#and all tracks and artists played through the year. but this year might completely blow the previous ones out of the water

[seaofreverie]

I'm actually so serious that spotify wrapped is one of my favourite holidays of the year and the fact that it's taking a week longer to release this year than I was fully convinced it would actually take is pretty agonising. But also opening the wikipedia article about it and seeing it described simply as a "viral marketing campaign" cracked me up in a sad way because well. Yeah of course it's that. Of course it's a viral marketing campaign first and foremost. But also give me my stats and my 100 top songs of the year playlist NOOOWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[rametarin]

Progression of videogames was fucking wild, man.

Collapsed so as not to be spammy.

Okay. So, imagine you're 5-6 years old. It's 1990. Go into someone's living room, they're probably playing video games on the family TV. Console games look like this.

And in 1989 on Genesis? A demade version of an arcade game looked like this. It was pretty for its time, the colors were nice, it had sampled audio for effects. Audio was a bit crunchy, but, that's just a trapping of the system of the time.

And in 1990, a new NES one looks like this

You have the primary colors and some extras, you have sound and audio for bitty chippy sound effects and music. You have two dimensions and sprites. It's simple, primitive but.. in a way, more 'complete' than console games just a few years prior, that relied on black backgrounds and extremely limited sprite counts and very limited animation and memory for sounds.

And then 1991 rolls around.

Woah look at that, lads and ladies, we're up to a much higher pixel count, more memory, more layers on the screen at a time, more sophisticated sound chips for effects and music, more quality sprites.

Layers? Oh yeah, and with the Turbo FX chip, it could do interesting stuff with them. Vroom, bitch.

So things are pretty awesome. We gone from flat Atari visuals and limited sounds and colors to some pretty dazzling interactive dimensions and perspective, and the SNES even played with some polygons here and there. This was 1993.

But it doesn't stop commin', because it's 1993. Here comes 1994!

The Playstation! The Sega Saturn! Polygonal animation and environments are new and they're still kinda exploring things but. The books weren't even really written on this shit. They're running through the digital plane mentally with their brain on fire and experimenting and exploring and don't know how to stop!

And now it's 1996. Mario 64 needs no introduction, but it was many peoples first REAL experience with polygons like this.

Audio quality is now able to have ACTUAL musical tracks instead of just chiptunes. Textures exist. Animation is still limited, but hey, look at all this fucking progress!

Look where Final Fantasy was, to where it went.

And look out, here comes 1998.

And I'm not going to even post examples of Playstation 2 and Xbox. They're iconic. You know everything that transpired there. Playstation (original), Sega Saturn, and Dreamcast walked so PS2 and X-Box could run. And holy shit, did they run. The GameCube was more or less just an N64 on hyper steroids, so. I'ma set it in a transitional place between Playstation and Playstation 2 era.

But in the meanwhile we got beauty

And the consoles didn't make big performance or visuals jumps until about 2006 when the next big boy consoles came out. Things just improved year after year in a diverse multitude of ways.

Models got more polygons, sprites got more pixels and more frames of animation, colors got more diverse and brighter, and music and sound effects more or less hit the best we can do for the limitations of the human ear.

By the year 1999 videogames had gone from little bip-boopy single dimensional spaces with minimal audio and limited visuals, to everything.

And that's amazing, to me. That's just a ten year timespan. JUST ten years.

It has been 25 years since then. We haven't seen too awful many radical jumps from the most basic industry standards to today. It isn't making lightyear jumps in performance and delivery they used to. Nothing fucking wild like adding whole new dimensions to what previously was limited to one or two. But, that's probably because there isn't much place left to take it.

It absolutely blows my mind that videogames went from Super Mario Bros to Metal Gear Solid: Snake Eater in less than 20 years.

And you might be like, "But Ram. So what?" So? SO!? The significance is: They could've STOPPED before there was nowhere else to go! The industry has or had people, hardcore mathematicians and artists and captains of the business, that wanted to bring this bad boy as far as it could go technologically. And they did that.

Do you know how exotic and amazing something as simple as a graphical user interface for a computer was in fucking the 1980s and 1990s? Part of sci-fi was just the pornographic futurism of going from analog devices to seeing from the perspective of a robot with grid frame visualization and the sort of indicators they used for displaying data. A sci-fi writer's idea of what a machine would perceive would be enough to draw the attention and get the imagination of genre consumers.

And now we have people that, if they felt like it, could read up on how to design the frontend visuals and graphics of a GUI and display for something like a killer drone if they damned well pleased. That exists. That be somebody's JOB today. People can just... do that now. Without requiring a 4-8 year computer science college degree and employment at something like fucking Northrop Gruman or Boeing or any of a million US defense contractors specializing in next gen killer cyborgs or something.

It's like living through the era of the horseless carriage going from an industrialized futurist dream, to a normality at a junkyard. Even when it's just garbage, objectively, it's still a technological marvel. The imaginary fancy of people that see possibility, and it becoming realized to a normal thing.

It didn't have to happen. But it was made to happen. That's what's awesome! We aren't stuck with an unrealized technology that never got its potential tapped in full. Gaming as an industry made it happen, providing jobs, private business and an economy that spurred innovation and completion.

All that cool shit, just from people wanting to read stories and the tactile rewards of using controllers to do so many exotic things.

[dashielldeveron]

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?

fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.

When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.

When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”

That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”

The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”

He left.

Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.

Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.

Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.

He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.

But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.

He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.

“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”

“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.

“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.

“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”

You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”

He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”

“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”

“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.

“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”

You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”

You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.

“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”

You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”

His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”

Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.

“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”

How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?

You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.

A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.

You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.

Would he take credit for your work again?

You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.

You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”

“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”

A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.

“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”

Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.

You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.

One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.

You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.

“C’mere, you little shit—”

He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”

“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”

“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”

Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.

You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—

Yeah.

While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?

What an idiot.

When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?

You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.

God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.

The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”

Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”

You just stared at him.

“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.

Don’t fuck this up.

Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”

You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.

When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.

“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”

Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?

His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”

You know.

“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”

You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”

You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.

But so were you.

***

Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.

“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”

“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”

“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”

“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”

You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).

Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.

He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.

Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”

You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”

“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.

“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”

You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.

Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.

But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?

Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.

“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”

Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.

He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.

Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.

Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”

“Was I good?”

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”

“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.

“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.

You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”

“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”

“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”

“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”

“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”

Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).

Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”

“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”

Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”

Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!

Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?

“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”

“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”

“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”

Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.

Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”

Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”

You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.

Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”

“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”

***

“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”

Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”

If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.

“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.

“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”

Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.

“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.

“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”

Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.

“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?

With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”

Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.

“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”

“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”

You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.

***

When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.

The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.

Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.

His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”

Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.

“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”

God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”

“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”

“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.

“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”

***

“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.

Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”

“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?

Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”

“No explanation?”

“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.

“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.

“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.

“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”

“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”

He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.

You’re going to wring his neck.

You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.

The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).

“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.

Yet you shook your head.

***

“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.

“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”

“Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”

Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

***

When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.

You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.

***

“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”

Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”

“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”

You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.

Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.

The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.

God. You’re going to throw up.

The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.

Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.

The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.

“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”

Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?

You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.

Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.

Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.

“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”

“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”

From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”

“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”

Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.

“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”

Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—

Time.

You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?

No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.

Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.

You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.

He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.

Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—

“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”

You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.

Oh god oh fuck not now

“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”

Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.

And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.

And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.

When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”

You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.

He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”

Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.

“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”

Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.

He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”

“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.

“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.

“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”

Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.

Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.

“Better?”

“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.

Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?

Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?

Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.

But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.

The last ten months had proved that.

“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”

Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.

Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.

Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.

For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)

Don’t think!

When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.

Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.

It’s what he wants.

Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.

“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”

“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”

It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”

Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”

His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”

He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”

“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”

“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.

“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”

“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”

“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”

“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”

“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.

“It’s your finger?”

“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.

“No?”

“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“You’re popping it?”

“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”

“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”

“Can I film it?”

“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”

“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”

He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”

“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”

“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”

“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”

“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.

“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”

“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.

Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”

He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).

“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.

You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.

You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.

He waited for you.

“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.

“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”

“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”

“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”

“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”

Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.

So, this is it. The way out.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.

“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.

Where do you go from here?

You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”

You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.

***

Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.

You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.

Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.

You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.

And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.

And maybe you do, too.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.

[miyacchis]

Notes from a Con Man - Musical Great Pretender Stage Report Act 1

This is a bit extremely rambly, but I want to give some description of the distinguishing features of the staged version of Great Pretender as compared to the anime, although my plan is not to give a complete recap of the plot, as I’m sure anyone who is choosing to read this has watched the anime - or so I assume, but you know you do you. I try to control myself and keep it just to what is relevant, but I’m also a wordy bitch and that will never change, so, reader beware, I guess.

