon.

The sun hung low over the school buildings with the heart of autumn and Sam was sure she had failed her midterm for art history. She had no idea what had happened in that last week: her memory had fallen short with the exact art movements and Bill seemed to scrutinize her every move. It didn't help matters that he was still her counselor for that whole year, either.

She walked out through the front door only to be met with little snow flurries and that head of jet black curls near the curb.

“Hey, Joey,” she greeted him, complete with a nervous smile. “What're you doing here?”

“I had to ask around a little bit 'cause I couldn't fully recall your schedule,” he started as she descended the stairs, “but I just haven't seen ya in a while.”

“Not since the album was released,” she told him as she adjusted the lapels of her jacket.

“Yeah, and we go on tour soon, too,” he added.

“Already?” she asked him as she remembered Thanksgiving was only a week away.

“Yeah. You put out an album and it's necessary to promote it, too. So I wanted to see ya before those big things happen soon.”

Joey huddled closer to her as they walked side by side to the corner: the faded soles of his black leather boots crunched on the fresh fallen snow all around them.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he offered her.

“I'd love that,” she said as they glanced in either direction of the snowy street. The flurries had started a mere few minutes ago and yet the New York streets were already a rich shade of off white. Over them stood a blanket of darkness held up by the skyscrapers and the scraggly dark trees, made dark with the incoming winter. He lingered closer to her as he led her across the pavement to one of the coffee shops on the other side.

Once they were safe and sound in that dry warmth, Joey turned to her with his brown eyes large and soft like a couple of chocolate drops.

“It's like that one night all over again,” he recalled, “the night we saw Legacy together down at L'Amour.”

“I know, right? Except this time, it's actually almost winter.” He turned his head to the counter behind him.

“Coffee and cake,” he said.

“Coffee and cake?”

“Coffee and cake.” He gestured back to the cake pops near the cash register.

“Oh, cake!” And Joey chuckled in response to that. They took a seat by the window as it began to frost over with the increasing snow.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked her in a low voice.

“Of course.”

“There's a part of me that wants to start playing hockey again,” he said as he ran his gloved fingers through his thick black curls.

“And?” She shook her head.

“Well, I think it'd interfere with touring and doing stuff with Anthrax.”

“And why are you telling me this?” she asked him.

“'Cause I showed you my hockey stuff. I've been trying to do that with the guys but they seem more interested in what goes on down here in the City than what I might have in store.”

Sam knitted her eyebrows together at that.

“Have you asked them about it?” she coaxed him.

“Yeah, I've told Frankie about it 'cause he's the other athlete here with his baseball and everything. But I haven't really heard much, though.”

“Maybe we can do another round of hockey again,” she offered him. “Like just you and me again.”

“Oh, yeah, do that for real!” he said and his face lit up. “We can do that before we go on tour with Metallica this March.”

She gasped at that. Cliff never mentioned them when he told her about it!

“You guys are all going on tour together?” she sputtered.

“Yeah!” He stopped in his tracks. “Wait. You didn't know that?”

“No!”

“Oh, damn.” Despite his dark sun kissed skin, a soft warm blush bloomed across his face. “Well—I don't think I was supposed to tell you that, but—you are a friend to us. We told you about Spreading the Disease while it was still in early production after all.”

“And now I do know!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, and you should definitely come along if you can, too—you and the girls.” He stood to his feet to fetch their cups of coffee. She kept her eyes fixed on Joey's slender body, made even more slender and elegant by his fitted black overcoat and his black jeans. Cliff never said anything about their touring with another band, let alone them, but she nodded her head at that. He did ask her to come along, too: there was no way she could hold onto that. And there was no way she could hold onto that when she had other things to worry about, like her art history midterm.

A few more things to worry about as well as her trip out to the West Coast. She knew that if Cliff would leave out details, she could leave out details herself: it only made sense to her. Joey soon returned to the table with the cups of coffee in either hand and a pair of cake pops in between her fingers. No sooner had he taken his seat again, his expression turned serious.

“By the way—referring back to the question I brought up to you back on birthday.”

“Oh, that!”

“Yeah. So—again, take all the time in the world if you still haven't thought of anything. But—have you, though?”

“Yes,” she replied with haste, such that it took him aback.

“Really?”

“Yes. I'll share it. I'll share that full body drawing. I promise.”

Joey hesitated for a second, but then he picked up the little red cup and raised it up in between their faces. Sam picked up her cup as well and they tapped the edges together. They took sips from their espressos at the same time.

“So late March?” she asked him as she held her cup with both hands around the base.

“Yeah. So we can do the thing with the hockey any time between now and then.”

“What're you doing for Thanksgiving? I only have that Thursday and Friday off but it's still days off, though.”

“Goin' to visit my aunt and uncle in Rochester. What're you doing for Christmas?”

“Going to visit my parents back out West.”

“Oh, shit. So—how 'bout some time after New Year's?”

“Sounds like a plan.” She raised her cup again and they gave each other another toast of the red coffee cups, and they took a drink in unison once again.

“Mind if I walk ya home?” he asked her as he pocketed two of the four cake pops into his coat pockets.

“Not at all. I have homework, anyways.”

“Alright, let's get a move on...”

Without another word, Joey and Sam took the subway back up to the Bronx. She offered to let him sleep in her apartment again but he assured her it was alright for him to head on back upstate that evening.

* * * * *

It was a whole five days before Christmas and Cliff bunked with her that weekend before they made the flight out to Reno. They were going to visit her parents first in Carson City, followed by his parents in the Bay Area. She had packed her things over Thanksgiving break, including her journal, her good pencils, her colored pencils, and some of her paints. She knew she would have to make something for her parents for Christmas. Add to this, it was a difficult task for her, but she managed to tell her parents about Cliff over the phone.

“He's from California, too,” she added to Ruben. “So he's gonna introduce me to his parents.”

“We'll be waiting for you kids, though,” he promised her.

Meanwhile, Cliff had called a cab for them the day before their flight, and thus, by the time she locked the door and told Emile where they were going, he stood out in the snow in anticipation. As she ducked out of Emile's apartment, she recognized Aurora's purple jacket on the back of his couch. She made a mental note to ask her what was going on by the time she returned home.

Sam bowed out to the street, where Cliff awaited her with their suitcases on the cleared out sidewalk and the big yellow taxi posted up at the curb.

“Are you ready?” he asked her once she came within earshot.

“I was born ready,” she replied as she picked up her bags from the sidewalk and Cliff offered to take them from her. Sam handed the one in her right hand and he set it into the trunk of the taxi. She knew Aurora was back in Emile's apartment but she need not go back to say good bye to her because her friend knew where she was going.

The two of them climbed into the back seat of the taxi and they proceeded on to the airport for the flight out to the Bay Area. It almost felt like a return to home for her, but it simultaneously also didn't. She was going back to the West Coast to visit her parents for a couple of weeks but she was also leaving her home for the place she had wanted to leave for a time.

Once they were inside of the cozy warm and dry back seat, Cliff took off that felt hat and set it upon his lap. Sam spotted the silver skull ring on his right ring finger and she thought about a ring for herself. She swore that, on the ride over to the airport, little white flurries of snow fluttered down from the heavy gray sky overhead. Even if it started to snow on the ride over at any given moment, it would add to the whole feeling of the ride, even if the traffic collected and worsened along the way.

She wondered if any of the traffic or the clouds over them would clear out by the time they left the tarmac. Indeed, when Cliff held the car door for her and she slid out to the sidewalk herself, little flakes the size of nickels floated down from the sky.

“We better get a move on, my lady,” he said to her as he took their things out of the trunk.

“Yeah, get a move on unless the flight gets cancelled,” the driver called after them. Sam and Cliff ducked into the airport and they hurried to the terminal. Lucky for them, the snow hadn't picked up as much by the time they checked in and took their spots right behind first class.

They took off within time: Sam peered out the window to her right and she watched the New York skyline fall away into the pure white of the blizzard.

“Good bye, New York,” she muttered. “I'll be back as quick as possible.”

“Yeah, I'll get you back home in time,” Cliff promised her as he set his hat on his lap once again.

“My parents never converted my bedroom to anything else,” she told him, “so we can sleep in my old bed together, even when we make the first little day trip over to the Bay Area.”

“I was wondering why we didn't get a hotel,” he recalled. “That's definitely a day trip thing, too, because—I think—I think, anyways, Legacy is actually playing a show tomorrow for the solstice. I'll have to call Eric first about it. Good thinking.”

“It was actually my dad's idea,” she pointed out. “He suggested you meet them first and then I meet your parents the next day.”

It was a few hours before they made their layover in Kansas City first: another few hours, and Sam recognized the section of the Sierra Nevadas in between Reno and Lake Tahoe, the latter of which was as pitch black as that darkness a few hours before them. Sam shivered in her seat and she couldn't resist feeling butterflies in her stomach all the while.

She knew her parents would be welcoming of him, but she still crept along the walkway at a slow pace. If she could shrink back into the wall, she would do it, especially when they rounded the corner.

“Cliff, this is my dad Ruben, and my mom Esmé,” she managed to sputter out with a straight face. He towered over especially Ruben, and Esmé stared up at him as if she was star gazing. But they both greeted him with hearty hand shakes and welcoming expressions on their faces.

“So Sam says you're a musician,” Ruben recalled as they congregated away from the terminal.

“Yeah, I'm a bassist,” said Cliff, and he adjusted his hat. “My background is in classical music and country.”

“Wow!”

Meanwhile, Esmé turned to Sam with her hand tucked in her pocket.

“Hold out your hand, dear,” she told her; Sam did just that with her right hand and closed her eyes. Ruben burst out laughing at something, which in turn felt like a dead weight had come off her shoulders. She didn't feel it, but Esmé leaned into her face.

“Okay.”

She opened her eyes to find a deep red stone embedded on a silver ring on her middle finger. “Oh, wow!”

“I've had that ring for so long,” Esmé said; Sam took a closer look at the ring itself and she made out the sight of a pair of serpent heads on either side of the stone. “It's a garnet.”

“It's beautiful, Mom—thank you.” Sam put her arms around her mother and Ruben offered to drive them back to their house for dinner and some wine. She never got the chance to show Cliff the ring until they turned in for the night. The whole evening, she kept one eye on Cliff and Ruben as they talked about all manner of things and she helped out Esmé with the wine and the accompanying cake and cheese. By a quarter to midnight, Sam changed her clothes and she crawled into her old bed. All those old feelings and memories returned to her once she lay her head on the pillow. Cliff crawled under the blankets next to her.

“I like your parents, babe,” he confessed.

“That—makes me so happy,” she said, and she lifted her hand out from under the blankets so she could take off the ring. In the dim light, she showed it to him.

“This is a garnet ring,” she told him. “It belonged to my mom for a long time but she told me I could have it, though.”

“Have it for the two of us, I assume?” he asked her.

“Exactly, yes! I was hoping to have something for myself. You know—given you have that skull ring and whatnot.”

“Aw, Sam, you didn't have to do that.” Cliff rolled over onto his side so his face could be much closer to her own.

“But I wanted to, though,” she insisted and he brought a hand to her chest. They were at her parents' house and yet he already put a hand on her. But he hit it off with them so well, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

The next day, given they didn't have a car for themselves, Ruben and Esmé drove Cliff and Sam over the pass to the Central Valley, followed by the Bay Area. Cliff guided them to the venue where Legacy were about to play for the night.

“The two of you can come along with us if you wish,” he offered them.

“That's real kind of you, Cliff,” Esmé replied to him as she turned around a bit in the front seat. “But, Ruben and I have some Christmas shopping to do, though.”

They dropped off Sam and Cliff outside of the little club on the corner, and he led her inside to the backstage area. It felt so odd without Marla and Aurora there with her, but she was eager to have Cliff by her side and with his arm around her as they stood on the balcony right over the stage.

Chuck stood at the front of the stage with the microphone in one hand and for a good long minute, all Sam could think about was Zetro. Zelda's friendship with him. If they were still friends with each other or if something went on between them. There was so much more to Zelda she needed to learn about as well. But the second he opened his mouth and sang those first notes, she could only focus on him.

Eric's long black hair spread over one side of his face so she couldn't see his expression. She spotted Louie behind the drum kit, and he barely moved about, much like Zelda herself. Her eyes wandered over to Greg and then Alex, the latter of whom stood on the edge of the stage with a dark shadow over his head and shoulders. It felt so right to stand there to watch them on the first day of winter. Rich dark hard music in junction with the lack of sunlight and the menacing bank of fog.

She glanced up at Cliff and he glanced back at her, and then she gestured to Alex.

“He looks so little,” she remarked.

“He isn't, though,” he pointed out. “He's a big little boy.”

He was silent for a moment, and then he spoke again.

“I have an idea.”

A couple of songs later, and Cliff guided her off of the balcony. He never let go of her hand as he brought her to the backstage area, the narrow strip of floor about the width of a couch between the main stage itself and the two dressing rooms. Sam kept her attention on Legacy while Cliff argued with one of the stagehands. She watched Louie and his minimal movement, and yet his dark hair flew about like the arms of an octopus. Alex sidled over to Eric so they could solo together following Chuck's harsh bellow that was his singing voice. She spotted that little white pearl over his brow, still bright despite the shadow over his head.

Cliff tapped on her shoulder which broke her concentration.

“We can go back here but you can't go in the dressing rooms, though,” he confessed with a shrug and a solemn look on his face. “Apparently that's all they have at the moment.

“Damn it!” she cried out over Louie's final cymbal splashes.

“I think that's it.” Cliff guided her over to the dressing room on the far left side of the corridor. “Yeah, let's get out of the way—” She stood off to the side as the five of them made their way off the stage and the team of roadies picked up after them: Chuck and Eric darted into the one on the right. She opened her purse even though she had nothing with her of interest, but Cliff guided her to the room in front of them and she halted right outside of the door. Over the chatter to her right, their voices floated through the sliver of a doorway before her.

“Hey, Cliff!” Alex's voice sounded so odd after what she had seen before her; so big and deep in comparison to the lanky dark haired placid faced boy at the edge of the stage.

“Hey, Alex—I just wanted to see how you were doing and—I wanted to ask you something real quick.”

“I gotta get a move on, though,” he explained at a quick clip. “You know—it being Christmas and whatnot.”

“Christmas, not Hanukkah?”

“Hanukkah was a week ago,” Alex pointed out. “I'm just wearing the yarmulke right now just 'cause. It's either that or get labeled as 'meshuggah'.”

“As what?”

“'Meshuggah.' It's my parents' way of saying 'batshit insane.'”

“Sounds like a pretty good name for a band, though.”

“I know, right? And, add to this, I also have a curfew. Yeah, I have a curfew over Christmas break and I'm seventeen.”

“Aw, that's a shame,” Cliff replied, “I was hoping you could meet my girlfriend.”

“I can sign something for her, though,” Alex pointed out as he zipped up his guitar case. “It's not easy, like I can't always go out and meet people but I can always make an offer and do that, though.” Sam raised her eyebrows at the sound of that. He was seventeen years old and yet he already talked like that, as if he had been at it for twice that long. This young boy already knew business and spoke like he meant it.

“What's her name?” Alex asked him.

“Sam,” said Cliff. “Samantha, but she goes by Sam.”

“The dynamic Samantha! What does she do?”

“She's an art student.”

There was a pause, then the rustling of paper on the far side of the room.

“Really? That's like the fifth art student I've met—well, not exactly.”

“Met in a de facto manner.”

“Right, right...” There was another pause. Sam held still outside of the door and she kept her attention fixated on the slight noises in that room. Cliff laughed at something and Alex let out a soft little snicker.

“So when do you guys play again?” Alex asked him in a low voice. “The twenty ninth?”

“Yeah. The twenty ninth and then New Year's Eve. You gotta be there.”

“I'll try to. I mean, if I have to drag my brother out from his hiding spot so I have someone to say that I can go in as a seventeen year old kid, I can.”

Sam's mouth dropped open. Seventeen years old and his smarts were already far advanced than that of someone her age!

“Anyways—” Alex started, but he never said anything further than that.

