#Piano Classes Indianapolis

[fishersmaa]

Fishers Music & Arts Academy offers top-quality piano classes in Indianapolis, serving students aged 4 to 80. Our experienced instructors tailor lessons to individual goals, ensuring a comprehensive musical education. Located in Fishers, Indiana, we also welcome Carmel, Noblesville, Westfield, Lawrence, and Geist students. Join us to embark on your musical journey with personalized piano instruction.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

from scratch | chef luca x oc

Summary: Emily Tyler had to completely start over nearly three years ago. She got fired from her job as a sous chef in New York, had to move back in with her mother in Chicago, and the father of her unborn child was a complete asshole. Now she is a private chef for a wealthy family, has her own apartment, and her little boy Henry is the most precious thing in the world to her. But what about her love life? (wc: 10840)

Warnings: single mom!oc, inaccurate cooking and chef world things, food and eating mention, language, i gave luca a last name, SMUT 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI (f oral receiving, chef luca king of pussy eating, possibly too many eating metaphors, pinv, use a condom unlike these dummies, Big Boy Luca)

✎……welcome back will poulter phase it's good to see you 🫡 um yeah there's prolly gonna be more of this oops

The only time Emily ever felt truly relaxed was when she was cooking. It was like making art — only this art could be tasted and enjoyed by so many. Who didn’t like to eat? Who didn’t find some comfort in sitting around a table with friends and enjoying some food? If the preparation was the part she liked the most, watching the looks on people’s faces as they took the first bite had to be a close second.

As she cut the gnocchi with the pasta spatula she bought in Florence over five years ago, the ring of the doorbell echoed throughout the house. Setting the tool down, she wiped her hands clean of flour before jogging down the entry hall to answer the door. She knew who was there, there was no need to look at the keypad next to the door showing the live feed of the front stoop.

“Hey, Carmy, how’s it goin’?” she asked with a smile as he stepped inside.

He looked just the same as always. Shorter, stalky, covered in tattoos, curly hair falling in his eyes. He smelled like cigarettes — no doubt having smoked one just before he came inside. She always hated that he did that, but he never listened when she advised him to quit. 

“I’m gonna die sometime anyway.”

It made her shake her head even now before pulling him in for a hug.

“S’good, s’good,” he sighed as he patted her on the back, then he pulled away with a look of awe on his face. “This is where you work?”

Emily turned to look into the house as well. She had gotten used to the sight over the past two years. The grand staircase, the baby grand piano sitting perfectly polished in the entry hall, the crown molding, and vaulted ceilings. She remembered that she couldn’t help but gawk in her first few weeks. Now it was like any other house to her. Even if there were ten bedrooms, two kitchens, and an entire wine cellar.

She started making her way back to the kitchen and Carmy trailed after her hesitantly, hands shoved into his back pockets like he was afraid to touch anything. And she really couldn’t blame him.

“Yep, this is it,” she responded. “He owns three businesses here in Chicago and two in Indianapolis — and now he’s running for congress. He bought this place five years ago and completely redid it.”

“Fuckin’ insane,” Carmy muttered under his breath, eyes darting all over the kitchen. With its black and white marble countertops, flat white cabinetry, and beautiful gas-burning stove. It was a home chef's dream. “And the wife doesn’t even work?”

She went to the other side of the island and went back to her work on the gnocchi. She laughed, “Nope. She’s at some mommy and me yoga class right now with their youngest.”

He watched her work for a minute. Her hands moved swiftly and accurately as she rolled out the little balls of dough and pressed them with a fork to get that signature shape. It was just like back when they worked in New York. Like nothing had ever changed. 

Only everything had changed.

“H-How’re things goin’ here?” he finally asked, setting himself gently down on one of the barstools pulled up at the island.

“Good. The whole…Private chef thing is workin’ out well despite what you said,” she replied, glancing up at him through her lashes.

Carmy’s face pinched. “Wh-What did I say?”

“That the private sector is where good chefs go to die.” Emily smirked as she scooped up the gnocchi and placed it in the pot she had waiting.

“Ah,” he huffed, resting his arms on the marble and fiddling with his fingers. “This…This seems like a good gig.”

“The hours are still shit but I get paid way better than any restaurant I ever worked at, so…I’ll take it.” Emily snorted as she began working on the next batch of gnocchi. “They actually just asked me to move into the place above the garage. Said it would be easier for everyone while John’s working on the campaign.”

“No shit?”

She shrugged. “They’re crazy rich people.”

“You considering it?”

“Maybe. It’s nicer than my apartment now. Way nicer.”

Carmy made some noise like he understood and they fell into silence while he watched her work. She was slower now than she was when they worked at Empire. She took her time and made sure every gnocchi was handled with care. He supposed that was what happened when you only had to cook for one family instead of dozens of diners every night. When you weren’t being yelled at or bullied or told you were worthless. He asked quietly what she was making like it might disturb the process. She had a small smile on her face when she described her play on steak and potatoes. Potato gnocchi, steak cooked in herbs and butter, button mushrooms, and fennel. HE wished he could try some. Emily finished the gnocchi and wiped off her hands.

“So, uh…What’re you doin’ back in Chicago?” she asked with a small smile as she leaned on the island across from him.

It was like Carmy stared straight through her as he said, “Mikey died.”

“Oh, fuck.” The smile instantly dropped from her face. “I’m so sorry, Carmy.”

“It’s fine. It’s fine. He uh…He left me the restaurant, so…”

Her brows furrowed. “The beef place?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Emily looked at him in that way he always hated but craved. In that way like she cared. In that way like she would genuinely do anything for him at that moment. She always had understood him. Even when they were in high school together. Even when she came over to his house and had to stand there and watch as his mom lost her mind on him. Even when she saw the worst of him in New York. Even when he did nothing when she got fired.

And Carmen looked right back in that way she knew so well. In that way she knew he was ignoring it. In that way she knew things were shit but she wouldn’t push. In that way she was like the sun he could barely look at. Her family had known the Berzattos since before she was born. How could she not understand him in some almost complete way?

“Do you need anything?” she asked gently.

He licked his lips before he replied. “Yeah, I — I want you to come be my Chef de Cuisine.”

Her expression instantly changed to one that screamed really? Brows furrowed over her blue eyes and her lips downturned on one side. He knew that expression well too. It nearly made him laugh.

“Your CDC? At the…Beef shop?” she questioned.

“I’m thinking about gutting the place,” he said, sitting forward in his seat. “Turning it into something high end. Classic. My own restaurant.”

“Do you have the money for that?”

“Not yet. Maybe in a few years.” 

“Carmy, I love you…” She trailed off and sighed, ringing her hands in the fabric of her yellow apron. “But no.”

“Em, come on, you’re a fuckin’ great chef. Creative, organized, patient. I never understood why Empire let you go. I mean there was that honey incident but that was an accident —”

“Carm, Carm.” He stopped talking and looked up at her with raised brows. “I didn’t get fired because I got honey everywhere and people’s shoes were sticky for a month. And I didn’t get fired because I took some liberty with the recipes either.”

He shrugged. “Then what was it?”

“I was fired because I got pregnant.”

“The fuck?” he was instant in his reply, sitting up straighter in his seat with his face pinched in anger. “What the fuck?”

Emily sighed as she moved over to the fridge to get out the mushrooms for cleaning and cutting. “He who shall not be named, when I told him, said I wouldn’t be as dedicated so he told me to pack my knives and go.”

“What the fuck?” Carmy repeated.

“Yeah,” she sighed again, taking the mushrooms to the sink. “It was for the best. My mom’s here and I found this job…Lets me be with him more.”

“What’s his name again?”

“Henry.” She smiled, showing all her teeth, when she said her son’s name. 

Carmy had seen pictures. He never had thought much about kids but Emily’s was cute. Curly blond hair like his mom, big brown eyes, and dimples on his cheeks. He was curious and, from pictures he had seen, loved to help in the kitchen. Had been helping cut fruit and making sauces since he could hold a spoon. There was a video of him making pizza that he had to show the entire staff of Empire at least three times.

Another silence filled the space between them. Carmy’s eyes were trained on her as she cut the mushrooms from their stems but his mind lost somewhere else.

Then he suddenly muttered, “I still think you’d make a great CDC.”

Emily chuckled. “I appreciate that, but my answer is still no.”

“I thought working in a restaurant was your dream?”

“It was, when I was younger and had no responsibility except myself,” she answered, “I don’t have the freedom to take that kind of risk anymore. I have Henry to take care of. Restaurants have always been risky business and this job is stable. They pay me way more than they probably should and have offered me a place to live for free. I can’t…I can’t give that up.”

More silence. Filled by the soft fump fump of mushrooms landing in the saucepan as they were cut. That was another thing about Emily. She never beat around the bush, she never softened the blow, she never gave any room in an argument. Soft but hard. Kind but stern. It was something Carmy had needed in New York. Back when he thought he was the shit but he was miserable. Back when everything was falling into place but he still felt empty. And then she left…And it was even more empty than before.

“I understand,” he said, quietly. 

She cut her eyes over at him from her spot at the sink. “You do?”

“It’s a good gig. The beef…It could all fall to shit.”

“Thanks, Carm,” she smiled, then added, “If you ever need my help though, just let me know.”

Emily walked into The Bear kitchen with her knife bag thrown over her shoulder to complete and utter chaos. 

Richie was banging on the walk-in door handle with a hammer, yelling about how he was going to get someone out of there. Three chefs were still trying to make food but were clearly behind. Dishes were piled up yet clearly missing elements. All the while the CDC was still trying to call out orders and call for hands amidst the screaming from Richie and the loud banging of the hammer on the metal door.

It was the most chaotic kitchen she had ever seen. And she didn’t expect anything less from Carmen Berzatto.

She knew at least part of what happened from the very loud call she had received not twenty minutes ago. The Bear was opening that night and one of their line cooks had suddenly been fired. She wasn’t about to ask why. All she knew was that Carmy needed her help and that she could give it. So, with her mother there to watch Henry, she left her client’s house wearing a chef’s coat for the first time in nearly three years.

“Cousin! Hey!” Richie yelled when he spotted her standing just inside the back door.

Emily waved with a tight smile, unsure what the hell she was getting herself into.

“A-Are you Emily Tyler?” the CDC called out from the stand.

She walked further into the kitchen with a nod. “Yeah, I am. Where do you need me?”

“On the line. Tina will fill you in.”

Tina was a small, older woman with short curly hair. She had a motherly air about her and seemed calm enough despite the disarray. Emily quickly went to the empty station and unrolled her knife bag. Tina flashed her a smile but got right to business, telling her what to cook and how to plate the dish that was her responsibility. It felt like getting back onto a bicycle for the first time in over a decade. Did she even remember how to do this? Did she remember what the CDC’s calls would mean? Would she be able to handle the pressure? But it was just like getting back on a bike. She remembered just what to do. It felt like second nature to start the dish and get it together.

“Where’s Carmy?” she asked the pastry chef as she put together a sauce by his station.

He glanced at the walk in while fiddling with some needles. “Locked in there.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Halfway through service, she glanced up at the clock. Just beneath it, there was a corkboard hung up. And on a crumpled piece of paper there was her number and clearly Carmy’s handwriting that said: 

If we ever need help, call Emily.

It made her smile.

“So did Carm tell you why he wanted you to stage with me today?” Emily asked lightly as she tied her apron around her waist.

Sydney, the CDC of The Bear, stood beside her behind her client’s kitchen island also wearing an apron. She looked unsure as she tied her hair back with a multicolored silk scarf. But she also looked tired — and for good reason. It was five in the morning. The sun hadn’t even come out yet, the birds weren’t even singing. The large house was quiet and still. All of the lights dimmed save for the kitchen and breakfast nook.

Just another price paid for being a private chef. An absolutely absurd call time to get breakfast on the table before John had to be at work and Cindy had to be…Wherever she was going that day.

Emily had been in the kitchen long before Sydney had arrived. The kids had requested her homemade bread with the dish she was making that morning and she really was a sucker for their puppy dog eyes. So the rustic loaf was already in the oven and close to being ready.

Sydney sighed. “Not explicitly. He just said you were good at making up dishes.”

“Oh, God,” Emily laughed as she opened the fridge and pulled out the ingredients she needed for the breakfast she wanted to cook. “Well, he picked a good day I guess. John is hosting a dinner tonight for the biggest donors for his campaign. He told me to go all out.”

“What’re you making?”

“Salmon Wellington,” she replied with a knowing smile.

Sydney guffaued. “What? How does that even work?”

“Listen, I tried it once years ago when I was working at Ever. The first dish I ever put out there. Andrea Terry called it ridiculous but it stayed on the menu for a few months.” Emily began to chop up the peppers and then pointed with her elbow towards the large tomato out on the counter. “Since you’re here — could you dice that for me?”

She got straight to work, pulling the proper knife from her bag and beginning to cut the tomato easily. They worked in silence for a while. Once the peppers and tomatoes were cut, Emily threw them into a pan with oil and butter. The combination was mashed once it was cooked down and eggs were added into the pan. The eggs were cooked until just done and then Emily added hunks of feta cheese to the top and let them melt.

“That smells amazing,” Sydney added as Emily cracked fresh pepper on top as well as some red pepper flakes.

“Thanks,” she smiled over at her. “This is a recipe I learned in Turkey. Menemen. I ate it almost every day I was there.”

“When did you go to Turkey?” Sydney asked as the timer for the bread went off. 

“After I stopped working at Ever but before I worked for Empire,” Emily sighed, pulling the loaf out by the end of her apron. “One of the best years of my life. I traveled all over Europe. Learned from some of the best in the world.”

“What made you come back to work at Empire?”

Emily looked over at her with a smile as she tapped the bottom of the bread to make sure it was done. “Carmy. He called. Said he got CDC and wanted me on his team.”

“Carmen? Seriously? You dropped everything just because he called?” Sydney scoffed.

“Yeah, I did. It’s Carmy. We’ve…Known each other since we were kids. He’s the one who introduced me to cooking. I would do anything for him.” Emily looked down at her watch. “Now get the jams and juices out of the fridge, please. They’re gonna be down here in like ten minutes.”

They worked quietly. Sydney set the table while Emily finished up with the bread and Menemen. Eventually, the entire spread was set out on the table, just before the Yotter family came down the stairs to enjoy it. They all said their thanks to their two chefs before they disappeared back into the kitchen where Emily broke out a diet Coke and a bit of cottage cheese for herself.

“It’s seven in the morning,” Sydney commented with a grin about her drink of choice. 

Emily sighed. “Sure is.”

“I gotta know. Did you and Carm ever…Ya know?”

Emily nearly choked on her Coke. She coughed and spluttered and thumped her first into her chest. All while shaking her head. 

“No. God, no.”

“Okay, okay, okay — just checking,” Sydney said with a smile.

They moved through the rest of Emily’s typical day. Tending to the garden in the courtyard. It used to be just a patch of grass, but after the Yotters had tasted the fresh produce from the farmers' market, they wanted the stuff as readily available as possible. And gave Emily the free reign to grow whatever she wanted. Herbs, peppers of all varieties, squash, tomatoes, and berries. 

Going grocery shopping for dinner that night. Buying fresh salmon, savoy cabbage,  shrimp for a pâté, beurre blanc, salmon caviar, and Robuchon potatoes. Sydney could picture the entire dish in her mind and worried whether or not they would be able to pull it off. But Emily seemed calm as a cucumber, even going so far as to pick up flowers for a centerpiece at the table. Sydney wished she could be like that when it came to making a dish. Wished she wouldn’t overthink every little detail or 

Visiting her son Henry at her apartment where he was being watched by her mother over the lunch break. He screamed with joy as soon as his mom opened the door, running as fast as his little legs would take him so he could get to her faster. Emily laughed as she scooped up her son, peppering his face with kisses and listening to him giggle. They had mac and cheese with hotdogs and peas for lunch. The eating life of a chef. Just bought caviar but they’re having box mac and cheese for lunch.

“How did you…Do it?” Sydney asked as they say at the dining table, watching Henry play.

Emily looked over at her. “Do what?”

“Have this job and take care of a baby?”

It made Emily laugh softly as she turned back to her son. A thousand memories rushed through her mind. Being exhausted down to the bone. Henry screaming for hours. Her milk drying up from the stress and having to switch to formula. Feeling like a terrible mother. Not knowing how anything was going to work out. She could nearly feel the tiredness of that time creeping back in as she sat at her dining room table. Nearly a year removed from the worst of it. 

Now she didn’t have to cook lunch for them. Now she had Sundays as a half-day and Tuesdays completely off. Now her mother was able to watch Henry instead of paying almost all of her salary for daycare. Now her life as a single mother was finally falling into place instead of completely falling apart.

She looked back to Sydney with another, smaller, smile. “I honestly have no fucking idea.”

When they got back to the Yotter residence they needed to start the prep for the dinner. Deboning and skinning the fish, making the pastry dough, all of the mise en place that needed to happen. Emily was more than happy to have the help. There were going to be ten people at that dinner and usually by this point she would be a giant ball of stress. But with Sydney’s help, she felt at least slightly more calm.

Nearing the end of the day, when the Wellington was only a few minutes away from coming out of the oven and the guests had already been served the soup course, Emily looked to The Bear’s CDC and smiled. 

“There’s honestly no way to become great at coming up with dishes,” she said, “It takes years upon years of trial and error. Knowing what would go well with something. Experimenting and failing miserably. But you can’t give up…Even though you might want to with Carmy around.”

Sydney cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Carm is…He’s the best. Gifted. It’s really easy to feel like you can’t do shit around him.”

“I —”

“Just trust your gut and tell him to fuck off every once and a while.”

Sydney sighed with a grin like some weight was being lifted from her shoulders. The timer went off. The Wellington was ready. And only a couple minutes later did they hear, all the way in the kitchen as they prepared dessert, that all the guests thought it was amazing.

Emily got the call about Ever closing its doors when she was home for lunch. Of course, she felt her heart sink at the restaurant closing and people losing their jobs — but she also felt glad for Chef Terry. She was a hardworking woman, and a brilliant chef, but owning a restaurant was hard work. Stressful. All consuming. Emily understood, maybe more than some, the relief Terry must feel at being free from what she had worked for all of her life.

So, of course, she accepted the invitation to Ever’s farewell dinner. She bought a new dress. Finally got a curling iron. Her mother even offered to watch Henry at her place so she didn’t feel guilty about staying out late or getting some well-deserved rest.

But when she stood outside the restaurant doors that Friday night, she felt like she didn’t belong. 

She was freezing, and her coat felt like it was doing nothing to stave off the chill. Didn’t help that she had no layers underneath the wool. Just her satin, olive green dress. Nearly felt like she was naked standing in the middle of Chicago, shaking in her platform boots.

Everyone in there was going to be working in a restaurant. Or owning a restaurant. Executive chefs. CDCs. While she was just a private chef. No James Beards. No spots in Food & Wine. Just somebody who cooked for a wannabe politician and his wife who couldn’t be bothered to work or be a homemaker.