 The stage is set up with three levels (the stage level, the second floor, and the third floor where the band is). Both the stage level and second floor have a couple of rooms that can be pulled out or opened, and backgrounds are projected onto the set to create different settings. With the exception of the opening theme, which is taken from the anime, all of the music is live, and there’s very good interplay between the band and the performers, and I don’t know if I’d ever been to another show that felt so vibrant/alive/idk?

First, the biggest change made for the sake of clear storytelling on the stage is the addition of a framing device: the plot is conveyed to the audience through Edamura’s (Miyata Toshiya) narration as he tells his story to a prosecutor after the events of LA Connection. The play opens where LA Connection ends with Edamura being questioned at a police station, where it’s clear that he has been attempting for hours to convince detectives to believe the team-confidence-wild-and-wacky-adventures ™  explanation as to how he came to be in possession of a bag stuffed with foreign currency. Detectives are fed up with him and ready to go berniewiththesteelchair.jpeg on his ass. Enter Kitaoji (Kato Ryo), an elite prosecutor who seems to be on track to become attorney general, although it is unclear to those at the police station why he would take interest in Edamura’s case. 

Edamura is initially reluctant to open up to Kitaoji (Kato Ryo), certain that he won’t be believed, but after Kitaoji quotes from Shakunetsu (side note: I had no idea that in English Shakunetsu was turned into Die Hot which is an absolutely incredible pun and I really commend the translator), Edamura thinks Kitaoji might be just the person to believe him and help him to make amends to all those he had harmed through his life of fraud. Kitaoji encourages Edamura to start at the beginning and goes to eat a piece of candy, prompting Edamura to question, “What would you do if this simple piece of candy was sold for $5 million?” at which point he begins telling his story, transporting us first to a club in Hollywood where we are introduced to the plot with Sakura Magic and, more importantly, Laurent (Miya Rurika, goddess, dressed devastatingly in green), who is identified in quick succession as a French trader, an arrogant Don Juan, and the “bastard who got me into this mess.” 

Edamura bumbles through Laurent’s plot to build hype and clinch a deal with Cassano (Otani Ryosuke) by having Abby (Yamamoto Chihiro) “test” the “drug,” while giving small asides to Kitaoji to explain the main players and reveal to him that this is all a con job, but when Edamura is called to sign the contract to supply Cassano with the drug for $5 million, he flips out, pulls Salazar’s (Mikami Ichiro) gun, and flees the club, without the excuse of believing that he had taken drugs as he did in the anime. It is also not at this point that Edamura makes the connection between Laurent and Kudo and realizes that he’s been set up (Miyata!Edamura is overall a bit less perceptive than Kobayashi!Edamura, as we shall see, although I think this was a function of simplifying aspects of the characters’ interactions for the sake of clarity for the stage). 

Kitaoji pops in and out of the story from this point, donning different costumes (an unhoused person, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Razzie from the Shakunetsu series, etc.) to illustrate different aspects of the main characters’ conversations, and he serves as a way to get into Edamame’s head, allowing him to express what he is thinking and feeling as events in the story play out. It is in the metanarrative that we get some of these more comedic scenes, as well as additional insight into Edamura’s character as he grapples with his own identity as a scam artist and the son of a child trafficker.

After escaping Cassano’s henchmen outside the club, Edamura rejoins Kitaoji to ask if he’s following the story so far, which of course he is not (lol), so Edamura dives into how he met Laurent and came to be in LA. From here we flashback three days, joining Edamura and Kudo (Fukumoto Shinichi) in Asakusa as they spy Laurent as a potential mark. Edamura pulls the wallet-switch trick, and this scene generally follows the anime, although parts, such as the scenes showing Edamura selling water filters and Edamura and Kudo being raided by what seems to be the police, have been cut. After realizing that Laurent pickpocketed him and saw through his grift, Edamura quickly follows and catches him as he is about to depart in a cab to the airport. Just a moment to talk about this cab because it was such a cute, clever idea; it was really just a little push car driven by one of the supporting cast, and it can be disconnected in the middle, so as the driver pulls off, the back seat can be left behind, allowing the audience to watch Laurent and Edamura’s conversation as they are taken to the airport. 

Similarly to the anime, the successive scenes are nominally delivered in English, so Edamura switches to a dialect of Japanese to represent his accented English, which I mention only because Miyata discussed Edamura’s code switching with Kobayashi (Edamura’s Japanese voice actor) in an interview in vol. 51 of Stage Square and how he was concerned that he might confuse Standard Japanese and the dialect during scenes where he has to go back and forth quickly. Kobayashi reassured him that as he got into the character of Edamura Miyata would naturally fall into dialect whenever speaking to Laurent and Abby, and I’m very biased, buuuttttt throughout the run of the show, Miyata performed this beautifully, and as someone who for several years lived in the Tohoku region, the dialect of which Edamura’s accent reminded me of, his accent made me really nostalgic. 

Anywayyyyyy

After Laurent and Edamura bet on the outcome of Laurent’s upcoming “business negotiations” and it’s agreed that they will travel to LA together, the opening theme plays, the main cast is introduced, with Edamura running up and down the set to give a sense of action, the title in massive letters is lowered onto the stage, and we rejoin the main plot with Edamura trying to elude Cassano’s gang on the streets of LA by hiding behind the title. The supporting cast gives us some great background color as like random people in LA, like we’ve got some girls with Starbucks cups, some people breakdancing while simultaneously mugging a Dodgers fan, a skateboarder shouting “STREET”...for some reason. Perfect encapsulation of America *chef’s kiss*

Laurent finds Edamura and tells him to come home because he’s a good boy (😳), and Edamura is then introduced to Abby who, just as in the anime, kicks and knocks him out, after which they collect him and take him to an upscale hotel where Cynthia/Paula Dickens (Senna Ayase) is performing as a jazz singer. Laurent greets her briefly, but we don’t properly get introduced to her character until a later, very frustrating scene, but I’m not going to get started on that yet (it’s not her that’s frustrating, but it’s how they chose to have her and Edamura meet, but anyway we’ll get there). She sings “Summertime,” and it’s a lovely performance; all of her acting choices are very clearly informed by her experience in Takarazuka - she has these really dynamic, almost over-the-top movements and she uses that to her advantage to be one of the more comedic actors - and it’s really entertaining to watch.

Laurent orders them drinks; Edamura has something pink in a little martini glass, and he splutters when he tries to take a sip because he can’t handle his alcohol, which makes Laurent laugh, giving a lot of credence to Laurent’s statement soon after that he derives a lot of pleasure out of toying with naive boys like Edamura who pretend to be tougher than they really are. There’s also some funny adlib with Abby at this point where she gets brought different plates of food like fake fruit on one day and a tower of donuts on another. Laurent explains who Cassano is and the plan to defraud him and gives Edamura a notebook with a fabricated recipe for Sakura Magic, so the notebook is not part of what Edamura prepares himself when he goes later to get himself captured by Cassano to negotiate with him. Edamura has a couple of outbursts accusing Laurent and Abby of putting on airs, pretending to be carrying out justice, repeatedly interrupting the band who give him dirty looks and Shi-won, dressed as one of the saxophonists, loudly blows the saxophone back at him, and this prompts Laurent to be like nah we’re getting too much attention here let’s continue this back at the hotel. 

The hotel scene is fairly similar to the anime, but once Edamura is left alone, we get the first instance of him thinking about his family as he reflect on what Laurent had to say about how people don’t always believe the truth that is in front of them as they would rather believe whatever is most convenient. He flashes back to his family going home together after his father finished a case (the hotel room is on the second floor with his mom and dad entering on the stage level; the younger version of Edamura is done in voice over), and of course they seem like a happy family, although it’s interesting that what his dad has to say about ethics was cut from the script. The scene focuses more on Edamura idolizing his father as a great lawyer.

Okay, so we’ve finally come to the scene I absolutely hated and did not think was necessary, after Edamura leaves the hotel room. He is approached by three unhoused persons, one of whom he at first thinks is Kitaoji coming to interrupt the narrative again, but he soon realizes that they are “real homeless.” It was really just a disgusting, cruel stereotype; one of them is playing with a rat they found, another is acting like a junkie, and the ringleader is trying to get money off of him because they haven’t eaten in three days and then they steal his little Toyotomi Hideyoshi figurine and play keepaway with it and don’t stop until Cynthia/Paula Dickens (at this point she’s Paula tho so I’m going to refer to her that way) enters and is like knock it off. So that’s how they meet. Cool. They could easily have come up with something else and they just didn’t.