“Thanks, man, I'm sure she'll love this.”

“My pleasure, Cliff! Now, I gotta get home or my dad's gonna freak—”

Cliff returned out of the room with a little piece of rice paper in hand. Alex had sketched her a little rose with some black ink and wrote right next to it:

“To the dynamic Samantha, have fun with and take good care of Cliff and make sure he doesn't stay up too late on nights when he doesn't warrant it.

Stay as precious as a rose!

Alex Skolnick”

She smiled at that and she lifted her head in time as Alex ducked out of the room and put his yarmulke back on his dark head. Cliff towered before her with a warm little smile on his face.

“Thank you so much,” she called after Alex, but he strode on in the other direction and she had no idea if he heard her. He kept one hand on his yarmulke as he stepped through the back door and into the darkness of the night.

“I'm gonna treasure this,” she promised Cliff as he led her the other way to one of the side doors. They reached the street right as the San Francisco fog drifted in from the Bay itself. It wasn't the New York snow, but she still looked about the street in a daze.

“Merry Christmas,” he said to her in a low voice: she brought the rice paper to her nose, and she caught a faint aroma of cinnamon. The smell of Christmas.

“Merry Christmas,” she echoed back to him. “I never want this to end.”

“Me, neither,” he whispered back.

#fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 22 #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #deadly nightshade #book two #metallica fanfic #anthrax fanfic #metallica #anthrax #legacy #cliff burton #joey belladonna #alex skolnick #long reads #also on ao3 #writing #text #halloween #thanksgiving #christmas

[bookloveravenue]

Busy Bean Books 7-10 Cover Reveal!

SIDETRACKED BY R.L. KENDERSON

Release Date: September 13, 2021

Purchase Links: Amazon:  

https://geni.us/SidetrackedAmazon

Apple:  COMING SOON!Kobo:  COMING SOON!Nook:  

https://geni.us/SidetrackedNook

Google:  

https://geni.us/SidetrackedGoogle

All the links in one spot:

https://shor.by/busy-bean

Add to Goodreads here:  

http://bit.ly/2NNxRia

Series page:

https://hearteyespress.com/wotn#/busy-bean/

Cover Design:

Elle Maxwell Designs

Blurb:

Ms. Sunshine meets Mr. Grumpy! From USA Today bestselling author R.L. Kenderson.

“Sometimes, not knowing where you’re going will lead you to where you need to be.”

CHARLI

My workplace eliminated my position the same month my relationship ended. With nothing keeping me in Richmond, Virginia, I get in my car and head northeast, unsure of where I’ll end up.

Until I walk into The Busy Bean Café.

With the Help Wanted sign and the quote on the wall meant for me, I know I’ve found my new home.

GABE

I gave up my executive job in Boston to come home to help run my family’s hardware store and to open my own handcrafted furniture business. I have specific plans for my life.

Those plans don’t include the coffee shop’s new flighty barista even if she is cute as hell.

But when I become Charli’s landlord, I find it harder than ever to stay away from her. And soon, I don’t want to.

FIREPROOF BY DELANCEY STEWART

Release Date: September 13, 2021

Purchase Links: Amazon:  

https://geni.us/FireproofAmazon

Apple:  COMING SOON!Kobo:  COMING SOON!Nook:  

https://geni.us/FireproofNook

Google:

https://geni.us/FireproofGoogle

All the links in one spot:

https://shor.by/busy-bean

Add to Goodreads here:  

http://bit.ly/2MOE0tV

Series page:

https://hearteyespress.com/wotn#/busy-bean/

Cover Design:

Elle Maxwell Designs

Blurb:

The newest barista at the Busy Bean is about to steam the place up...

Former Marine Mason Rye can make a cappuccino with military precision, but he finds it much harder to serve up a smile. It’s not that he doesn’t like people. But he knows from experience that once you let someone in, it hurts like hell when you lose them. And Mason’s lost too many people already.

So it’s pretty damn inconvenient when his old Marine buddy shows up on Mason’s goat farm with his younger sister in tow. Heather’s work in Washington D.C. has turned dangerous, and she needs a safe place out of town.

Mason doesn’t need a new roommate, especially not a pretty, single one who insists on rearranging his spice rack and giving his chickens cute names. Although there’s no denying the haunted look in her blue eyes. Every time her fear shows its face, he wants to reach for her.

The problem is that she wants him, too. And when Mason breaks all his rules, they practically burn down his bed together. But her life is in D.C. And the threat against her is over.

Unfortunately, neither of their hearts is fireproof...

Warning: this stand-alone novel contains cute goats, bossy Marines, and small-town charm.

FOOTNOTE BY ALEXA GREGORY

Release Date: September 13, 2021

PRE-ORDER LINKS: COMING SOON!

All the links in one spot:

https://shor.by/busy-bean

Add to Goodreads here:  

http://bit.ly/2L7WFk0

Series page:

https://hearteyespress.com/wotn#/busy-bean/

Cover Design:

Elle Maxwell Designs

Blurb:

A moving second-chance romance where hope can turn history into a footnote.

Sasha Covey needs a rewrite. Or a really big eraser. Her past doesn’t belong in the life she’s trying to rebuild. Her future—and her recovery—depend on a fresh start. Moving to Colebury seems like the perfect test until Penley Brooks waltzes into the Busy Bean. The handsome veterinarian is just as charming as when she fell for him a decade ago. Memories come flooding back, and their connection is as potent as ever.

Trouble is, Sasha has good reason to keep her distance. Her recovery is still new, and the single dad has wounds of his own. After years of being an afterthought, Penley’s goals are finally within reach. As much as she aches to reconnect, Sasha won’t stand in the way of his dreams.

Somehow, that all melts away whenever she’s with Penley. Together, dreaming is a little easier.

But dreams don’t always survive in the real world. Not when the past comes knocking.

Footnote is a standalone small-town romance set in the True North world.

AFTERGLOW BY ARIA WYATT

Release Date: September 13, 2021

PRE-ORDER LINKS: COMING SOON!

All the links in one spot:

https://shor.by/busy-bean

Add to Goodreads here:  

http://bit.ly/3p6Z8cA

Series page:

https://hearteyespress.com/wotn#/busy-bean/

Cover Design:

Elle Maxwell Designs

Blurb:

I’m a numbers girl.

Or at least I thought I was, until my formula fell apart. Back home in Vermont, with my dream on hiatus, I’m working at the Busy Bean and taking online classes. As long as I keep my focus, I’ll be back in New York City next semester. Hopefully.

When Declan O’Shaughnessy storms into the café, all muscles and tattoos, wielding his sexy Irish brogue like a weapon, the only equation I can solve is one that lands me in his bed. Even more dangerous is my growing affection for his cherub-faced little boy.

But Declan has complications of his own. He’s cagey, but I’ll win him over.

Yeah, about that focus… mine is all on him. Can we have a harmless fling without getting hurt?

#book #books #i love books #cover reveal #busy bean #world of true north #sidetracked #rl kenderson #fireproof #delaney stewart #footnote #alexa gregory #afterglow #aria wyatt

[vake-hunter]

Heart’s Desire Lore Post

[All of my Ambition lore can be found in this google doc]

The Marvelous

This is protocol: when a player wins, they depart. A new candidate is found, or occasionally, like your delecterious self, presents themselves." Pages lets out a long faux-melancholy sigh. "The rest of us must keep playing, of course. Victory is the only escape."

“When a winner expresses their heart's desire, we – that is the Masters – gather, and turn all our ingenuities and resourcements to its fulfilment. If it is possible, we shall grant it. We have never failed yet. After all, we have moved cities in pursuit of desire. I fear to be immodest, but our capabilities are significant."

The Deck is, at first, very normal. Until, as Pages says, “the unfortunate business of expense, deadly journeys, etcetera, can begin."

"They must be consecrated, naturalously, in the Kingdom of the Is-Not.”

Discuss the venue. Where is the best place to hold the Honour? “"The venue must be somewhere that all the players can agree on.” The answer to everyone's needs is Arbor.

The standard set of Cats, Rats, Bats and Hats. Then there are the trumps: the trinity of face cards which tops each suit: the Jacks, smiling and stern, the Queens, sober and wild, the Kings, magisterial and melancholy. Each face is unique to its suit, a Tiger for a Jack of Cats, a Master for a King of Bats.

First played in the Third City

The cards are a recent convention. It changes with the fashion of the cities.

Seven players, always. Every five or ten years – the date depends on certain astrological conjunctions, written in the roof. 

Rules

Each hand you pay an initial ante (7 coins) and are dealt a hand of cards. You then chose to call (pay the current bet), raise (double the current bet) or fold (lose your current stake, and the hand, but bet no more coins).

Each game is played in a series of hands, during which you stake some of your First City Coins. Hands are compared, with different combinations of cards have different values. At the end of each hand, the winner takes the loser's stake. When one player's coins are gone, they lose the game. In its essence, it is not dissimilar to poker – a fact which the Custodian claims is no coincidence.

Gradually, you learn about the legal combinations of cards. How First Fall beats Second, but both are trumped by the Perfidy of Sisters. About the complex interactions between the Parliament of Rats, the Tragedy Procedure, and the Four Crowns.

On the faintest and most coyly-worded of tablets, you study the forbidden hand: the Thing in the Well, which is mentioned nowhere else, and which loses to all other hands but one.

Then you move on to the esoteric rules that govern as yet undiscovered combinations. The Conspiracies: the matching of key cards to increase their value – or decrease the value of an opponent's hand. You learn to avoid the Treachery of Seven, which renders aces lower than sevens. You struggle to understand the Footsteps of Salt, a rule which has never been interpreted the same way twice.

The Thing in the Well wins only against All Manner of Things.

 If you run out of coins, you can stake something else. If your opponent accepts, you may play one more hand. All or nothing. They call it the Chance.

rules forbid excessive drunkenness unless the Debauchery of Fourth is in play

Mr Pages

Pages fucking HATES the monkey. 

Literally moves into your house, drinks all your wine and calls you a bitch.

Really likes Roquefort Cheese. This is important Lore.

Inquire after Mr Pages' own heart's desire: Normally, it would be unwilling to divulge information of a personal nature. But under the influence of uncanny musics, the Masters sometimes let something slip. 

Mr Pages, in your drawing room, waltzes clumsily to the aerological sympthony. You watch, carefully, as it performs some soaring dance of heavens long since abandoned. Beneath its robes, shapes stir and bulge, as if trying to break through the cloth. Are those wings?

"Home," it says, it's voice slurred, "I want to see the stars again."

Mr Pages' approach is brutally successful, and First City coins teeter in stacks at its elbow. It raises aggressively, pushing rivals into situations where they stake more than they should. Then it folds, leaving others locked in bidding wars they daren't lose. Then, when it has a strong hand, Pages pursues it relentlessly, driving up the pot and turning routs into slaughters. Its victories are infrequent, but Pages only cares about comparative success. All it cares about is staying one coin ahead.

Beats the Monkey but offers him a Chance if he has something to bet. The Monkey bets you. Pages instantly accepts. And loses to the monkey. 

Now hang on a minute— you protest, but Pages raises a talon. "Quiet please! It is inapproprisiderate for the stake to speak. The Chance has been offered and accepted. One more round; all or nothing."

Cards are drawn, discarded, drawn again. The Monkey does not stand on ceremony now; there is no showmanship. It calmly puts down a straightforward Ascension of Cats: the three, four, five, six, seven, eight and nine. Pages stares. It contorts beneath its robes. "I offer a Chance of my own!" it screeches, in panic. The Monkey shakes its head, but Pages persists. "Name a price! A flask of Hesperidean Cider! A vial of my own blood! The very robe from my back!"

The Monkey hesitates. It is obviously tempted. To disrobe a Master, to expose its true nature here, before Londoners... But no. The Monkey keeps its eyes on the prize. It picks its nose, dismissively. Thwarted, Pages emits a strangled noise, and jerks spasmodically to its feet. "Impuderagous!" it squeaks, and hurls its cards across the room before sweeping from the Helmsman.

Publishes a bunch of poems about how much monkeys suck.

Confirmed crime is Truth-Strangling.

The Manager

Ask about the Manager's heart's desire: The Manager offers a hungry phantom of a smile. "Cities are odd beasts, don't you find? One can never tell where one begins."

"My needs are simplicity itself. I want a bright diamond. I will make it my heart and grow from there into something strange and wild. Like my beloved. I will carry the seed of a new city. Perhaps I could be of sandstone and gold. That would look very splendid, don't you think?"

The Manager's style is infuriatingly languid. He considers his hand minutely before every bid. When he raises, he counts his coins with plodding deliberation before committing them. And then, half the time, he reveals he has nothing better than a Remorse of Sisters or a Roser's Retreat! Except, apparently, when someone thinks they have him figured out and calls his bluff, only to walk right into a Peace of Hell or an Black Glass Mirror. The Manager likes to keep his opponents guessing.

Uses Nightmares against his opponents.

You can choose to win one of his Brass Buttons or the Topsy King’s Mind when you beat him. 

A Bright Brass Button: You won it from the Manager of Royal Beth during a game of the Marvellous. It is a key to a secret back door allowing you to leave his hotel. And it is very, very shiny. [Weapon; Watchful +3, Bizarre +2, Glasswork +1]

Your Monkey

The Monkey appears to be asleep, but you are certain it is a ruse. You think it's trying to put the other players off their game. It snores loudly when Virginia is deciding whether to raise. It chatters its teeth as the Bishop rearranges his cards, upsetting his train of thought. And whenever Mr Pages lays down a card, the Monkey noisily breaks wind.

 The Monkey is guilty against Hell and the Chain (only ascension is permitted)

The Monkey used to be Gregory Beechwood, and previously won the Marvelous. His desire had been to become an ape because he believed aps were better than humans. He now regrets it. A lot.

His current Heart’s Desire is to end the Marvelous forever.

Beechwood's argument was that man once existed in a state of grace: its present form a devolution. That pristine state was to be found in the form of the ape. One of the players of the Marvellous just so happens to be a monkey – your Monkey, to be precise.

The Monkey gives you a wink, then darts a glance at Pages' now useless mountain of remaining coins. Was that the play? To tempt Pages into giving up his stake advantage? To even the odds by risking everything on a single hand? With you as the prize? Well, it could have bl__dy asked!

Wins against Pages, but not before hesitating when Pages offers its own robes for a Chance of its own. 

Your final opponent is your own monkey.

Virginia

She is very, very mad at you.

Ask about Virginia's own heart's desire: An old desire, renewed. Virginia gives you the thinnest smile you have ever seen. "Sanctuary," she says, in a voice as soft as bare feet on snow. She looks away, indicating the end of the discussion.

Virginia sets a strategy early and holds to it come hell or high water. She trusts to the deck, discarding reliable cards in the hope of a high-scoring combination. But the cards aren't her friend tonight. The best she can manage is a Brace of Hats, then a String of Rats. But every now and again, it pays off. When it looks like she's within inches of constructing a Great Chain, Mr Pages folds hurriedly. A few rounds later a six-card Mirrorcatch wins back her losses. If her fortunes change, her approach might bear fruit.

Loses to your Monkey. 

Kills you so you can meet the Boatman. Is like really excited to do it. "I've been waiting for this...." Virginia arrives at your lodgings promptly. She passes a cursory glance over the instruments of death you've neatly laid out for her (to furnish your own demise.) "Thank you, my dear," she says, "But I shan't be needing those." She advances on you, wearing her sharpest smile. Mercifully, you do not remember the rest.

The Bishop

Ask about the Bishop's own heart's desire: The Bishop smiles, though he is no longer looking at you, instead off into some middle distance. "South," he says at last, his voice low as though thickened with honeyed wine. "To be forgiven. To be welcomed. To end all these darkened days of wandering. To taste sweet fruit upon my tongue and walk in pastures gold. I would lie down upon that splendid glade like cloth of emerald and feel my cares mist away, like dew on a cold morning. And I would not walk there alone. I would open the gates, and lay a path so that others could follow, those who knew the signs." Thin tears streak his face.