She shouldn’t go in there. She would just embarrass herself when she was asked what she was doing these days. Three years ago, she was an up-and-comer. Carmy’s right-hand woman. A brilliant culinary mind that, if put to enough practice, would have made it big. But instead, she got pregnant. Decided to keep it. And faded away into nothing. No one. 

What was she even doing there? Standing outside the restaurant where she was told she was a great chef — where she worked tirelessly day and night to be worth something to anyone. 

Now she was nothing to no one.

Emily took one step back away from the door.

“Are you going inside?” a voice asked from down the sidewalk.

The voice had a deep timbre, lilted by a British accent. It made Emily jump as she looked over wide-eyed at whoever spoke. He was smiling slightly, hands raised at his sides like he was approaching a wild animal. He wore black pants and a coat, wavy hair streaked in blond cut in almost a mohawk.

She knew him. 

He worked as a line cook at Ever when she came in as a commis. They only overlapped for a few weeks but she remembered. Remembered that she thought he was attractive but never made a move. In fact, they never even really spoke to one another save for him telling her he needed more of something for a dish. But she still got invited to his farewell party when he went to work at Noma in Copenhagen. 

If only she could remember his name.

She nearly hated that she thought he was still attractive now. Maybe even more so — somehow, despite not having changed much. He took a few steps closer and she reddened to realise she hadn’t said anything yet.

“Y-Yeah, I’m just…” Emily looked back at the front door and tucked her lips between her teeth apprehensively.

“Petrified?” he offered as he stepped up beside her.

She chuckled softly. “You could say that.”

“Me too,” he sighed.

Emily looked over at him with raised brows. “Really? Why?”

“Some of the best chefs have come out of Ever or are friends with Andrea Terry. And they’re all gonna be in there.” He pointed at the door and she got a glimpse of the bell pepper tattooed on his hand. “Fucking horrifying.”

“Do you wanna…Go in together? There’s strength in numbers,” she suggested with a small smile.

He grinned back, showing nearly all his teeth. It lit up his entire face almost too bright for her to look at. God damn it, what was his name? It was on the tip of her tongue. Something with an L? He probably remembered hers and she’s just the dick who forgot. 

“Let’s do it,” he said as he took the few steps towards the door and opened it for her. And as she passed by him he asked, “Wha-What’s your name again?”

Some relief flooded her at the mutual forgetfulness. “Emily — Tyler. We worked here at the same time for a few weeks, actually.”

“No shit? God, can’t believe I don’t remember working with you.” There was something unspoken there in the way he looked at her as they paused beneath the dried fruit and other assorted items hanging from the ceiling. He stuck out his tattooed hand to her. “Luca D’Arcy.”

“Nice to meet you.” She grinned up at him as they shook hands.

Luca’s blue eyes glinted in the dim lighting as they caught on the decorations above them. “Just like it was back then, huh?”

“This one was always my favorite.” 

She reached up and lightly touched the ball of what looked like cotton candy. Just beside his head. He looked over at it with a crooked smile. 

“Excellent choice,” he said. 

Humming lightly with pursed lips, Emily walked further into the dining room. There were already about a dozen people scattered about. Standing with glasses of wine or champagne — chatting about food and restaurants and travels and spouses and children. Everyone was finely dressed and looked like they popped right out their articles in the Chronicle or New York Times or the Michelin Guide. Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked out at the sea of famous culinary faces. She was nobody in this room of somebodies. She was even sure Luca had gone on to do amazing things with his talent.

Her breath shook slightly as one of the staff took her coat and gave her a ticket for it. Luca had his coat taken as well, only to reveal his rolled-up sleeves and tattooed arms. A cap, a merman, a nurse, a stick-figure walking up stairs, the Roman numeral four, a rowboat. Random and weird and she wanted to know the story behind every single one.

“Strength in numbers, remember?” Luca spoke low with a wink thrown her way. 

It made her smile but it also made her heart pound even harder.

They ordered drinks. A white wine and a champagne. While they waited, they looked through the picture collage out in the entry hall. Emily laughed and recounted the memory of the day a bag of flour ripped on the shelf above her head in the pantry and it got all over her. There was picture proof to prove it. And Luca told the story about how he cut off the tip of his finger, nail and all, just before service. He had to wear a glove the rest of the time and get it sewn back on the next morning.

“So, what are you doing now?” she asked, drinks finally in hand and standing off in a corner of the dining room alone. 

She knew the question would be asked back. But if it was from him she didn’t really care. 

“Still at Noma, actually,” he replied after taking a sip of his wine. “Finally figured out what I actually want to cook.”

“And what’s that?”

“Dessert.”

“Oo, a pastry chef, nice!” She laughed and he did too. “De Partie or Sous?”

Luca pumped his brows once. “Sous.” 

“Oh, damn, okay, chef,” she joked for a second then reached out and patted his arm. “That’s amazing, though. Figuring that shit out is so important.”

“Yeah, I mean, the people at Noma have been so great at helping me grow.” He nodded and sipped some more of his wine. “What about you — what’re you doing?”

Emily looked away from him and decided to stare at the painting on the wall behind him instead. She knew he was going to ask. Part of her thought that maybe he would understand her life choices. But what if she was wrong? What if he told her, like any other chef she had spoken to in the past three years, that she just needed to take the risk? That she just needed to get back into the restaurant game. That she was just wasting her potential. 

When she sighed and finally decided to look back at him, he was looking at her with furrowed brows. Concerned and patient. It nearly made her ribs crack.

“I’m…I’m a private chef now,” she spoke quietly just in case someone else might hear. “Work here in Chicago. Keeps me cooking but ya know…Keeps me sane.” 

She decided not to mention anything about Henry. Even though she very well could have or maybe should have. But tonight was her night to be selfish, as her mother even told her as she went out the door. Tonight she was talking to a cute guy she used to work with. Tonight she wasn’t a single mom who hadn’t had a date in three years. What Luca didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him anyway.

The pinch of his brow released at her words. Eyebrows ticked up his forehead like she just said the most interesting thing in the universe. He took another sip of his wine while she took a gulp of her own drink in an attempt to calm her nerves. 

“Private,” he said, “I’ve always wondered about that. What’s a typical day like?”

He wasn’t disappointed. He wasn’t questioning her decision. He was just genuinely curious about the job. It made her heart soar, feeling lighter than she had all evening as he looked at her with a quirk of his lips and his hand in his pants pocket. So she described a day in the life. Four o’clock wake up time, lunch break, gardening, grocery shopping, meal planning, almost event planning.

“And their house is literally insane. Like, baby grand piano in the entryway insane. They even have a separate apartment above their garage with a full kitchen and two bedrooms.”

“Fuck me,” Luca groaned with a grin. “That honestly sounds amazing, Em. Good for you.”

Em. Nearly everyone in her life called her that. Everyone who knew her for more than ten minutes called her that. But when Luca did it? It made something inside of her flutter. Butterflies or moths or something else with wings that were threatening to escape. And they partially succeeded in the way she looked up at him with a massive grin she couldn’t control and inched ever so closer to him without even really noticing. 

He didn’t seem to mind, however. In fact, he seemed to be of the same accord as he pulled himself off the wall to be nearer to her. For her to smell his cologne and the slight hint of wine on him. 

But then he spotted someone over her shoulder and he excused himself with about three different apologies. She told him not to worry and watched him go, seeing Carmy standing out in the hall looking at the collages. 

There really was strength in numbers. She felt alone in a room full of people without him. Not seeing anyone else she knew, she sat down at a table tucked against the wall.

So many days and nights were spent in that restaurant. Doing mise en place, cleaning, eating family meals, goofing around with friends, making mistakes, learning new things, and garnering an entirely new love for food. Ever was her very first fine dining job. Andrea Terry was her very first mentor in how to create a true eating experience. It made her heart heavy to think that after that night there would be no more mise en place, no more cleaning, no more family meals for this restaurant. Ever was done. She was thankful for the place, despite her attempts to block out the memories because they made her bitter. Thankful for it all.

“Emily Tyler,” a voice spoke from across the table. 

There was a self-assured air about the voice. She looked up, startled. Only for her face to fall at the sight of David Fields.

“Chef,” she responded, quiet and small, with a nod.

“I’m surprised to see you here. Thought you would be…I don’t know…Making sandwiches for the hubby or something.” Fields grinned at her, wicked and cruel.

“Nope.” She knew if she said anymore it would just encourage him.

“But, seriously, I heard you’re a private chef now.” He sat down in the chair across from her and she had to resist everything in her body not to groan. “So what’s it like to throw away all your potential?”

Emily glared as hard as she could, but he didn’t even blink. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me? For what? I’m not the one who gave up.”

“You are the one who fired me — for a piece of shit reason, by the way,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.

Fields shook his head. “You need to be dedicated in my kitchen. You couldn’t have been with a kid.”

“Fuck you,” she repeated.

“Is that all you can say?”

“It’s all I’ve wanted to say for three years.” She shrugged, eyes focused on the little candle on the table between them. “I…I was scared, okay? And I stupidly came to you because — because I looked up to you and thought that maybe you could…Help.

Fields’ face softened for the first time.

“Couldn’t tell Carmy 'cause he’s — fucking Carmy. My mom probably would have lost her shit if I told her over the phone. And I thought…I thought you gave even an iota of a shit about me, so I came to you when I didn’t know what else to do, and you fucking fired me. So yeah…Fuck you.”

Some understanding passed between them then. Some pent-up confusion and rage and hurt went up like smoke as Fields nodded and sucked his teeth. He didn’t say he was sorry. And really he didn’t need to. It was enough for him to know how she felt.

Then he got up from the chair and straightened out his jacket. “Have a good rest of your night, chef.”

And she watched him go with tears burning the backs of her eyes. But she refused to let them fall. Blinking them away hard as she twirled the stem of her half-full champagne glass between her fingers. She had imagined that conversation with her old boss too many times for her to count. Sometimes she imagined punching him in the face. Other times she imagined him begging for her forgiveness. But this, what happened at that table, was what she expected. At least she no longer had to picture it. Now it was over and done. She nearly felt free.

Luca sat down beside her with a smile. “They’re about to bring out the first course. You alright?”

He looked concerned again, searching her face for something she hoped wasn’t there to begin with. Sniffing back the last of her tears she smiled with a nod. 

“I’m good. I’m good. Just thinking.” She watched him settle into his seat, legs spread so wide his thigh nearly touched her own. “You don’t…Have to sit here you know. I’m sure there are far more interesting people to talk to here tonight.”

“None as interesting as you.”

He looked at her like he knew that was smooth. And he was right. She felt her cheeks burn as she looked down into her lap.

“Good Lord,” she muttered, hands reaching up to cover her red cheeks.

She heard Luca chuckle from beside her as he leaned in close. “Did it work?”

“Yes, it worked,” she whispered, catching a glimpse of him with a grin between her fingers.

“Come on, now, peach, don’t hide,” he spoke low and sweet in her ear, taking her wrist in his large hand and pulling it away from her face. “Lemme see how cute you look.”

Peach. No one had ever called her that before. And she didn’t know why, but she liked it. Liked the way it made something tingle between her legs. Liked the way he looked at her when he said it. Like she really was the most interesting person in the room. Like he didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Like she was a summer peach sweet and ripe for the taking.

Luca didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he took it and began to fiddle with the turquoise set ring she wore on her middle finger for a moment. Adjusting the way it sat. Then he set it down gently in her lap. 

“Do you do this with all the girls?” she asked, almost sounding like she was out of breath.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No. I — actually this is the first time I’ve done this in a long time. Been too focused on my career for all that love and dating stuff.”

“Been a long time for me too,” Emily answered, “Don’t even think I remember how.”

“I’d say you’re off to a pretty good start, peach.”

A few more chefs joined their table. Their conversation was interrupted by greetings, introductions, and handshakes. A few minutes later, Carmy and Sydney joined them. Emily of course hugged them both. Then the table talk started as the first course was brought to their table. About first dishes and when people knew they wanted to be a chef and funny stories from the kitchens everyone had worked in over the years. 

And Emily felt like she belonged among them. Among these accomplished chefs who owned restaurants and published cookbooks. Who tried and failed just like her. Who didn’t judge when she said she was a private chef. Who asked her about her time in the professional kitchen and even remembered some of the dishes she created.

All the while, Luca’s chair had somehow scooted closer and closer to her own. Somehow his thigh became pressed against her own — only a few layers of silk and wool between them. It made her skin feel like she had just been freshly sunburned. Tingly and alive and warm. He caught her eye from time to time. Over the rim of his wine glass. Around the fork in his mouth. It was always some knowing look like they shared some secret. 

And maybe they did.

Then she noticed that Carmy had barely said anything all evening. That he hadn’t even really touched his food — even though it was beautiful and delicious. 

Leaning over so she could look at him past Sydney she asked, “You okay, Carm?”

“Yeah, who are you staring at?” Luca chimed in.

“Just a fucking asshole over there,” Carmy replied, nodding his head at the other side of the room.

Emily looked, and there was the executive chef of Empire sipping on his wine.

“David Fields,” Luca sighed.

“Oh, shit, from Empire?” Sydney looked over at Emily and she nodded.

Luca leaned back in his seat, arm thrown over the back of Emily’s chair. “Yeah, he’s a dickhead.”

“Yeah, he’s the fucking worst — and one of the best chefs in the world,” Carmy went on, eyes laser focused on his former boss across the room. “Total prick. Fuckface. Bastard. Made me very, probably, mentally ill. Dead inside. Cold. Never turns it off. Accomplishes more by ten AM than most people do in a lifetime. I don’t think he sleeps. I don’t think he eats. I don’t think he loves. Hates black pepper for some reason I’ll never understand.

“Did-Did you know he was here, Em?” Carmy suddenly asked, leaning on his arms against the table.

“I did,” she sighed, trying not to notice Luca’s fingers lightly dancing over her bare shoulder. “We…Talked earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, you worked for Empire too,” Sydney said, looking over at Emily.

“Yep. Most intense ten months of my entire life.”

“Oh, fuck, he’s getting up,” Carmy suddenly said, jumping up from his seat and going out into the hall, ignoring everyone's calls of his name and warnings for him to leave David Fields alone.

Sydney sighed as she turned back to her nearly empty plate of food. “Yeah, that’s not going to end well, is it?”

“Nope.” Luca took a drink of his wine.

“Absolutely not,” Emily replied.

Then Christina Tosi, the founder of Milk Bar, leaned across the table with a smile and a hand outstretched towards Emily. “So, I’ve actually wanted to meet you for a long time.” 

“Me?” Emily put down her drink with an unbelieving smile. “Why?”

“I ate at Osteria when I was traveling in Italy four years ago — you were staging there at the time. Girl, I have been thinking about that campfire peach cake with the blackberry compote and pistachio cream every day since.” Tosi patted the table with a laugh. “It was seriously one of the most amazing desserts I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, wow, um — thank you.” She glanced over at Luca to see him already grinning at her. “Gosh, I didn’t think anyone knew I made that dish.”

“I made Fousto tell me.” Tosi winked. 

“Well, thank you, I really appreciate that.” 

Emily would have to remember to make that for her client's family come summertime. She was sure the kids would love it — would maybe even want to help her make it. 

“How did you do it? Those crispy edges that were just a little bit burnt — my God.” 

“They’re not called campfire cakes for nothing,” Emily laughed as the next course was brought out. “The individual cakes are cooked in these small Dutch ovens that are set directly into a fire. They bake for maybe fifteen minutes max and while they’re still warm you add the compote and the cream so it's all nice and melty and delicious.”

“How many times did you catch something on fire?” Tosi asked.

“I think I singed like five aprons that summer.”

The other chefs around the table began discussing how much harder it is to make desserts than savory dishes — how most of them don’t even really like to do it. Christina Tosi had a lot to say about that. But Emily was quickly pulled away from the conversation when Luca put his hand on her thigh. Lightly, he just wanted to get her attention, his touch was gone in a moment. But it made a fire shoot up her spine as she nearly jumped to look over at him. 

“Peach cake, huh?” he asked with a smirk.

“I do really like peaches. You got me on that one.”

“Would you mind if I stole your idea?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s like rule number one in the chef’s code. Don’t steal someone elses idea.”

“Yeah, but…What if I named it after you?” Luca cocked his head, little grin on his face as his arm returned to the back of her chair. 

“I’ve never had a dish named after me before,” she replied, trying not to show how affected she was. “An honor. Sure you wanna name it for a girl you just met?”

“The girl I just met is pretty amazing.”

The meal finished and the previous employees and friends of Ever began to mill about the restaurant once more. Emily ended up speaking with Cristina Tosi more about Italy and her stage at Osteria. About desserts she had come up with since being a private chef. About the Milk Bar and Tosi’s cookbook, they didn’t seem so different from one another. 

Eventually, Emily ended up in the kitchen. Memories rushing back to her of late-night prep, family meals, inside jokes, and cut fingers all rushed back to her. Making sure no one was looking, she ducked under the prep table and looked underneath. There, dozens of names were stuck to the bottom of the table with tape. She found her own rather quickly, still stuck near the edge. Her name was written in her usual bouncy letters, bracketed by little flowers she had drawn. Carmy’s tape was towards the middle — letters small and chicken scratch. Luca’s was close to hers, nearly overlapping on one edge. His letters were in all caps and thin. Reaching up, she smoothed down one peeling side. She hoped the next owner of that restaurant never found them.

When she stood back up, Luca was standing beside her with a grin at the corners of his mouth. She knew someone had walked up and she expected it to be him. 

“Looking at the tape?” he asked. 

Emily stepped closer to him, close enough to touch, with a nod. “Do they have something like that at Noma?”

“I think almost every restaurant I’ve worked at does,” he replied, “On Noma’s pantry wall is the signature of everyone who’s ever worked there.”

“Osteria had a book in the owner’s office. So many famous chefs signed that thing.”

“Including you,” Luca said, scooching in even closer — nearly chest to chest.

Emily looked down and shook her head. “I am not famous. I…I’ve gotta be honest. When I was standing outside I almost turned around and left.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a private chef. Because I walked away from the restaurant world and I don’t know…I just felt a little less than, I guess.”

She looked back up at him then and his face was so soft. So endearing and open. His blue eyes bore into her and she nearly wanted to look away. But she couldn’t. It was impossible to. Even as he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“From everything I’ve heard tonight, you are not less than. You are an amazing, talented chef.” He squeezed her hand again and tugged her into his chest. “Besides, who gives a fuck what they think? There’s an after-party at Sydney’s place and we’re going.”

Emily beamed up at him. “We are?”

“Yeah, we are.” Luca reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she felt the burn of being seen for the first time in nearly half a decade. “Still can’t believe I never talked to you when we worked together. Wanna kick myself.”

Taking a deep breath to collect herself, regather her thoughts, and stop her knees from turning to mush, she said, “You’re talking to me now. That’s all that matters.”

Why did it feel so natural with him? Most of the time, when a man tried to hit on her, she turned tail and ran. It scared her to think about opening herself up to someone like that again. To open up Henry to someone being in his life with a good chance they might leave. She couldn’t put herself or her boy through that. Not again. But that night, without her son, an entire night, and an apartment to herself, she didn’t feel the weight of all of that. She felt free to flirt and lean into his touch and just for a moment…Just for a moment…She wasn’t a mom. She didn’t have any responsibilities besides her work and herself. She could let Luca, the kind and mellow pastry chef, slip his fingers into her hair and draw her in for a kiss. 