But, anyway, since he got his figurine back, he explains to Paula that his hobby is collecting capsule toys, and during his explanation, a gacha machine is projected up on the stage, out of which comes Kitaoji dressed as Toyotomi, followed by a bunch of other figures from Japanese history. This part always got a pretty good laugh out of the audience, and I think it was a pretty cute way to stage it. Paula insists they go to dinner together, so she can hear more about Toyotomi, and the capsule toy figurines all follow to a diner (serving “breadfast” 24hrs lol) where Shi-won is dressed as someone named Ricardo. The figurines all start to get drunk, while “Ricardo” fixes Edamura and Paula some tacos; meanwhile Edamura explains that Toyotomi began as a simple peasant, but because of his hard work and study, he was able to climb all the way to the top and unite all of Japan as a powerful lord. 

Edamura asks why she decided to help him before and he despairs that he must seem like a beaten dog, but she explains that while she might seem confident, she faces tremendous anxiety getting on stage every day, particularly as she wants to make it big as a performer but can’t expect to get the attention of a label just because she can sing a bit. (In the background, Francis Xavier is completely sloshed and ends up drinking with Ricardo) Edamura suggests that she take inspiration from Toyotomi as someone who was able to trick even his enemies into working with him and represent herself as someone more important than she is to get music producers onto her side. She seems fired up by this proposal, and she says that she’ll follow the example of Toyotomi, “Japan’s best confidence man,” which gives Edamura his own motivation to get back to trying to win the bet with Laurent. He asks Paula to wish him good luck and runs off, and we get the first dance scene with Edamura and a number of samurai as he builds up to confronting Cassano. The scene ends with him running into a video shop, presumably to rent Cassano’s movies.

Laurent and Abby are called to Cassano’s mansion - they argue if Edamura is capable of pulling off a job like this, although Laurent insists that he has a natural talent - but they are certain that he must be dead when they hear from Salazar that Edamura was taken into their custody at the airport trying to run. However, Edamura bursts onto the scene, dressed in a new Hawaiian shirt, and at this point, Miyata looks as though he has been in a swimming pool, but it’s just sweat lmao. Cassano informs them that he’s made a new deal with Edamura for $10 million, and when they ask how, we get a flashback showing how he got onto Cassano’s good side by praising Shakunetsu with Kitaoji, as Razzie, acting out scenes from the Shakunetsu movies on the second floor of the stage. Whenever Cassano hugs Edamura in these scenes, it was really funny because his jacket would get just absolutely covered in Miyata’s sweat just ugh gross lol 

Cassano’s accountant joins them and they play out the whole bit about confirming Edamura’s credentials as a pharmaceutical scientist, at which point Edamura finally realizes that Kudo is working with Laurent, when he calls Kudo to thank him for deceiving Cassano’s attorneys. After Cassano has confirmed Edamura’s identity, he takes the crew to his factory and insists that Edamura make Sakura Magic for them right there and then so that they can be sure to properly replicate his recipe. She does this the whole play, but particularly during this scene, you can really see how well Miya Rurika portrays Laurent as always calm and and in control before Edamura but as quietly losing his shit whenever he feels like they’ve been backed into a corner, and we also get some very cute like Laurent clearly being exasperated with Edamura but the two of them starting to be able to play off one another as they convince Cassano that the factory isn’t up to snuff for making Sakura Magic. 

They have to clear out because they hear someone coming, but Cassano promises that he will build a new laboratory for Edamura and entrusts his care to Salazar. The police bust in after everyone has left; Anderson does the absolute most to show off to everyone that he’s properly securing the scene, but he’s clearly relieved that Cassano slipped through their fingers once again oh my how does this keep happening oh well better luck next time. We get a proper introduction to Paula and Shi-won as members of the FBI who have come to investigate Laurent and his organization (Paula has changed into this beautifully tailored brown tweed pantsuit and she pulls it off so well), and Paula threatens to expose Anderson’s connections to Cassano if he doesn’t follow her lead.

After the scene in the factory, we return to the present in the interrogation room with Kitaoji and Edamura. Detectives bring Kitaoji additional files on Edamura, asking if the prosecutor has heard of the attorney Ozaki. They inform him that Edamura is Ozaki’s son, and Kitaoji is a bit shocked; he leaves, saying that he will review the files. The detectives collect the money before exiting the room, but not without getting in a dig at Edamura, telling him that he clearly takes after his father. Edamura is stricken by this statement, and the act ends with Edamura battling with this internal conflict. 

I don’t think anyone would want to read all of this, but if you have, thank you so much. I hope some of it at least was interesting or informative. I’m going to end there for now, as I’ve already gone on for too long, and I’ll finish writing up the second act in another post.

[gunterfan1992]

Interview with Half Shy (the songwriter of “Monster”)

For the last few months, I’ve been collecting information for a second edition of Exploring the Land of Ooo that will also cover the production of Distant Lands. This means that I’ve started to look into the new songs that we have been graced with this year, and this of course includes “Monster,” the beautiful track from the masterpiece that is “Obsidian”. And so I reached out to the song’s writer, Half Shy, who was kind enough to chat with me via email about the songwriting process!

(Photo courtesy of Half Shy)

In many ways, Half Shy is living the creative Adventure Time fan’s dream: She got asked by Adam Muto himself to write a song for “Obsidian” after he heard her music through Bandcamp! (I’ve dabbled in fan music before, and the fact that someone from the show might listen to it just blows my mind.) What an opportunity; I am so excited for her!

Since a second edition of my book won’t be coming out until after all the Distant Lands episodes air, I thought it would be best to share my Half Shy interview now. Read on for the fascinating behind the scenes story of how Half Shy and “Monster” came to be..

GunterFan: What is your origin story? How did you get involved in music, and how did the Half Shy project come to be?

Half Shy: I’ve been making music pretty quietly since I was in high school with a keyboard and guitar. I played one or two shows a year after college when I could find a friend or my brother to get up on stage with me, but I don’t really have that performer gene in me naturally. I get too much in my head and forget what the lyrics are to the song I wrote, or what the next chord is. Total brain freeze. So that whole experience is a bit of a mental drain. It’s something I think I’d like to dig into and figure out, but right now I’m really enjoying the time writing.

Even playing a song for my friends I still get pretty nervous. That’s where the name Half Shy comes from. I’ve always been interested in making things that by their nature draw a bit of a spotlight, but at the same time, I am just really quite nervous about the attention.

I recorded my first songs under my old name Hey V Kay in my bedroom and started putting them up online one at a time. When I got enough I thought about packaging it up into an album, but then got really distracted by learning how to fix up motorcycles and going to automotive tech school. When I eventually got back around to it I named the album Gut Wrenching.

After a few years I realized that I didn’t want the day-in-day-out life of a mechanic, I just wanted to know how to fix cars for myself and to have that knowledge in my back pocket. I got back into making music but grew frustrated at the process of writing and recording songs. I felt like I wasn’t able to capture the ideas I had in my head. Like trying to draw on your computer with a mouse. Doable, but it’s not going to come out like you’d hoped.

So these last couple of years I’ve focused more on learning the technical aspect of it, from the initial ideas and lyrics, to the recording and mixing. During that process I put out Bedroom Visionaries, and while writing I happened upon the name Half Shy in an old Thesaurus which felt instantly right. Learning all of that has been fun, I even went as far as to create my own book to solidify a daily writing routine (lyricworkbook.com). All that has been a bit of a tangent from actually making much music though. I should be getting my books in December from the press so I’m really looking forward to getting back into making more music instead of dealing with printing presses, setting up websites, and sourcing ribbon suppliers.

GF: What is the story behind "Monster"? How did the show get in contact with you?

HS: I keep a log of “Song Starters” with neat things I’ve heard in the world, and I would look through it every now and then and notice just how many came from Adventure Time. Eventually I thought well, I have to make a song about this show that just keeps breaking my heart. It was around the time I was nearly done with the first [Adventure Time-inspired] song “In My Element” that I got an email from Bandcamp saying “someone bought your album (Bedroom Visionaries).”

I get maybe one or two of these a month at most so I love to go in and say hi to the person and say thanks, be curious about who they are, [and] what they’re all about. Turns out it was Adam Muto, the executive producer of the show. (I asked and he has no idea how he happened upon my stuff. He guessed that I must have tagged something #adventuretime and he just happened to see it.) So I sent him an email saying, “Hey wow thanks for checking out my tunes. Also... holy crap you’ve made the best show I have ever seen in my life.” [I] played it real cool like. After finishing up writing my second [Adventure Time-inspired] song “Betty” I couldn’t help but fangirl real hard [and I sent him another message saying], “I’m sorry this is probably awkward, but I really love your show and I wrote these songs about it.” He was incredibly kind and shared them with his Twitter Universe, and a while after that I got a random email from him saying basically, “Hey, I’m working on this thing I can’t talk about, would you be interested?” I was like… well you know I’m pretty busy working at a sign shop so I’m gonna have to pass on this once in a lifetime opportunity (J/K. Obviously I fan-girl squealed and said yes immediately).