The Bishop's style is cautious. He prefers reliable hands, and rarely raises. He watches his pile of coins hawkishly, as though they might abandon the table of their own volition. Still, after a few rounds you think you have discerned a pattern: every three or four rounds he finds his courage, and plays to the end regardless of his hand.

Loses to you or the Manager depending on how you faired in the Honor.

Topsy King

Doesn’t seem to remember why he plays. Staked his mind against the Manager to stay in the game and lost. The Manager now keeps his mind.

He favours esoteric combinations and rare exceptions. He invokes the Treachery of Sevens, the Heart-Catcher's Promise, and the Embarrassment of Swans. He constructs elaborate Conspiracies from low-numbered cards, and disposes of kings and queens like a guillotine. He is having a good night, winning a steady trickle of coins from the other players. But his weak point is the Manager, who always seems to know what the Topsy King is holding.

Loses to you or the Manager depending on how you faired in the Honor.

You have won back the Topsy King's mind. You should return it to him. Even if it is sometimes a lizard.

You restored it to him. He will never be as he was, but nor is he entirely what he became. Some of the time he is the Topsy King; sometimes he is Tristram

The Thief-Oath of Tristram Bagley: You restored some of his lost mind, and the Topsy King will forever be in your debt. He will always owe you a favour, and you will always have a friend in a high place. [Affiliation; Shadowy +1, Dreaded +1, Bizarre +1, Mithridacy +1, Visiting Tristram Bagley +1]

October

Previous Winner.

The Calendar Council is composed of twelve members: each opposes the purview of one of the Masters.

"October achieved her goal and vacated the Council. But she remains one of twelve – a successor has not been chosen. She must mean to, however, so we must assume she is somewhere that the Masters cannot reach but the Council can. Which suggests – ah. Yesterday's Clerestory."

"I asked for my dreams to come true, and the Masters arranged certain accommodations with the powers of the Is-Not."

"The Masters didn't know who I really was, of course. I spent years constructing a false identity in order to join the Marvellous. Virginia saw through it, but did not expose me. Not that I'd have let her." October smiles bright as a falling star. "Afterwards, I used my reward to cast one of the Masters in a prison of its own failures." October sighs wistfully, "I understand that most of them have had second thoughts about the game since then."

Won and killed Mirrors. 

The Boatman

A previous Winner

At last, he answers in his creaking voice. "A replacement. I grow weary." His voice echoes in the hollowness of his skull. "My desire was granted, but difficult to arrange. An appropriate substitute did not exist; therefore one had to be born." The Boatman punts the craft further into the centre of the river.

"They should be of age now. And yet." The Boatman's gaze is briefly reflected in the water, dark empty sockets lost in the darkness. "Perhaps there has been a complication." His voice cracks, a splinter of melancholic menace.

His Amused Lordship

A previous Winner.

His Lordship tells you of his heart's desire. "Damn fool game. I only played to rescue a damn fool friend. Well, friend undersells it rather a lot. She wouldn't be pleased to hear me describe her so. They have such terrible foul language on Mutton Island." His Lordship smiles wistfully. "She was on a dark path, a seeker of that which shouldn't be sought. I played the game to win her back."

Won and freed Mrs Plenty from Seeking.

Mr Hearts

Created the Marvelous in the Third City because the Masters were bored. Lord of Blood in the Third City

Is fat!!! Bulky!! Big!!

Flies you to the top of the tower!!

Has red eyes. 

Final Match

Takes place deep in the Bazaar. Literally in the Bazaar’s heart. 

The Masters all gather and hang from the ceiling to watch. 

Visions of different outcomes assault both of you with the beat of the heart.

Visions of Power: You feel the slow stretching in your bones. Your organs, persistently rearranging themselves into superior configurations. You cast off your robes to stretch your new arched wings, wide enough to break the sky.

The Bazaar opens all of its seven doors to you: the other Masters welcome you to a spire of your own. In the innermost chambers, you let fall your robe and allow your magnificent wings to spread—

Visions of Love: Adoring eyes locked with yours. The heat of a fierce embrace, beating heart to beating heart. Two lives, completed by each other. A love that inspires and consumes.

You play with a poet's ardour and mastery of form. The cards want you to win; they adore you. A rare Adoration of Days; a timely Anchorite of Norwich. Your opponent, meanwhile, is struck by these visions more powerfully than those of yesterday. Tears glisten on his hairy cheeks. His paws shake. He still plays a string of lucky, desperate hands, but you're able to win back some of your coins before the day is through.

Visions of Time: You see yourself defying time (the greatest of thieves), and living hale and healthy into a new age of the world. An endless future, to make of which what you want. And not just time for you, but for others, too. The theft of the sixth city deferred. London's lifespan is prolonged, gleaming like the Neath's darkest jewel.

The heart shows you a New Empire, its dawn-ships conquering territories across the zee. It shows you the Sixth City – a colony of the Fifth – suspended in chains from the Neath's ceiling. You see yourself, centuries hence, on a throne of roses in the Eighth City after the Treachery of Arbor; and then you leading the leagues of Hell against the Ninth— In each vision, you dedicate a handful of years to planning your next move in the Marvellous.

Visions of Escape:  Escape from London, escape from the Neath. You see the glow of a rising sun across the length of a horizon; feel the playful touch of wind in your hair; smell the scent of fresh-fallen snow, sharp and crisp; hear the relentless chatter of birds, clear in a blue sky.

You lose, but invoke your Chance, staking something. Either your profession, your destiny or a single penny. (if you don't have a penny you can borrow one from Hearts.) 

You win, then. But Beechwood, your monkey, wishes to stake his own Chance.

Accept his Chance: He stakes all that is left of himself. The remainder of his humanity. And then places a losing hand on purpose. He turns feral and runs off, unable to deal with being trapped in the game as a monkey any longer. 

Decline his Chance: Beechwood has drawn away. You can see him wringing his paws together, compulsively. His eyes are haunted. He knows that – in a few years' time, when the false-stars align – he must play the Marvellous again.

Your Desire

Mr Hearts speech: "Colleagues, we are gathered (save for Mr Pages, who is excluded for reasons of a conflict of interest) to fulfil our sacred duty. This creature–" here, it gestures at you, "–has proven victorious in the Marvellous and earned their heart's desire!"

There is polite, scattered applause.

You take the time to look around. The walls are adorned with calendars – some of them follow earthly dating systems, others do not – and maps. The workbenches are covered with indecipherable apparatus. A set of heavy red books stands on a shelf. You can make out the black-lettered title of the nearest: 'The Tragedy Procedures Vol. VII.'

"Here," Mr Hearts tells you, "is where we perform our greatest works. This is where we ascertained how to purchase London, and how to accomplish the small request Her Majesty required in exchange. Thus far, no request has been beyond us. Now, if you would do us the honour, tell us your heart's desire. We shall do all in our power to grant it."

Power: You want to be one of them, a Master of the Bazaar – terrible, glorious, magnificent.

Another argument follows, this one not about whether but about how. There is some debate as to your bailiwick and whether this can be a purely titular bestowal. It cannot. Spices and Hearts begin to mix steaming concoctions at one of the workbenches. Mr Veils measures you for a robe.

In the end, Hearts approaches you. "It is decided. You will be Mr Cards." 

Love: There is a long silence. "The problem, oh perspicacious, indeed brilliant, victor of our game," Spices says in its sibilant whisper, "is that despite our very best efforts – and I do not wish to disparage our dear Mr Fires in saying this – we cannot manufacture love." Fires only grunts.

"Does it have to be true love?" Wines interjects, thoughtfully. "There are approximations that, as far as we can tell, are indistinguishable in all meaningful ways—"

"We are not all convinced," Hearts cuts in, "That true love even exists. Certainly, we have yet to isolate it. But! Happily, we can offer something better: adoration. Celebration! The whole city, united in recognition of your evident magnificence. Fame, and of course, glory."

Choose something else. Choose something that is not love.

The Masters have no idea what love really is.

Adoration: To be known by all. To be admired. To be worshipped! In every mind of the city will live a shining image of you, perfect, pristine, and permanent. A collective sigh of relief from the Masters. Adulation, adoration, envy – all these can be readily manufactured.

Time: Long life – not just for you, but London, too. Eventually, the Masters will require a Sixth City. But London is your home, and you would want to defer that day as long as possible. 

"This means London, in its entirety, is technically yours. We shall not," it says, raising a claw to the other Masters, "seek the Sixth until all reasonable hope for the Fifth is lost. These are our terms: this your prize."

How long have you bought for the city? Years? Decades? Centuries? More than it had, certainly. You look around at its familiar, grimy streets; the poignant, flickering glow of its gaslamps; the people hurrying by to jobs and appointments, oblivious to the fact that you have saved them from a fate that has befallen four other cities. Perhaps London itself is your heart's desire. And a reckoning has been postponed.

Escape: You want to walk on the Surface again. You want nothing less than the sun, the sea, and the stars – the real stars!

Eventually, between them, they reach a proposal. Mr Hearts presents it to you. "There are certain laws that are, unfortunately, beyond us. The capriciousness of sunlight is one. Were you to return to the Surface there is every chance the sunlight might kill you, and there is nothing we could do to prevent it. However, there are places where the sun is only an occasional visitor."

Mr Fires unrolls a map of the Surface, and stabs a claw into the top of it. "We will build you a home. Here. The sun is absent there nearly half a year at a time. The location looks to be somewhere in the arctic circle. Habitable, but hardly clement. 

Your Defeat

Yes, you can let the monkey win.

The Marvellous is over. In fact, if Beechwood is true to his word, it is over forever.

The Monkey asks you to come with him to get his reward.

 A pair of Masters carries you and the Monkey – Hearts for him and Iron for you. Membranous wings rip through their robes, and with a beat you are lifted aloft, borne to the highest chamber in the Bazaar.

You tell them the Monkey’s desire is to end the Marvelous for good. Hearts is very upset but Stones argues that after the ‘Mirrors Incident’ it should have been ended. 

"It would be a shame," purrs Spices. "The Marvellous has been terribly diverting, and the days are so very long." Sympathetic murmurs from the other Masters.

"Enough, Our truest currency, colleagues, is our word." Mr Wines is speaking, now. "This is entirely in the rules as you established them, Mr Hearts. It's hardly the monkey's fault."

"I must strongly object!" splutters Hearts.

'NOTED.' reads another note from Mr Iron. 'AND IGNORED.'

Item Rewards

Marvellous Monkey: A monkey, once called Gregory Beechwood, who achieved his heart's desire, regretted it, and (with your aid) brought about an end to the Masters' preferred entertainment, though it cost him everything. [Companion; Watchful +5, Persuasive +5, A Player of Chess +1, Dangerous -1]

The Robe of Mr Cards: The robe is huge and concealing, and glistens like wormskin. It contains an ingenious framework, which grants its wearer the profile and stature of a Master of the Bazaar. 'Mr Cards,' of course, is you. Every month you call at the Ormolu Door of the Bazaar, and are taken inside to undergo various painful but improving procedures. Already you have grown a few inches, though your posture suffers. Your ears are lengthening. And one day – one bold, magnificent day – those nubs on your shoulder blades will be wings. [Clothes; Persuasive +11, Dreaded +2, Artisan of the Red Science +1]

Newly-Cast Crown of the City of London: Fresh-forged from authentic starlight (carried from the High Wilderness in the Bazaar's vaults) this magnificent crown denotes your position as Regent of London. It heavily implies that you are in the line of succession, and gleams like the promise of power. It has been made to your exact size, for it will only ever adorn your head. The Masters have promised you that. [Hat; Persuasive +13, Respectable +2, Mithridacy +1]

A Leasehold on All of London: This is the very contract by which Her Majesty agreed to sell London to the Masters. It is a labyrinth of legal complexity and metaphysical demarcation – partly written in English, partly in Latin, and partly in the Correspondence. As a result, it is best stored in a fireproof steel tube. The text has been meticulously amended in order to extend the 'guaranteed period' in which 'it is prohibited for the previously-specified parties to arrange the replacement, abdication, or discontinuation of London' in favour of 'any other metropolis of comparable significance and succulence.' The exact duration of the extension is not specified: as with all the best legal precedent, it makes much hay of the word 'reasonable' – 'for a reasonable period,' 'to a reasonable observer,' and so on. No doubt some lucky court will be expected to work out the details at a future point. A final, recent clause specifies that the owner of this leasehold (that's you) is entitled to a monthly stipend of revivifying peach brandy to 'further and ensure that party's longevity and rude health.' [Home Comfort; Shadowy +10, Respectable +2, A Player of Chess +1]

A Palatial Holiday Home in the Arctic Circle: A Surface mansion of your own, dappled in genuine moonlight. It enjoys commanding views of dense pine forests, and basks in the infinite hues of the Aurora Borealis. The mansion is only accessible via a secret funicular connecting to the Travertine Spiral. When the sun is absent, for several months of the year, you can travel there and breathe fresh air, and hear birds, and walk in real, new-fallen snow. [Home Comfort; Watchful +10, Bizarre +2, Mithridacy +1]

The Marvellous: This deck – consecrated at the Root of Need – was used in the ancient and treacherous game known as the Marvellous. Player after player was broken upon it. But since you forsook your heart's desire, proving you were not subject to your own wants, the cards have been obedient. Now, they anticipate your needs, and seem eager to please. When you play with them it's as if they're speaking to you. Via their oblique language of numbers, faces and combinations, they hint of broader, grander games played behind the skin of the world. [Weapon; Persuasive +13, Bizarre +2, A Player of Chess +1]

#fallen london #mr pages #mr hearts #mr stones #hearts desire spoilers #lore #long post

[littlequeenies]

BEBE BUELL: MUSING ON MUSES AND OTHER FANS

📷BEBE BUELLJUNE 17, 2020

Before embarking on a musical career of her own, Bebe Buell was a much in-demand model but was most often seen as the second fiddle to the famous rock musicians she was dating. She, however, saw herself as the Muse to these musicians, inspiring and sharing ideas with them. Inevitably, the term “groupie” would arise. As she says, “I’m not opposed to ‘groupies,’ per se. I just don’t like being called a name or being tagged like a sheep to slaughter’. Bebe elaborates on this idea for PKM.

I remember the first time I saw a photograph of Oscar Wilde. I was five and it was Easter. We were at the Virginia Beach home of my mother’s friends, Poppy and Tilly, who were hosting a Sunday get together. We were dressed in our pastels and frills and the candy and food was flowing. It was an adult affair and, being the only child there, I wandered off to explore while the grown-ups enjoyed their martinis and snacks. I found myself in a living room study area and on the table was a big book filled with photos of poets, painters, sculptors and scholars. I was immediately drawn to an image of Oscar draped on a chair like a velvet throw! It stuck with me and when I got older I looked him up in the school library. At the age of twelve I read The Picture Of Dorian Gray, but my main interest was in Oscar Wilde, the man and his story. I felt an instant connection, just as I have with all the great inspirations in my life. In 1978, when I was living between NYC, Maine and LA, before finishing the year in London, I never missed one episode of Masterpiece Theatre and their 13 episodes of Lillie about the life of Lillie Langtry, played brilliantly by Francesca Annis. To my delight, it explored in great depth the relationship/friendship between Oscar and Lillie, and I became obsessed with knowing everything and anything I could about their dynamic. I was intrigued, too, by the descriptions of Mrs. Langtry in the press at that time in England and the U.S. She was often called a “Professional Beauty” or “The Jersey Lily” because she was born on Jersey, the largest of the Channel Islands off the coast of Normandy. She was also one of the most featured women in advertising; her face was everywhere. She was the image for Pears Soap and the most respected painters of the day stood in line just to have a sitting with her. In 1877, she met Edward, Prince of Wales, later King Edward VII, and became his first publicly acknowledged mistress.