She could let him take her to an after-party with a keg of beer, music, and dancing. She could play dice and win. She could help Andrea Terry and Sydney Adamu make frozen waffles and pizza. She could let Luca pull her into his lap and get yelled at for making out on the couch. She could stay out until two in the morning and come home with a boy trailing behind her — his hands on her hips as she unlocked the door.

It was dark inside the apartment, and Emily was glad for it. In the shadows, he couldn’t see the dinosaurs and play construction vehicles all over the floor. The light over the kitchen island was still on. If he noticed the drawings on the fridge he didn’t mention it. She hoped he would think they were from her client’s children or something like that.

After kicking off her boots, Emily opened the fridge and pulled out a container, attempting to delay what they set out to do to wrangle her nerves into submission. She could do this. She could have a one-night stand. She could do this.

“What’s that?” Luca asked as he leaned against the island with his palms flat against the quartz countertop.

“Rosemary syrup cake with mead cream.” She opened the container and put one out on a napkin. “My client had a bunch of his college buddies over for dinner a couple nights ago. He said to make a manly dessert — whatever that meant.” 

He smiled as he looked at the dessert then he nodded for her to come closer. “Feed it to me.”

She had to stop herself from rubbing her legs together before she walked up to him with the pastry in hand. Looking down at her with a smirk on his pink lips, he hooked his hands beneath her thighs and lifted her up onto the counter. Those tattooed hands never left her, fingers bunching up the satin of her dress as he clutched her thighs in his wide palms. For not having done this in a long time, Luca was very good. He could have led her into a burning building and she wouldn’t have cared as she looked into those deep blue eyes. And she tried her hardest to hold that eye contact as she held the cake up to his lips. 

He took a bite and licked the cream off his lips. Then his eyes rolled back in his head as he groaned. 

“Fuck me!” Luca licked his lips again and she laughed. “That’s fucking delicious. Can I steal that one as well?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, taking a bite herself. “I worked hard to make this manly dessert.”

“Mm, can I have another?” He pointed at the cake still in her hand. 

She nodded and held the cake back up to him. But before she could finish it off with the next bite, Luca leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. He tasted like rosemary, mead, and cream. It made her moan soft in the back of her throat from the taste as well as the feeling of his lips on hers. She could feel his smile against her lips as he pulled in closer, chest to chest, hands eclipsed on either side of her hips. His tongue slipped in easily, more rosemary and cream, as she dropped the dessert and threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging softly. 

One of his hands trailed down and down her leg until he found the slit in her olive green dress. Until he pushed it up and up to find the seam where her leg met her hip. Her hips rolled forward of their own accord, some stunted noise muffled in his mouth as his fingers danced over her inner thigh. Luca broke the kiss just to trail his sugar-sweet lips across her jaw and down her neck — Emily easily tilted her head to the side with a sigh. Hands falling to feel the planes of muscle beneath his shirt and fiddle with one of his buttons.

She parted her legs even further for him at his urging, and she jumped only slightly when he ran his deft fingers over the core of her. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked, peach,” he muttered in her ear.

“L-Like I said…Been a long time,” she replied breathily, leaning back slightly on her hands. “S-Shouldn’t we go to the bedroom?”

“I always have been better in the kitchen,” Luca was quick to reply, but then he looked up at her in his gentle way. “Unless you would feel more comfortable there.”

Emily had had this specific wet dream many times before. Only the face of the guy was a generic blur and his voice always matched the sound of whatever audio porn she was listening to those days. But there Luca was. Tall and handsome and wanting to fuck her right there in her kitchen. Her heart was going a million miles a minute. Would she feel more comfortable in bed? Probably. Did this, right there on the kitchen island, scratch some itch she had wanted to for years? Absolutely.

“N-No,” she finally replied, “Here is…Good.”

“Okay,” Luca laughed softly. “You tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

All she could really do was nod as he leaned back in and kissed her. Soft and slow, taking his dear sweet time as he moved his lips against her own. Something like a growl got caught in his throat as she tugged at his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. And he couldn’t help but grin at the way her breathing picked up as he pulled at the zipper of her dress.

She only hopped down from the counter for a second so her dress could easily fall to the floor, and then Luca picked her right back up and set her on the cold quartz. Underneath the dress, she wasn’t wearing anything other than her underwear, and Luca groaned like he had about the cake at the sight of her. 

“Fucking beautiful, peach,” he muttered as he smeared kisses along her neck and collarbone.

At his gentle urging, she laid down on her kitchen island. She could barely breathe let alone think as he trailed his tongue and lips down her chest and stomach. That hand tattooed with a pepper ghosted up her side, only to come to rest beside her chest. His thumb passed over the pebbled flesh and Emily could not stop the breathy moan that escaped her.

“Luca,” she gasped as he nibbled at her hip bone, his hand kneading her breast like dough. 

Her entire body tingled like static on an old tv screen. Her center cried out for attention. She could feel her desire dripping out of her.

He released himself from her flesh with a soft pop. “Doin’ alright, peach?”

“Uh-huh —” But then she shook her head. “Need…Need you to…”

“Need what?” He peppered a line of kisses along the line of her underwear. “Need me to eat you out like your dessert?”

Emily couldn’t nod her head fast enough. He chuckled lightly against her skin, then he peeled her underwear down her legs and kneeled down on the floor. At first, he simply pressed a few experimental kisses to her seam. Making her wriggle and whimper against the counter. But then he parted her with his tongue and her spine curved of its own accord — her hands fisting into his hair as she gasped. 

He dipped his tongue into her hole then swirled it around her clit, like he was eating ice cream, then pulled away to practically pant into her inner thigh. 

Making sure to catch her eye he whispered, “Taste so sweet.”

A moan hadn’t even fully left her lips before he dove back in. Lapping at her like he was starved for it. A craving finally satiated. He groaned into her like she was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Hands gripping onto her thighs hard enough to leave marks. He drove her closer and closer to release with every lick, suck, and kiss. Her hands pulled and tugged at his hair as the pleasure tingled at the base of her spine.

“L-Luca! Oh!” she gasped, back arching off the countertop as he gave her clit a hard suck. “So good — So good. Fuck.”

He groaned into her flesh again and this time it shot all the way up her back and made her see stars. It had been so long since she had been with someone like this. She thought that, maybe, she could get at least one orgasm out of it and they would pass out. But no. Luca was taking his dear time with her — memorizing every sound and every reaction. He was eating her out for God’s sake, something she had to beg and plead with her last boyfriend to do on a rare occasion. But Luca wanted to do it. Enjoyed it, clearly, from the way he shoved his face into her so far she feared he couldn’t breathe. 

Her toes began to curl and her entire being began to feel molten hot as he pulled that sensitive little bud between his lips again. Her breath came out in stunted little gasps as she moved her hips against his face. 

“I’m — I’m gonna —” she tried to get out, tried to warn him. 

But he paid it no mind. He just kept going until she cried out and went stuck still beneath his expert tongue. And didn’t stop until she was pushing at his forehead and whimpering at the back of her throat. 

Luca pulled away with one final kiss to her now oversensitive clit. It made her whine and he laughed softly as he wiped at his chin. She felt boneless as she lay there and stared up at the ceiling, trying to collect herself. But it felt like she was in a haze as he tugged her to sit up and smoothed her hair back behind her ears. 

“That good, huh?” he questioned as he took her hand in his, smiling when all she could do was nod. “Good. Want you to feel good.” 

“Want you to…Feel good too,” she managed to string together as she reached out and tugged at his belt.

“Trust me, I feel great.” But when she cupped him, hard and aching, through his wool pants, his chin dropped to his chest. “Mm, fuck.”

Emily’s eyes widened as she felt the size of him. For a moment, she wondered if she would be able to take him. But then Luca was scooping her up by the backs of her thighs and she didn’t have time to think about it anymore. Not when he was mouthing at her neck like that and asking where her bedroom was. Down the hall on your left. Not when he brought her to release with her spread out on her sheets on his fingers. Not when he revealed hard muscles and even more tattoos scattered across his skin like so many stories. Not when he pushed in nice and slow and gave her all the time in the world to gasp and whine and tell him it wouldn’t fit. 

“I’ll make it fit, peach,” grumbled against her jaw as his fingers connected with that bundle of nerves once more.

No, she really couldn’t think about it at all once he was buried to the hilt and she felt so fucking full. And she told him so — it made him twitch inside her into something no boyfriend had ever found before. He made her see stars and constellations and entire planets as he hit that spot again and again and again. Until she screamed and cried and couldn’t say anything other than his name.

And when he spilled inside her with a groan and his hand so soft around her throat — she felt on the edge of consciousness. Tired down to the bone but in the best way possible. 

She didn’t even bother to say anything as she curled into his chest and let him pull the covers over them both. In the back of her mind, she knew she should have told him to leave. Told him this was fun but it was time to go. But she just couldn’t. It felt too good, too natural, too everything for him to leave her bed after that. It almost felt like he was supposed to be there.

And in some ways, she told him so, when he kissed her forehead and she burrowed deeper into his embrace.

Luca woke up before her the next morning. The sun was up and looked like it had been for hours. Her bedroom was a mess of clothes and empty water bottles. It made him smile to see a photo collage of all her travels and some of her favorite dishes on the wall. 

But it made his brow furrow to see pictures of a baby up there too. 

Maybe it was her nephew or something?

Luca was careful as he got out of bed and put his clothes back on. He didn’t want to disturb her — she looked so peaceful. Tangled up in a homemade quilt with her hair fanned out on the pillow, mouth slightly open as she breathed deeply. He smiled as he looked at her, not really wanting to leave but knowing that he should.

Then he spotted a notebook and pen on her bedside table. Probably filled with recipe ideas and dreams scribbled down in the middle of the night. He only thought for a split second, knowing if he did it any longer he would chicken out before he scooped up the notebook and wrote down his number on the next available page.

Out in the main room, he gathered up his coat and shoes, noting the toys scattered about the space. Dinosaur figures, little construction vehicles, plushies of some cartoon dog he didn’t recognize.

Maybe the nephew had been over recently and she hadn’t had time to clean up?

He wanted to stay and study the space. Learn just a little more about her before he left. But he didn’t want to be there when she woke up. Didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on her.

So he went out the door with his coat in hand, smiling to himself thinking of the blush on her face or her reactions to his touch. Emily really was amazing. Talented, accomplished, confident, calm, and sincere. He wasn’t a praying man, but as he walked down the hall to the elevator he hoped that she would text him.

Pressing the call button for the elevator, he stood back with his hands in his pockets. It had to go up five stories, so it would be a bit of a wait. And while he did, the door to the stairwell opened.

An older woman with grey hair and a toddler stepped out. He wore a backpack that was a little too big for him and she looked tired but happy. The woman smiled at Luca as they passed and he returned it with a nod. He even waved slightly at the little boy and he did so tentatively back.

The two of them went down the hall from whence he came and he watched them go. The boy was cute, with curly blond hair and a freckle-covered face. He reminded Luca of someone but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

Not until the older woman opened Emily’s apartment door and the little boy ran inside with a shout of “Mommy!”.

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[jpbjazz]

LÉGENDES DU JAZZ

J.J. JOHNSON, ‘’LE CHARLIE PARKER DU TROMBONE’’

"J. J. did for the trombone what Charlie Parker did for the saxophone. And all of us that are playing today wouldn't be playing the way we're playing if it wasn't for what he did. And not only, of course, is he the master of the trombone—the definitive master of this century—but, as a composer and arranger, he is in the top shelf as well."

- Steve Turre

Né le 22 janvier 1924 à Indianapolis, en Indiana, James Louis Johnson était le fils du Révérend baptiste James Horace Johnson et de Nina Johnson, une méthodiste. Élevé dans une atmosphère très religieuse, avait d’abord commencé à étudier le piano à l’église méthodiste d’Indianapolis à partir de l’âge de neuf ans. Johnson avait reçu une éducation très stricte. Le père de Johnson, qui croyait aux vertus de la discipline, était d’ailleurs un adepte des punitions corporelles.

Johnson était passé au saxophone au début de l’adolescence après avoir découvert le jazz. Durant ses études au Crispus Attucks High School, Johnson avait joué du saxophone baryton. Johnson était âgé de quatorze ans lorsque ses camarades de classe avaient formé un groupe amateur. Il y avait un seul problème: le groupe n’avait personne pour jouer du trombone. C’est ainsi que Johnson était passé au trombone. Il n’avait plus jamais regardé derrière. À l’époque, Johnson et ses camarades de classe avaient été très influencés par les solos du saxophoniste ténor Lester Young. Johnson avait également été très marqué par le jeu des trombonistes Dickie Wells, Trummy Young et J.C. Higginbotham. 

Johnson étudiait toujours au high school lorsqu’il avait connu sa première expérience professionnelle comme membre du groupe territorial de Clarence Love en septembre 1941.

DÉBUTS DE CARRIÈRE

Après avoir décroché son diplôme en 1941, Johnson avait décidé d’abandonner ses études et de devenir musicien professionnel. Après avoir quitté Indianapolis en mars 1942, Johnson s’était joint au groupe de Snookum Russell, avec qui il avait fait une tournée dans le Midwest l’année suivante.

C’est en se produisant avec le groupe de Russell que Johnson avait rencontré le trompettiste Fats Navarro. Le style d’improvisation de Navarro avait fortement impresionné Johnson. Par la suite, Johnson avait souvent prétendu qu’il avait été beaucoup plus influencé par des saxophonistes comme Lester Young et Charlie Parker et par des trompettistes comme Dizzy Gillespie et Roy Eldridge que par des trombonistes. Même si le trombone était largement en évidence dans les orchestres de swing et de dixieland, il était tombé en désuétude avec le développement de bebop, car les musiciens de ce nouveau style musical croyaient que des instruments comme la trompette et le saxophone étaient plus adaptés que le trombone à cette musique au tempo rapide qui exigeait une grande perfection technique. Il avait finalement fallu l’intervention de Dizzy Gillespie pour que Johnson obtienne enfin sa chance. Impressionné par le talent du jeune tromboniste, Gillespie lui avait donné un vote de confiance en déclarant: "I've always known that the trombone could be played different, that somebody'd catch on one of these days. Man, you're elected."

Tentant d’appliquer les techniques du bebop au trombone, Johnson avait dû jouer dans des tonalités claires et se limiter à de courtes notes, ce qui avait parfois donné la fausse impression qu’il jouait du trombone à valve et non du trombone à coulisses. Le critique Don Heckman du Los Angeles Times expliquait: "Making that adaptation to the trombone was very demanding. It took a decade before other trombonists on the whole began to master what Johnson was doing." Interrogé dans le cadre de l’ouvrage The Masters of Bebop: A Listener's Guide d’Ira Gitler publié en 2001, Johnson avait cependant reconnu que sa façon de jouer du trombone n’était pas complètement originale. En effet, le tromboniste Fred Beckett, qui avait joué avec Harlan Leonard et Lionel Hampton dans les années 1930 et 1940, avait influencé le style de Johnson. Interrogé par le critique Ben Ratliff dans le New York Times, Johnson avait déclaré que Beckett était "was the first trombonist I ever heard play in a manner other than the usual sliding, slurring, lip-trilling or gutbucket style."

Déjà caractérisé à l’adolescence pour son style unique, Johnson n’avait pas tardé à être reconnu par les chefs d’orchestre, compositeurs et critiques comme un des meilleurs trombonistes du jazz. Comme le critique Leonard Feather l’avait déclaré au collaborateur du Los Angeles Times, Jon Thurber, "J.J. Johnson was to the trombone what [Dizzy] Gillespie was to the trumpet--the definitive trendsetter who established beyond a doubt that bebop was not beyond the technical possibilities of the instrument."

De 1942 à 1945, Johnson s’était joint au big band de Benny Carter comme tromboniste et arrangeur. Johnson avait d’ailleurs fait ses débuts sur disque avec le groupe de Carter dans le cadre d’un solo sur la pièce ‘’Love for Sale’’ en octobre 1943. Durant son séjour avec le groupe de Carter, Johnson avait également participé au tournage du film Thousands Cheer (1944) de George Sidney mettant en vedette Gene Kelly et Lena Horne. Johnson avait finalement décidé de quitter le groupe de Carter en 1945 après avoir été victime d’une commotion cérébrale à la suite d’un incident racial. Malgré son départ, Johnson avait cependant permis à Carter de continuer d’utiliser ses arrangements.

Le 2 juillet 1944, Johnson avait participé au premier concert de la série Jazz at the Philharmonic (JATP) au Los Angeles Philharmonic Hall. On pouvait notamment entendre Johnson sur la pièce “Blues” d’Etaoin Shrdlu.

Le 4 mai 1945, Johnson s’était joint à l’orchestre de Count Basie, avec qui il avait joué en tournée jusqu’en 1946. Devenu un des principaux solistes de l’orchestre de Basie, Johnson avait notamment joué en solo sur les pièces “Rambo” et “The King” le 4 février 1946. Après avoir quitté le groupe de Basie, Johnson s’était produit brièvement avec Dizzy Gillespie et Woody Herman. Il avait par la suite participé à une tournée en Asie avec le contrebassiste Oscar Pettiford.

Pour le reste de la décennie, Johnson s’était produit avec les plus grands musiciens bop de l’époque, dont Charlie Parker, avec qui il avait enregistré en décembre 1947, devenant ainsi le premier artiste invité à jouer avec le quintet original de Parker. Parmi les autres collaborations de Johnson à cette époque, on remarquait des prestations et des enregistrements avec le big band de Dizzy Gillespie, Illinois Jacquet (de 1947 à 1949) et Miles Davis, avec qui il avait participé l’album-culte Birth of the Cool en 1949. Comme leader de ses propres formations, Johnson s’était également produit avec les plus grands noms du jazz, dont Bud Powell, Sonny Stitt, Babs Gonzalez, John Lewis et Sonny Rollins. Il avait aussi fait partie de Metronome All-Stars.

En 1946, Johnson avait dirigé sa première session comme leader pour les disques Savoy. À partir de cette époque, Johnson avait commencé à alterner entre sa carrière de leader et d’accompagnateur. Malgré tous ses succès, Johnson avait également connu sa part de revers. En 1946, après avoir été trouvé coupable de méfait, on lui avait même retiré sa carte de cabaret, ce qui l’avait empêché de se produire dans les clubs de New York durant douze ans. Refusant de se laisser abattre, Johnson avait fait une première tournée en Europe en juin 1957, se produisant notamment devant une assistance de 20 000 personnes à Stockholm, en Suède. Après la tournée, Johnson avait participé à une nouvelle tournée de Jazz at the Philarmonic, et avait enregistré des albums en concert avec Stan Getz au Civic Opera House de Chicago, qui comprenaient des versions émouvantes de standards comme “My Funny Valentine.”