We chatted a bit about what the project was going to be and the direction. He mentioned there [would be] two Marceline songs in the special, [and he asked if I] would I be interested in giving the love song a try? Trying real hard to suppress my instant imposter syndrome I was like, “Yea, totally I’d be into giving that a shot!” So I read through the story and loved the idea of the dragon mirrored in Marceline, thinking through how they’ve both built up a protective shell, how she grew tough for a reason, but now she can open up and be vulnerable with PB.

From there I wrote the initial demo with the first two verses mostly intact and we went back and forth a few times editing it down into the final version. I recorded the final parts for the show in my little home studio in Seattle.

GS: When you were writing the song, what emotions, thoughts, or ideas were you channeling? Was there any sort of memory of event that you were trying to artistically "catch" or "recreate" with the lyrics or music?

HS: As far as channeling an emotion, generally I’d say just the experience of existing as a human. It can be so hard to open up and be vulnerable. I can remember that feeling even as a young kid—getting really excited about something and having someone completely trash it or look at you like, “Why are you so interested in that? It’s dumb.” [It causes us to grow] a little more weary to share ourselves because we know that hurt and embarrassment. The pain of being misunderstood is something I think a lot of us can relate to. Then having to decide whether to keep sharing those vulnerable parts of yourself or think, “They’re just not going to get it, I’m going to get hurt, so why bother?” and then stop putting yourself out there. You lose a lot with that thick armor though. You might feel protected, but you’re not feeling a whole lot of anything else other than the weight and chafing of it (I had a whole lot of armor-related metaphors that I didn't end up using.).

I struggle with this in songwriting too. I’m not the bolt-of-lightning type. There are pages and pages of cliches, total garbage, bad jokes, and cheesy lines that I have to get through in order to get to something that I am excited to put out there into the world: “Here I did this thing, I know it’s a little (this or that), but I made it... What do you think?” It’s hard to open yourself up to hearing the other end of that question.

I filled about 5 little pocket notebooks just thinking through the story, ideas, and trying to get this song right. I wanted it to feel familiar and honor the past songs of the show ([e.g.,] using the ukulele and referencing a few of the familiar chords from “I’m Just Your Problem”) but also be pretty open and vulnerable and different for [Marceline]. [I wanted to] show that she’s going through some tough emotions but also figuring herself out and growing.

GF: I feel like “Monster” is, at its core, an ode to the “Bubbline” ship. How do you feel about your song being intimately connected to one of the most famous LGBTQ+ relationships in animation? Do you have any general thoughts on Marcy and PB, Bubbline, etc.?

HS: Oh, I’m a total fan girl of Bubbline. The whole story of how Rebecca Sugar and Muto slowly morphed it into this deeper relationship is just great. As a part of the LGBTQ community myself it really means so much to see the representation of characters like yourself portrayed in an intelligent way. Growing up I was too young to fully understand what was going on but I saw Ellen getting cancelled, and [I] heard people around me saying they’d never watch her show again after she came out. That stuff sinks in as a kid and so to have these characters who are not only intelligent, but funny, complex, and unapologetically strong who also happen to be queer is really great. I love that the story here isn’t about their orientation, but that they’re people struggling with how to be open and vulnerable in a relationship.

It feels like something sci-fi and animated shows do so well—to show that ridiculousness of limiting who a person should and shouldn’t love. Marceline is a 1000+ year old half-demon/vampire and PB was born from the Mothergum of an apocalyptic radioactive world, but you’re going to get hung up on them loving each other? It sort of brings it into perspective in a really interesting way.

GF: Do you have any other thoughts about the experience that you'd like to share?

HS: Just how lucky, thankful, and honored I feel to be a part of my favorite show, writing a song for one of my favorite characters. It’s also incredibly cool how the people on the show are so willing to connect and collaborate with their fandom. Everyone [on the production crew] was very open and a real joy to work with.

I’d like to give a huge “Thank you!” to Half Shy for agreeing to participate in this interview; she really was quite amiable! If you’d like to hear more of her music, check out her website and her Bandcamp. You can also follow her on Instragram here and on Twitter here. And of course, here is Half Shy’s awesome video of “Monster”.

[lunapaper]

Album Review: 'Pink Noise' - Laura Mvula

This is the album Laura Mvula always wanted to make.

‘Making Pink Noise felt like the most violent of emotional wrestling matches,’ she states (via Stereogum). ‘It took 3 years of waiting and waiting and fighting and dying and nothingness and then finally an explosion of sound. As if it was always here this record is my most honest and unapologetic flying of the freedom flag. In my adult years I had forgotten how important dance was to me as a vital tool of my creative expression. I brought it back, just for me, so I could find my delight in dance again. And now I can’t stop dancing.’

After going through a divorce, battling anxiety and being dropped from her label, the British singer turns back time in order to move forward on the neon-streaked Pink Noise (referring to the types of frequencies that are slightly less harsh than white noise).

First single ‘Church Girl’ is a funk-fuelled awakening, with Mvula strutting atop chunky synthesisers and Prince-style guitar stabs. The title track also recalls     with its squelchy synths and angular bass.

Opener ‘Safe Passage recalls a time when ‘feeling positive emotions was much simpler, much less complicated,’ swathed in gauzy, HAIM-like atmospherics while maintaining a gospel feel with it soaring harmonies. ‘Remedy’ implores the masses to stand up and take action in response to the Black Lives Matter movement (‘What are you so afraid of?/Don't you know what you're made of?/No time to be patient’), channelling Rhythm Nation-era Janet with slick, industrial Jam and Lewis-style synthwork.

On ‘Conditional,’ she sings ‘Another blow to the ego/A victim of conditional love’ in reference to petty music industry politics. But Mvula is determined rather than defeated, with powdery beats and flourishing sax bursting atop brooding basslines as she prepares to ‘Break the chain to my ego.’

‘Golden Ashes’ offers Mvula’s strongest vocal on the record, warning ‘them scary power people’ who carelessly casted her aside: ‘Don't wait for me to die/You'll be waiting a long time/Even if the walls are caving in/I'll be listening.’

‘Got Me,’ meanwhile, shamelessly borrows from Michael Jackson’s ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’ in the coolest way possible, along with shades of Whitney Houston and Peter Gabriel as Mvula revels in newfound love.

And no 80s-inspired pop album is complete without an appearance from... Simon Neil?

In full power ballad mode, ‘What Matters’ sparkles and soars as the Biffy Clyro frontman provides a soft, gentle echo to Mvula’s own stunning belt, able to hear it in a vaporwave vid (slowed + reverbed, of course) or playing in the background on prom night in a John Hughes flick, complete with a soft focus lens.

Pink Noise sees Mvula follow a similar trajectory to that of Jessie Ware on the equally brilliant What’s Your Pleasure?: Two incredible female artists over 30 who, after being sidelined by a notoriously shallow and fickle industry, end up turning to the dancefloor for inspiration and end up producing their best work yet. You could even draw comparisons with Janelle Monae’s Dirty Computer, which also took a pretty funky turn and was also heavily influenced by Prince.

But Pink Noise is more than just jazzy keytars and a power suit. It’s a personal triumph, giving Mvula a much-needed jolt out of her comfort zone.

Through the making of this record, the singer learned to be ‘my authentic self in whatever room I might be in. I work really hard. I'm stronger than I think I am. Wiser than I thought I was. All I want now is for listeners to take me for who I am.’

And there’s no more powerful statement than that. Bold, fun and defiant, Pink Noise is one damn funky redemption arc...

- Bianca B.

[nctinfo]

[TRANS] Jungwoo, Mark & Haechan’s interview with Star1 June 2020 issue!

It's the first time for you three to do a shoot together. It's a different combination. Mark: It's really nice that the warm weather is seen in the pictures and it was fun to shoot with this fresh combination. Jungwoo: I really like it because it seems like the chemistry between us was well shown. Haechan: It's been a very long time since I had a shoot so I was a little nervous but on the other hand, also excited. I think I had a lot of fun because I was together with the hyungs.