One of my favorite quotes was attributed to her from her conversations with Wilde: “They saw me, those reckless seekers of beauty, and in a night I was famous.” This reminded me of the back room at Max’s Kansas City, the temple of cool when I arrived in New York during the era of everything! It was this platonic duo that introduced me to the role of the “Muse”—that is the Artist and the Muse. Throughout history and especially in the arts, there seems to always be a driving force that brings the flora. In the series Lillie, they emphasized how Oscar would repeat Lillie’s quips and observations in his writing. Their banter with one another fascinated me and I often envisioned myself as a “Patron of The Arts”, in a sense, as I’ve always promoted and sang the praises of those whose work I liked. I felt an affinity with that spirit—the gift of inspiring and sharing special ideas with an artist I admired. It wasn’t just music. I adored musing with photographers, writers, film directors and designers, too. Creative energies have always fed my soul. The first time I referenced the term “muse” was in a 1981 interview I did with the Emmy-winning writer Stephen Demorest for the edgy publication Oui. Its sister magazine in France was called Lui. Playboy had taken over ownership of Oui so it was a glossy, classy, European-style men’s delight, targeting a younger demographic. When Stephen approached me about the piece, he showed me a couple other interviews with “It Girls” that had been published.

One was with Patti D’Arbanville, the inspiration for some of Cat Stevens’ biggest hits. He even used her last name in one of the songs, “Lady D’Arbanville”. I knew Patti from the early 70s and, in fact, it was she who introduced me to Jimmy Page in 1973 on a night out dancing with her in NYC. It was a quick meeting, as I was eager to get home to my boyfriend at the time, Todd Rundgren. A year later, I would run into Mr. Page again and the rest is the stuff of rock tales.

I adored Patti so knowing that both she and Jerry Hall had done this particular interview sealed the deal. Like Patti Boyd, Jane Asher, Linda Eastman, Maureen Van Zandt, Sara Dylan, to name a few, the musical muse is the most often of the muses referenced. I recall how so many people wanted to know my viewpoints and opinions about the word “muse” and why I preferred it to the term “groupie”.

Even in Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous, his beloved character Penny Lane’s first words on screen are, “We are not groupies. We inspire the music- we are bandaids!”. The film was Cameron’s love letter to women and how even at that time a stigma was attached to calling a woman a groupie; it was not necessarily a compliment. It was almost like a dismissive jab, on par with “she’s such a slut” or “whore”. Another scene in Almost Famous has all of the members of the fictitious band Stillwater squeezed onto a small plane that, they thought, was about to crash. Secrets were spilled and fingers were pointed. In one of the most moving moments, the William character defends Penny when she is described as “that groupie” by one of the band members. William nails it when he points out who and “what” she really is- a bright light and cherished fan. Someone who loved them all and for all the right reasons.

I feel that women have been unfairly branded and labeled without cause. I’ve often said that I’m not opposed to “groupies,” per se. I just don’t like being called a name or being tagged like a sheep to slaughter. Summing me up for the life I’ve lived, seen through someone else’s eyes or, worse, exaggerating the truth. I didn’t want those I’ve truly loved or the relationships I’ve had to be considered less sincere because of the visibility of my partner.

Certainly loving music or dating musicians is not derogatory. Isn’t it logical, then, that birds of a feather flock together? Like-minded tribes mate or unite because of chemistry? Rock boys and models have been drawn to each other since forever! In the Netflix series Hollywood, you find that sex and sexual favors were the core of the industry. Several of the movie stars everyone loved on screen had started out as rent boys or nude models to make ends meet. Who decides why someone can give a blow job to the “right” person and get a starring role in a movie and another blow job by an aspiring talent gets tossed into the trash can of regret.

Why, after having four children with Mick Jagger, a successful modeling career and now being Mrs. Rupert Murdoch, would anyone refer to Jerry Hall as a groupie? Or gold digger, another favorite term used to describe women who marry well. Or Marianne Faithfull, Anita Pallenberg or Winona Ryder, for heaven’s sake? These are the questions I’ve always had and one of the main reason why I have rejected the term groupie in the press. It’s not a personal attack on those who identify with the moniker. It’s my own rebellion against being labeled and frowned on for the relationships I’ve had.

I’ve taken this stand for a long time, even though it’s also caused some judgement and negativity towards me from other women. It’s almost as if they think I see myself as better than them. Or that I’m not being honest when I don’t just call myself a full-on groupie, and own it. My closest friends tell me it’s just jealousy but that doesn’t make it any less hurtful to have tales and lies circulated about you by people you barely know or those who don’t know me at all. Or to have relationships that lasted for years being reduced to a laundry list of “conquests.”

This is nothing new, of course. Catherine The Great‘s enemies within the Emperor’s Court turned on her and started rumors that she was a sex fiend who had intercourse with horses. That stuck with her throughout her life and even in the museums of Russia, the tale has echoed although it’s completely untrue. Cleopatra and Anne Boleyn were also targeted. Ruining reputations was the way people got their revenge in days of yore. Or in some cases, the reason why some lost their heads to the guillotine. Why is it that women who have power or beauty have been subjected to crazy accusations of sexual voracity or deviance? Eve takes the blame for the banishment from Eden and although she was supposedly created from Adam’s rib, she is seen as a temptress and Adam as her victim.

I believe every woman should identify by how she feels comfortable and for the work she does. I personally prefer to be known for what I do, my accomplishments, my career. However, dating a rock star or an actor should not merit a nasty quip or name calling fest. It becomes unbalanced when just because someone gets famous as, say, a model or an actress and then dates a rock star, that she should get called anything other than what she does to earn a living. I’m not sure “groupie” falls under the umbrella of job occupation. I’d file it under pastime, hobby, passion, or fetish.

The origins of the groupie started with nothing more than a desire to be close to the band—the guys who made the music. Or in some cases, the women. The term came into use in the mid-1960s as slang for women who liked to hang out with musicians. It’s fair to say that not all “groupies” are the same. There are many tiers and pecking orders when narrowing it down. Certainly not every girl who dreams of being with a rock star will waltz backstage and demand sex or give oral gratification. That’s the image I despise and wish would not tarnish the entire viewpoint to the outside world. Some of the girls on the scene want to take the word “groupie” back, to personify what it meant in the ‘60s and early ‘70s. It became something entirely different when the ‘80s rolled around. Bands born out of the LA scene liked a different kind of arm candy than the Rolling Stones or the Beatles. They preferred exotic dancers and porn stars, the girls du jour of the time. Just as music changes with each era, so do the kinds of women who pursue the bands. But, more importantly, what kind of women the bands seek out. One man’s status is another man’s yen.

And then there are those who look at being a groupie as a form of prostitution. I’ve never understood that one because most girls who live that lifestyle don’t charge money to be with their favorite rock god or even their crew. It’s a thrill to be with the band, but it seems the glamor that was once attached to that goal has changed. For me, it was a thrill to fight to say “I’m IN the band”… or even “I AM the band!”

When I was living with Todd, he produced one of the first all-female bands, Fanny. They were so great! June Millington could shred! I felt bewildered when I would hear snide remarks wondering if Todd was sleeping with one of them. I thought to myself that would have never been said or thought if they weren’t women.

The bottom line is preference. We all have a choice. And we all can be whatever we want. We can wear many hats. I see myself as a mother, wife, musician, singer, songwriter, writer, mentor, animal lover… many different things. What I do in my spare time is how I make my soul happy. Who I date is based on connections, fate and karma. We end up with who we’re meant to be with and the experiences we have are all meant to be. I’ve been with my husband Jim for twenty years now. Our 18th wedding anniversary is coming in August 2020. So, I’m writing this piece from the perspective of a wife, mother, working musician, writer and mentor. Not just a girl who had lots of suitors in her youth. Every single little thing is part of the journey.

The first time I saw a photo in Rolling Stone of what they called a “groupie”, I was 15 years old and in the 10th grade. It was 1969, and neither the image nor the word was at all something ugly to me. It just seemed exciting and cool. The girls were so outrageously dressed, and it reflected an almost innocent charm. I didn’t aspire to be a groupie but they seemed like they were the ones who made the guys in the band cool. They helped dress them, created make-up looks and spread the word all over town about how good they were. It didn’t seem to be so much about sex and backstage antics. Maybe I was too young to fully understand everything, especially from the pages of a magazine.

On my first trip to LA with Todd in 1973, when I finally did meet some real girls who liked to be called groupies, it still didn’t seem derogatory. I started to see how it was all just tossed together in some people’s minds. It’s a complex dance between an artist and his muse. None of it is something so vulgar or tainted as being only about sexual conquest. Maybe to some, it’s about that. But for me it was a series of fated encounters that have lasted throughout my life.

Some people see a groupie as a girl who will do anything, including have sex with a roadie, to get to the band. There is that element to the rock n’ roll lifestyle. But it’s not the entire package. Others see groupies as a vibe, the girls who are there when the band makes it, the girls that helped them make it, the on-the-road bestie, or the girls who get the bands drugs and food. Or even give them the clothes off their backs if the band is short a cool stage look. I often joke that that’s how wearing your lingerie out became a signature rock girl look- the band had taken her clothes to wear onstage!

I recall reading where Pamela Des Barres said she was still a virgin when she first discovered her teenage heart being drawn to rock boys. It felt sexual to her and it was also just youthful and sweet. Not a salacious sexual quest. More a desire to be near the music and the men who made it. That’s perhaps what one would define as a “classic groupie”. Or, in some circles, “fan” is the preferred analogy. I can relate to that myself as I knew when I was ten years old, I would hang out with Mick Jagger one day. I knew those were my people… my kind.

Pamela has made a career out of her life as a proud groupie. But certainly she has a right to claim the term because she helped invent it! She now calls it her “groupie heart” and that is something anyone who’s ever had a crush on someone or loved someone’s music so much that it altered your DNA can relate to. Hasn’t everyone felt that way? Every guy or gal who picks up a guitar or slings a mic stand had to have been dazzled by their inspiration or felt a need to pursue that for their own futures. So, my point is this- none of it is negative nor should one word hold so much power that when it’s flung at a woman, she’ll feel shamed or scorned.

When I started to get a bit of fame, the media seemed to want to call me anything but “groupie”. It was “Friend Of The Stars”, “Queen Of The Rock Chicks”, “Leggy Model”, “The Mother Of All Rock Chicks”, “It Girl”… so when the internet entered our lives, I began to see just how judgmental and downright mean people were about the women who hung out with the bands. It started to become something so dirty and taboo that I wanted no part of that term. It’s a thin line, a hard one to walk. Personally, I feel loving music and being attracted to musicians is as natural as doctors and nurses getting along. Humans are drawn to their soul tribe. Music, musicians and all art forms attract me. I’m the moth to that flame.

As an entertainer myself, it always hurt me when what I actually do for my job was ignored or not taken seriously because of the famous names I’ve been attached to. It’s so one-sided to only put that burden on women. It has been the norm for men to be patted on the back and admired for their taste in women and especially if they were able to appeal to many and have tons of sexual experiences. Even in the animal kingdom, the male peacock has the massive plume bloom to attract as many lovers as he can. A male lion can rule the pride with his sexual domination. A male celebrity only becomes more famous if he’s got a beautiful model or actress on his arm. Whereas a woman who’s dance card is busy or even full is often ridiculed or bashed. Branded with the scarlet letter of infamy.

It started to get under my skin when I saw myself defined only by who I’d dated or had close friendships with. It’s the luck of the draw. Some women who are in the public eye can date and marry a celeb several times and be embraced for it. They use it to further their already visible life. They are proud and exploit all their lovers as the playthings that they’ve become. Some have become famous by leaking a porno or being on a reality show. What was once a limited field has become wide open with lots of branches of thought and assumption. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for me to fight for my image… my persona… my legacy. But I did fight. I turned down almost every request I was presented to be interviewed for groupie documentaries or sensationalized TV shows. Sometimes turning down large sums of money. But I wanted to work hard and felt if I worked hard enough one day I’d be thought of for what I did on a stage, in front of the lens of a camera, as a mother and at times even a manager, more than who I shared my life with. Dare I use the “R” word? I wanted RESPECT.

There’s lots of contrast in the definition of groupie or muse but what about “partners”… the duos who took the world by storm. Sonny & Cher, Karen & Richard Carpenter, Debbie Harry & Chris Stein, Jack & Meg White, Jane Birkin & Serge Gainsbourg, Stevie Nicks & Lindsey Buckingham, Annie Lennox & Dave Stewart, Kim Gordon & Thurston Moore, etc… Or Chrissie Hynde and Courtney Love, who both married musicians. There’s a kaleidoscope of ways women are seen. It all depends on how you are first perceived. The general public seem to hold on to how they first heard of you even if you go on to do many different things in your life. Marianne Faithfull is a perfect example of someone who has been able to transcend her detractors and carry on like the warrior she is. But it baffles my mind how anyone could call her or Anita Pallenberg anything but tastemakers and trendsetters. They were the women I would stare at for hours as a young girl. They fascinated me almost more than the guys they hung out with. Yet I still hear them sometimes referred to as groupies.

Like any entertainer, I have an overwhelming need to be loved and to give love and positive energy to others. That’s why I crave being onstage. The connection with the audience is almost like having the best sex in the world. Or at minimum, a great, soulful hug that sends sparks through your body. I’ve been doing this since 1980, in public anyway. This is my life… not the talented, special men I dated in my youth. That’s part of my story and I will never regret a single heartbreak nor will I ever regret loving to the point of forgetting myself and my own pursuits. But I want to be remembered for more than my dates or suitors. I gave birth to a child who grew up to become a superstar so the role of nurturer has followed me throughout my life. I’ve accepted the fact that my fate is to be a vessel for talent and to enrich those who possess it. It’s become who I am- all the parts and pieces of my karma rolled into one big bang! My artistic side occupies just as much space as my musing side- equal parts love and creative energy.

Things come full circle especially when I get approached after one of my shows by young girls that call me “High Priestress” or tell me that they are my “groupies”. When I hear the words “Bebe, Im your biggest groupie!”, my heart swells but I also like to immediately remind them that I do what I do onstage because of them. Because of the exchange being a performer gives to my being. It’s like fuel… hors d’oeuvres for the soul.

One morning in 2009, I got a call from an old industry friend who had landed at Interscope Records. I was awoken with, “Bebe, you’ve been touted in a song produced by Pharrell Williams called ‘Bebe Buell’ by a young band from Boston called Chester French.” I remember thinking “wow, that’s a nice compliment” because the gist of the song was that someone like me or Pamela Anderson Lee were the creme de la creme of rock-boy desire. There’s a clothing line called ‘Muse & Lyrics‘ that has a blouse/top called “The Bebe” and the brand ‘I’m With The Band’ has named their leopard scarfs and headbands the “Bebe”. There’s even a cocktail called “The Bebe Buell”.

But I think one of the coolest things was having Cameron Crowe name the lead singer in Stillwater Jeff Bebe. He gave me the original T-shirt that was used in the movie, too, and boy do I treasure it! Cameron sprinkled all kinds of little clues and messages throughout Almost Famous. I was especially touched by the Jeff Bebe nod because he knew how much I wanted to be a singer in a band. I remember him once saying to me that I should just go for it. At that point, people only knew me as a model and Todd Rundgren’s girlfriend. I hadn’t even done Playboy yet, so I was still trying to figure out who I was and how to do it. I finally did but it took me six more years to get in the studio and front a band!

It’s moving to be honored and it’s also nice to be appreciated by the younger generation of pop culture lovers. The first time my name was in a song, I was excited by it. My old friend G.E. Smith had a line on his solo album that was about coming to visit “Bebe and Liz”… he came over to my best friend Liz Derringer’s house to play it for us. We were elated… it was cool. I would never be so bold as to sit here and make a list of my lovers or the songs they wrote for me because it seems so long ago. I’d rather leave that up to the fans of the music to decipher and besides not all songs written for others are acknowledged as such. I’ve had several songs given to me as gifts or written to me in letters.