En 1951, Johnson s’était produit avec Oscar Pettiford et Howard McGhee dans le cadre d’une tournée organisée par la United Service Organizations (USO) au Japon et en Corée. Johnson s’était de nouveau joint au groupe de Davis en 1952. Les compositions de Johnson "Enigma" et "Kelo" avaient d’ailleurs été enregistrées dans le cadre de l’album "Walkin'" en 1954.

Même s’il était demeuré très actif, les revenus que Johnson amassait comme musicien étaient souvent insuffisants à assurer la subsistance de sa famille. Devenu dépendant de l’héroïne, Johnson, qui s’était toujours intéressé à l’électronique et aux nouvelles technologies,  avait finalement décidé de quitter le jazz en août 1952 pour aller travailler comme inspecteur pour la Sperry Gyroscope Company. Durant les deux années suivantes, Johnson avait cependant continué d’enregistrer de façon sporadique avec de petits groupes, notamment dans le cadre d’un album double pour Blue Note intitulé The Eminent Jay Jay Johnson, sur lequel on retrouvait sa légendaire composition “Turnpike.” Au printemps 1954, Johnson avait également remporté un prix pour son travail avec le pianiste Henri Renaud.

En 1954, le producteur Ozzie Cadena des disques Savoy avait convaincu Johnson de sortir de sa retraite et de former un groupe avec le tromboniste Kai Winding, le "Jay and Kai Quintet". Même si le style et la personnalité des deux musiciens étaient très différents, le groupe avait remporté un grand succès, tant sur le plan commercial qu’artistique, contribuant ainsi à démontrer l’énorme potentiel du trombone comme instrument de jazz. Après avoir enregistré pour les disques Savoy, le groupe s’était particulièrement fait connaître avec sa reprise du classique de Cole Porter, ‘’It’s Alright With Me.’’ En 1955, Johnson s’était d’ailleurs mérité un prix du magazine Down Beat comme meilleur tromboniste.

Officiellement dissous en août 1956, le groupe s’était de nouveau réuni en 1958 dans le cadre d’une tournée au Royaume-Uni. Après avoir enregistré un album studio en 1960, le groupe avait réalisé deux nouveaux enregistrements en 1968-69. En janvier 1967, Johnson and Winding avaient également fait partie du groupe tout-étoile (comprenant notamment les trompettistes Clark Terry, Charlie Shavers et Joe Newman) qui avait accompagné Sarah Vaughan sur son dernier album pour Mercury intitulé Sassy Swings Again. Trois des pièces de l’album, dont "Take the "A" Train" de Billy Strayhorn, avaient été arrangées par Johnson. Peu avant la mort de Winding en mai 1983, le duo avait aussi fait des apparitions dans des festivals de jazz au Japon. Au cours de ses années d’activité, le groupe avait enregistré un total de neuf albums. Parmi les plus célèbres compositions de Johnson avec le groupe, on remarquait la pièce ‘’Lament’’, tirée de l’album Jay and Kai.

Après le démantèlement de son quintet avec Winding en 1956, Johnson avait fait des tournées avec différents petits groupes durant environ trois ans, parcourant notamment les États-Unis, le Royaume-Uni et la Scandinavie. Au cours de cette période, Johnson avait également formé un quintet avec le trompettiste Freddie Hubbard, le saxophoniste Clifford Jordan, le pianiste Cedar Walton, le contrebassiste Arthur Harper, et le batteur Albert “Tootie” Heath. Après avoir enseigné brièvement à la Lenox School of Jazz en 1960, Johnson avait finalement mis fin aux activités du groupe en déclarant: “It suddenly occurred to me that I needed a change, and I even began to wonder was it possible that a musician or artist could be much too dedicated – so much so that he lived in a very narrow world.” Même s’il avait continué de se produire sur scène de façcon sporadique, Johnson était devenu plus sélectif dans le choix de ses engagements.

En 1957, Johnson avait enregistré deux albums en quartet, First Place et Blue Trombone, avec une formation comprenant Tommy Flanagan au piano, Paul Chambers à la contrebasse et Max Roach à la batterie. Commentant l’album First Place enregistré en avril 1957, le critique Nat Hentoff écrivait: “There were sketches on each number - J.J. is so precise a spirit by temperament that he is not apt to leave all to luck, even on a blowing date. And in some cases there were even fuller arrangements. But basically, the four sessions that made up this and a succeeding album were conceived and executed as relatively free, almost entirely improvised conversations.”

Même si on lui avait retiré sa carte de cabaret, Johnson était demeuré dans l’actualité du jazz grâce à ses tournées avec Jazz at the Philharmonic. Le 14 mai 1959, à l’issue d’un procès très médiatisé, Johnson avait finalement obtenu la restitution de sa carte de cabaret, ce qui lui avait permis de se produire de nouveau à New York. Douze jours plus tard, Johnson avait joué au Village Vanguard dans le cadre d’une performance qui faisait suite une lecture du poète de la Beat Generation, Jack Kérouac. En mars 1959, Johnson avait publié l’album Really Livin’.

Durant une courte période en 1961-62, Johnson avait fait une tournée avec le sextet de Miles Davis. Malheureusement, les performances de Johnson avec le groupe n’avaient pas été enregistrées. Il avait aussi collaboré à l’occasion avec les saxophonistes Sonny Rollins, Jimmy Heath et Sonny Stitt. Johnson avait également continué de diriger ses propres groupes, même s’il avait concentré l’essentiel de son temps à la composition.

L’album de 1963 J.J.'s Broadway avait non seulement permis à Johnson de démontrer un style et un son plus raffiné, mais avait contribué à témoigner de ses qualités d’arrangeur. En 1964, Johnson avait enregistré pour la dernière en plus de vingt ans avec son groupe de travail dans le cadre de l’enregistrement de l’album Proof Positive. La même année, Johnson avait également enregistré un album en big band. Simplement intitulé ‘’ J.J.!’’, l’album comprenait sa composition ‘’El Camino Real’’ ainsi que la pièce de Gary McFarland ’’Winter’s Waif.’’ À partir de 1965, Johnson avait aussi enregistré une série d’albums pour grandes formations sous son propre nom qui comprenaient plusieurs de ses compositions et arrangements.

La principale préoccupation de Johnson à cette époque était cependant de créer sa propre musique. À partir du milieu des années 1950, Johnson, qui était devenu un des principaux représentants du mouvement de la Troisième Vague (Third Stream), s’était consacré à l’écriture de compositions ambitieuses qui combinaient des éléments de musique classique et de jazz, dont sa première oeuvre de longue durée, "Poem for Brass" (1956). La pièce en quatre parties avait été publiée sur l’album Music for Brass, et était dirigée par le célèbre chef d’orchestre et compositeur Gunther Schuller. Johnson avait aussi arrangé deux compositions du compositeur classique Paul Hindemith, ‘’Kleine Kammermusik’’ et ‘’Mathis der Maler.’’

En 1959, le Festival de jazz de Monterey en Californie avait également commandé à Johnson deux compositions intitulées "El Camino Real" et "Sketch for Trombone and Orchestra", une pièce pour un groupe de jazz de quinze musiciens. Les deux compositions avaient été présentées en grande première dans le cadre du festival la même année.

Par la suite, Johnson avait surtout composé pour Dizzy Gillespie. Le trompettiste avait été tellement impressionné après avoir entendu la pièce "Poem for Brass" qu’il avait demandé à Johnson de lui écrire du matériel pour un album complet. Cet exercice avait donné lieu à l’enregistrement de l’album ‘’Perceptions’’ (1961), qui comprenait une longue suite de trente-cinq minutes mettant en vedette six trompettes, quatre cors français et deux harpes. La suite compprenait six mouvements: The Sword of Orion, Jubelo, Blue Mist, Fantasia, Horn of Plenty et Ballade. En 1962, dans le cadre de la première édition du Festival de jazz de Washington, D.C., Johnson avait également interprété une autre composition de longue durée.

Au cours des six mois qui avaient suivi l’écriture de l’album Perceptions, Johnson était entré en studio avec le trio du compositeur André Prévin pour enregistrer un album complet consacré à la musique Kurt Weill intitulé ‘’Andre Previn and J.J. Johnson Play 'Mack The Knife' and Other Kurt Weill Songs.’’ En 1965, Johnson avait fait un séjour à Vienne pour jouer et enregistrer sa Euro Suite avec un orchestre de fusion jazz-classique de dix-sept musiciens dirigé par le pianiste autrichien Friedrich Gulda. Trois ans plus tard,  le directeur musical de l’American Wind Symphony Orchestra de Pittsburgh, Robert A. Boudreau,  avait commandé à Johnson une oeuvre intitulée  "Diversions" qui avait été interprétée plus tard par l’orchestre.

Le jazz traversant une période de déclin à la fin des années 1960, Johnson avait enregistré presque exclusivement en studio avec des big bands, habituellement comme accompagnateur d’autres solistes.

En 1967, grâce au soutien du compositeur de musiques de film Elmer Bernstein, Johnson avait décroché un poste de compositeur et de chef d’orchestre pour la firme Marc Brown Associates (M.B.A. Music) de New York, une compagnie qui fournissait la musique pour des publicités télévisées.

En 1970, Johnson s’était installé à Los Angeles où il avait entrepris une carrière de compositeur de bandes sonores pour le cinéma et la télévision. Au cours de la même décennie, Johnson avait composé la musique de séries télévisées comme That Girl (1966-71), Mayberry, R.F.D. (1968-71),  The Bold Ones (1969-73), The Mod Squad (1970–73), Barefoot in the Park (1970-71), Harry O. (1974-76), Travels with Flip (1975), Future Cop (1977-78),  Starsky and Hutch (1975), Six Million Dollar Man (1973-78) et Mike Hammer (1984-87). Dans les années 1970 et 1980, Johnson avait aussi écrit et orchestré la musique de films comme  Shaft (sur une musique largement composée par Isaac Hayes, 1971), Trouble Man (avec Marvin Gaye, 1972), Across 110th Street (avec le chanteur Bobby Womack, 1972), Top of the Heap (1972), Willie Dynamite (1973), Cleopatra Jones (qui se basait sur des éléments de l’opéra Peter Grimes de Benjamin Britten, 1973), Scarface (1983), The Big Easy (1986) et Sea of Love (1989). Johnson avait également joué dans l’orchestre Cocoanut Grove de Sammy Davis Jr. ainsi qu’avec le groupe de l’émission de Carol Burnett.

Durant son séjour à Hollywood, Johnson ne s’était pratiquement plus produit sur scène, à l’exception de séjours au Japon en 1977 et 1982 et en Europe en 1984.

DERNIÈRES ANNÉES

Malgré tout le succès qu’il avait remporté à Hollywood, Johnson était toujours aussi passionné par le jazz et par sa carrière de tromboniste. Durant son séjour à Hollywood, Johnson avait d’ailleurs enregistré six albums comme leader de 1977 à 1984. Au cours de cette période, Johnson avait également enregistré quelques albums comme accompagnateur, dont deux avec Count Basie. Il avait aussi joué sur la bande sonore du film The Sting II.

En 1979, Johnson avait enregistré Pinnacles, un album enregistré avec une formation tout-étoile composée de Tommy Flanagan au piano, de Joe Henderson au saxophone ténor, d’Oscar Brashear à la trompette, de Ron Carter à la contrebasse de Billy Higgins à la batterie et de Kenneth Nash aux percussions. L’album recourait également à de nombreux instruments électroniques. La même année, Johnson avait participé à la célébration du 70e anniversaire de naissance de Dizzy Gillespie au Wolf Trap National Park de Washington, D.C. C’est là que Johnson avait rencontré un autre musicien originaire d’Indianapolis, le tromboniste Slide Hampton, avec qui il avait discuté de la future orientation de sa carrière.

Travailleur infatigable, Johnson avait continué de pratiquer chaque jour pour se maintenir au niveau. Même lorsqu’il s’était retiré de la scène du jazz, Johnson était demeuré très populaire et avait remporté plusieurs sondages du magazine Down Beat comme meilleur tromboniste. Dans les années 1990, alors qu’il était sous contrat avec les disques Verve, Johnson avait enregistré certaines de ses oeuvres les plus ambitieuses, dont Tangence (1994), une collaboration avec le compositeur de musiques de film Robert Farnon, Brass Orchestra (1996), qui comprenait des oeuvres influencées par le bebop et des extraits de l’album Perceptions, et Heroes (1998), son dernier album, qui était influencé par le jazz d’avant-garde. Commentant ce dernier album, un critique du magazine Down Beat avait écrit que l’enregistrement "leaves a general impression of solid craftsmanship, if not breathtaking artistic significance. The main news is that J.J. Johnson can always assemble a sturdy ensemble, and he's still a hero to trombonists everywhere."

En 1987, Johnson était retourné dans sa ville natale d’Indianapolis avec sa première épouse, Vivian. Johnson avait recommencé à se produire sur scène et à enregistrer en novembre de la même année, dans le cadre d’un engagement au Village Vanguard avec son quintet composé du saxophoniste Ralph Moore, du pianiste Stanley Cowell, du contrebassiste Rufus Reid et du batteur Victor Lewis,

Après avoir fait lune tournée aux États-Unis, en Europe et au Japon, Johnson s’était de nouveau produit au Village Vanguard en 1988, ce qui avait permis d’enregistrer deux autres albums, ‘’Quintergy’’ et ‘’Standards.’’ Johnson était en tournée au Japon en décembre 1988 lorsqu’il avait appris que Vivian avait été victime d’une attaque qui avait grandement réduit ses capacités. Durant trois ans et demi, Johnson avait annulé  tous ses engagements afin de prendre soin de son épouse. En mai 1988, l’Université de l’Indiana avait accordé à Johnson un doctorat honorifique. Malheureusement, la célébration avait été assombrie par le décès du père de Johnson le 3 juin. Refusant de se laisser abattre, Johnson avait participé le 21 août à une réunion avec Stan Getz au Grant Park de Chicago devant une assistance monstre de 50 000 personnes.

Après la mort de Vivian en 1991, Johnson lui avait rendu hommage l’année suivante dans le cadre de l’album qui portait son nom. Après s’être remarié avec Carolyn Reid le 11 septembre 1992, Johnson avait recommencé à se produire régulièrement sur scène. Il avait également enseigné à la Kentucky State University et au Collège Oberlin.

Au cours de cette période, Johnson avait également enregistré cinq albums dans une grande variété de formats, allant des petits groupes à des orchestres à cordes. Parmi ces enregistrements, on remarquait Let’s Hang Out, un album enregistré en 1992 avec son quintet qui comprenait désormais la pianiste Renee Rosnes en remplacement de Cowell. Johnson avait enregistré un dernier album comme leader en 1996, ‘’Heroes’’, qui comprenait un hommage à sa seconde épouse Carolyn.

Johnson avait également collaboré avec d’autres musiciens comme son élève le tromboniste Steve Turre et la chanteuse Abbey Lincoln. Demeuré très populaire, Johnson s’était même mérité plusieurs nominations aux prix Grammy. Le 6 avril 1994, Johnson avait également participé à un concert organisé à l’occasion du 50e anniversaire des disques Verve à Carnegie Hall. La même année, Johnson avait enregistré l’album Tangence avec Wynton Marsalis et le Robert Farnon Orchestra en Angleterre. Quelques mois plus tard, Johnson s’était produit au Festival de jazz de San Francisco avec le pianiste Geoff Keezer et le batteur Marvin “Smitty” Smith (Renee Rosnes et son époux, le batteur, Billy Drummond, s’étaient désistés). Peu après, Johnson avait également dû remplacer son saxophoniste Ralph Moore, qui s’était joint au Tonight Show de Jay Leno.

En raison de sa mauvaise santé, Johnson s’était retiré complètement de la scène à la fin de l’année 1996. Il avait présenté son dernier concert au William Paterson College le 10 novembre 1996.

Atteint d’un cancer de la prostate, Johnson avait tenté de rester positif et avait suivi ses traitements avec assiduité. Johnson, qui avait passé ses dernières années dans son studio personnel, avait continué d’expérimenter avec la meilleure technologie disponible pour la composition et l’enregistrement, dont les synthétiseurs de Robert Moog. Au cours de cette période, Johnson avait également écrit un livre d’exercices destiné aux musiciens de jazz. L’ouvrage avait été publié plus tard par Hal Leonard.

Découragé, Johnson avait finalement décidé de se tirer une balle dans la tête le 4 février 2001. Ont survécu à Johnson son épouse Carolyn, ses fils Kevin et William, et sa belle-fille Mikita Sanders.

Johnson, qui avait exercé une influence considérable au cours de sa carrière, avait attiré de nombreux musiciens de jazz lors de ses funérailles. Lors de ses obsèques, neuf trombonistes (dont Slide Hampton, Steve Turre et Robin Eubanks) étaient montés sur l’autel pour interpréter la composition de Johnson ‘’Lament.’’ Le batteur Max Roach avait également grimpé sur l’estrade pour rendre hommage à Johnson. Roach avait déclaré: "He was a genius, always a great instrumentalist. Even at a young age, he was a rare person to have.... [H]e left us so much." Enregistré en 1997, le dernier album de Johnson intitulé ‘’The Brass Orchestra’’, avait été enregistré avec une formation composée de Jimmy Heath et Wayne Shorter aux saxophones, de Slide Hampton au trombone, et de Jon Faddis et Don Sickler à la trompette. Le groupe était dirigé par le chef d’orchestre Thomas Everett.

En 2000, Joshua Berrett avait publié une biographie de Johnson intitulée The Musical World of J. J. Johnson.

Résumant la contribution de Johnson au bebop, le tromboniste Steve Turre avait commenté: "J. J. did for the trombone what Charlie Parker did for the saxophone. And all of us that are playing today wouldn't be playing the way we're playing if it wasn't for what he did. And not only, of course, is he the master of the trombone — the definitive master of this century— but, as a composer and arranger, he is in the top shelf as well." Outre Turre, Johnson avait influencé de nombreux trombonistes au cours de sa carrière, dont Wycliffe Gordon, Robin Eubanks, Andre Hayward et Conrad Herwig.

Plusieurs des compositions de Johnson, dont "Wee Dot", "Lament" et "Enigma", sont devenues des standards du jazz.

Lauréat de plusieurs prix, Johnson a été élu au DownBeat Hall of Fame en 1995. Le gouverneur de l’indiana lui a également décerné un Governor's Arts Award en 1989. En plus d’avoir été honoré par la remise d’un doctorat honorifique de l’Université de l’Indiana en 1988, Johnson avait également été élu ‘’Jazz Master’’ par la National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), le 12 janvier 1996, aux côtés de Tommy Flanagan et Benny Golson. Au printemps de la même année, Johnson avait été nommé artiste-résident à l’Université Harvard.

Le tromboniste Curtis Fuller avait rendu hommage à Johnson après sa mort en déclarant: “J.J. elevated the trombone to a higher status. As a jazz soloist, you had your Trummy Youngs and your Dicky Wells, but in the vernacular of bebop, he was the trombonist for that language. J.J. was a genius; he was no fly-by-night sensation. He was the man for all seasons, and I was drawn to that.”