You finished all the promotions for the 2nd full album <NCT#127 NeoZone>, how was it? Jungwoo: We were able to show NCT 127's color clearly through the title song 'Kick It'. All the side tracks had a very diverse feel too, and the promotion period was very meaningful because, matching with the 'NCT 127' name, it seemed to represent a new NCT 127 well in the aspects of music, choreography, stage composition, and so on. Mark: It was a comeback after a long time with a full album, so as much as the fans waited for it, we worked hard in the preparations to show many good sides. Of course, it was a shame we couldn't meet the fans on the music shows. Haechan: So, during the repackage promotion period, we will try various ways to communicate with the fans.

You also achieved some great things during these promotions, in particular, ranking no.5 on the Billboard 200 Mark: The last album ranked at no.11, and to see that it gradually improved to rank no.5, I was even more proud and happy. It gave me a great sense of achievement. I was as grateful and as happy as much as it was the result of the feeling loved and receiving attention from around the world.

Soon, you will be making a comeback with the repackage album < NeoZone: The Final Round>, what kind of song is the title song 'Punch'? Haechan: It's a very hip and strong song. Also, it has an ambiance of feeling like a different song due to some elements that are in the middle, so it's a fun song to listen to. Jungwoo: As much as it is a title song, I put my all in it. There were many changes made during the preparations, including the recording process. We worked hard to make it complete. Mark: As much as 'Kick It' was well received by the fans, I think 'Punch' will be as well and will deliver the finishing blow.

In addition to 'Punch', there are also other new side songs, how is it different compared to the 2nd full album [NeoZone]? Haechan: First off,  for the new songs on the repackage album, there is a new charming ballad song 'Make Your Day' and there is a song with a different feeling called 'NonStop'. You will be able to feel the diversity. Mark: That's right. 'Make Your Day' is a song where you will receive healing through the sweet voices of the vocal members. Jungwoo: It's a great song to listen to in the summer.

Then what is the key point of 'Punch'? Haechan: I think the chorus is the most memorable. It's repeated a lot, so I think it's nice when you listen to it excitingly. Jungwoo: I think 'Punch' [is the song with] the most killing parts. There are many parts that stick right to your ears. Please enjoy the killing part. Mark: Your ears might get hurt since it's addicting. haha

Is there something you want to show to the public through this album? Haechan: That I am really grateful for the support we received during 'Kick It' and that I was really happy. During the upcoming promotions too, I want to take that energy and show NCT 127's performance that will K.O. everyone. Of course, there are burdens when you receive great support, but regardless of the results, we are doing the best we can as always, so if you keep supporting us, we will show you our K.O. performance.

Was there ever a life changing "punch", if so when? Mark: As I was preparing for this song, I was reminded of the trainee days a lot. I was a trainee for almost three years, and I'm normally the type of person to beat myself down. I think that's when I threw [myself] the most “punches”. In order not to lose myself in front of the mirror I pushed myself and tried to overcome and grow. So while preparing for this song, I really related to it a lot. Jungwoo: I think it was during my debut for me. I was introduced for the first time during 'Boss'. I wanted to have an impact on many people so I really worked hard. When I think about it now, I didn't have to be so nervous, I was really worried. I am reminded of the time where I wanted to throw an impactful punch as big as I was nervous so I tried to double the effort.

What is a hot topic among NCT 127 lately? Mark: We're almost finished preparing for the repackage album, and all the members are working hard in perfecting the choreography. And we are also preparing for Beyond Live. Other than that, since the members are home a lot, we're getting into cooking more than ever (laughs). These days, Taeil hyung has really fallen for cooking. Once, when I returned home after practice, there was the smell of pasta coming from the dorm and it turns out that Taeil was making pasta by himself. I was even surprised at how delicious it was. haha

The world tour was also completed successfully Mark: It's hard to go overseas these days so I kinda miss it, and I often think about how nice it would be to tour soon again. It was a rare opportunity and a joyful journey. It's not easy to meet fans in person so it was a thing I'm really grateful for. It was also nice to eat a lot of delicious food with the members.

Is there a difference between preparing before the world tour and after? Mark: It's like, you know a lot after you've seen a lot. Aside from the stages, there were many things I felt. While meeting various cultures and people, our own team's unity has improved and our teamwork has gotten better too. There were a lot of physical challenges. Looking back after overcoming those hardships, all of them are beautiful memories. If you ask what's different or what has changed, it's that the teamwork has become better, and I think each member has gradually grown during the tour. Jungwoo: As expected personally, I think I grew a lot myself and it's true that I learned a lot while being on various stages. Instead of performing the same thing on each stage, I tried to change my facial expression and tried to change many things. Although we grew a lot as a team, I gained a lot of self-confidence too. To be honest, I was really nervous before leaving, but as I met a lot of fans from various countries I felt very grateful to be welcomed and supported. Haechan: My mindset has changed. Before I used to do a lot of things for 'the future'. After the world, I tend to focus on 'us'. We are working hard and having fun showing us and our way.  

NCT 127 members are all skilled in various areas. If you could steal a talent from each other, what would it be? Haechan: Jungwoo hyung’s innocence. Haha. When Jungwoo hyung’s ‘Pure Beauty’ shines, that's when I get envious. I think Mark hyung’s biggest asset is consistency. Doing anything consistently is a skill in my opinion, so I’m envious of this side of Mark hyung. Jungwoo: As for me, Mark’s dancing skills or English? Haha. Mark: I already told Jungwoo before, but he has this special aura about him. I’m just very thankful to have him next to me. It’s a precious thing. Haha. Even in a stiff situation he can elevate the mood. It’s not that I want to take it from him, it’s just that I like it when he’s next to me like that.

What are the unexpected sides of the members? Haechan: Mark hyung is consistently good at everything. The only thing he can't do is gaming. He is really bad at gaming. I don't think he has any talent for gaming. Jungwoo: Also, Mark is surprisingly delicate and detailed. There might be some people who already know, but he is more delicate than you can imagine. Haechan: Jungwoo looks innocent and seems quiet, but surprisingly he has many sturdy/bold sides. He is the type of person where those two sides coexist. Although he is still shy in front of the fans, when he feels comfortable, he is more active and energetic. That's his unexpected side.

To me, NCT 127 is? Haechan: It’s the foundation of my growth. When I was with hyungs I could see a lot of aspects where I was lacking, but because hyungs helped me so much I think I was able to grow. Jungwoo: I think we make each other shine. When someone is lacking the others fill in the gaps, when it’s hard we help each other, I think. Mark: I think we became a team that are friends and hyungs for life. I’m very thankful that we became like friends not just in NCT 127, but in everyday life. Jungwoo: Right. Us meeting seems like fate. Mark: We were all born and raised in different places, how else would we meet as a team like this.

As half of 2020 has passed, what are your goals both goals personally and as an artist? Haechan: I want to be busy and work hard in 2020. As an artist I’d like for it to be a year where I improve internally or work on my skills. Jungwoo: As a team I’d like for us to be introduced to more fans and grow a lot through performances. I’m also looking forward to see the results. I also wish this would be the year when I progress and take care of myself a lot. Mark: I want to play music for even more fans and I also want approval. Wherever we go I want to show performances without embarrassment, without seeming lame when I look back later, I always want to work hard. I hope the members become more proud of themselves as they should, and that we promote happily too. 

Translation: Esmee, Alex @ FY! NCT (NCTINFO) | Source: Star1 Scans — Do not repost or take out without our permission!

[watusichris]

Betty Davis: They Say She’s Different

It appears that everything anyone has written for the old Music Aficionado site has now disappeared from the web. A random Facebook post has prompted me to re-purpose this story, written in 2016, about my favorite funketress. **********

To this day, the name Betty Davis – Betty with a “y,” that is – remains best known to connoisseurs of Miles Davis minutiae and ‘70s funk obsessives. While it’s true that Betty played an important off-stage role in the career of the jazz trumpeter, to whom she was married for just a year, and she undoubtedly made some of the best hardcore funk records of her era, she deserves to be recognized beyond the relatively narrow provinces of the jazzbo and the crate-digger.

Uncompromising, intelligent, brazen, aggressive, and not incidentally gorgeous, sexually provocative, and a fashion plate always ahead of the curve, Betty was a prophetic figure. Spawned by the explosion of music, fashion, and alternative culture of the late ‘60s, and by concurrent leaps in black consciousness and feminism, she was a take-no-prisoners singer and writer who presented herself as something new, rich, and strange with her self-titled debut album in 1973.

There were some badass contemporaries working the soul and funk trenches– gutter-tongued diva Millie Jackson and one-time James Brown paramour Yvonne Fair leap to mind immediately – but they seemed to be adapting tropes previously worked by male singers in the genres. Betty still sounds like something new: a tough, smart, demanding woman who reveled in pleasure and insisted on satisfaction, unafraid to claim what she wanted.