Sometimes the authors don’t admit it because their feelings change and they don’t want to upset their new love interest. Didn’t Bob Dylan write “Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat”, “Just Like A Woman”, “Fourth Time Around” and “Like A Rolling Stone” about Edie Sedgwick, only to later deny it? I know the feeling because it’s happened to me. So, at this point in my life, I just cherish the letters (yes, I still have them so one day when we’re all gone they will maybe solve the puzzles) and I respect and allow artistic license to have its day. It’s an artist’s prerogative to change their minds so I hold no hurt feelings. Music buffs are pretty smart anyway and they usually know the truth, so it matters little unless it’s blatant. The one topic that irks me is that I claimed This Year’s Model was about me. Well, that’s impossible because I didn’t meet and start to date Elvis Costello until he was well into Armed Forces. I was living with him in London when he recorded it in the fall of 1978. He included a couple of lyrics from songs on Armed Forces in letters to me but I can say with certainty that “Party Girl” wasn’t one of them. I guess it was the timing of the release that made people speculate I was the subject, but I wasn’t and never claimed to be. He didn’t even know me when he wrote those records. Why this is disputed has always been a mystery to me. The songs Mr. Costello sent me in letters were from later albums, starting with Get Happy. I will always wonder too why he would say something so false and perpetuate a rumor twenty years later in the liner notes of a re-issue.  Here’s to hoping it is finally put to rest. And even with the shame and pain I felt at the time, I feel no regret or ill will toward anyone. To me the truth is pretty obvious. Remember the story I told earlier about Catherine The Great? Revenge is often used when hearts are hurt, and it is very common in the entertainment industry.

In summing up my thoughts on the topic, I feel it’s time in our culture to appreciate the roles women have played in art since the beginning of time. Dali had his Gala, Picasso would hide the initials of his mistresses in his paintings and secretly tell them so they would know it was for them, Clapton immortalized his love and lust for Patti Boyd with the ultimate ode in “Layla” and John Lennon may have written the most beautiful love song of all for Yoko in “Woman”. Or was it Paul McCartney with “The Long And Winding Road” about Jane Asher or “Maybe I’m Amazed” about the spectacular Linda Eastman McCartney?

We can’t leave out the spirited and unique George Sand whose given name was Aurore Dupin. She was born in Paris on July 1, 1804 and adopted the name “George” because women couldn’t write professionally with the freedom of men in those days. She became one of the most popular writers in Europe during her lifetime- one of the most notable writers of the European Romantic era. She would wear male attire in public saying it was easier and more affordable than women’s garb. She was a confidant to Franz Liszt and lover and muse to Chopin. She would lie beneath the piano while Chopin composed, saying it sent the music through her entire body instead of just her ears.

Music is primal and it gets into our bloodstream. It’s easy to see why young girls get crushes on their idols and some even grow up to marry their dream man. But the days of defining women by their sexual desires or “conquests” should be on the wane. I never looked at the men I dated or loved as conquests. Humans aren’t territories to be battled over or ceded to. The human connection is divine. Each and every person we cross paths with is part of our magical life story.  So, whatever you identify yourself as is fine. That is your privilege and judgement should not follow even if the choices aren’t the norm. As Oscar Wilde said, “Be yourself. Everyone else is taken.”

*Closing side note* As I was finishing this essay, I was doodling with a People magazine crossword puzzle and one of the clues was “GROUPIE”. Guess what the answer was… “FAN”. The timing was uncanny!

#Bebe Buell #Article #Muse #Please Kill Me #2020 #Author #Musician #Model #Inspiration #Oscar Wilde #Lillie Langtry #Cat Stevens #Pattie d'Arvanville #Quote #Quotes #Cameron Crowe #Almost Famous #Catherine the Great #Chester French #Todd Rundgren #Bob Dylan #Elvis Costelo #Groupie #Pamela des Barres #George Sand #2020 Bebe #2020s Bebe #Bebe article

[papermoonloveslucy]

Desi’s TOPS Picks!

July 9, 1955

For the July 9, 1955 issue of TV Guide, Desi Arnaz was tasked with picking TOPS - Television’s Own Promising Starlets!  Arnaz picked six young women he believed would be popular and successful on television in the years to come. This was a rare time that Lucille Ball was not part of the article, except for her name being dropped as Desi’s original TOPS pick.  There is not even a photo of Lucy!  

The cover features Clara Ann Fowler (1927-2013), known by her stage name Patti Page, a singer of pop and country music and occasional actress. She was the top-charting female vocalist and best-selling female artist of the 1950s, selling over 100 million records during a six-decade long career. Page's signature song, "Tennessee Waltz", was one of the biggest-selling singles of the 20th century. Page had three additional #1 hit singles between 1950 and 1953, "All My Love (Bolero)", "I Went to Your Wedding", and "(How Much Is That) Doggie in the Window".  In 1955, Page was seen in “The Patti Page Show,” her own 15-minute television show and was a frequent musical guest on variety programs. 

Here’s a closer look at Desi’s TOPS, along with notes about their career since 1955: 

MARJIE MILLAR was born on August 10, 1930 in Tacoma, Washington, as Marjorie Joy Miller. In 1935, she won a Shirley Temple look-alike contest at Tacoma's Roxy Theater over 200 other local contestants. Mogul Hal Wallis took an immediate interest in her. In March 1952 she was named "Miss Hollywood Star of 1952."  She was crowned one of Hollywood's new deb stars by Hollywood hair stylists in 1953. She was known for Money from Home (1953) and About Mrs. Leslie (1954). In July 1955 she had just finished two seasons on ABC TV’s Emmy-nominated series “Where’s Raymond?” starring Ray Bolger. After Desi’s recognition, she did the film When Gangland Strikes (1956). She was married to Charles Candoo, John Dennis McCallum, John Florea, and James Sidney Rollins Jr. She died on April 16, 1966 in Coronado, California.

Desilu Connection: On “Where’s Raymond” she acted opposite “I Love Lucy” character actors Elvia Allman, Bobby Jellison, Shirley Mitchell, Verna Felton, Jay Novello, Joi Lansing, and Wil Wright, as well as creative staff Argyle Nelson, Claudio Guzman, and Dann Cahn. The series filmed at General Service Studios, just like “I Love Lucy”. 

FRANCES RAFFERTY was born on June 16, 1922 in Sioux City, Iowa. During the Depression her family moved to Los Angeles in search of work. Frances was signed by MGM at the age of 19 and began with a dancing bit in Presenting Lily Mars (1943) starring Judy Garland. She was a war-era cover girl for Yank, the Army weekly. Unable to secure starring parts, Frances remained a B-level co-star. She died in 2004 at age 81. 

Desilu Connection: Lucille Ball was instrumental in casting Rafferty in Desilu’s hit sitcom “December Bride” (1954-59), where she played Ruth Henshaw in 156 episodes, including one that starred Desi Arnaz as himself!  At MGM, she was in the films Thousands Cheer (1943) and Abbott and Costello in Hollywood (1945) with Lucille Ball. 

VERA MILES (nee Ralston) was born in Boise City, Oklahoma on August 23, 1929. Miles won the title of "Miss Kansas" in 1948, leading soon to small roles in Hollywood films and television. series. The same week this TV Guide hit the stands, she appeared in the film Wichita, starring Joel McRae as Wyatt Earp. Coincidentally, Miles went to high school in Wichita, Kansas. Her main claim to fame was as one of Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘blondes’ appearing in Psycho (1960) as Lila Crane, Marion’s sister. Miles also did the 1983 sequel playing the same role. 

Desilu Connection: In 1958, Miles did “Mr. Tutt”, an episode of Desilu’s Colgate Theatre, produced by Desi Arnaz. In 1966, Miles appeared on an episode of “The Bob Hope Show” with Lucille Ball. 

JEANNE BAIRD was born on March 28, 1927 in Du Bois, Pennsylvania. She got her start in TV’s “The Living Christ” as Martha in 1951. 

Desilu Connection: In 1955 she did an episode of “I Married Joan” (NBC’s answer to “I Love Lucy”) which filmed at General Services Studios, same as “Lucy”.  

PEGGY KING was born in 1930 and known as "Pretty Perky Peggy King" when she appeared on “The George Gobel Show” (1954-57) and guest-starred on many other TV shows. In 1952, MGM signed her to a contract, which led to a cameo in Vincente Minnelli's The Bad and the Beautiful and a series of commercial jingles for Hunt's tomato sauce. These last brought her to the attention of Mitch Miller, who signed her to a long-term contract, under which she made two best-selling albums. She sang the Oscar-nominated song "Count Your Blessings" on the 1955 Academy Awards telecast, and both Billboard and Down Beat magazine named her Best New Singer of 1955–56. She was nominated for an Emmy in 1955, the same year this TV Guide was published. The Broadcast Pioneers of Philadelphia inducted King into their Hall of Fame in 2010, which led to her resuming her singing career in 2013.

Desilu Connection: There is no known direct connection between King and  Lucy and Desi, although both were associated with MGM and Vincente Minnelli. It is likely that Desi is just listening to the Hollywood critics, who praised King highly and predicted she would rival the greats.  While she had a moderate success, she never achieved the legendary status of Garland, Shore, Whiting, or Stafford. 

VIRGINIA GIBSON was born on April 9, 1925 in St. Louis, Missouri, as Virginia Gorski. In the fall of 1943, she was a dancer in Roll Up Your Sleeves on Broadway. Gibson was signed by Warner Brothers in 1950 and made her film debut in Tea for Two (1950). On television, Gibson was a regular on “Captain Billy's Showboat” (1948). She also starred in “So This Is Hollywood” (1955) and was a regular performer on “The Johnny Carson Show (1955–56). In 1956 she returned to Broadway to play Ethel Merman's daughter in the musical Happy Hunting, earning a Tony nomination for her work. She died in 2013 at age 88. 

Desilu Connection: Gibson is perhaps best known for playing Liza, one of the Seven Brides for Seven Brothers in MGM’s 1955 musical.  Lucy and Desi were also at MGM during this time, and even mentioned Seven Brides on an episode of “I Love Lucy.”

If the idea of Desi Arnaz and young female talent rings a bell, it should!  Ricky Ricardo was often faced with a green-eyed Lucy when surrounded by beautiful Hollywood starlets. It happened in “Don Juan and the Starlets” (ILL S4;E17), which coincidentally (or not) was aired around the same time as this article was being written for TV Guide! 

Lucy again got jealous of Ricky fraternizing with up-and-coming young talent in “Desert Island” (ILL S6;E8) just a year later. 

Editor’s Notes: Considering the well-known circumstances of the Arnaz divorce, and Desi’s reputation as a womanizer, it might be easy to conclude that producer Desi had some sort of personal interest in promoting these attractive young ladies in TV Guide. However, I’m not so sure that is a reasonable assumption to make. First, articles of this sort were rarely written by the ‘author’ (Desi) but by press agents, with approval of the person with the byline. The extent of Desi’s control of the list or the text that accompanies them is up for debate. In fact, some of these talented women are only tangentially related to Arnaz publicly, and some - not at all. 

When all is said and done, the only one on the list that has approached icon status is Vera Miles, due mainly to her participation in Hitchcock’s Psycho. While Frances Rafferty was on a weekly TV series (”December Bride”) the show has not fared well in syndication and is largely forgotten by today’s viewers. However, Rafferty is the most likely to have been ‘Desi’s pick’ due to her working on the Desilu lot and appearing with him in an episode of the show. At the time, Peggy King was certainly the odds-on favorite for stardom, so her inclusion was a no-brainer.  Virginia Gibson took a left turn back to Broadway and earned a Tony nod, so that interrupted her trajectory toward Hollywood fame. Sadly Millar and Baird’s careers fizzled and are only remembered today by die-hard fans. 

#TV Guide #Desi Arnaz #Lucille Ball #Vera Miles #Frances Rafferty #Peggy King #Virginia Gibson #Jeanne Baird #margie millar #Patti Page #Pyscho #December Bride #Seven Brides for Seven Brothers #I Love Lucy #Joi Lansing #Barbara Eden #George Gobel #1955 #TV #Hollywood

[tvdiaries-imagines]

Old Flame: Pt. 4

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1726

OLD FLAME MASTERLIST: CLICK HERE

Rousseau’s is rather empty. There’s only a couple at the bar and a handful of people seated at the table. You and Kai waltz in, making yourselves comfortable at the bar.

“Another new face.” The blonde bartender says with excitement, “What brings you to the city?” She asked, placing coasters and napkins over the bar counter.

“Oh, just visiting an ex.” You said with a casual amusing tone.

She flickered her curious green eyes at Kai. “Him?”

You snorted at her assumption before shaking your head. “Oh no no no.”

She narrowed her eyes briefly at Kai before returning a playful look to you. “I’d say brother, but you two look nothing alike. So gay best friend?”

Kai grinned, amused. “Wow. That’s a first.” He threw an arm over your shoulder which you briskly rejected.

“Nope.” You said, “just a straight friend.”

“With benefits.” Kai added, raising a brow.

“Shut up.” You nudged Kai’s arm, shooting him a scowl before bringing your attention back to the blonde. “He’s totally kidding. He’s just here for moral support or whatever. Anyways, we’ll get a whiskey. Neat.”

“Sure thing.” She placed two empty glasses over the counter before turning to grab a bottle, pouring it a quarter of the way. “So visiting an ex, huh. Where are you two from?”

“Virginia.” You responded.

She furrowed her brows, baffled. “Wow. That’s pretty far to visit an ex.” A nervous chuckle escaped her mouth as if her response was beyond her control. “So sorry if I’m being too blunt. It’s not something I hear everyday.”

“Don’t worry about it…” You shrugged, glancing at her name tag. “Camille...It’s very complicated.”

“I’m all ears…” She dragged, as if waiting for an introduction.

“Y/N.” You flashed Camille a warm smile. “I know it sounds like I’m a weird ex, but I promise it’s not that weird. His sister flew all the way to Virginia and begged me to come see him.”   

“How odd?” She blinked, puzzled. It does sound a little crazy to someone who doesn’t know the backstory.

“Very very odd.” Kai added.

“Yeah I know.” You said, taking a sip of your whiskey before continuing. “His sister told me that he lost someone very important to him and that he’s been spiraling like crazy. So she and their older brother assume that I’m the key to uplifting him, I guess.”

“Got it, got it. So have you seen him yet?” Camille asked, intrigued.

You let out a long sigh. “Yes. A few minutes ago actually.”

“She ran off.” Kai smirked, leaning back in his seat.

“Ran off, huh. And he didn’t chase after you?” Camille raised a brow.

“No.” Your eyes fell to your glass, but you recovered quickly, clearing your throat as you shift your view back to the bartender. “But it’s fine. I mean, it was probably a lot for him to take in. I’ll be back soon though.” You shrugged.

“Well, you know what? I hope everything falls into place with you and your ex.” Camille said, offering you a warm smile.

“Mmmhmm.” Kai muttered, taking a generous sip of his whiskey.

For the next hour, you remained at the bar, getting to know Camille. You learned that she has a smart ass, sarcastic personality. But you enjoy every bit of it. Kai was being his usual chatty, narcissistic self. He earned many eye rolls from you and even Camille. Though, it seemed she still enjoyed his company.

You found yourself getting lost in your thoughts every now and then, replaying your very brief moment with Klaus and all the different ways you could have handled it instead of running off like a scared puppy. It was excruciating for you not knowing what went on in his head from your arrival.

All too familiar memories rushed through your head.

You’ll never forget that time Klaus scolded you for going on a walk alone. You weren’t attacked by anyone, but you did sprain your ankle after missing a step. You called Kol to come to your rescue, but he later told Klaus about it anyways.

Living with Klaus and waking up every morning to the smell of breakfast being cooked by a compelled chef.

On your last anniversary spent with him, you came home to a trail of rose petals that leads to the massive backyard, where he is waiting with a violin player and a table set up. He knows how much you cherish quality time, so his phone was set away for the remainder of the evening.

Nowadays, you wake up alone in your bed and to the smell of bacon being cooked by Stefan or Damon. You never minded it at all, though. But being in the same city as Klaus and seeing him after all this time is quite difficult for you not to reminisce.  

“Y/N.” Kai snapped you out of your thoughts, his hand placed on the small of your back. You blinked numerously to bring yourself back. “You okay there?” He asked.

“Yeah. Sorry.” You trailed off. Suddenly, you hop off of the bar stool. “I-I decided I’m going to go back. I think I cooled off long enough. Camille, it was so nice to meet you. I’ll definitely try to come visit again.”