©- 2024, tous droits réservés, Les Productions de l’Imaginaire historique

[bluecoats-bakery-official]

go watch Bluecoats. go watch Bluecoats. go watch Bluecoats. go watch Bluecoats. go watch Bluecoats

anyways gimmick aside, here's like a primer of basic DCI knowledge/info that I wrote up a while ago for a friend who knew nothing, dunno if that's the sort of information you're wanting but it's something!

you can peruse my blog here for other things like a tier list of Bluecoats shows from 2014 onward and my very strong opinions on costuming/uniforms

SO DCI stands for Drum Corps International, which is an organization made up of Drum and Bugle Corps (pronounced "cores" because English is weird and doesn't like being spelled phonetically). its basically the NFL of marching band except only kids aged 16-21(?) (idk i think the upper age limit might change based on corp) can do it and they have to pay like thousands of dollars just to march a single season, although thats based on the top corps, im not sure how much marching a season in a non-top twelve corp costs.

there's 21* world class corps and they tour the US in the summer going to competitions which culminates in the world championship which is held over three days (Thurs, Fri, Sat) in mid August at Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis. I'm really lucky that my marching band gets that Saturday off of practice because we're close enough that so many of us go watch finals.

both open class and world class corps compete together in the championship but world class corps are almost always better. typically there are around 40 corps in the prelims, then the top 25 of those move on to the semifinals, and the top twelve there compete in the finals on Saturday evening. there could be more or less than 40 corps in prelims depending on things like if a corp isn't fielding that year because of money troubles, like one of my favorite corps (Santa Clara Vanguard) didn't field last season but they're back this season.**

the season starts with audition camps in January-ish and then practice and stuff in the spring and touring kicks off in the beginning of either June or July. I'm less sure of the general season schedule because different corps go to different places and have different timelines throughout the season, and I haven't really looked into it because I don't plan on doing DCI.

the typical instruments are as follows, grouped by overall section.

Brass:

contra (marching tuba, 25-35 pounds), marching euphonium (7-8 pounds) and marching baritone (~6 pounds) are almost interchangeable but some corps march both or only one, mellophone (marching french horn, ~4 pounds), and trumpet (2-3 pounds). range goes up as weight goes down but you said you were in band so I'm not going to explain much. some corps use concert brass instruments such as trombone (baritone/euphonium equivalent range) and flugelhorn (slightly lower than trumpet) for solos or features

Drumline:

typically corps have five tenors/quads (30-45 pounds), nine snares (10-20 pounds), and a full line of five bass drums (15-40 pounds depending on size).

Carolina Crown has marched six basses the last few years and I'm not really sure why they do that or which drum they double

Pit Percussion/Front Ensemble:

this is the one that varies the most from corp to corp and year to year depending on what's needed for the show, and the only section that doesn't march because their instruments are stationary (back in the Olden Days there used to be marching glockenspiel and stuff and no pit but let's not get into that)

corps always have some number of marimbas and vibraphones and one person who plays both xylophone and glockenspiel. some have a drumset and some have two drumsets. a set of timpani is also usually seen in the pit, along with a couple electric pianos/synthesizers and sometimes a show will have audio samples. and if course the auxiliary percussion which someone just like runs over and plays when it's needed; corps have two gongs amd two concert bass drums usually at opposite ends of the pit and over than that the aux percussion is what ever's needed for the show. one of my favorite shows from last year (The Garden of Love, the Bluecoats' show) had vases as an aux percussion instrument. and of course all of the mallet instruments have so many cymbals on them.

Color Guard:

not an instrument but still an important part of the show! a color guard will have a dance line, a flag line, a rifle line, and a saber line. guard members will likely switch between these throughout the show

a DCI corp does not include woodwinds! they are literally called Drum and Bugle Corps after all. there have been solo instruments such as a harmonica and a couple different shows have had electric string instruments but those are Rare. slightly less rare is having live vocalists instead of prerecorded audio samples

top allowed corp size for world class is 150 members on the field not counting alternates but not every corp has the resources to field that many members, sadly

*there are currently 20 world class corps after the Cadets folded after last season, although the Spartans are trying to move up to world class from open class. they're still classified in open class this season but are on a hybrid show schedule where they'll be scored against world class corps at certain shows, and a vote after this season will determine if they get to move up.

**this was written a year ago so SCV is currently in their second season back

please yap about dci because i need knowledge

eeeeeuuuurmm i'd go to @eightglass or @reg1ment if i were you because i don't know a lot about it, im kind of only into one specific bit.

if i were you id watch phantom regiment's spartacus (2008), bluecoat's tilt (2014), bluecoat's downside up (2016), phantom regiment's exogenesis (2023), and blue devil's felliniesque (2014)

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

Battle of the Bands - Chapter 1

chpt 1 / chpt 2 / chpt 3 / chpt 4 / chpt 5 / chpt 6 / chpt 7 / chpt 8 / chpt 9 / chpt 10 / chpt 11 / chpt 12 / chpt 13 / chpt 14

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

Genre: nothing yet, but eventually fluff and smut, maybe a bit of enemies to lovers :)

Warnings: an au where Chrissy doesn’t die so obviously Eddie graduates high school :)), more of an intro chapter but it gets more interesting I promise

Word Count: 940

A/N: Based on a prompt that @calizmor posted awhile ago. I decided to go with prompt B! I hope you enjoy :)

———

Battle of the Bands, a haven for popstars, rockstars, and metalheads alike. Bands of all ages and genres, some traveling from across the country, some from even outside the country. A competition that rewards bragging rights, cash, free studio time, or gigs somewhere big in the local town. But you weren’t in it for the bragging rights, maybe a little bit of them money, but mostly for fun. Which was why you were lucky it was held in the Indiana’s capital, Indianapolis. Almost an hour away from your band’s hometown, New Castle, Indiana. So all six of you packed up into your chevy van, almost too small for all of you, and headed over to Indianapolis.

Your band, Shooting Arrows, had met in high school, your sophomore year. You all bonded quickly, due to having band together, a couple classes together, and lunch. Your lead singer, Jenny. A cute blonde with blue eyes, a stereotypical theatre prodigy in all the musical plays, playing the main character. She was pretty, long and slender. She practically had all the boys in your shared grade wrapped around her fingers. Your drummer, Patty. She had graduated with you and Jenny. Brown, short, curly hair. She was sweet. No one would ever put together the dots that she was the drummer for both the high school band and your town’s local girl band at first sight. Your keyboardist, a boy named Chris. He was a junior when you met him, graduating a year before you. He was quiet, little nerdy glasses on his face. But he was friendly all the same. Long, slender fingers, perfect for playing piano. Guitarist number one, Penny. The one who taught you guitar. And the perfect metalhead, listening to Metallica, Iron Maiden, a bit of Kiss, and other bands alike. She was a senior when you met. She took you under her wing and practically melded you into who you are today. She was never not seen with her guitar. Guitarist number two, Charlotte. A sweet girl, on the shorter side. She loved playing melodies against you or Penny. She was a freshman when you met her. She had one more year of high school. She was also taught by Penny. She was just the sweetest thing, more on the introverted side. And then you, the bassist and middle child of the group. Quiet and talkative with the right people. You were more of a parallel play kind of person, having fun in the middle but not necessarily being a part of the fun. It’s like feeding off the vibes of your band. Being the middle child has its perks. But you’re at your loudest when practicing with the band, or at gigs at the local bar. A never ending smile on your face as your fingers plucked along on your bass. You occasionally swapped guitars with Penny, more so for surprise for the crowd. Often, this earned your band more tips that usual and erupting cheers from the crowd. Most of you guys, the ones who graduated high school, had their drivers licenses, but you were the one that drove everyone around, having the van and all. It was big enough to fit all six of you and equipment. And it was like a tiny, small than studio, apartment for you guys. The back area completed with a bench seat, sat against the side doors, that could fold out into a bed, the small kitchenette opposite of it. The cabinets and storage space offering to pack food, clothes, and the smaller of equipment in the van. Also with your tons and tons of blankets. And the furthest back, empty part of the van, laid a mattress on the floor, pressed up against the back doors. There’s where the comfortable spot in the van was, pillows and blankets crowding the floor. You all played rock paper scissors nightly on the road to see who two would sleep on the mattress.

So that’s what you’ve been doing during your few first nights of Battle of the Bands, parked out in the parking lot where competing bands parked. You guys didn’t have access to the hotel that held the competing bands, not that you knew it was a practically free stay and that the people who were in charge of Battle of the Bands were paying for the housing in that hotel as long as the bands needed it.

With the unknowing free housing, you’d been hauling your equipment from your van to the stage. And you’d done that a few minutes ago, middle of your performance. Your opponent gone before you. You stayed on bass, plucking and pressing the strings. And before you knew it, the performance came to an end. Bowing as the cheers erupted, you turned off and unplugged your equipment, hauling it back to your van. Once settled and changed into cooler clothes, thanks to the Indiana summer, you all head back into the crowd.

You spot the new band. You eyed the bass drum on the drum set, it read Corroded Coffin. Interesting name, you hadn’t heard of them before. You couldn’t help but watch their leader, a electric guitarist with frizzy hair, bouncing around his shoulders as he threw his arm into strumming his strings. His voice had a nice tone to it, soft for a heavy metal band. But the metal and his clear voice melded nicely. It’s almost like you were entranced by the boy, he’s so pretty. His soft features, fluffy hair, and sleeveless shirt to fight off the senseless heat. You could only hope that you’d run into each other by chance.

———

Taglist: @calizmor - as promised <3

[yikesharringrove]

Sweet Little Mango

Rewrite

Read on Ao3

Chapter 3

-

Billy groaned as he folded himself into the Camaro.

Steve hadn’t been at school that day.

Billy wasn’t totally worried, it was around time for his heat, anyway, but Steve had been feeling bad the past few days, throwing up nearly every morning this week before making his way to school, looking pale and clammy, and sleeping through nearly every class.

Billy smoked lazily out the window. The October chill was beginning to set in, and he was fucking dreading the cold weather. He was a California, golden sunshine, warm weather baby through and through, and if it fucking snows, well. Basically, he doesn’t have a coat and he’s pretty much fucked.

He pulled into the driveway in front of Steve’s house, letting himself in the front door with the key Steve had given him at the end of summer.

The house didn’t smell like it did when Steve was in heat, full of the honey lavender scent of his hormones, his slick.

The house was as cold as still as it usually was when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington couldn’t be assed to spend time with their only kid.

Something uneasy climbed down Billy’s spine.

“Stevie?” He yelled up the stairs. There was no answer. Billy didn’t even bother taking off his shoes before he bounded upstairs. “Stever!”

He found Steve in his bedroom, all snuggly and wrapped up in bed, nestled under a pile of blankets. Again, not really unusual behavior for Steve, especially if he was in one of his moods, but the entire situation just didn’t sit right with Billy.

Call it alpha intuition.

Billy sat on the other side of the bed, laying over Steve, melting his body weight onto him.

Steve didn’t react to him.

Something’s up.

“Baby, what’s up?” Steve just made a high sound in his throat in reply.

So, there’s a big something up.

Billy started shifting blankets, finding Steve’s face. “Talk to me.” One of Steve’s eyes opened, big and round and full of something Billy couldn’t place. “You okay?”

“I went to the doctor today. I was awake all night throwing up.”

Billy kissed his forehead. He was covered in cold sweat.

“What’s the verdict? You alright?” Steve shifted, sitting up, holding a pillow to his chest. “Flu? Strep? Hand-foot-and-mouth disease?” Steve didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile.

Billy was fucking worried.

“I, um, I’m, I’m pregnant.”

Billy’s heart fucking stopped.

“She said I was probably eight weeks along.” Steve was nervously picking at something on the bedspread, beginning to ramble. “So I guess it was during one of my heats, that sometimes, sometimes omegas still have heats during the early pregnancy, which is why, why I still had the last one but didn’t have this one, and apparently it’s the size of a raspberry, a tiny little raspberry, Bill. And I, I know we’re so young, but I don’t, I don’t think I can bring myself to get rid of it, and this, I mean, it’s a fucking miracle I even got pregnant in the first place, and this could be my chance to have a pup of my own, and, god, it’s all just so fucking much, and I’m not, you don’t, I‘m not expecting anything from you but-” Billy pulled Steve into his chest, petting his hair, shushing him softly.

“It’s okay, Sweet Thing.” He kissed Steve’s head. “Whatever you wanna do. I’m gonna be right here for you.” Steve melted into him.

“Bill, I, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can, if we can actually, actually be fucking parents, but I, Billy I can not just, just-I already love them so fucking much. ”

“You don’t have to, Honey. You can decide. We’ll make this work, how ever we have to.” He hefted Steve further into his lap. “I’m gonna be here for you, for our pup. And we got, like, family that’ll help us.”

“Bill, I don’t think our parents are gonna-”

Billy was quick to cut him off.

“Are you gonna tell Joyce she can’t babysit, or should I get murdered for it?”

Steve laughed, an unexpected little thing.

“So you’re- you’re okay?”

“I mean, nothing’s really sunk in, and I’ve got a huge fucking breakdown on the horizon once I realize what all this actually means. But, you know. I’m fine.”

-

Billy’s breakdown came when he went home the next morning.

When his dad backhanded him across the face for staying out all night.

He was standing in his room, staring wide-eyed at the window.

How could he be so fucking stupid? Steve wasn’t on birth control. Billy fucking knew that , and still pumped him full of cum every fucking heat.

Steve had told him that it was near impossible for male omegas to get pregnant. It had to be a perfect storm of proper anatomy and a strong heat that allowed for their bodies to actually implant and grow a tiny clump of cells into a whole human person.

Steve had been working with the idea that he pretty much couldn’t get pregnant since he was a kid. And Billy had totally run with that.

And now Steve’s got a little tiny almost person inside of him.

He’s fucking stupid. He’s stupid, and dumb, and he’s a fucking teenager with a pup on the way.

The tears stung his eyes.

He sank to his knees, one hand fisted in his own hair.

Fuck. Fuck.

He’s not gonna tell Steve what to do with his own body. If he wants to have the pup, then Billy’s gonna fucking support him.

Because he’s not a shitty deadbeat.

And he loves Steve. He really does.

But he doesn’t believe in himself, though. There’s no fucking way they make this work.

There’s no fucking way they raise this pup, and stay together, and not traumatize the little thing.

There’s not a way in this fucking world.

-

“Alright, Steven.”

Steve was perched nervously on the exam table, his fingers in knots in his lap.

Billy was sitting against the wall, bouncing his leg and itching for a cigarette.

He hadn’t had one since Steve told him about the pup.

Two weeks ago.

He quit when Steve did. Not that Steve kept up the same level as Billy. There was a big difference between one or two cigarettes at a party, and nearly two packs a day.

But it wasn’t good for Steve, or the pup, so Billy took the most stressful time in his whole life so far, to quit smoking.

They were at Steve’s ten-week appointment. At the clinic in Indianapolis. The one where the front desk staff only raised an eyebrow at the boys’ fake I.D.s and didn’t ask for their parents’ contact information.

The doctor ushered Steve to lay back, pulling up his t-shirt to spread the clear jelly on his stomach, turning on the machine.

She located the fetus easily.

“Well, it looks like you’re coming along nicely. You’re at the proper growth for this stage, and the heartbeat’s nice and strong.”

Billy was staring at the monitor.

He couldn’t really make anything out. The machine was making this wooshing sound, like it was a scope underwater, and not a digital look into Steve.

But there was a little tiny blob in there. Something that looked like a little white bean nestled in Steve’s abdomen.

Their pup.

The doctor highlighted the little bean, zooming in and taking a capture of the image.

“Little pup's first picture.”

Steve’s scent went absolutely sweet, filling the room with sugar. Billy just reached out, taking his hand.

-

At the beginning of his pregnancy, Steve had terrible insomnia.

Billy would sneak out of his house to come over most nights, curling up behind Steve with one hand splayed wide on his slightly chubby tummy. He was always solid behind Steve. Warm and soft, a constant comfort to remind Steve that he wasn’t alone with the pup. That he had Billy to love them. To protect them and take care of them.

And sometimes, his warmth and steady breathing would be enough to lull Steve into a nice doze, or even to coax him into sleep.

But most nights, he was wide awake.

Steve didn’t want to keep Billy awake on those long nights, so he would sneak out of Billy’s gentle embrace, and sit on the couch downstairs in the sitting room. He would usually hang out in the quiet, just him and the little pup growing inside of him.

But then Billy would wake up, cold and alone, and would trudge downstairs to find Steve, and manhandle Steve until he was laying on top of Billy on the couch.

That’s where they were when Billy first spotted the grand piano in the corner of the room. Never noticed where it stood, collecting dust. Partially hidden by a large potted fern. He slid out from under Steve and took a seat at the leather padded seat, brushing his fingers over the glossy blackness of the beautiful piano.

Many of the keys were out of tune, as the thing hadn’t been played in years, but he plonked out a few easy scales.

Billy’s mom used to play. He had vivid memories of sitting on her lap, his hands on hers as she played beautiful songs. She taught him a few, once upon a time.

He struggled through one of the songs he could kind of remember, occasionally hitting the wrong key before correcting himself and continuing with the melody. He stumbled through what he could of Hey Jude before turning back to Steve, expecting to see a soft smile, big tired eyes blinking slowly back at him.

But Steve was dead asleep on the couch, both hands resting over his tummy.

Billy carried him up to bed.

That became their ritual on nights Steve couldn’t sleep.

Steve even decided to scour the poorly stocked music store and bought Billy lots of sheet music. He had just grabbed random stuff, and ended up with the weirdest assortment of things. Rock ballads and classical pieces. Swing jazz and a few beginner piano books.

Billy sifted through to find the easier stuff. He could still read sheet music well enough to slowly decipher the notes, but had to remind himself which keys corresponded to which note.

The piano was still out of tune and sometimes made the songs sound dreadfully wrong and quite nearly frightening, but it was peaceful. Quiet except for the sounds of the piano.

Steve was just content to sit next to him as he did it, holding onto his stomach, his head leaned gently against Billy’s shoulder.

-

They didn’t really tell Joyce.

Not exactly, anyway.

Steve and Billy were at Melvald’s, looking through the health section, throwing vitamins Steve’s OBGYN had recommended into the basket.

The basket was heavy, the metal handles digging into the meat of Billy’s palm. Nearly overflowing with expensive supplements that were meant to help their little pup grow into something fully formed and functioning.

Steve was being picky about the supplements. Taking the specific brands the doctor had recommended, reading the labels diligently to see if they said anything along the lines of Warning: Do not take while pregnant. Will give your pup an extra head.

Joyce was the only person at the check-out stand, and she made small talk while she scanned vitamins, shea butter, and produce, not even looking at the rattling plastic bottles.

Until one container wouldn’t scan. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands.

She faltered, and it was like the world came to a halt.

Prenatal Vitamins, omega specialized formula

She stared at it. Steve felt like he was gonna cry.

But she moved in a flash, shifting around the counter, and pulling Steve into a tight hug.

It took him a second to return the hug, wrapping his arms around her.

“If you boys need anything, and I mean anything at all, you come get me.” Steve scrunched his eyes up, trying not to sob into her shoulder.