Despite the fact that she was associated with some high-profile male musician friends and lovers – beyond Davis, the roll call included Hugh Masekela, Jimi Hendrix, Sly Stone, Mike Carabello, Eric Clapton, and Robert Palmer – she was no groupie or bed-hopping climber. Possessed of her own self-defining vision, she was producing her own records and leading a tight, flexible little band by the end of her brief run.

In 1976, after completing four splendid albums (only three of which were released at the time), she disappeared, not only from the music business but from the public eye entirely. What happened? It’s an old story that many women in the industry will recognize: Her record company didn’t know what to do with her, and wanted her to tone down her act. Betty Davis wasn’t having any of that, thank you, and she hit the damn road.

She was born Betty Mabry in Durham, NC, in 1945. She grew up country, and was exposed to down-home, get-down music early. On the title track of her second album, They Say I’m Different, she runs down the artists who served as inspirations: Big Mama Thornton, John Lee Hooker, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Howlin’ Wolf, Albert King, Chuck Berry. The blues, in one form or another, is the backbone of her style.

Her family relocated to Pittsburgh when she was young, but at 16 she left home for the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. There she was hurtled into the roiling cultural vortex of the Village. She took up modeling, working for the toney Wilhelmina agency, and began running with a posse of similarly disposed, equally beautiful women who called themselves the “Electric Ladies.” Sound familiar? One of her closest cohorts was Devon Wilson, for many years a notorious consort of Jimi Hendrix known for her freewheeling, outré sex- and drug-saturated lifestyle.

Mabry began to try her hand at singing, and cut a few self-penned singles. They were in an old-school mold in terms of structure, but her very first 45 hints at things to come. “Get Ready For Betty,” a 1964 track released by Don Costa (discoverer of Paul Anka and Trini Lopez and a key arranger for Frank Sinatra), is stodgy early-‘60s NYC R&B to its core, but its message is pointed: “Get out my way, girl, ‘cause I’m comin’ to take your man.”

She also made a stolid romantic duet ballad with singer Roy Arlington and, produced by cult soul man Lou Courtney, a homage to the Cellar, the New York club where she DJed. But she didn’t start reaching the upper echelon of the music biz until one of her songs, a hymn to Harlem called “Uptown,” was cut by the Chambers Brothers for their smash 1968 album The Time Has Come, which also included the psychedelic soul workout “Time Has Come Today.”

The Chambers association probably secured a singles deal for her at Columbia Records, and her first session for the major label was produced by her former live-in boyfriend, South African trumpeter Masekela, in October 1968. By that time, she had split with him: A month earlier, she had married a far more famous horn player, Miles Davis, whom she had met in 1967. Davis and his regular producer Teo Macero would head her second session for Columbia in May 1969.

Those two dates were released for the first time as The Columbia Years 1968-1969 earlier this month by Light in the Attic, the independent label that has restored Betty’s entire catalog to print over the last decade. While devoted fans can be grateful that the work is finally seeing the light of day, it does not make for easy listening, for it was clearly made by people groping in the dark.

Betty’s artistic persona was at that point completely unformed, and so her male Svengalis did their best to mold the clay in their hands, with feeble results. Masekela evidently completed just three tracks, two of which, “It’s My Life” and “Live, Love, Learn,” were issued as a flop single. The homiletic song titles give the game away; the music, straight-up commercial soul backed by a large group (which included Wilton Felder and Wayne Henderson of the Jazz Crusaders and Masekela), has nothing original to say.

The date with Miles is a bigger waste, if a more spectacular one. The personnel couldn’t have been more glittering: Hendrix sidemen Billy Cox and Mitch Mitchell; ex-Detroit Wheels guitarist Jim McCarty; bassist Harvey Brooks, studio familiar of Bob Dylan and former member of the Electric Flag; and Davis’ then-current or future band mates Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, John McLaughlin, and Larry Young.

But nothing jells. The material is either weak (Betty’s directionless original “Hangin’ Out” is the best of a bad lot) or incongruous (lumbering covers of Cream’s “Politician” and Creedence’s “Born On the Bayou”). Worse, the jazzers are unable to lay down anything resembling a solid soul-rock foundation, and even reliable timekeeper Mitchell blows the groove on more than one occasion. Miles gets impatient with his spouse at one point, rasping over the talk-back, “Sing it just like that, with the gum in your mouth and all, bitch.”

Apparently intended as demos, the failed tracks were consigned to the tape library. By late ’69, Miles and Betty’s marriage was history. She left her mark on his music: She appeared on the cover of his cover of his 1968 album Filles de Kilimanjaro and inspired its extended track “Mademoiselle Mabry” (based on the chords that opens Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary”) and “Back Seat Betty” from his 1981 comeback album The Man With the Horn.

Moreover, she moved him toward the flash style that would dominate his music through the mid-‘70s, by exposing him to the slamming music of Hendrix and Sly and exchanging his continental suits for psychedelic pimp togs. Would we know Bitches Brew, On the Corner, and Agharta without Betty Davis? Maybe, maybe not.

For her part, Betty remained in the wings for a while. She collaborated on demos for the Commodores; in London, she modeled, worked on songs for Marc Bolan of T. Rex, and declined a production offer from her then-paramour Clapton. Drifting back to New York, she met Santana percussionist Carabello. They became involved romantically, and in 1972 she relocated to the San Francisco Bay area, where Carabello’s local connections led to the formation of a stellar band to back her on a debut album.

One reads the credits for Betty Davis in awe. The rhythm section was the Family Stone’s dissident, puissant rhythm section, bassist Larry Graham and drummer Greg Errico (who also produced). Original Santana guitarist Neal Schon, future Mandrill axe man Doug Rodrigues, founding Graham Central Station organist Hershall Kennedy, and keyboardist and ace Jerry Garcia collaborator Merl Saunders filled out the instrumentation. The Pointer Sisters, Sylvester, and Kathi McDonald were among a large platoon of backup vocalists.

Issued in 1973 by Just Sunshine Records, an independent label owned by Woodstock Festival promoter Michael Lang (who also released a set by another unique woman, folk singer-guitarist Karen Dalton), Betty Davis was one hell of a coming-out party. Since her abortive Columbia dates, she had developed a unique vocal attack that could leap from a velvety croon to a Tina Turner-like shriek in a nanosecond. The stomping funk of the studio band backed her up to the hilt.

Like Turner, she was one Bold Soul Sister. The lust-filled opening invitation “If I’m in Luck I Might Get Picked Up” announces that a new game was afoot. The statement of romantic/sexual independence “Anti Love Song,” the lovers’ chess match “Your Man My Man,” and the self-explanatory “Game is My Middle Name” offer up a startling, hard-edged new model of a hard-funking female vocalist.

The album’s most affecting track may be “Steppin in Her I. Miller Shoes,” Davis’ level-headed elegy for her sybaritic friend Devon Wilson, who sailed out a window at the Chelsea Hotel in 1971. “She coulda been anything that she wanted…Instead she chose to be nothing,” Davis sings, implying that route wouldn’t be one she would take herself.

“If I’m in Luck” grazed the lower reaches of the R&B singles chart and the album failed to reach the LP rolls at all, but Davis was undaunted. For 1974’s They Say I’m Different, she took the producer’s reins, which she would hold for the rest of her career. While the backup lineup is less glitzy (though Saunders, Pete Escovedo, and Buddy Miles, on guitar no less, appear), the support is still sizzling; crackling drums and burbling clavinet put over a set of songs that may have been even stronger than those heard on her debut.

No one who hears “He Was a Big Freak” is likely to ever forget it; it’s a startling dissection of a masochistic relationship -- inspired by Jimi Hendrix, and not, as many have assumed, by Miles Davis (“Everyone knows that Miles is a sadist,” Betty remarked later). Almost as notable are “Don’t Call Her No Tramp,” a prescient condemnation of what we now call slut-shaming, and the autobiographical title track, with slicing slide guitar work by Cordell Dudley.

Different and its attendant singles tanked, but Betty managed to maintain her profile with live gigs noteworthy for their uninhibited bawdiness, on-stage abandon, and the star’s Egyptian-princess-from-outer-space wardrobe sense. By early 1974 she had assembled a hot, lean road band that included her cousins Nickey Neal and Larry Johnson on drums and bass, respectively, plus keyboardist Fred Mills and guitarist Carlos Morales. This lineup would back her on her last two albums.