“Leaving already?” Kai added. He’s a bit bummed that you’re already off to spend time with your ex without knowledge of when you’ll return, but he quickly realized this is the exact reason why you’re here and it was his choice to tag along.

“Yeah, just keep Camille company. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Nice meeting you, Y/N.” Camille offered you a smile.

Sauntering out of the vicinity, the warmth of the sun welcomes you. Your superb memory came in handy because you didn’t need gps or Elijah’s assistance to find your way back to the Mikaelson compound. You strolled instead of rushed, taking in all the sun and Jazz music has to offer you. Even you were tempted to walk inside a gift shop or two, but the task at hand was more important. Niklaus.

Glancing over your shoulders, you noticed two muscular men following closely behind you. It could be your paranoia, so you tried brushing the feeling away, but as you turned a corner, you caught a glimpse of them indiscreetly trailing after you.

You’re a vampire for god sakes, so you figured you can take them. You wandered into the nearest alleyway until you are no longer earshot from the tourists. Like clockwork, the men followed.

Halting, you turned on your heel and only noticed one of the men standing before you. “Look. If you don’t want to get your ass beat by a girl, I suggest you scurry away.” You did a shooing motion with your hand, smirking.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” His tone meant business.

“Who’s asking?” Your eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You’re coming with us.”

You scoffed at his response. “No way in hell.” This stranger must be out of his mind, stalking me and expecting me to willingly go with him. You thought to yourself.  

You spun to walk away, but you are met with the second man’s chest and immediately everything goes black.

(Meanwhile…)

“We’re taking the 12 original rings.” Elijah started, pacing in the dining room. “Now, four sit on the hands of the Guerrera brothers. One on Oliver, one on Francesca.” He flickered his eyes from Hayley and Klaus, who are keeping a distance from both ends of the dining table. Neither would make eye contact whatsoever.

“Three, with the home security detail and the rest scattered amongst her lackeys.” Elijah continued, “Each ring is distinguishable by its setting. Gauche. Like those that wear them.”

“If they believe that they can get the stake, they will come for me when I’m weak.” Klaus said, glowering in his seat. “Each ring we retrieve will strengthen me, but I will still be at a disadvantage.”

“Ergo, any hope of our success depends entirely upon our working together.” Elijah implied, stepping closer towards Hayley’s direction. “Two of you can no longer afford to retreat to separate corners.”

Hayley frowned, but knows that Elijah is right. They all have to work together as a team.

Klaus stood, peering at Hayley with a hardened expression. “This is our fight. You ready for battle, Hayley?”

“Just promise me that Francesca doesn’t come out of this alive.” Hayley’s eyes burned with rage.

“Her head will be delivered to you on a silver platter.” Klaus smirked.

“And what of dear Y/N?” Elijah intervenes. Klaus clenched his jaw at the thought of you getting hurt if you joined in.

“She stays out of this.” Klaus said with a serious tone. “Since neither of us are aware of when she will return, do inform her to stay away from the compound until-”

The ringing of Elijah’s phone gained everyone’s attention. He freed it from the inside of his suit jacket pocket, brows furrowed in confusion at the name. He glanced nervously at Klaus as he answered the phone. “Francesca.” Elijah hid his hatred for her with a professional tone.

Klaus’s lips drew back in a snarl, fighting the urge to rip the phone out of Elijah’s hand to give Francesca a piece of his mind.

“Hello Elijah. We have your precious Y/N.” She said, Klaus’s eyes widened. “Bring Klaus to us when the moon reaches its apex or she’s dead before the sun rises.”

“Elijah! Klaus!” Your struggled voice was the last they heard before Francesca ended the call. The brothers wondered how she found out about your relationship to them, but remembered that you did walk to the compound with Elijah earlier today. They figured one of Francesca’s wolves must’ve spied on them.

“They have her?!” Raw anger shot through Klaus, hands clenched into fists. “Now this changes everything. I am going with you, Elijah.”

“No Niklaus.” Elijah rejected without remorse.

“We will continue with our plan. Allow me to handle retrieving Y/N, alone. You are too weak and quite frankly brother, your frail condition will be a burden to me.”

Klaus exhaled deeply though his nostrils, maintaining his hardened expression. “Fine.” He spat the word before softening his tone with utter desperation. “But I beg of you, Elijah. Bring her back to me alive.”

Elijah nodded before disappearing.  

-

TAGS: @ynm1505 @ravenmoore14 @xdontxcare @seasiren96 @anyasthoughts @woodworthti666 @agentmarvel13 @miss-lumiere @elizabethann1090 @physically-a-cheesecake @azhar1422 @morsmornte @retrocontessa 

#NOT MY GIF #credits to creators #the originals #klaus #klaus x reader #klaus imagine #klaus fluff #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson imagine #niklaus mikaelson #tvd #vampire diaries #tvd imagine #the vampire diaries #joseph morgan #daniel gillies #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson imagine #kai parker #kai parker x reader #kai parker imagine #malachai parker #kai imagine #kai #kai x reader #camille the originals

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 6, Number 12

The Flat Five

It’s November, and the culture is telling us to be thankful again, at least from a distance. We’re a prickly, argumentative bunch here at Dusted, but I think we can all agree on gratitude for our health, each other and the music, good and bad, that comes flooding in from all sides. So while we may not agree on whether the best genre is free jazz or acid folk or vintage punk or the most virulent form of death metal, we do concur that the world would be very dull without any of it. And thus, seasonably overstuffed, but with music, we opine on a number of the best of them once again. Contributors this time include Bill Meyer, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Ray Garraty, Jennifer Kelly, Mason Jones, Patrick Masterson, Jonathan Shaw and Justin Cober-Lake. Happy thanksgiving. 

Cristián Alvear / Burkhard Stangl — Pequeños Fragmentos De Una Música Discreta (Insub)

Pequeños fragmentos de una música discreta by CRISTIÁN ALVEAR & BURKHARD STANGL

The acoustic guitar creates instant common ground. Put together two people with guitars in their hands together, and they can potentially communicate without knowing a word of each other’s language. They might trade blues licks, verses of “Redemption Song,” or differently dire remembrances of “Hotel California,” but they’re bound to find some sort of common language. This album documents another chapter in the eternal search. Cristián Alvear is a Chilean classical guitarist who has found a niche interpreting modern, and often experimental repertoire. Burkhard Stangl is an Austrian who has spent time playing jazz with Franz Koglmann, covering Prince with Christoph Kurzmann and realizing compositions that use the language of free improvisation with Polwechsel. This CD collects eight “Small Fragments Of Discreet Music” which they improvised in the course of figuring out what they could play together. Given their backgrounds, dissonance is part of the shared language, but thanks to the instrumentation, nothing gets too loud. Sometimes they explore shared material, such as the gentle drizzle of harmonics on “No5.” Other times, they find productive contrasts, such as the blurry slide vs. palindromic melody on “No6.” And just once, they flip on the radio and wax melancholic while the static sputters. Sometimes small, shared moments are all you need.

Bill Meyer

 Badge Époque Ensemble — Self Help (Telephone Explosion Records)

Self Help by Badge Époque Ensemble

 Toronto collective Badge Époque Ensemble display the tastefully virtuosic skill of a particular strain of soul-inflected jazz-fusion that politely nudged its way into the charts during the 1970s. Led by Max Turnbull (the erstwhile Slim Twig) on Fender Rhodes, clavinet and synthesizers with members of US Girls, Andy Shauf’s live band and a roster of guest vocalists, Badge Époque Ensemble faithfully resurrect the sophisticated sounds of Blue Nun fuelled fondue parties and stoned summer afternoons by the pool. Meg Remy and Dorothea Paas share vocals on “Sing A Silent Gospel” which is garlanded with Karen Ng’s alto saxophone and an airy solo from guitarist Chris Bezant; it’s a track that threatens to take off but never quite does. The strength of James Baley’s voice lifts the light as air psych-funk of “Unity (It’s Up To You)” and Jennifer Castle does the same for “Just Space For Light” during which Alia O’Brien makes the case for jazz flute — Mann rather than Dolphy — with an impressive solo. The most interesting track here is the 11 minute “Birds Fly Through Ancient Ruins” a broodingly introspective piece which allows Bezant, Ng and bassist Giosuè Rosati to shine. Self-Help is immaculately played and has some very good moments but can’t quite get loose enough to convince.

Andrew Forell  

 Better Person — Something to Lose (Arbutus)

Something to Lose by Better Person

Like any musical genre, synth-pop can go desperately awry in the wrong hands. The resurgence of all things 1980s has been such a prevalent musical trend in recent years that it takes a deft touch to create something that taps into the retro vibe without coming across as smug. Under his Better Person moniker, Berlin-based Polish artist Adam Byczyowski manages to summon the melancholy vibe of 1980s classics such as “Last Christmas” by Wham!, “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin, and “Drive” by The Cars, reimagined for the 21st century and set in a run-down karaoke bar. This succinct and elegant half-hour set pivots around atmospheric instrumental “Glendale Evening” and features three Polish-language tracks — “Na Zawsze” (“Forever”), “Dotknij Mnie” (“Touch Me”), and “Ostatni Raz” (“Last Time”) — that emphasize the feel of cruising solo through another country and tuning into a unfamiliar radio station. There’s roto-toms, glassy synth tones, suitably melodramatic song titles (including “Hearts on Fire,” “True Love,” and “Bring Me To Tears”), plus Byczyowski’s disaffected croon. It all creates something unexpectedly moving.

Tim Clarke

 Big Eyes Family — The Disappointed Chair (Sonido Polifonico)

The Disappointed Chair by Big Eyes Family

Sheffield’s Big Eyes Family (formerly The Big Eyes Family Players) released the rather fine Oh! on Home Assembly Music in 2016. Its eerie blend of folk and psych-pop brought to mind early Broadcast, circa Work and Non Work, before Trish Keenan and James Cargill started to explore more experimental timbres and themes of the occult. Bar perhaps the haunted music box instrumental “Witch Pricker’s Dream,” Oh!’s songs cleaved along a similar grain: minor keys, chiming arpeggiated guitar, spooky organ, in-the-pocket rhythm section, plus Heather Ditch’s vocal weaving around the music like smoke. The Disappointed Chair is much the same, enlivened with a touch more light and shade, from succinct waltz “(Sing Me Your) Saddest Song,” to the elegant Mellotron and tom-toms of “For Grace.” “From the Corner of My Eye” is stripped right back, with an especially affecting guitar line, plus Ditch’s vocals doubled, with the same words spoken and sung, like a voice of conscience nagging at the edge of the frame. It’s a strong set of songs, only let down by the boxy snare sound on “Blue Light,” and on “The Conjurer,” Ditch’s lower register isn’t nearly as strident as her upper range.

Tim Clarke

 Bounaly — Music For WhatsApp 10 (Sahel Sounds)

Music from Saharan WhatsApp 10 by Bounaly

The tenth installment in Sahel Sounds’ Music For WhatsApp series introduces another name worth remembering. In case your attention hasn’t been solely faced on the ephemeral charms of contemporary Northwest African music in 2020, here’s the scoop: Each month, Sahel sounds uploads a brief recording that a musician from that corner of the world recorded on their cell phone and delivered via the titular app, which is the current mode of music transmission in that neck of the woods. At the end of the month they take it down, and that’s that. This edition was posted on November 11, so set your watch accordingly. Bounaly is originally from Niafounké, which was the home of the late, great Ali Farka Touré. Since civil war and outside intervention have rendered the city unsafe for musicians of any speed, he now works in Mali’s capital city, Bamako, but his music is rooted in the bluesy guitar style that Touré championed. Accompanied solely by a calabash player and surrounded by street sounds, Bounaly’s singing closely shadows his picking, which is expressive without resorting to the amped-up shredding of contemporary guitarists like Mdou Moctar.

Bill Meyer  

 Cash Click Boog — Voice of the Struggle (CMC-CMC)

Last year, Cash Click Boog made a few very noticeable appearances on other people albums (especially on Lonnie Bands’ “Shred 1.5” and Rockin Rolla’s First Quarter) but his own Extras was a minor effort. This Californian rapper was always a dilettante at music, but that was his main appeal and ineradicable feature: you always knew that he’s always caught up in some very dark street business, and he appears in a booth once every blue moon, almost by accident. He is that sort of a player who always on the bleachers, yet when they let him on the field he always does a triple double or a hat trick (depending on a kind of sport).

Voice of the Struggle was supposed to be his big break, the album in which he would expend his gift for rapping while remaining in strictly amateurish frame. Sadly, Boog has chosen another route, namely going pop. He discards his amateur garbs almost completely and auto-tunes every track. If earlier he was too dark even by street standards, now almost all the tracks could be safely played on a radio. The first eight songs are more or less pop-ish ballads about homies in prison, tough life and the ghetto. By the time we reach the last three tracks where Boog recovers his old persona, it’s already too late. The struggle remains but the voice is gone.

Ray Garraty 

 The Flat Five — Another World (Pravda)

The Flat Five musters a great deal of Chicago musical fire power. Alt.country chanteuse Kelly Hogan, Andrew Bird collaborator Nora O’Connor and Casey McDonough sing in Andrews Sisters harmonies, while NRBQ mainstay Scott Ligon minds the store and Green Mill regular Alex Hall keeps the rhythm steady. The sound is retro —1930s radio retro — but the songs, written by Ligon’s older brother Chris, upend mid-century American pieties with sharp, insurgent wit. A variety of old-time-y styles are referenced — big band jazz, country, doo wop and pre-modern pop — in clean, winking style. Countrified, “The Great State of Texas” seems, at first, to be a fairly sentimental goodbye-to-all-that song, until it ends with the revelation that the narrator is on death row. “Girl of Virginia,” unspools a series of intricate, Cole Porter-ish rhymes, while waltzing carelessly across the floor. The writing is sharp, the playing uniformly excellent and the vocals extra special, layered in buzzing harmonies and counterpoints. No matter how complicated the vocal arrangements, no one is ever flat in Flat Five.

Jennifer Kelly

 Sam Gendel — DRM (Nonesuch)

Normally, Sam Gendel plays saxophone in a classic jazz style. You might have caught him blowing dreamy, airy accompaniments on Sam Amidon’s last record, for instance, or putting his own spin on jazz standards in the solo Satin Doll. But for this album, Gendel experimented with ancient high tech — an Electro Harmonix DRM32 drum machine, some synthesizers, a 60-year-old nylon-string guitar —t o create hallucinatory fragments of beat-box-y, jazz-y sound, pitched somewhere between arty hip hop and KOMPAKT-style experimental electronics. “Dollars,” for instance, laces melancholy, Latin-flavored guitar and crooning with vintage video-game blips and bleeps, like a bossa nova heard dimly in a gaming arcade. “SOTD” dances uneasily in a syncopated way, staccato guitar runs paced by hand-claps, stuttered a-verbal mouth sounds and bright melodic bursts of synthesizer. “Times Like This” poses the difficult question of exactly what time we’re in—it has the moody smoulder of old soul, the antic ping and pop of lush early 00s electronics, the disembodied alien suavity of pitch-shifted R&B right now. The ringer in the collection is a cover of L’il Nas’ “Old Town Road,” interpreted in soft Teutonic electro tones, like Cluster at the rodeo. It’s odd and lovely and hard to get a bead on, which is pretty much the verdict for DRM as a whole.

Jennifer Kelly

 Kraig Grady — Monument of Diamonds (Another Timbre)

MONUMENT OF DIAMONDS by Kraig Grady

The painting adorning the sleeve of Monument of Diamonds is entitled Doppler Effect in Blue, and rarely has the cover art’s name so accurately described the sound of the music paired with it. The album-length composition, which is scored for brass, saxophones and organs, consists almost entirely of long tones that Doppler in slow motion, with one starting up just before another peters out. The composer, Kraig Grady, is an Australian-based American who used to release albums that purported to be the folk music of a mythical land called Anaphoria. Nowadays he has no need for such subterfuge, since this lovely album holds up quite well on its own merits. Inspired by Harry Partch and non-Western classical music systems, Grady uses invented instruments and strategically selected pitch intervals to create microtonal music that sounds subtly alien, but never harsh on the ears. As the sounds glide by, they instigate a state of relaxed alertness that’ll do your blood pressure some good without exposing you to unnecessary sweetener.