She pulled away, giving Billy a hug of his own.

He hooked his chin on her shoulder, and he kinda felt like he could cry too. She gave him a bone-crushing hug for someone so small.

She took Steve’s hand when she finally relinquished Billy.

“How far along are you?”

“Just about ten weeks.” She cooed, handing them their bags as Billy counted out bills.

“And you’re not even showing. With Jon, I must’ve put on thirty pounds.” Steve looked around.

He was wearing a baggy sweatshirt, mostly wearing too-big clothes of Billy’s these days, trying to hide what he could for as long as possible. He was beginning to get insecure about the weight he was gaining, even though it showed off the growth of their pup.

But he’s vain. And Steve’s the first to admit that.

He lifted his sweatshirt to show the shirt underneath, the tighter fabric showing off his little bump. Joyce smiled at them, and it made Steve feel so warm.

“I want copies of the very first sonogram.”

[thehollowsoldat]

🙌

I take the single NPC clap and raise you a bunch of Barnes family stuff.

"Cory, why do you use 'James Sr.' When it's really 'George'?" Because Brubaker retconned that for 5 seconds in 616 and I ruined the name George Barnes for my personal use by giving it to a mobster. A Lot of accepted fanon/hcs about the middle name Buchanan gets passed to James Sr.'s mom rather than Winifred.

616:

James Sr. is a Protestant whose family immigrated from England and Scotland a long time ago; his mother was a Buchanan. [Hence 'James Buchanan Barnes Sr.' & 'James Buchanan Barnes Jr.']. His parents passed before Bucky is born. He fought in the Great War and stayed in the Army. Meets Winifred when he lives in Indiana. Eventually, they get moved to Virginia. James Sr. tries his best as a single dad who used to be a hothead just like Bucky. Understanding of Bucky's temperament but wishes he would stop getting into fights.

Winifred is Ashkenazi Jewish; mom is from Romania, father is from Wales. She was a teacher until she got married. Possibly helps out with base kids and is a housewife. I don't know. She passes in 1935 (Bucky is 10, Becca is 5). Her parents live in Indianapolis but pass around 1938.

There's probably some aunts/uncles/cousins (an Aunt in Albany) and the like but nobody who wants to take in a 12 and an 7 year old after James Sr bites it in training maneuvers right before Christmas 1937.

I acknowledge there is no evidence for any of this and in panel Bucky is def some basic white guy Protestant mix.

MCU:

Slight tweaks. James Sr. is Ashkenazi Jewish too. He fights in the Army during the Great War but doesn't stay on. Winifred, her siblings, and her parents immigrate from Romania when she is very young. She picks the name Winifred as her American name because it sounds pretty.

Immanuel - Zayde: The religious one, in comparison to the rest of them (minus Becca). Daily shul attendance. Cobbler. Latke guy.

Hannah - Bubbe: Seamstress for most of her life. Kind, spoils the grandkids.

Bucky's grandparents lived in the LES and worked in the garment industry. After the Great War, James Sr. marries Winifred, opens a shoe store, and moves to Brooklyn. Flatbush, specifically. When Bucky is 8, the Barnes family moves from a crowded tenement apartment to a bigger brownstone row house. They also have a car. Middle class (especially compared to Steve) but still worried about the Great Depression.

Since James is a Popular Name (sorry Bucky), they break Jewish tradition and name Bucky after his dad. To tell the difference between the two, they go by their Hebrew names at home/in the Jewish community. James Sr. is Benjamin or Ben. Bucky is Yaakov or Kovy (to his mother and Bubbe).

For reasons unknown to myself, Becca still calls Bucky 'Jimmy.' Probably because they're second generation, semi-assimilated, and she's cheeky.

The family is Orthodox and observant and would like Bucky and Becca to be as well. Big "our parents came over to live and be able to practice freely and you're like this" energy. While they do attend shul regularly in Brooklyn, they go to Congregation Shaarey Shomayim in the LES for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It's the grandparents' home shul. Becca (and Bucky when he comes back) feel a heavy loss at the shul going out like the way it did (declining membership, building collapse and demolition in 2006).

They take in two of Bucky and Becca's cousins from Romania as the Iron Guard starts ramping up steam. (Immanuel’s brother’s girls. Sadly, the girl’s parents don’t make it and are killed in a pogrom).

An(n)a: adds an 'n' to her paperwork to look less ethnic. Sweet kid, nervous about everything.

Elina: Wants to be an actress. Confident and brash.

For Piano Boy, the people and the general beats are true. Just completely different names since Bucky is adopted by Becca's family.

[the-marx-brothers-will-live-on]

Leonard Joseph "Chico" Marx (March 22, 1887 – October 11, 1961) was an American comedian, musician, actor and film star. He was a member of the Marx Brothers (with Groucho Marx, Harpo Marx, and Zeppo Marx). His persona in the act was that of a charming, uneducated but crafty con artist, seemingly of rural Italian origin, who wore shabby clothes and sported a curly-haired wig and Tyrolean hat. On screen, Chico is often in alliance with Harpo, usually as partners in crime, and is also frequently seen trying to con or outfox Groucho. Leonard was the oldest of the Marx Brothers to live past early childhood (first-born Manfred Marx had died in infancy). In addition to his work as a performer, he played an important role in the management and development of the act in its early years.

Chico was born in Manhattan, New York City, on March 22, 1887. His parents were Sam Marx (called "Frenchie" throughout his life), and his wife, Minnie Schoenberg Marx. Minnie's brother was Al Shean. The Marx family was Franco-German Jewish. His father was a native of Alsace who worked as a tailor and his mother was from East Frisia in Germany.

Billing himself as Chico, he used an Italian persona for his onstage character; stereotyped ethnic characters were common with vaudevillians. His non-Italian-ness was specifically referred to twice on film. In their second feature, Animal Crackers, he recognizes someone he knows to be a fish peddler impersonating a respected art collector:

Ravelli (Chico): "How is it you got to be Roscoe W. Chandler?"

Chandler: "Say, how did you get to be an Italian?"

Ravelli: "Never mind—whose confession is this?"

In A Night at the Opera, which begins in Italy, his character, Fiorello, claims not to be Italian, eliciting a surprised look from Groucho:

Driftwood (Groucho): "Well, things seem to be getting better around the country."

Fiorello (Chico): "I don't know, I'm a stranger here myself."

A scene in the film Go West, in which Chico attempts to placate an Indian chief of whom Groucho has run afoul, has a line that plays a bit on Chico's lack of Italian nationality, but is more or less proper Marxian wordplay:

S. Quentin Quayle (Groucho): "Can you talk Indian?"

Joe Panello (Chico): "I was born in Indianapolis!"

There are moments, however, where Chico's characters appear to be genuinely Italian; examples include the film The Big Store, in which his character Ravelli runs into an old friend he worked with in Naples (after a brief misunderstanding due to his accent), the film Monkey Business, in which Chico claims his grandfather sailed with Christopher Columbus, and their very first outing The Cocoanuts, where Mr. Hammer (Groucho) asks him if he knew what an auction was, in which he responds "I come from Italy on the Atlantic Auction!" Chico's character is often assumed to be dim-witted, as he frequently misunderstands words spoken by other characters (particularly Groucho). However, he often gets the better of the same characters by extorting money from them, either by con or blackmail; again, Groucho is his most frequent target.

Chico was a talented pianist. He originally started playing with only his right hand and fake playing with his left, as his teacher did so herself. Chico eventually acquired a better teacher and learned to play the piano correctly. As a young boy, he gained jobs playing piano to earn money for the Marx family. Sometimes Chico even worked playing in two places at the same time. He would acquire the first job with his piano-playing skills, work for a few nights, and then substitute Harpo on one of the jobs. (During their boyhood, Chico and Harpo looked so much alike that they were often mistaken for each other.)

In the brothers' last film, Love Happy, Chico plays a piano and violin duet with 'Mr. Lyons' (Leon Belasco). Lyons plays some ornate riffs on the violin; Chico comments, "Look-a, Mister Lyons, I know you wanna make a good impression, but please don't-a play better than me!"

In a record album about the Marx Brothers, narrator Gary Owens stated that "although Chico's technique was limited, his repertoire was not." The opposite was true of Harpo, who reportedly could play only two tunes on the piano, which typically thwarted Chico's scam and resulted in both brothers being fired.

Groucho Marx once said that Chico never practiced the pieces he played. Instead, before performances he soaked his fingers in hot water. He was known for 'shooting' the keys of the piano. He played passages with his thumb up and index finger straight, like a gun, as part of the act. Other examples of his keyboard flamboyance are found in A Night at the Opera (1935), where he plays the piano for a group of delighted children, and A Night in Casablanca (1946), where he performs a rendition of "The Beer Barrel Polka".

Chico became the unofficial manager of the Marx Brothers after their mother, Minnie, died in 1929. As manager, he cut a deal to get the brothers a percentage of a film's gross receipts—the first of its kind in Hollywood. Furthermore, it was Chico's connection with Irving Thalberg of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer that led to Thalberg's signing the Brothers when they were in a career slump after Duck Soup (1933), the last of their films for Paramount.

For a while in the 1930s and 1940s, Chico led a big band. Singer Mel Tormé began his professional career singing with the Chico Marx Orchestra. Through the 1950s, Chico occasionally appeared on a variety of television anthology shows and some television commercials, most memorably with Harpo in "The Incredible Jewelry Robbery", a pantomime episode of General Electric Theater in 1959.

His nickname (acquired during a card game in Chicago in 1915) was originally spelled Chicko. It was changed to Chico but still pronounced "Chick-oh" although those who were unaware of its origin tended to pronounce it "Cheek-oh". Numerous radio recordings from the 1940s exist where announcers and fellow actors mispronounce the nickname, but Chico apparently felt it was unnecessary to correct them. As late as the 1950s, Groucho was happy to use the wrong pronunciation for comedic effect. A guest on You Bet Your Life told the quizmaster she grew up around Chico (California) and Groucho responded, "I grew up around Chico myself. You aren't Gummo, are you?" Groucho is heard in videos pronouncing it "Chicko", as in a Dick Cavett episode with Groucho talking to Dan Rowan.

During Groucho's live performance at Carnegie Hall in 1972, he states that his brother got the name Chico because he was a "chicken-chaser" (early 20th century slang for womanizer).

As well as being a compulsive womanizer, Chico had a lifelong gambling habit. His favorite gambling pursuits were card games, horse racing, dog racing, and various sports betting. His addiction cost him millions of dollars by his own account. When an interviewer in the late 1930s asked him how much money he had lost from gambling, he answered, "Find out how much money Harpo's got. That's how much I've lost." Gummo Marx, in an interview years after Chico's death, said: "Chico's favorite people were actors who gambled, producers who gambled, and women who screwed." Referring to Chico's love life, George Jessel quipped, "Chico didn't button his fly until he was seventy."

Chico's lifelong gambling addiction compelled him to continue in show business long after his brothers had retired in comfort from their Hollywood income, and in the early 1940s he found himself playing in the same small, cheap halls in which he had begun his career 30 years earlier. The Marx Brothers' penultimate film, A Night in Casablanca (1946), was made for Chico's benefit since he had filed for bankruptcy a few years prior. Because of his out-of-control gambling, the brothers finally took the money as he earned it and put him on an allowance, on which he stayed until his death.

Chico had a reputation as a world-class pinochle player, a game he and Harpo learned from their father. Groucho said Chico would throw away good cards (with the knowledge of spectators) to make the play "more interesting". Chico's last public appearance was in 1960, playing cards on the television show Championship Bridge. He and his partner lost the game.

Chico was married twice. His first marriage was to Betty Karp in 1917. Their union produced one daughter named Maxine (1918–2009). His first marriage was plagued by his infidelity, ending in divorce in 1940; he was very close to his daughter Maxine and gave her acting lessons.

Chico's second marriage was to Mary De Vithas. They married in 1958, three years before his death.

In the 1974 Academy Awards telecast, Jack Lemmon presented Groucho with an honorary Academy Award to a standing ovation. The award was also for Harpo, Chico, and Zeppo, whom Lemmon mentioned by name. It was one of Groucho's final major public appearances. "I wish that Harpo and Chico could be here to share with me this great honor," he said, naming the two deceased brothers (Zeppo was still alive at the time and in the audience). Groucho also praised the late Margaret Dumont as a great straight woman who never understood any of his jokes.

Chico died of arteriosclerosis at age 74 on October 11, 1961, at his Hollywood home. He was the eldest brother and the first to die.

Chico is entombed in the mausoleum at Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California. Chico's younger brother Gummo is in a crypt across the hall from him.

[chiseler]

Puttin’ on the Ritz

No fame is more fleeting than the showbiz kind. Some entertainers are just too much in and of a particular time. In the 1920s Harry Richman was a big star, billed as the Greatest Entertainer In America. He could sing and play piano, dance and act a little; he ran a hugely successful nightclub, was the toast of Broadway and, very briefly, a star in Hollywood; he wrote or introduced several songs that are still sung. But most of all he just personified the Roaring Twenties. He was the sleek, rakish, vaguely smarmy bon vivant in top hat and tails who was enjoying the decade's non-stop party as much as you were. It's been said that he was to the 1920s what the Rat Pack were to their era. Harry's career peaked just as the party crashed to a halt at the end of the decade, and he faded out in the 1930s. If his name comes up at all today, it's probably less often as an entertainer than as a footnote in aviation history.

He was born Harry Reichman in Cincinnati in 1895. His dad, a Russian Jewish immigrant, started out peddling eyeglasses door to door, carrying all his equipment on his back. He worked his way up to a prosperous wholesale business and real estate empire, and developed a taste for the high life. It killed him by the time Harry was an adolescent. In his thoroughly entertaining (sometimes suspiciously so) 1966 autobiography A Hell of a Life, Harry paints himself as a fecklessly scheming kid who grew up quick. At nine, he writes, he was a weekend ticket taker at an amusement park, shortchanging every customer he could because he was saving up to marry his childhood sweetheart. One night he showed off his ill-gotten riches by taking the girl out on the town. They stayed out too late to go home, so Harry got them a hotel room. When the cops burst through the door in the wee hours they found the kids sleeping fully clothed on separate beds. A doctor confirmed that the girl's honor was intact. Her dad put the kibosh to their romance anyway.

Harry's mother bought him piano lessons, dreaming he'd be a concert pianist, but like most kids at the time he was more interested in ragtime and jazz. He left home at around fourteen and headed to Indianapolis. There he and a kid who played fiddle went door to door in the kind of neighborhoods where an upright in the parlor wasn't uncommon. They'd bang out a few popular tunes for spare change. As Remington & Reichman they were soon touring the very small-time Webster circuit of vaudeville theaters in the Dakotas and Canada, known to vaudevillians as the Death Trail. Harry kept working his way around the west, singing at the piano in saloons and whorehouses, working as a singing waiter in restaurants, as part of a "Hawaiian" hula act in a circus sideshow. At the 1915 Panama-Pacific International Exhibition in San Francisco he was in a musical act that opened for Harry Houdini, fifteen shows a day. Playing in Los Angeles clubs favored by the movie crowd he got to be pals with Charlie Chaplin and Al Jolson, whom he idolized. Jolson got him a shot at Ziegfeld's Midnight Frolic, the late-night club revue that gave Eddie Cantor his big break. Harry raced to New York, but flopped and was canned after only one night. He was so despondent he ran off and joined the Navy.

He arrived back in New York in 1920, just when Prohibition did too. Now he and the city were ready for each other. On vaudeville stages he found work as an accompanist for headliners like the singer Nora Bayes and the beautiful twin Dolly Sisters, and for a while was Mae West's on-stage pianist and straight man. He was reluctant to speak lines at first because he had a lisp that he could hide more easily when singing. West convinced him it was a distinguishing feature. He soon got top billing on his own on the Keith-Albee circuit. He also played at ritzy speakeasies like the Beaux Arts, where, he claims, Prohibition's hostess with the mostest Texas Guinan stole her signature line "Give the little girls a big hand" from him.

Nils T. Granlund, known as NTG, was both a radio pioneer and the publicist for Marcus Loew's movie theater empire. He hired Harry to headline live radio shows from Loew's State Theatre, the movie palace in Times Square. Harry plugged new songs on air, like Billy Rose's "Does the Chewing Gum Lose Its Flavor on the Bedpost Overnight?" With NTG's help he opened his own Club Richman just behind Carnegie Hall. Harry made it one of the most opulent and exclusive nightclub/speakeasies in town. A lot of Broadway and movie stars became regulars, as of course did Mayor Jimmy Walker, and the Vanderbilts and Whitneys, and foreign royalty -- you saw everybody who was anybody there.

Or wanted to be somebody, like the chorus girl Lucille Le Seur. Accounts vary as to how Lucille got into the swank club. In one version, she convinced NTG, her sugar daddy at the time, to get her a spot in the club dancing the Charleston. NTG introduced her to Loew, who arranged a screen test at MGM, where she'd get her first tiny roles in 1925. Studio chief Louis B. Mayer decided her name sounded like Le Sewer, so the studio ran a publicity campaign in which the fans got to give her a new name: Joan Crawford. She never liked it.

For his part, Harry claimed that he discovered Crawford. He did have an eye for the beauties. He was one of the first to spot Jean Harlow, Sally Rand and Maureen O'Sullivan. Harry was an infamous ladies' man, bedding a long line of beauties from chorus girls to socialites to Harlow, maybe Rand, and Clara Bow. According to Harry, his office at the club had a secret door for sneaking them in and out while their husbands or dates drummed their fingers at their tables thinking they were just taking a long time powdering their noses. He says that the Hollywood Bowl couldn't hold all the women he had, and classes himself "a specialist in man's favorite sport."

Between the club and his other gigs Harry minted money and became the playboy nonpareil. He wore the finest bespoke suits and carried a gold cigarette case with his initials on it in diamonds. He commuted in a Rolls from Manhattan to his big house out on the water in Beechhurst, Queens, where he had a yacht and threw Gatsby-like parties for celebrities, beauties and millionaires. He learned to fly and kept a growing fleet of planes at nearby Flushing Airport. Harry worked hard, played hard, drank oceans of booze and smoked whole fields of tobacco. Everyone marveled at his stamina and joie de vivre even in that over-the-top decade.

In 1926, while still playing the host at his club, Harry got a featured role on Broadway in George White's Scandals, one of several knockoffs of the Ziegfeld Follies. After a boffo year it toured other cities, including Cincinnati, where, he notes ruefully, it tanked. In 1930 he headlined Lew Leslie's International Revue, where he introduced "On the Sunny Side of the Street." And in 1931 he made it, finally, into the Follies as well. He got his choice of songs to perform, including "Lullaby of Broadway." He was at the top of his career in those shows, the king of Broadway; his friend Eddie Cantor memorably said he wore Broadway like a boutonniere.