The end of Just Sunshine’s distribution deal liberated Davis, who, at the suggestion of then-boyfriend Robert Palmer, inked with Palmer’s label Island Records. The company released Nasty Gal in 1975, and it may be Davis’ best-executed work. The pared-down backing lets the songs shine, and there are good ones here: The shameless title song, the vituperative blast at the critics “Dedicated to the Press,” and the out-front ultimatum for sexual satisfaction “Feelins” get right up in the listener’s face. The most surprising track is the ballad “You and I,” an unexpected songwriting reunion with Miles, orchestrated by the trumpeter’s famed arranger Gil Evans.

It’s a tremendous album, and Betty supported it with live shows that ate the funk competition alive. A bootleg of an especially out-there set recorded at a festival on the French Riviera in 1976 literally climaxes with Nasty Gal’s “The Lone Ranger,” an in-the-saddle heavy breather that Davis wraps up by feigning a loud orgasm.

One should remember that at this particular juncture, Madonna was studying dance at the University of Michigan.

But Nasty Gal faded with hardly a trace, and Davis’ relationship with Island swiftly became fractious. It’s easy to see why the label declined to issue her final album, originally called Crashin’ From Passion and ultimately released, after years as a bootleg, by Light in the Attic in 2009 as Is It Love or Desire. The collection, which leans heavily on songs about sex, doping, and heavy drinking, includes “Stars Starve, You Know,” an outright condemnation of the games record companies play:

They said if I wanted to make some money

I’d have to change my style

Put a paper bag over my face

Sing soft and wear tight fitting gowns

 They don’t like the way I’m lookin’

So it’s hard for my agent to get me bookin’s

Unless I cover up my legs and drop my pen

And commit one of those commercial sins…

 Oh hey hey Island

And that was all she wrote. Until writers began to seek her out in the new millennium as her records became available again, Betty Davis was an invisible woman, one who had blazed a trail that other talents, such as Prince and Madonna, would blaze more profitably after her. She was definitively ahead of her time.

Asked by one writer what she had done since leaving music, Davis, who turns 71 on July 26, responded with the most tragic thing one can imagine any artist saying: “Nothing really.”

[jamaiskookie]

mutuals (pjmxreader) [bonus:celibacy]

~mutuals~ [youtuber!reader x idol!jimin] social media AU

synopsis: park jimin is a (slightly problematic) idol singer, and he becomes completely smitten with a youtuber after stumbling upon her dance cover to his own song.

genre: fluff, a good dosing of cracK, literally two seconds of angst blink and u miss it

word count:  2.3k

[A/N]: thank you for all the love you’ve given mutuals! can’t believe it’s only been like one week since this blog has been up hehE enjoy this drabble of thirsty!jimin after he found your video. if you have no idea what i’m talking about gO READ THE FIRST CHAPTER

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           When JinHit first hit record sales with the success of Jimin’s mini album, and RAPLINE’s first title single a couple years ago, Jin finally gave in to Jimin’s begging and gave all the artists their own personalised studio in the JinHit building. It’s where all the greatest hits on the charts are written. It’s practically the modern eighth wonder of the world, considering the names and talent that have graced the walls. 

          Jimin, Yoongi, and Namjoon all have their separate studios to write, produce, and record in, and all three of the small rooms are located next to each other. Partially because of design and common sense, but also so all three friends can conveniently annoy each other when needed. Jin’s office isn’t too far away either, just across the floor. Usually, if they’re all working in the studio, they’ll walk over to Jin’s office during lunch hour and leech off his amazing personal pantry in his office. The office is much, much bigger than their studios, and Jimin never fails to remind Jin that. 

          All three artists have grown a little attached to their studios. It’s where they do what they all love most, after all. Yoongi barely lets anyone into his ‘Genius Lab’, and ever since a staff member accidentally messed with his coffee machine, he hasn’t let anyone step foot in. Nobody’s even allowed to come inside Namjoon’s studio during what he calls his ‘namjoon talent time’ which is basically just a period of time before comeback season where he locks himself in the studio, writing music 24/7. 

          He occasionally asks Jimin to listen to his unreleased files for suggestions, but other than that, noone except Yoongi goes inside his studio during ‘namjoon talent time’, and Namjoon only reluctantly lets him in as his bandmate. Not that Jimin minds, he hasn’t been let inside since he accidentally mistook Joon’s studio for his own and brought one of his one-night-stands over. Joonie was horrified, and made Jimin sanitise, wash and clean every part of the room, all while he cried about how his ‘baby was molested’. It was traumatising for both parties. 

          Out of the three, Jimin’s the least protective over his studio, even though he’s the one who put the most effort into it. He’s spent years perfecting it, making it the best place for inspiration and writing music. Everything in the studio has been personally chosen and thought out by him. The snacks and custom mini fridge, the wall of his entire discography, trophies, music awards, and his personal favourite, the official JIMIN logo sign above the couch. 

          It lights up in purple.

          Despite being a pretty stereotypical assholey partying douche idol, Jimin’s likes to think he’s actually quite talented. He’s been named ‘Most professional idol’ on every single online survey he can find (He’s also always voted for ‘Most handsome’, but that’s besides the point), and it’s true. Jimin never sells himself short. He is a professional musician, singer, and producer. He writes his own music, choreographs his own dancing, and uses his platform to spread positive, meaningful messages. There’s a reason he’s so internationally successful, and it’s because he’s talented. 

          Maybe right now isn’t a great example of his talent. Jimin was in his studio, holding his head in his hands. Sure, he’s a globally recognised and accomplished songwriter, but to be honest, he hadn’t written a single piece of original JIMIN music since he wrote ‘Filter’ with Namjoon months ago. He was in the biggest creative slump in his entire career. He had tried almost everything, co-writing, exercise, music samples, playing around on instruments. Hell he even tried music therapy. Whatever melody he tried to create, whatever lyrics he tried to write, it all came out sounding like garbage. 

          Yesterday was a little bit of a blow to Jimin’s ego. It was three in the morning, and he’d been in the studio for seven hours, with only one verse written. 

I love to let loose,

Have you ever tried eating moose?

It’s all so bananas,

Tony fucking Montana. 

          Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing. It’s not even a verse, it looks more like a kindergartener’s attempt to write poetry. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t really feel like writing music or putting his thoughts in a song. Jimin is just plain out of ideas. He has nothing to write about. And if he doesn’t have good content to put out, he’d rather not put anything out at all. 

          But he still hates it. All his life, he’s coped by writing, singing and dancing. This writer’s block has been too frustrating. Too many sleepless nights and crumpled papers have been wasted over it, with no progress or music in result. Plus, Jin might be one of his closest friends, but Jin was also a boss, and he still needed more tracks for Jimin’s big comeback, happening end of the year. 

          He can’t help it. Jimin has nothing left to write about. He opened one eye when he heard the distant ding of his phone coming from somewhere in the studio. Grumbling incoherently, he opened the notification, to find… you. 

          Jimin’s mouth was hanging open the entire video. His eyes twitched the tiniest bit and he almost dropped the phone when you said his face was “decent”, but he had to watch it again, because the first time around, he didn’t hear a word that came out your damn mouth. He was otherwise… preoccupied. No matter how much he tried, he just couldn’t tear his damn eyes off the screen. Curse Min Yoongi for sending him this. 

          He even cringed when he had to bring his sleeve up to wipe the tiniest bit of drool off his face. Practically salivating. What the fuck? How old was he? He was Park Jimin, why was he popping a boner from watching some stranger on the internet dance to his songs? He’s been in the industry for way too long now, he was practically immune to scantily clad women prancing around him. So why he completed concentrated on your stupid little crop top? Not to mention, you were practically insulting him at this point. What was so special? 

          For one moment, Jimin forced his eyes off the screen, wondering if the sleep deprivation had really affected him that much, or if this was another side effect of the writer’s block he’s been having. It’s the partying ‘clean act’ ban Jin’s been forcing me to go on, he thought, even though Jimin wasn’t totally convinced of that. (Despite swearing not to, he looked straight back to down at his phone afterwards to reply the video.) 

          He was so fixated on the screen, he didn’t even notice when Yoongi flung the door open and walked inside. Jimin only lifted his head when he heard Yoongi’s obnoxiously loud groan. 

          “What- When did you get here?” Yoongi recently went back to a fan-favourite hair colour of his, and Jimin was still not used to seeing him with bright mint coloured hair. In his opinion, he looked like a highlighter, but Yoongi seemed to not mind it. 

          “I’ve been standing here for the past two minutes, drinking my coffee. The fuck you watching on your phone that’s got you drooling?” 

          “NOTHING.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes, and before Jimin could even move away, he managed to snatch the phone away from Jimin’s hands. 