Bill Meyer  

 MJ Guider — Sour Cherry Bell (Kranky)

Sour Cherry Bell by MJ Guider

MJ Guider’s second full length is diaphanous and monolithic, its monster beats sheathed in transparent washes of hiss and roar. “The Steelyard” shakes the floor with its pummelling industrial rhythms, yet shrouds Guider’s spoken word chants with surprising delicacy. “Body Optics” growls and simmers in woozy synth-driven discontent, while the singer lofts dreamy melodic phrases over the roar. There’s heft in the low-end of these roiling songs, in the churn of bass-like synthetics, the stomp of computer driven percussion, yet a disembodied lightness in the vocals, which float in pristine purity over the roar. Late in the disc, Guider ventures a surprisingly unconfrontational bit of dream pop in “Perfect Interference,” sounding poised and controlled and rather lovely at the center of chiming, enveloping synthetic riffs. Yet the murk and roar makes her work even more captivating, a glimpse of the spiritual in the midst of very physical wreck and tumult.

Jennifer Kelly

 Hisato Higuchi — キ、Que、消えん？ - Ki, Que, Kien? (Ghost Disc) 

キ、Que、消えん？ - Ki, Que, Kien? by Hisato Higuchi

Since 2003, Tokyo-based guitarist Hisato Higuchi has quietly released a series of equally-quiet albums, many on his own Ghost Disc label, which is appropriately named. Higuchi's work on this and the previous two albums of his "Disappearing Trilogy" is a sort of shimmering, melancholy guitar-and-vocal atmosphere — downer psych-folk in a drifting haze. His lyrics are more imagery than story, touching on overflowing light, winter cities, the quiet world, and the transience of memories. As the guitar floats slowly into the distance, Higuchi's voice, imbued with reverb, is calmly narcotic, like someone quietly sympathizing with a friend's troubles. These songs, while melancholy, convey a peacefulness that's a welcome counterbalance to the chaotic year in which we've been living. Like a cool wind on a warm summer evening, you can close your eyes and let Higuchi's music improve your mood.  

Mason Jones

 Internazionale — Wide Sea Prancer (At the Blue Parade) (Janushoved)

Wide Sea Prancer (At The Blue Parade) by Internazionale

It’s been nearly half a decade since Copenhagen’s Janushoved first appeared in these annals, and in that time, a little more information — and a lot more material — has cropped up to lend some context to the mystery. The focus, however, steadfastly remains with the music — perhaps my favorite of which among the regular projects featured is label head Mikkel Valentin’s own swirling solo synth vehicle Internazionale. In addition to a reissue of 2017’s The Pale and the Colourful (originally out on Posh Isolation), November saw the release of all-new songs with Wide Sea Prancer (At the Blue Parade), 14 tracks of gently abrasive headphone ambient that carry out this type of sound very well. Occasionally there is a piano (“Callista”) or what sounds like vocals (“El Topo”), but as it’s been from the start, this is primarily about tones and moods. Notes for the release say it’s a “continuation and completion of the narrative set by the release Sillage of the Blue Summer,” but it’s less the narrative you should be worried about missing out on than the warmth of your insides after an uninterrupted listen.

Patrick Masterson    

 Iress — Flaw (Iress)

Flaw by Iress

Sweeping, epic post-metal from this LA four piece makes a place for melodic beauty amid the heaviness. Like Pelican and Red Sparrows, Iress blares a wall of overwhelming guitar sound. Together Michelle Malley and Alex Moreno roust up waves and walls of pummeling tone as in opener “Shame.” But Iress is also pretty good at pulling back and revealing the acoustic basis for these songs. “Hand Tremor” is downright tranquil, with wreathes of languid guitar strumming and Malley’s strong, gutsy soprano navigating the full dynamic range from whisper to scream. “Wolves” lumbers like a violent beast, even in its muscular surge, there’s a slow, anthemic chorus. Likewise, “Underneath” pounds and hammers (that’s Glenn Chu on drums), but leaves space for introspection and doubt. It’s rare that the vocals on music this heavy are so good or so female, but if you’ve liked Chelsea Wolfe’s recent forays into ritual metal, you should check out Iress as well.

Jennifer Kelly

Junta Cadre — Vietnam Forever (No Rent Records)

"Vietnam Forever" (NRR141) by Junta Cadre

Junta Cadre is one of several noise and power electronics projects created by Jackson Abdul-Salaam, musician and curator of the long-running Svn Okklt blog. As the project’s name implies, Junta Cadre has an agenda: the production of sound that seeks to thematize the ambiguities of 20th-century radical, revolutionary politics. The project’s initial releases investigated the Maoist revolution in China, and the subsequent Cultural Revolution of the late 1960s and 1970s. Vietnam Forever shifts topics, to the American War in Vietnam, and tactics, including contributions from other prominent harsh noise acts and artists: the Rita, Samuel Torres of Terror Cell Unit, Leo Brucho of Controlled Opposition and others. Given those names, Vietnam Forever is as challenging and rigorous as you might expect. Waves of dissonant, electronic hum and fuzz accumulate and oscillate, crunching and chopping into textured aural assaults; wince-inducing warbles and needling feedback occasionally assert themselves. Abdul-Salaam’s harsh shout cuts in and out of the mix. The tape (also available as a name-yo’-price DL on Bandcamp) presents as two side-long slabs of sound, both over seventeen minutes long, both completely exhausting. At one point, on Side A, Abdul-Salaam repeatedly shouts, “Beautiful Vietnam forever!” It’s hard to say what he means. An affirmation that Vietnam survived the war? That its people and culture endure? Or that the U.S. can’t seem to shake the war’s haunting presence? Or even a more worryingly nihilistic delight in the war’s carnage, so frequently aestheticized in films like Apocalypse Now (1979), Full Metal Jacket (1987) and Da Five Bloods (2020)? The noise provides no closure. Maybe necessarily so.  

Jonathan Shaw  

 Bastien Keb — The Killing of Eugene Peeps (Gearbox)

The Killing of Eugene Peeps is a soundtrack to a movie that never was, a noir-ish flick which winds restlessly through urban landscapes and musical styles, from the orchestra tremors of its opening through the folky group-sing of “Lucky the Oldest Grave.” “Rabbit Hole” wafts by like an Elephant Six outtake, its woozy chorus lit by glockenspiel notes, while “God Bless Your Gutters” conjures jazzy desolation in piano and mordant spoken word. “All the Love in Your Heart” shimmers like a movie flashback, a mirage of blowsy back-up singing, guitar and muttered memories. “Street Clams” bristles with funk and swagger, an Ethio-jazz sortee through rain slicked streets. What’s it about? Musically or narratively? No idea. But it’s worth visiting these evocative soundscapes just for the atmosphere. It’s a film I’d like to see.

Jennifer Kelly

 Jesse Kivel — Infinite Jess (New Feelings)

Nostalgia haunts the new solo album from Kisses guitarist/singer Jesse Kivel. Infinite Jess is full of that knowing melancholy of The Blue Nile, Prefab Sprout and The Pale Fountains that was so magnetic to a certain brand of sensitive young thing seeking to articulate their inchoate visions of a future steeped in romance and adventure. Think wistful mid-tempo songs wrapped in cocoons of strummed guitars, shuffling percussion and wurlitzer piano fashioned into a catalogue of adolescent radio memories. These tunes are topped by the understated sincerity of Kivel’s voice and lyrics which effectively evoke the place, time and emotion of his vignettes. The production suffers occasionally from a distracting reliance on too perfectly rendered tropes — overly polite drum programming, thumbed bass, blandly smooth electric piano — but the overall effect is oddly beguiling. Infinite Jess closes with a charmingly wobbly instrumental cover of Don McLean’s “Vincent” played on the wurlitzer that captures the poignancy of the melody and serves as a fitting epilog to the record.

Andrew Forell

 Kyrios — Saturnal Chambers (Caligari Records)

Saturnal Chambers by KYRIOS

The corpsepaint-and-spiked-codpiece crowd are still making tons of records, but fewer and fewer of them are interesting or compelling. The retrograde theatrics and cheap pessimism can be irritating enough (I’d rather be reading Schopenhauer, thanks); it’s even more problematic when the songs can muster only the vividness and savor of stiff leftovers from the deep-freezer’s darkest and dankest corners. Still, every now and then a kvlty band that follows the frigid dictates of black metal’s orthodoxy creates a set of songs worth listening to. This new EP from Kyrios is super short, comprising three tracks in just under 10 minutes that pull off that neat trick: when it’s over, you want to hear more. Sure, the dudes in the band call themselves silly things like Satan’s Sword and Vornag, but the tunes are really good. Check out the churning strangeness of “The Utterance of Foul Truths.” Kyrios claims Immortal, Enslaved and Dissection as primary influences, and the band recognizes the stylistic debt they owe to Deathspell Omega (let’s hope Kyrios digs the twisted guitars and weird-ass time signatures, but passes on the National Socialism declaimed by that French band’s vocalist). Stuff gets even more engaging when bleeping and blooping keyboards vibrate at the edges of the mix, giving the songs a spaced-out vibe. “Saturnal Chambers”? Maybe Kyrios has met the astral spirit of Sun Ra somewhere along their galactic journeys into the heavenly void. He liked bleeping, blooping noises and gaudy costumes, too.

Jonathan Shaw

 Matt Lajoie — Light Emerging (Trouble In Mind)

Light Emerging by Matt Lajoie

The second volume of Trouble In Mind Records’ Explorers series is, like its predecessor a cassette that comes concealed within a brown slipcase. Like many other discretely wrapped products, the fun is on the inside. This time, it’s a tape by guitarist who understands that toes aren’t just for tapping. At any rate, I think he’s managing his pedals with his feet. Most likely Lajoie has spent some quality time listening to mid-1990s Roy Montgomery. But since a quarter century has passed, he doesn’t just stack up the echoes. Sped-up tones streak across the surface of this music like swallows zooming close to that sheet you hung on the side of your barn the last time you had everyone over for a socially distanced gathering to watch Aguirre, The Wrath of God. Wait, did that really happen? Maybe not, but if someone were to make a fake documentary about the hanging of the projective surface, this music is suitably epic to provide the soundtrack.

Bill Meyer

 Lisa/Liza — Shelter of a Song (Orindal)

Shelter of a Song by Lisa/Liza

Lisa/Liza makes a quietly harrowing sort of guitar folk, singing in a high, ghostly clear soprano against delicate traceries of picking. The artist, real name Liza Victoria, inhabits songs that are unadorned but still chilling. She sings with childlike sincerity in an ominous landscape of dark alleys and chilly autumnal vistas. She wrote this album while chronically ill, according to the notes, and you can hear the struggle against the body in the way her voice sometimes wavers, her breath comes in sudden intakes. But, as sometimes happens after long sickness, she sometimes strikes clear of the physical, achieving an unearthly purity as in “From this Shelter.” A touch of plain spoken magic lurks in this one, in the whispery vocals, the translucent curtains of guitar notes, though not much warmth. “Red Leaves” is earthier and more fluid, guitar flickers striking out from a resonant center, and the artist murmuring dreamily about the beauty of the world and its transience.

Jennifer Kelly

Keith Morris & The Crooked Numbers — American Reckoning (Mista Boo)

It's easy to imagine Keith Morris as perpetually frustrated. His last album, after all, took on psychopaths and sycophants, and the title of his new release American Reckoning doesn't suggest happy thoughts. There's plenty of bile on these five tracks, of course, but Morris approaches the album like a scholar. The opening verse describes the US as “Machiavellian: the mean just never ends” before referencing Othello and Yo-Yo Ma (the latter for a “yo mama” joke). If Morris and the Crooked Numbers just raged, they might be justified, but they'd be less interesting. Instead, they use a wide swath of American musical styles to thoughtfully consider racial (and racist) issues in our contemporary society. “Half Crow Jim” turns a Southern piano tune into a surprising tale about the fallout from slavery. It's a sharp moment, and it highlights that the only disappointing part of this release lies in its brevity. Morris has said he has more music on the way, and if he continues to mix styles, wordplay, and cultural analysis, it'll be worth a study.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Tatsuya Nakatani and Rob McGill — Valley Movements (Weird Cry)

Valley Movements by Tatsuya Nakatani / Rob Magill

In most percussion ensembles, the gong-ist is a utility player, charged with banging out a note once or twice per composition for drama and ideally not screwing it up. Tatsuya Nakatani works on a wholly different level, transcending the possibilities of this ancient, archetypical instrument with vision and an unholy technique. More specifically, his set-up includes at least two standing gongs, each about as tall as he is himself. He plays them with mallets, standing between, in blur speed rolls that range all over the surface of the instrument. The sound he evokes is distinctly unpercussive, more resembling string instrument glissandos than any form of drums, a full-on high-register wail of sound that he sculpts and roils and coaxes into compositions of incredible force and complexity. He also plays a bunch of other percussion instruments, little drums and cymbals which he layers on top of each other so that when he strikes one, the others resonate. It is quite an experience to see him at it, and if you ever get a chance, you should go. Here, he works with the saxophonist Rob McGill unfurling a single 40-minute improvisation at a studio in the appealingly named Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. McGill is an agile player, laying alternately lyrical and agitated counterpoints onto Nakatani’s rhythms, carrying the tune and threading a logical through line through this extended set. He finds frequencies that complement Nakatani’s antic, nearly demonic drum sounds and knows when to let loose and when to let his partner through the mix. The result is a very high energy, engaging adventure in sound that evokes a rare response: you wish you could hear the drums better.

Jennifer Kelly

 Overmono — The Cover Mix (Mixmag)

Mixmag · The Cover Mix: Overmono

It’s a really weird time to be advocating for club music of any kind, but Overmono’s Everything U Need EP out recently on XL again showcases what the fraternal duo known better as Tessela and Truss do best: melding thoughtful percussion patterns with these airy, gliding synth melodies that work at home just as well as in the club (theoretically, anyway). It’s not just original material they do well, though; whether it was the Dekmantel podcast a few years back or their live cassette from Japan or this mix for Mixmag, Ed and Tom Russell also have a knack for pacing in their sets. This one features stuff from the new EP as well as three unreleased tracks (not counting the Rosalía remix, which remains one of the year’s most addicting) and names both old and new — listen for DJ Crystl’s 1993 jungle jam “Deep Space” sidled up next to Smerz’s new skyscraper “I Don’t Talk About That Much.” If that sounds like everything you need, lock in and let Overmono do the hard work. Truly, they do not miss.

Patrick Masterson

 Pole — Fading (Mute)

As Pole, Stefan Betke’s work has always been both comforting and disconcerting. The amiotic swells and heartbeat bass frequencies generate a warm human feel in his music despite their origins in serendipitously damaged equipment. Fading, his first album in five years explores Betke’s reactions to his mother’s dementia and reflects on the nature of personality, memory and soul. Building on his trademark glitchy beats and oceanic bass tones, the eight tracks echo a consciousness unmoored by the fog of unfamiliarity that smothers and distorts but never completely submerges awareness. “Tölpel” (slang for klutz) evokes impatient fingers tapping out the guilty resentment of the forgotten and the frustration of the forgetful. The title track closes with a woozy waltz punctuated by recurrent sparks. Fading is a deeply felt work; somber, reflective, stumbling towards understanding and acceptance, alive to the nuances and petty nettles of grief and above all beautiful in its ambivalence.