He didn't do so well in Hollywood. He starred, playing himself as "Harry Raymond," in the 1930 musical Puttin' on the Ritz, in which he introduced the song by his pal Irving Berlin. The movie did mediocre business then and is barely watchable now except for that number, Harry gliding around in front of an army of dancers with his top hat tilted over one eye. His recording of the song, which some consider the best, was a hit. (Among his other records are Berlin's "Blue Skies," his own "Muddy Waters" and a pretty wonderful Jolson-ish rendition of "Ain't She Sweet.") While in Hollywood to make the film he met Clara Bow. Teamed up at first for publicity purposes only, they became a hot item and got engaged. Then she suddenly married someone else. Hearing the news, he says, was the only time in his life that he fainted.

He'd make only two more feature films and one short. He sums them up this way: "All were forgettable. It became clear to me that whatever I had was best projected in person, either on the stage or in a night club." By the time he made the last film, released in 1938, he was well past his prime. When the Depression hit and then Prohibition ended, guys like Harry, icons of the Roaring Twenties, just didn't fit the new reality. To his credit, he didn't hang around like some other ghosts of the 1920s did. He left New York and settled in Miami, which was booming and lousy with new nightclubs where he could coast for a few years on his dazzling past. He went fishing with Hemingway and played with his airplanes.

His real fame in the 1930s came in fact as a flyer. In the mid-1930s he'd set altitude and speed records. Then in 1935 he and the pilot Dick Merrill made the world's first round-trip transatlantic flight in a single-engine plane. They filled the plane with tens of thousands of ping-pong balls as flotation devices should they land in the soup. Harry being Harry, after reaching Wales on the outward leg of the trip, they flew on to Paris to party all night with Maurice Chevalier before making the return flight. They landed upside-down in a Newfoundland bog, but they made it. It wasn't as big a deal as Lindbergh's one-way crossing in 1927, but Harry calls it the high point of his life.

Harry didn't make much news after that. He played some clubs through the 1940s, his looks and voice rough from all that carousing and smoking. He still had lots of friends in the show business who tried to engineer comebacks for him, but the public had long since forgotten him. By the time A Hell of a Life came out in 1966 he'd spent the millions he'd made in his heyday and was living alone, quietly and frugally, in Burbank, an old guy who'd gone full-tilt as long as he could, had a hell of a lot of memories and not too many regrets. He died in 1972.

by John Strasbaugh

[starlingsrps]

vanessa atwood.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: vanessa marie atwood (nee copeland)

REASONING: nah

NICKNAME(S): nessie, van

PREFERRED NAME(S): vanessa or van

BIRTH DATE: july 12

CHART: cancer sun/libra rising/scorpio moon/leo venus

AGE: thirty three

GENDER: female

PRONOUNS: she/her

ROMANTIC/SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  heterosexual

NATIONALITY: tbd

ETHNICITY: caucasian

CURRENT LOCATION: tbd; originally based in st. louis

LIVING CONDITIONS:

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: indianapolis, in

HOMETOWN: owenboro, ky

SOCIAL CLASS: middle

EDUCATION LEVEL: degree in vocal performance

FATHER: taylor copeland, 65, basketball coach for kentucky wesleyan

MOTHER: libby copeland, 65, retired nurse

SIBLING(S): jack, 39 (marathon runner); kendra cox, 36 (swimmer); eric, 34 (basketball)

BIRTH ORDER: youngest

CHILDREN: no.

PET(S): rosie, tabby cat

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: jessica copeland, 39 (taylor 10, alexis 6, ava 3); michael cox (addie, 6); carrie copeland, 26

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: there have been several but her most recent before beau was a pretty serious three year relationship that ended when they went to eric and carrie's wedding and he reacted to jokes about being next like he had been shot.

CURRENT RELATIONSHIP: married to beau atwood

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: voice teacher out of the guest bedroom

SECONDARY SOURCE OF INCOME: for the first time since she was a teenager, she only has one job. it's AMAZING!

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: is it what she always wanted? no but the met was very definitive about saying no and she was hitting a point where she loved opera but it didn't love her. in a dream paradise world, she would be renowned and be singing all the time but she doesn't think she'd be as happy as she is now.

PAST JOB(S): literally everything at some point but mostly waiting tables and bartending. she did have a career performing opera but was never as booked and busy as she would have wanted to be.

SPENDING HABITS: very frugal but also very not. when she is allowing herself to not be frugal? hoo boy.

MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: her wedding ring

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: p good upper/body and core, as it's helpful with projecting her voice.

DEFENSE: she's a mouthy little shit.

SPEED: nimble

INTELLIGENCE: street smarts moreso - good at reading people.

ACCURACY: not bad

AGILITY: good!

STAMINA: boundless

TEAMWORK: a very strong second in command but also an excellent finisher.

TALENTS: determined, generous

SHORTCOMINGS: impulsive, judgmental

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english fluently but she can sing in french/italian/german, depending on the job.

DRIVE?: yes

JUMP-STAR A CAR?: nope

CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: nope

RIDE A BICYCLE?: yep

SWIM?: yep

PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: piano

PLAY CHESS?: nope

BRAID HAIR?: yep

TIE A TIE?: kind of, given instructions.

PICK A LOCK?: no but she thinks she could, again given instructions.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: brianne howey

EYE COLOR: brown

HAIR COLOR: blonde

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: long with layers and the style depends on the day and occasion.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: reading glasses

DOMINANT HAND: right

HEIGHT: 5'3

BUILD: petite

EXERCISE HABITS: general cardio and such

SKIN TONE: fair

TATTOOS: nah

PIERCINGS: ears

USUAL EXPRESSION: absolutely zero poker face and very expressive eyebrows.

CLOTHING STYLE: cute and casual and a big fan of a matching set. comfort is key and she's delighted to have a husband to steal flannel from.

JEWELRY: wedding ring always, whatever's right for the outfit otherwise.

ALLERGIES: nah

DIET: nothing too out of the ordinary and a big baker

PHYSICAL AILMENTS: —

PSYCHOLOGY

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: 8 - the challenger

MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful neutral

TEMPERAMENT: sanguine

MBTI: ENFJ

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: nah.

SOCIABILITY: extrovert

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: steady but Dramatic.

PHOBIA(S): deep, dark open water. delighted to be landlocked.

ADDICTION(S): nah

DRUG USE: nah

ALCOHOL USE: socially

PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: nah.

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: spunky disney princess

ACCENT: not especially

HOBBIES: reading, very long walks, baking

HABITS: she likes being domestic - baking projects (ask her about her sourdough starter), projects around the house, teaching voice lessons. she likes being married - it gives her someone to tend and care for. acts of service bitch right here.

NERVOUS TICKS: she rubs her nose and shifts her weight around a lot

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: praise. she likes being told she's doing well.

FEARS: anything happening to beau and sharks. she knows one is more reasonable than the other.

POSITIVE TRAITS: confident, charismatic, self possessed, nurturing, kind

NEGATIVE TRAITS: stubborn, possessive, conflict avoidant, intense

SENSE OF HUMOR: good! giggly.

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: no more or less than anyone else

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: singing, baking, hanging out with beau

ANIMAL: cats and squirrels

BEVERAGE: iced coffee

BOOK: not the biggest reader but can get down with a good bestseller

COLOR: yellow

DESIGNER: sezane

FOOD: grilled cheese

FLOWER: daisies

GEM: diamond

HOLIDAY: christmas

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: walking or driving

MOVIE: the birdcage

MUSICAL ARTIST: taylor swift

SONG: "daylight" but also "o mio babbino caro"

SCENERY:

SCENT: beau and bread

SPORT: no. absolutely note. does vanessa know an ungodly amount about basketball? sure does (and will hustle when it comes time for march madness brackets) but she’s an artist in a family of jocks. her brother eric played for duke and professionally for a bit in europe and they all know he’s the favorite. 

TELEVISION SHOW: gilmore girls

WEATHER: love a good snowstorm. she love to prep.

VACATION DESTINATION: she and her opera singer girl posse did a big vacation together every year and honestly: anywhere warm where she can lay by a pool and have a margarita.

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: they've changed A Lot pretty quickly. she was dead set on making a career in opera and having a hard time accepting that she loved a career that didn't love her back. meeting beau came at the exact right time - it showed her this other venue of life that she hadn't even given much consideration. so her dreams now are as much time as she can with beau and a lot of kids.

GREATEST FEAR: rejection.

MOST AT EASE WHEN: relaxed with people she loves and who love her

LEAST AT EASE WHEN: she's being contradicted

BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: this. it's not a lot but it is hers.

BIGGEST REGRET: eh!!!

TOP PRIORITIES: beau, most other things

[malonerobinson24-blog]

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Ischool port washington

Ischool port washington how to#

Ischool port washington professional#

“We have a space in the basement of iSchool, but we also take them to places like Landmark Theater in Port Washington, The Nutty Irishman in Farmingdale, The Bitter End in Manhattan and more,” he said. Qian noted that there are numerous venues throughout New York where they regularly put on shows in order to allow the kids under his tutelage to show off their new-found and hard-earned musical skills in front of friends and family. Giving students a boost of confidence via live performances is another big part of the training at iSchool. They can encourage and support each other and it works really well.” “When you have a group of kids together and they play music together, they feel like they’re doing something together. “Being taught and then practicing by yourself is a very solitary thing. This approach may sound like a terrifying “sink or swim” method to the uninitiated, but Qian said that it’s actually far more effective in many respects than traditional music school techniques. They have to function right away in a group, before they can hardly play a single note.” “For example, instead of teaching the classical way-with private, one-on-one lessons and then sending the kid home to practice by themselves-we teach them some basic skills and then immediately put them in with a band with a drummer, guitarist, singer and everything. We want to teach the music that they’re really interested in,” he said. “We really want to be able to connect to the students.

Ischool port washington how to#

However, while the instruments may seem familiar, Qian said the teaching techniques used to get students to learn how to play them are a little more off the beaten path. ISchool teaches all musical instruments except for brass, with the main focus being on piano, guitar, drums and some string instruments such as the violin and cello, all taught by certified professionals in the field. In addition to teaching music, iSchool also holds art classes, where they instruct students in cartooning, painting and photography. In 2005, the two started their first iSchool-the “i” standing for “inspiration,”-in Port Washington, followed by a second location in Syosset in 2008, and finally a third in Rockville Centre. “We had gone to college together-we were both drummers-and we wanted to open a music school, but something interesting…something for the kids, but not a regular school.” “At that time, Ken was living in Texas,” he said. When he moved back to Long Island, Qian reached out to him about developing a business venture that would encompass their mutual love of performing and teaching music. Throughout the years, Qian had kept in touch with a college friend named Ken Benshish. Then in 2005 I moved back to Long Island.” “I eventually earned a Master’s Degree and then went to Indianapolis where I taught for four years. “I was a percussionist and soloist, and participated in a lot of competitions and recitals,” he said. Yi Qian, owner and director of Syosset’s iSchool of Music and Art, born in China but currently residing in Roslyn Heights, said the study and love of music has been a constant aspect of his life for as long as he can remember. Through this course, students learn music theory and techniques of composition in order to produce and direct the performance of complex pieces.Yi Qian of Syosset’s iSchool (Photos by Chris Boyle)

Ischool port washington professional#

O Inside the Music: In this module, students become classical music composers whose pieces are performed by professional musicians at a final concert. At the end of the quarter, the iSchool students bring their finished books back to the elementary school to read their stories. After consulting with professional children's book authors and gaining a thorough understanding of the various types of children's books that exist, iSchool students spend the quarter writing, illustrating, and binding a children's book for the child who they met. O Children's Bookmaking: In this module, iSchool students travel to an elementary school and meet with first graders to survey their interests and likes. All students are eligible to participate in these courses, which include: At the iSchool, experiences in the arts are offered as both Modules and Core Experiences.

[daggerzine]

The Vulgar Boatmen interview- Dale Lawrence talks shop.

I had been thinking about sending some questions Dale Lawrence’s way ever since I’d heard the 2015 reissue of the band’s 1989 debut, You and Your Sister (reissued on Time Change Records out of Indianapolis). The band had formed in the late 80’s by two friends (well, sort of....see below) , Lawrence (who was based in Indiana ) and Robert Ray (who was based in Florida).  Back then they did it the old fashioned way, by mailing cassettes back and forth (the only way) and that seemed to work just fine. It had been years since I’d heard that debut and the reissue reminded me of how great (and underappreciated) the band was. You’ll hear elements of The Feelies (those jangly guitars and even in the rhythms, too) but also other classic bands like the Velvet Underground and even the Everly Brothers on certain cuts. Their sophomore effort, 1992’s Please Panic was just as good (maybe better) and I never heard 1995’s Opposite Sex (I hope to change that very soon…both recently reissued, see below) and then the band broke up.  If you’ve never heard the band’s music and have read this far then by all means do check them out, you won’t be sorry as their songs are truly excellent. Pop music with hooks and plenty of smarts. A month or so ago I sent some questions to Dale and he was more than happy to elaborate on my queries. Read on and when you have some time play “Drive Somewhere” at top volume today!

Robert and Dale, the early years. 

Where were you born/where did you grow up?         

I was born in Valparaiso, Indiana, and grew up one county over, on a farm outside a town called Hanna, an hour or so from Chicago.

 Was your family musical or at least supportive of your musical pursuits?    

Neither of my parents were especially musically inclined but I did grow up surrounded (and fascinated) by records. And my parents at least never tried to discourage my musical ambitions.

 What was your first band you ever saw live?    

I  was very lucky -- Neil Young, the 1973 Stray Gators tour (which resulted in Time Fades Away).

 What was your initial entry into the world of independent/punk/other music? (I know you were in The Gizmos…..that might need to be a whole other interview!!).      

My rock ‘n’ roll life began when I was nine years old and suddenly noticed Top 40 radio on the bus ride home from school: WLS, out of Chicago, 1965, a very good year for radio. (Again, lucky.) By 1976/77, I was in college and listening to the usual suspects, Modern Lovers, Television, Ramones. But hearing the Sex Pistols in the fall of ’77 was really the big corner. It hit me like nothing else before or since, made the world seem like a wholly different place. The sound of those records, the sound of Johnny Rotten’s voice, sounded exactly how frustrating it felt to be alive just then. And it made me want to be in a band, an old ambition I’d largely abandoned as a pipedream. Within weeks, I'd answer an ad and join the Ted Neimeic Gizmos on rhythm guitar.

 Ready to rock.

What were the beginnings of the Vulgar Boatmen?

The Boatmen actually began in Gainesville, Florida, a couple years before either Robert or I were involved. At that time it was a very different band, different aesthetic, different set of musicians (oddly enough, a situation pretty similar to the two different versions of Gizmos). Robert was friends with some of the band members and eventually joined, initially as rhythm guitarist. When the main songwriter, Walter Salas-Humara, left to form the Silos in New York, the Boatmen needed new material and started doing some of the songs I’d written in the Gizmos. Robert changed some lyrics, added a bridge or two – these were our first “collaborations.” I was in Indianapolis at that time, leading a band called Right to Left. It was then that Robert and I started collaborating in earnest, sending song ideas back and forth thru the mail.

 Where did the band name come from?                                                                            

The name was already in place when Robert and I got involved. It’s basically a third-graders pun on “The Volga Boatman,” a beginners piano piece. To the extent it doesn’t sound like we’re taking ourselves too seriously, I always liked the name. But we probably would have been smart to try to come up with something more fitting.

 Were you and Robert always based in separate states or was there ever a time that you lived near each other?                                                                                                                        

There were a couple years when we both lived in Bloomington, while he was a grad student and I was an undergrad at Indiana University. We met, weirdly enough, in a class on song lyrics. Robert was the AI and when he mentioned in class that he’d seen Elvis perform in Memphis, pre-RCA, I immediately scheduled office hours with him and we’ve been great friends ever since. Neither of us were in bands at that time, though I'd be in the Gizmos within a few months. We didn’t start writing together until years later.

 What do you remember most about working on the songs that would become You and Your Sister?                                                                                                                           

In terms of writing the songs, I remember consciously trying to use as few chords as possible (a lot fewer than I'd typically employed in Gizmos songs) -- and in particular, concentrating on the I and IV chords, a movement I could hear at the heart of so much music I loved, from the Soul Stirrers to "Road Runner." Also, I remember that having a fulltime songwriting partner was a distinct luxury: two sets of ears to hear rhythmic settings, better odds of finding the right lyrics.

 Recording-wise, the album was done at Robert’s house, on an 8-track machine, so I remember hanging out there in Gainesville for weeks at a time. The relaxed schedule that arrangement afforded us might in hindsight be the most important element in the recording process. We could afford not to rush anything. If a vocal or a tempo or a guitar sound wasn’t quite there, we knew we had plenty of time to get it right. I especially remember obsessing over snare-drum sounds. One we were especially happy with was on “Mary Jane” – except that when we tried recording a lead vocal, we discovered that most of what we liked about the snare sound was actually on the scratch vocal track. So that scratch vocal ended up being the actual vocal.

 The classic album!

Did you tour much for the record? Ever make it overseas?                             

We did tour quite a bit for that album, several swings through the south and the east coast, once to the west coast. We did not make it overseas until the second and third albums, when we played Germany, Austria, and England.

 At the time of You and Your Sister were you working regular jobs?               

I was working for a local record store, traveling on weekends to collectors conventions, hawking bootleg videos – already a bit like touring. Robert had a full-fledged career, teaching at the University of Florida.

 Was it basically the same lineup for 1992’s Please Panic?                          

Well, yes and no. Both albums were recorded by a combination of musicians from both the Gainesville and Indianapolis lineups. (So, for example, there are four different drummers on Sister.) The Indiana musicians used on the second album are mostly different than the ones who had contributed on the first, the Florida musicians were pretty much the same. One difference on the second album is that we had access to studio pro J.D. Foster, who is the main bass player on Please Panic.

 The other classic album!

How did the band end…..or did it not?                                                                                    The end for us came, as for many indie bands, when we signed with a major, Warners/EastWest, out of London. We finally had a bit of a budget to make a record and, at first, major promotional assistance. But a shakeup at Elektra resulted in Opposite Sex never seeing a US release, which was pretty much the end of the road. Our pending booking deal with Monterey Peninsula fell through and we were dropped almost immediately by the UK label as well. The band has never officially broken up, but it has become very much a part-time thing. The Indianapolis outfit plays out a handful of times every year.

 I noticed that you still play live these days. Is it under your own name or the Vulgar Boatmen?

The Vulgar Boatmen.

 What are your top 10 desert island discs?                                                         Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, Louis Armstrong.

Never Mind the Bollocks Here’s the Sex Pistols.

The Complete Buddy Holly.

A Hard Day’s Night (or any of their first five albums), the Beatles.

Stranded (or Siren or Country Life), Roxy Music.

Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Rodgers and Hart Songbook.

The Sun Sessions, Elvis Presley.

Call Me, Al Green.

Astral Weeks, Van Morrison.

Bo Diddley (or The Duke at Fargo or The Definitive Otis Redding or...).

 Some of your current favorite bands/musicians?                                                                

I listen to way more older music than current stuff, always finding records I hadn't known about before. Right now, I’m listening a lot to Jimmy Reed. Thelonious Monk has been a constant on my stereo in recent years. Two current bands I love are Terakaft and Sufjan Stevens.

 A recent pic of the band. 

Final words? Closing comments? Anything you want to add that I didn’t ask?