Andrew Forell

Quakers — II: The Next Wave (Stones Throw)

II - The Next Wave by Quakers

After eight years of silence following 2012’s self-titled debut, Stones Throw production trio Quakers (Portishead’s Geoff Barrow as Fuzzface, 7-Stu-7 and Katalyst) dropped the 50-track beat tape Supa K: Heavy Tremors out of nowhere in September and now, just two months later, are back with another 33-track behemoth that allows a litany of emcees to shine. Calling this The Next Wave is a bit of a stretch when you consider many of the voices on here are from guys who’ve been in the game for years or even decades (Jeru the Damaja, Detroit’s Phat Kat and Guilty Simpson, Chicagoan Jeremiah Jae, etc.), but even so, the dusty grooves and Dilla loops prove perfect foils for many of those who hit the mic. My favorite might be Sageinfinite slotting in with the organ grinder “A Myth,” but even if you don’t like it, everyone’s in and out quick. If you’re burned out on Griselda, give this a go for 1990s vibes of a different kind.

Patrick Masterson   

 Rival Consoles — Articulation (Erased Tapes)

There are deep pockets of silence in “Articulation,” ink black stops between the thump and clack of dance beat, sudden intervals of nothingness amidst limber synthetic melodies. London-based producer Ryan West, who records as Rival Consoles, layers sound on sound in some tracks, letting the foundations slip like tectonic plates on top of one another, but he is also very much aware of the power of quiet, whether dark or luminously light. Consider, for instance, his closer, “Sudden Awareness of Now,” whose buoyant melody skitters across factory-sized fan blasts of whooshing sound. The rhythm is light footed and agile, pieced together from staccato elements that hold the air and light. Like Jon Hopkins, West uses the glitch and twitch to insinuate the infinite, chiming overtones and hovering backdrops to represent a gnostic, communal state of existence. “Vibrations on a String” may jump to the steady thump, thump, thump of dance, but as its gleaming plasticine tones blow out into horn blast dissonance, the cut is more about becoming than being.

Jennifer Kelly

  Sweeping Promises — Hunger for a Way Out (Feel It)

Hunger for a Way Out by Sweeping Promises

The title track bounds headlong on a rubbery bassline, picking up a Messthetick-y blare of junk shop keyboards. All the sudden, there’s Lira Mondal unleashing a giddy screed of angular pop punk tunefulness, her partner in Sweeping Promises, Caulfield, stabbing and stuttering on guitar. In some ways, this band is straight out of late 1980s London, jitter-flirting with offkilter hooks a la Delta Five or Girls at Our Best. In others, they are utterly modern, lacing austere pogo beats with lush, elaborate vocal counterpoints. “Falling Forward” is a continuous rush of clamped in guitar scramble and agile, bouncing bass, anthemic trills breaking for robotic chants; it’s a mesh of sounds that always seems ready to collapse in a heap, but instead finds its antic balance just in time.

Jennifer Kelly

Martin Taxt — First Room (SOFA)

First Room by Martin Taxt

Sometimes a room is more than a room. In the matter at hand, it is a space that proposes a state of mind and a consequent set of experiences. It is also the score for a piece of music that extrapolate that state into the realm of sound. The cover of First Room depicts a pattern of tatami mats that you might find in a Japanese tea room. Martin Taxt is a microtonal tubaist and also the holder of an advanced degree in music and architecture (next time someone tells you that some good thing can’t happen, remember that in Norway you can not only get such a degree; you can then go ahead and present a CD that shows your work. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in the stars, but in our society.). This music takes inspiration from the integrated aesthetic of the tea ceremony, using carefully placed and deliberately sustained sounds to create an environment in which subtle changes count for a lot. The album’s contents were created by mixing together two performances, one with and another without an audience. Taxt and accompanist Vilde Marghrete Aas layer long tones from a tuba, double bass, viola da gamba and sine waves. Their precise juxtapositions create a sense of focus, somewhat like a concentrated version of Ellen Fullman’s long string music, and if that statement means something to you, so will this music.

Bill Meyer

 Ulaan Janthina — Ulaan Janthina II (Worstward)

Ulaan Janthina (Part II) by Ulaan Janthina

Part two of Steven R. Smith’s latest recording project echoes the first volume in several key aspects. It is a tape made in small numbers and packaged like a present from your favorite cottage industry; in this case, the custom-printed box comes with an old playing card, a hand-printed image of jellyfish, an old skeleton key and a nut. And Smith, who most often plays guitars and home-made stringed instruments, once more plays keyboards, which enable him to etch finer lines of melody. The chief difference between this tape and its predecessor is the melodies themselves, which have begun to attain the evocative simplicity of mid-1970s Cluster.

Bill Meyer

 Various Artists — Joyous Sounds! (Chicago Research)

Joyous Sounds! by Various Artists

It’s been less than two years, but Blake Karlson’s Chicago Research imprint has already made its presence known both in the Windy City and beyond as fine purveyors of all things industrial, EBM, post-punk and experimental electronics. There were two compilations released within days of one another toward the beginning of October, and while Preliminaries of Silence veers more toward soothing ambient textures, Joyous Sounds! is more upbeat and rhythmic (Bravias Lattice’s “Liquid Vistas” is a beautiful exception). My favorite track is Club Music’s “Musclebound” (not a Spandau Ballet cover, as it turns out), but the underlying menace of Civic Center’s “Filigree” and Rottweiler’s pummeling “Ancient Baths” sit alongside merely unsettling fare like Lily the Fields’ “Porcelain” well. If you’re not already aboard or just have a Wax Trax-sized hole in your heart, you have a lot of work ahead of you with this label’s consistently superlative output.

Patrick Masterson

  Kurt Vile — Speed, Sound, Lonely KV (Matador)

Given John Prine's passing from COVID-19 this year, the new Kurt Vile EP might be received as a tribute to the late artist, with extra significance coming from Prine's appearance here. Four years in the works, Speed, Sound, Lonely KV offers more than just tribute, though. Prine's guest spot (if you could call it that) on his own “How Lucky” certainly makes for a moving highlight, the two singers fitting together nicely as Prine's gruff tone balance's his partner's smoother voice. Vile also covers Prine on “Speed of the Sound of Loneliness,” and he adds “Gone Girl” by Cowboy Jack Clement as he takes further cosmic steps.  

His two originals here complete the record, and, mixed in with the covers, draw out the lesson. Vile's entire EP blends the country influences with his more typical dreamy sound, the guitar work bridging the gap between a songwriter's backing and something more ethereal. Nashville, it seems, has always suited Vile just fine, and hearing him embrace that tradition more immediately adds an extra layer to his work. Putting a cowboy hat on his previous aesthetic puts him opens up new but related paths for him, and the five tracks here could play on either a Kris Kristofferson mix or a laid-back indie-rocker playlist. Either way, they'd be highlights on an endless loop.

Justin Cober-Lake

 WhoMadeWho — Synchronicity (Kompakt)

Danish trio WhoMadeWho — drummer Tomas Barfod, guitarist Jeppe Kjellberg and bassist/singer Tomas Høffding — make enjoyable indie dance music that suffers somewhat from lack of personality and a tendency toward a middle ground. That may be due to an effort to accommodate a roster of Kompakt-related collaborators including Michael Mayer, Echonomist and Robag Wruhme. While there’s nothing bad and some pretty good here, the individual songs flit by, pausing briefly to set one’s head nodding and feet tapping, before evaporating from the mind. “Shadow of Doubt” featuring Hamburg’s Adana Twins has the kind of driving bass that anchored New Order hits but also, unfortunately, the unconvincing vocals only Bernard Sumner could get away with. More successful moments like the eerie piano riff and jazz inflections of “Dream Hoarding” with Frank Wiedemann, the arpeggiated house of “Der Abend birgt keine Ruh” featuring Perel and miserablist Pet Shop Boys inflected closer “If You Leave” do stick. Synchronicity might work well on the dance floor, but it doesn’t quite sustain at home.

Andrew Forell

#dusted magazine #Cristián Alvear #burkhard stangl #bill meyer #Badge Époque Ensemble #andrew forell #better person #tim clarke #big eyes family #bounaly #cash click boog #ray garraty #the flat five #jennifer kelly #sam gendel #kraig grady #mj guider #hisato higuchi #mason jones #patrick masterson #internazionale #iress #junta cadre #jonathan shaw #bastien keb #jess kivel #kyrios #matt lajoie #lisa/liza #dust

[mermaid-lullaby]

the wonderful moon goddess herself @bebemoon​ decided to bless me and tag me in the 2020 spring tag game.

what songs capture the essence of your ideal s/s mood?

Florence + The Machine - Hunger

Bibio - Curls

Revolutionary Girl Utena - Aphrodite of Death

Hozier - NFWMB

Florence + the Machine - As Far As I Could Get

Ghostly Kisses - The City Holds My Heart

Angel Olsen - unfucktheworld

Hozier - As It Was

Dmitri Shostakovich - Waltz No. 2

Iron & Wine - Bird Stealing Bread 

imagine yourself as a persephonesque creature, a nymph, what would be your s/s epithet(s)?

  star-fallen, sea-kissed, shell-crowned, sharp-tongued, god-killer, collapser.

what do you plan to read this s/s?

The waves by Virginia Woolf

The Picture of Dorian Grey

In the Hand of the Goddess by Tamora Pierce

Red Rose by Margot Tracey

Witchcraft and Magic: Contemporary North America by Helen A. Berger

flowers you would decorate yourself with?

roses, hyacinths, lilacs, daffodils, water lilies. 

art pieces that are in the same aesthetic line with your s/s aspirations?

Water Serpents II by Gustav Klimt

The Butterfly Couple by  J.C. Leyendecker

The Awakening of Adonis by John William Waterhouse 

fruits you would like to delight with?

blueberries, oranges, blackberries

gems and minerals you would like to fill your seashell with?

amethysts, angel auras, blue sun stones, sapphires, aquamarine, pearls, opals, kunzite

I am tagging: @forever-angels @00mbregenes @bloomerylove @lovverdose @chatoyer-ange​ @heartbeatofexo​ @mysunshinejongin​ @dangnabbitsonnyjim​ @silk-fleur​ @pisiela​ @neptuniansrain​

#me #this was so nice i never did anything like this before so this was so fun

[losille2000]

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0EnpbnkPuDglMJ7nc3jC4x?si=m9XAKvyjRA63VQbs_IAhNA)

This is the Mister America “soundtrack.” It has some general songs about America, but each state has at least 1 song related to it. 

For a full tracklist and to see which songs go to what state, see below the cut.

Songs about America:

“The Star Spangled Banner” National Anthem (F. Scott Key/Whitney Houston)

“The Battle Hymn of the Republic” (Traditional/United States Army Band and Chorus)

“America the Beautiful” (Ray Charles)

“Captain America March” (Hollywood Movie Theme Orchestra)

“Star Spangled Man” (The Star Spangled Singers/Captain America)

“Captain America” (Alan Silvestri) 

“American Patrol” (Glenn Miller/United States Air Force Band)

“The Stars and Stripes Forever” (John Philip Sousa/United States Marine Band)

“America” (Neil Diamond)

“Born in the U.S.A” (Bruce Springsteen)

“Hail to the Chief” (James Sanderson, composer/US Marine Band)

State Songs:

Alabama - “Sweet Home Alabama” (Lynyrd Skynyrd)

Alaska - “North to Alaska” (Johnny Horton)

Alaska - “The Alaska Song” (Lacy J. Dalton)

Arizona - “Take It Easy” (Eagles)

Arkansas - “Arkansas Traveler” (Harry Glenshaw)

Arkansas - “Arkansas Farmboy” (Glen Campbell)

California - “California Love” (2Pac, Roger, Dr. Dre)

California - “California Girls” (Beach Boys)

Colorado - “Rocky Mountain High” (John Denver)

Connecticut - “Yankee Doodle” (Traditional)

Connecticut - “Connecticut’s For Fucking” (Jesus H Christ and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse)

Delaware - “Delaware Slide” (George Thorogood & the Destroyers)

Delaware - “Delaware” (Perry Como)

Florida - “The Florida Song” (Ricky Sylvia)

Florida - “Miami” (Will Smith)

Georgia - “Midnight Train to Georgia” (Gladys Knight & the Pips)

Georgia - “Georgia on My Mind” (Michael Buble)

Hawaii - “Hawaiian Roller Coaster Ride” (from Lilo and Stitch)

Hawaii - “Ke Kali Nei Au/Hawaiian Wedding Song” (Makaha Sons & Friends)

Hawaii - “Over the Rainbow” (Israel Kamakawiwo’ole)

Hawaii - “What a Wonderful World” (Israel Kamakawiwo’ole)

Idaho - “Idaho” (Benny Goodman)

Illinois - “Sweet Home Chicago” (The Blues Brothers)

Indiana - “Going Back to Indiana” (The Jackson 5)

Iowa - “Iowa Stubborn” (from The Music Man)

Kansas - “Home on the Range” (Gene Autry)

Kentucky - “Blue Moon of Kentucky” (Bill Monroe & His Blue Grass Boys)

Louisiana - “Born on the Bayou” (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

Louisiana - “House of the Rising Sun” (The Animals)

Maine - “Portland, Maine” (Tim McGraw)

Maryland - “Good Morning Baltimore” (from Hairspray)

Massachusetts - “I’m Shipping Up to Boston” (Dropkick Murphys)

Massachusetts - “The Devil Came Up to Boston” (Adam Ezra Group)

Michigan - “Detroit Rock City” (KISS)

Minnesota - “Rock n Roll is Alive! (And It Lives In Minneapolis” (Prince)

Mississippi - “Mississippi Queen” (Mountain)

Missouri - “Missouri Waltz” (Glenn Miller)

Montana - “Montana Lullaby” (Ken Overcast)

Nebraska - “Omaha” (Counting Crows)

Nevada - “Waking Up In Vegas” (Katy Perry)

Nevada - “Viva Las Vegas” (Elvis Presley)

New Hampshire - “New Hampshire” (Town Meeting)

New Jersey - “Jersey Girl” (Bruce Springsteen)

New Mexico - “Santa Fe” (from RENT)

New Mexico - “Taos, New Mexico” (Waylon Jennings)

New York - “Theme from New York, New York” (Frank Sinatra)

New York - “New York State of Mind” (Billy Joel)

North Carolina - “Wagon Wheel” (Old Crow Medicine Show)

North Dakota - “North Dakota” (Lyle Lovett)

Ohio - “Ohio” (Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young)

Oklahoma - “Oklahoma!” (from Oklahoma!)

Oklahoma - “Oklahoma Sky” (Miranda Lambert)

Oregon - “Eugene Oregon” (Dolly Parton)

Pennsylvania - “Allentown” (Billy Joel)

Rhode Island - “Rhode Island is Famous for You” (Blossom Dearie)

South Carolina - “Just A Little Bit South of North Carolina” (Dean Martin)

South Carolina - “Hickory Wind” (The Byrds)

South Dakota - “South Dakota Morning” (Bee Gees)

South Dakota - “Big Foot” (Johnny Cash)

Tennessee- “Tennessee Whiskey” (Chris Stapleton)

Texas  - “The Yellow Rose of Texas” (Traditional/Mitch Miller)

Texas - “All my Ex’s Live In Texas” (George Strait)

Texas - “La Grange” (ZZ Top)

Utah - “Utah” (The Osmonds)

Vermont - “Moonlight in Vermont” (Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Armstong)

Virgina - “Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)” (from Hamilton)

Washington - “Come As You Are” (Nirvana)

West Virginia - “Take Me Home, Country Roads” (John Denver)

Wisconsin - “Green Bay, Wisconsin” (The Might Mighty Bosstones)

Wyoming - “Wyoming Wind” (Caitlin Canty)

Wyoming - “Cheyenne” (Cale Moon)

#chris evans #mister america #captain america

[nintendochoi]

The hamilton cast seemed to be having fun in virginia.

-jefferson heavily encouraged cheering as he like... waltzed down the stairs

-Jefferson had to pause slightly longer after "virginia my home sweet home I wanna give you a kiss "

-"young man I'm from virginia so watch your mouth" got some whoops too

-pretty certain most of the cast screamed "richmond" when shouting out cities where to put the nation's capital. (On the album and other times I've seen it it's more like a cacophony of different city names. But this time not so much)

-unrelated to virginia BUT when madison said "quid pro quo" during 'room where it happens' there was a "oh? Ooooooo!" Type reaction from the crowd.

#hamilton #my life #hamilton tour