I guess I can plug some rereleases that are about to happen. The first three Boatmen albums are being reissued on vinyl, by Play Loud! Records, out of Berlin. As with the Sister CD, Please Panic has been completely remastered. It will be the first time that Opposite Sex has ever been out on vinyl.

 Thanks so much for doing this!

 Relevant links below!

www.facebook.com/airportdecisionsinc/

 www.timechangerecords.com

 www.playloud.org

 Their 1995 album. 

  Such a classic!

[art-angels]

Former major league player Micah Johnson finds new voice as an artist

JULY 16, 2020 Bob Nightengale via USA TODAY

There was so much Micah Johnson wanted to say when he was a Major League Baseball player, but was afraid to say it.

There were so many times Johnson wanted to speak out about social inequality in America as a Black man, but wanted to keep his job.

Now, with paint in his hands instead of a bat, Johnson is speaking out through his art, finally free to express himself.

“It’s a shame I wasn’t able to speak up, or pay attention like I wanted,’’ Johnson tells USA TODAY Sports. “I was selfish. I was trying to make money. It’s embarrassing I didn’t speak out. I came to the field every day worrying about being sent down. I was just trying to survive. I couldn’t run my mouth about different causes, or else they would have forgotten about me so quick.

“Now, I have a platform that motivates me, that overshadows my baseball career. I have an opportunity to send a message, a really important way of expressing myself. I should have done that when I played.

“I’m not going to miss out on it this time.’’

Johnson, 29, who spent seven years in professional baseball, including parts of three years in the big leagues with the Chicago White Sox, Los Angeles Dodgers and Atlanta Braves, has given up baseball for a paint brush.

He spent his whole life dreaming of being a ballplayer, and on April 6, 2015, played his first major-league game with the White Sox, getting his first career hit off the late Yordano Ventura of the Kansas City Royals.

Three years later, Johnson was out of baseball.

“Growing up in the ’90s, baseball was all I cared about,’’ Johnson says. “That’s all I wanted to be was a major-league ballplayer. I miss that competition, but I don’t miss the game. It’s just a mess. I was a small-ball guy. I couldn’t hit home runs. I couldn’t change the game. It got depressing.

“So I got out.’’

Johnson turned to painting, and suddenly feels free, expressing his mind, displaying his raw emotions, on canvases for everyone to see at the Art Angels Gallery in Los Angeles.

His first painting was a portrait of Dodgers great Maury Wills, and done on a whim in 2016 when manager Dave Roberts asked the young players in spring training about their hobbies away from the playing field. Johnson was a piano player, but too embarrassed to admit it in front of his teammates. So he spit out that he was a painter.

He just forgot to include the part his last art class was in elementary school.

“I wasn’t going to play the piano in front of the team,’’ Johnson said, “so I told him I painted.’’

He spent all spring working on the painting, turned it in just before the end of camp, and it was a hit, with even Wills loving the rendition.

“I don’t think it was good,’’ Johnson said, “but everyone else sure seemed to like it.’’

A new career was born.

Johnson, who retired from baseball two years ago, is a full-time artist, focusing his work on the Black Lives Matter movement. He has painted pictures of George Floyd, whose death in Minneapolis triggered the movement. He has also painted scenes from the Civil Rights movement in the 1960s. He and Philadelphia Phillies outfielder Matt Szczur co-painted a portrait of Floyd that was purchased by Chicago Cubs outfielder Jason Heyward for $10,000, with the proceeds going to charities fighting for social justice.

“Now, with what’s going on in America, and as a Black artist,’’ Johnson says, “I wanted to depict the emotions of this time. You’re seeing a lot of pride. You’re seeing Black history being rediscovered, history people didn’t know about. It’s my way of preserving history in this very critical time in America, a raw look at what’s going on in America.’’

He also wants to inspire kids, believing that this generation of Black kids could be the most resilient group ever in America, with his own 4-year-old nephew, Elijah, motivating him.

It was Elijah who recently asked his mother, “Mom, can astronauts be Black?”

Johnson was speechless.

“To think he was putting limitations on his dream,’’ Johnson said, “that really hit me. That hurt me. He inspired me to start painting astronauts. An astronaut is a universal statement and can stand the test of time.’’

Looking at Johnson’s recent art work, you’ll see Black children wearing Astronaut suits. Some are wearing capes. One stands with a cello in his hand. A backpack on another. There are no limits to anyone’s dreams in Johnson’s art world.

Johnson, who grew up in Indianapolis and went to Indiana University, is moved by ballplayers now speaking out about systematic racism in this country. He never felt comfortable speaking out, but these are different times. He loves seeing today’s young players, such as 24-year-old St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Jack Flaherty, speak his mind, openly raising the possibility of players showing unity on opening day by kneeling during the national anthem.

“I think it will happen,’’ Johnson says, “because there is no risk anymore. When a guy like Bruce Maxwell did it, there was risk, and he paid the price. Now, if someone bashes you speaking out, they’re in the wrong, which is great place to be. I do think there will be more outspokenness.’’

He applauds Dodgers Cy Young pitcher Clayton Kershaw opening his eyes to Black Lives Matter, saying in a statement that it’s time to end the silence: “I want to listen, I want to learn, I want to do better and be different.’’ He was stirred by Chicago Cubs president Theo Epstein’s criticism of himself, saying, “The majority of people that I’ve hired, if I’m being honest, have similar backgrounds as me and look a lot like me. That’s something I need to ask myself why. I need to question my own assumptions, my own attitudes.’’

The power and the energy created by the moment, Johnson wonders aloud, may not have been possible if it wasn’t for COVID-19. The disease shut down most of the world. And the moment George took his last breath, captured on camera for the world to witness the horrifying scene, people had time to reflect, explore their inner soul, and examine their own consciousness.

“There were no sports, no movies being on, so everybody’s attention was on this,’’ Johnson says. “I truly believe that if sports were happening, baseball was going on, the NBA was going on, we would not see the same response.

“It was almost the perfect storm, people sat and had to re-evaluate. You think Theo Epstein would have been so thoughtful and questioning his hiring practices if the Cubs were playing the Cardinals that day. You think Kershaw would have been saying that if he was ready to pitch in San Francisco. Just the fact there were no sports to distract from that.

“Hopefully, what we’re going through will spark change, and what I’m painting will benefit future generations.’’

Johnson has found his calling, and after growing up his whole life wanting to be a baseball player, he has new ambitions, one that could have a lasting impact far beyond what he could accomplish on the playing field.

“It’s weird to think this is my new life’s path because I was so obsessed with baseball,’’ Johnson says. “It was such an integral part of my life. Well, I learned it’s Ok to have more dreams.

“I found my new dream.

“Really, I found happiness.’’

[suckitsurveys]

1. Do your parents ever encourage you to hang out with people that you don’t like? Not really, no.

2. Would you think it was odd if someone got fabric paint to decorate their underwear? You do you?

3. Do you ever stalk old friends? I wouldn’t call it stalk. Facebook is there to be looked at :P

4. What year was your worst school picture taken? Eh.

5. What made it the worst? I never really thought any of my school pictures were that horrible tbh. 

6. Do you think you could count all the freckles on your body? I don’t want to, but sure.

7. Do you ever crave a good cuddling? I do.

8. Which of your friends has the coolest siblings? My sister has the coolest sibling. ;)

9. Are you ever greedy? Sometimes yes.

10. How much would you pay someone if you never had to go to school again? I wouldn’t. i just wouldn’t go to school again?

11. Would you like to be home schooled? I’m 28 dude.

12. Would you like to go to an all girls [or if you’re a boy then all boys] school? Hi.

13. Why or why not? I never wanted to go to an all girls school because that’s dumb.

14. Is your school’s band any good? --

15. Do you have a favorite lyric from any song? Oh my god why is it so hard to think of these things when you’re asked about them?

16. Who is the biggest attention whore that you know? I hate that phrase.

17. Is your life no longer enjoyable? I’m enjoying it.

18. Did you get to see your friends as often as you would have liked to? What do you mean did? Like. I still see my friends?

19. Does orange sherbet sound good right now? Nah.

20. Would black hair look good or bad on you? I don’t know, it’s been pretty dark before but not completely black.

21. Are you on anyone’s hero box on myspace? MySpace is dead, but I don’t remember there being a hero box?? OH WAIT yeah I remember now. I think I was on Sarah’s or Lydia’s at one point.

22. Who has the biggest eyes that you know of? Me?

23. Do your wrists ever hurt from typing too much? Probably

24. What can you imagine as being the worst thing that could happen to you right now? Dying, probably.

25. How many times did you go swimming this summer? A bunch of times so far. I’m in a swim aerobics class so I go twice a week.

26. Have you ever been to a hard rock cafe? Yeah, the one in Chicago and then one in Indianapolis. 27. When was the last time someone called your cell-phone and you didn’t know them? Yesterday. It was a toll free call.

28. Do you hate it when people overuse the phrase ‘lol?’ Whatever.

29. Do you ever have those weird little dreams where you’re like half awake? Yeah, constantly.

30. Do you ever push your pillow off the bed? Not really.

31. What’s more important to you living it up or getting good grades? I’m not in school.

32. What do you think of little children? Annoying as hell or cute? Both.

33. Is there any song that makes you think of your dad? Hold on by Tom Waits. Plus like 800 others he plays on guitar/piano.

34. Do you ever look for comfort in surveys? I mean, sure. 

35. Do you like frogs? They’re cute.

36. Have you had any really bad experiences while plucking your eyebrows? Nope.

37. Who of your friends acts the most like a prep? Oh lord.

38. Is the whole prep thing overrated anyway? OH LORD.

39. What’s up with Fergie’s song Big Girls Don’t Cry? What do you mean?

40. Is it hard to stay friends with someone when one of your close friends hates them? I’m not 12.

41. Have you ever read The Outsiders? I have.

42. What did you think of it? I enjoyed it.

43. What does your backpack/messenger bag/whatever you use for school look like? I had a black backpack with red, yellow, blue, and green dinosaurs on it because I am an adult.

44. Where did you last go shopping at? Jewel-Osco, a grocery store.

45. Would it be weird if a person’s real name was Cheeto? Sure.

46. Is there anyone you want to give a hug to? I’m good for now.

47. What is the difference between giving and receiving a hug? Who initiates it, of course. 

48. What are you listening to right now? Nothing. I can hear the fan and AC going in this room and people dropping keys in the other room. (I’m at work).

49. Do any of your friends have the same name as any of your family members? Not that I can think of 50. Have you seen Talladega Nights? Nope.

51. If so what was your favorite scene in it? --

52. How often do you paint your nails? I try to get them done once a month. Waiting for mine to grow out now so I can get a no chip before my wedding.

53. Have you ever taken a picture of you kissing someone? Yes.

54. If you are one of those people who’s always single do you ever long for someone to sit around and take pictures of while kissing? --

55. Can I buy you a ‘drank?’ If you’ve got money in the bank.

56. If you know what song I’m referring to, why do you think T-Pain says drank and not drink? Oh my god.

57. How come boys never take surveys? How come people generalize genders?

58. What is the last thing you did on powerpoint? Oh god, I don’t know.

59. Do your grandparents know what myspace is? No.

60. When’s the last time you sprinted? Crossing the street earlier this morning because a car was coming faster than I judged.

[anybodybutlebron]

Cari Compagni Proprietari: Bentornati!

Oramai spiegarvi come funziona mi sembra superfluo considerando che a breve dovremo aggiungere un piano alla coppa.  Certo non è superfluo ringraziare tutti per l’entusiasmo, l’impegno e la voglia di divertirci che ci riunisce per il sesto anno.

Congratulazioni a Giacomo per la brillante campagna acquisti del Milan che si sta tramutando in un irrefrenabile torrente di vittorie, ops, volevo dire congratulazioni a Giacomo per essere il più giovane, più forte sul vero parquet e soprattutto più nuovo campione della nostra gloriosa Lega, e tutti noi non possiamo che invidiarlo per i prossimi mesi.

Si inizia con una novità, Ciccio ci ha fornito il suo Power Ranking che ho aggiunto tra parentesi al mio personalissimo e le differenze non sono poche, a fine anno si vedrà chi avrà avuto ragione!

Ed ora si comincia:

1. MARIA VITTORIA:  Vincitrice assoluta del draft, se non altro perché ha permesso al suo papà di scegliere in tranquillità prima di giungere sulla scena.  Ovviamente sarà sempre così ubbidiente e non impedirà mai ad Andrea di divertirsi con i suoi amici…  Già da ora è garantito un posto nella Lega ad uno o più dei suoi futuri innumerevoli fidanzati, soprattutto quelli meno graditi al babbo. 2. NEW YORK KNICKERBOCKER (CICCIO’S RANKING 6):  Andrea parte con un vantaggio oggettivo: sarà in piedi tutta notte tutte le notti per cui potrà seguire ogni partita, valutare ogni statistica e attivarsi prima dell’alba per accaparrarsi i migliori giocatori.  Prevedo grande attività sul waiver wire tra un pannolino e l’altro.  DeAndre Jordan ed il Barba hanno consegnato la coppa a Giacomo l’anno scorso e si posizionano in pole position per il back to back. 3. LAGUN ARO MARISCOS (CR 2):  Sarà questo finalmente l’anno di Ale?  I Mariscos sono una delle ultime due squadre a non aver mai raggiunto i playoff e questo sembra proprio l’anno del riscatto, se non altro perché i posti per la postseason sono aumentati ad 8!  The Greek Freak sembra fatto e finito per il fantasy, Turner rappresenta l’intera squadra di Indianapolis e Paul/Booker sono il tandem in regia migliore che ci sia. 4. BEOGRAD JUGOSLAVIA (CR 12):  Roberto abbandona la strategia della nazionale delle vecchie glorie e punta forte su un quasi rookie dal talento abbacinante: se Embiid sta in piedi tutto l’anno allora l’accoppiata con Whiteside è potenzialmente invalicabile in attesa del rientro del pupillo Isiah all’inizio di Dicembre.  Credo che poi ci sia anche altro nel roster, ma in questo power ranking di lui non parliamo… 5. DEPORTIVO LA CORUNA (CR 10):  Lonzo! devo aggiungere altro? Onestamente avrei voluto scrivere solo: Lonzo! e nel caso in cui non l'aveste capito il Commisioner ha una fascinazione nei confronti della famiglia Ball.  Ma scrivere Lonzo! e basta non dava giustizia ad una squadra costruita su di un sillogismo ineccepibile:  Golden State vince, spadroneggia ed irride gli avversari da quasi 3 anni per cui avere Klay e Steph in squadra non può che tramutarsi per osmosi nella terra promessa dei playoff. 6. G FORCE (CR 5):  Ogni anno mi impongo di cercare di prendere Kemba ed ogni anno qualcuno è più rapido di me, giocando nelle periferie dell’impero passa sotto traccia il play con le statistiche più sottovalutate della Lega ed è solo la terza scelta di questa armata che cerca di riportare la coppa a casa dopo il disastro del primo turno dei playoff dell’anno scorso. 7. CREMONA 3TITANS (CR 1):  Mario non solo è l’unico pluricampione della Lega, non solo ha perso l’anno scorso all’ultimo giorno dell’ultima giornata ma soprattutto non ha mai mancato l’approdo ai playoff concedendosi sempre una chance di alzare la coppa.  Dieng ed Oladipo, oramai lontani dalle grinfie del Commissioner, sono destinati a lottare per il titolo di fantasy comeback player, mentre Jokic arriva dall’anno della consacrazione con la vittoria della Lega: un mix devastante di voglia di rivincita ed euforia da trionfo. 8. TEAM GUARNERI (CR 3):  C’è stato un periodo in cui tutti davano per scontato che Giuseppe avrebbe vinto tutti gli anni ma oramai sono già 4 gli anni di digiuno, e dopo l’ultimo inglorioso posto di due anni fa ed il parziale riscatto dell’anno scorso potrebbe finalmente arrivare il ritorno agli antichi fasti.  Brogdon è sì il ROY più anonimo della storia, però non è male quando il reigning ROY è il potenziale punto debole del tuo starting five. 9. RASTA SUPERSONICS (CR 4):  Ok qua c’è un grosso pregiudizio.  Gobert è francese e il Commissioner non sopporta le pale eoliche, le ferrovie ed i francesi.  L’anno scorso l’enfant prodige orobico si presentò debilitato al draft ma questo non gli impedì di sculacciare l’interità dei ben più esperti compagni proprietari, quest’anno era in piena salute per cui avrà avuto di sicuro di meglio da fare che prepararsi.  Avere il play di Boston si è dimostrata una scelta impagabile e l’attuale è notevolmente più forte del predecessore per non parlare di Carmelo in debito di riconoscenza nei conforti di Giak e degli Dei del basket ancora disgustati dalla parentesi newyorkese. 10. CREMONA BIG CREAMERS (CR 7):  Westbrook e Draymond sono macchine da triple doppia… ah no, aspetta un secondo, oh caspita ma non c’è più il bonus!!!  Quanto fatto da Westbrook l’anno scorso però ha dell’epico e DeRozan sono anni che trascina Toronto ben oltre quelle che sono le reali forze della compagine canadese per cui non è nuovo a questo tipo di sforzo.  E se Pau non si fa azzoppare dagli anni e Drummond dai tiri liberi questa squadra non può che risalire. 11. FRANCOFORTE LINCI (CR 9):  Mai fu nome più azzeccato: in questa franchigia manca il fascino dei nomi di Hollywood ma c’è tutta la concretezza teutonica, insomma meno Oscar e più Orsi (perdonatemi la confusione tra grigie città tedesche).  Lillard e Leonard sono tutta sostanza e pochi orpelli e se al Commissioner piace Lonzo! non può certo apprezzare tutta questa classe operaia. 12. CHEZ CHAMOIS (CR 8):  Mah, un play che picchia le donne, un italiano che non sa tirare… un pugno, un’ala grande che ha malmenato un magazziniere, un centro potenzialmente psicopatico, un cosiddetta star multimiliardaria che si inventa finti profili twitter per attaccare codardamente gli ex compagni e pure un francese.  Ma che cazzo stavo pensando quando ho messo insieme questa porcheria? 13. READY FOR BATTLE (CR 11):  Ogni anno metto la squadra del Commissioner all’ultimo posto un po’ perché ogni anno come quest’anno la mia squadra fa schifo, un po’ per rispetto nei confronti degli altri compagni proprietari e da ultimo ovviamente per finta umiltà.  Beh quest’anno non ce l’ho fatta: francamente Ferro dovrebbe essere sollevato dall’assenza di retrocessioni altrimenti sarebbe spacciato.  I Ready for Battle sarebbero più a loro agio se partecipassero al ParaFantasy e se fossero una squadra vera dovrebbero portarsi sempre il pallone al campetto per sperare di giocare.  Ma insomma, dico io, come si fa ad avere due bianchi nel quintetto base? e un francese già rotto in panchina? per non parlare poi del fatto che Anthony Davis potrebbe infortunarsi anche solo nel cambiargli ruolo nella fanta-formazione.  Giustamente in una Lega con 12 squadre qua siamo al tredicesimo posto…