          “What the fuck- how? You know, this is why your fanbase thinks you’re a cat.” Yoongi ignored his words with ease. “Oh my god,” He said. “Are you watching the video I sent you? I didn’t expect you to actually watch it.” 

          “I always watch my fan’s videos after a comeback!” Jimin insisted, clawing upwards to steal his own phone back, but Yoongi kept slapping his hands away. 

          “Yeah, but this isn’t a fan. This is just like, one of your fanboys and a girl roasting you.” Yoongi stared back at Jimin suspiciously when he tried to defend himself. “Why were you watching this girl dance like a starving man, Chim?” 

          “Just, because- what- I was nOT watching her like a starving man. Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of a pervert!” Jimin finally managed to grab ahold of his phone again, and he threw it behind him on the couch, away from Yoongi. 

          “Hyung,” He sighed. “I think maybe it’s Jin’s new ‘clean, good boy’ rule. Along with this stupid fucking slump I’ve been having these days, I just don’t feel great, okay? So don’t be so fussy with me. I can’t write, I can’t party… If I want to ogle over some random girl on the internet, I will.” Jimin cringed once the words came out of his mouth, but Yoongi slowly nodded, sitting down on the couch. 

          Min Yoongi may be a little too gay to understand Jimin’s womaniser ways, but the frustration behind not being able to write music, that, he understood. “You’re trying to justify being a perv by using your mental problems, but I’ll talk to you about that later on.”

          “Chim, we all have our slumps. It’s honestly a wonder that this is your first serious creative block. Me and Joon, and every single artist in the world, is bound to go through that at some point. It’s not the end. You’ll still be able to write good music soon, you’re a good writer.” Jimin refused to meet Yoongi’s eyes, even if what he was saying did make a little sense. He just chose to stay silent. 

          “You just have nothing left to write about. You can’t keep living like this though, Chimmy. It’s unhealthy.” 

          “What do you mean, unhealthy? I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” 

          Yoongi stared at him deadpan, gesturing to the entire state of his studio. “It’s a complete mess in here,” He said. “Plus, I don’t think you’ve left this studio for days. The others may not want to say it to your face, but we’re all a bit worried about you. Stop forcing yourself to ingest all these redbulls to try to keep writing.” 

          “When inspiration comes, it’ll come. You can’t force it, it doesn’t work that way. What you need, is a break. Go back home for once, maybe visit your mom. And for god’s sakes, take a shower please. Trust me, okay?”

          Yoongi doesn’t like admitting it, but he’s the most caring one out of their friend group. Anyone can tell from the look in his eyes right now, that he’s genuinely concerned about his friend. He’s also the one with most sense, but Jimin will never tell him that, because his advice, no matter how sensible, is useless. 

          All he’s known is singing, writing, and throwing himself in work. To just stop? Even if it’s to take a short break, it doesn’t feel right to Jimin. Instead of telling Yoongi his problems, he just poked his tongue in his cheek. If lightbulbs actually popped up above people’s heads when they had a good idea, a massive one would’ve appeared on top of Jimin’s. 

          “I’ve got it!” He said, excitedly. Yoongi sat up straight. “You’re going to take my advice for once?”

          “No, of course not, Hyung. Don’t be silly.” Yoongi slouched his back again, closing his eyes. 

          “I’ll just hit this girl up!” Yoongi’s eyes snapped open. 

          “What.” 

          “Yeah! Who knows, y’know? Maybe I’ve been keeping myself to Jin’s rules a little too well. It won’t hurt the company if I let myself go just once. Blow off some steam, come back fresh and recharged.” Jimin rubbed his hands together like a bad Disney villain. 

          “It’s too early for this.” Yoongi whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

          “It’s three in the afternoon.” Yoongi ignored him. 

          “You really aren’t going to take my advice, huh.” 

          “Nope!” Jimin said, popping the ‘p’ annoyingly. 

          “You promised Jin you’d go celibate.”

          “I said I’d clean up the partying act. I don’t recall taking a vow of celibacy.” Yoongi just sighed, and fell back down on the sofa, mindlessly sipping at his coffee. 

          Jimin hesitated. “You’re not going to… tell me not to? Or give me another one of your eco-feminist speeches again?” Yoongi shrugged. 

          “You’ve heard it too many times. Plus, I have a feeling this is going to be funny.” 

          “Funny? Hyung, what part of this could possible be funny to you?” There was a brief pause filled with awkward silence, before Yoongi blinked slowly. 

          “When she rejects you, of course.” Jimin threw his jacket, aimed straight for Yoongi’s head. His stupidly fast cat-like reflexes managed to dodge it, but Jimin scowled at him nonetheless. 

          “She’s not going to reject me.” Jimin walked over, picking up the very same jacket he threw at Yoongi, before plopping his sunglasses back on his face. “No woman has ever managed to reject me before, and I intend on adding her to that list.” He pursed his lips. 

          “Plus, she’s super hot. Great ass. Attractive people attract attractive people.” Jimin turned his phone back on once more to sneak one last peek at you in the thumbnail of the video, before stuffing his phone into his back pocket. “I just need to get it out of my system. This might be what I need to get me out of this creative rut!”

          He could’ve sworn Yoongi muttered something under his breath, something along the lines of ‘fucking asshole’, but he chose to ignore it. 

          “Alright, well, see you, Yoons!” Jimin practically skipped out of the studio, startling the producer’s assistant outside with his slightly disturbing enlarged grin. 

          “Don’t come crying to me when she refuses to get in your pants, you fucking diva!”

          Jimin continued walking towards the elevator, but he threw up his middle finger behind him. 

“DON’T RUIN MY EXIT, BITCH!” 

[taglist:] @notmontae97​​ @lucedelsole97​

[randomvarious]

The Sugarhill Gang - “Rapper’s Delight” The Best Rap Album of All Time Song released in 1979. Compilation released in 1999. Hip Hop

“Rapper’s Delight” by The Sugarhill Gang is the most important song in the history of hip hop music. Period. It was the genre’s first commercial record and it sold millions of copies around the world. It suddenly introduced white people and everyone outside of the tri-state area, as well as countless people in other countries, to a Bronx-born, organic subculture whose popularity had previously grown through mostly word-of-mouth. It’s not the first hip hop song ever recorded (that honor belongs to “King Tim III (Personality Jock)” by The Fatback Band), but historians unanimously agree that it is indeed the genre’s runner-up record. And without its commercial success, hip hop might have only become a late 70s-early 80s New York fad, only to be cherished by its small set of original participants and Pitchfork-reading hipster types who wax nostalgic about those halcyon CBGB’s and Max’s Kansas City days where the city’s various strains of new wave, glam rock, punk, art punk, no wave, and the like all converged.

But I’m here to tell you that this iconic song, the one that made hip hop a viable commercial enterprise and enabled it to eventually become the biggest music genre on the planet, is actually a total fraud. And that’s for a couple reasons. Now, before you go all Rocko lavender hippo lady on me, let me just say that “Rapper’s Delight” is by no means a bad song. In fact, it’s one of the greatest songs ever made. But it was a total fucking cash grab, too; an absolute sellout record. And that’s ironic because, for a genre that’s had so many insufferable purists who bristle at the idea of inauthenticity (full disclosure: I was one of those people), they have no problem with calling this song an indispensable piece of “real” and “true” hip hop music.

Let me explain some hip hop history, first though.

Hip hop culture began in the south Bronx in the summer of 1973, about a full six years before “Rapper’s Delight” came out. It was started by a DJ from Jamaica named Kool Herc. Herc is the genius who figured out how to isolate the instrumental break on a record and extend it by having two copies of the record and lining up the second one to start after the break from the first one finished. This allowed people to dance to the same beat for extended periods of time, which gave birth to breakdancing and dance battles. Another thing the extension of the break enabled was rapping. Rapping came out of toasting, a Jamaican DJ tradition in which the DJ would bust out a nifty and rhythmic, spoken-word rhyme, often shouting out someone of note who was in attendance. But then that eventually morphed into an extended series of rhymes, which gave way to the MC.

Rapping at that point was largely a poetic, improvised stream-of-consciousness. MCs would rap for minutes on end, displaying their mental dexterity as they would do their best to keep on beat and try to make sense while rhyming the last word of each line with the next.

That’s where Sylvia Robinson comes into this story. Robinson was an R&B / soul / funk / disco artist and producer who had appeared plenty of times on the R&B charts and landed a top-three national hit with “Pillow Talk” in 1973. In 1979, she started her own label, Sugar Hill Records, which would become the most important hip hop label in the early part of the next decade. Robinson’s first interaction with rapping didn’t come inside a Bronx club or at a Bronx block party though. It was instead at her niece’s birthday party in Harlem, where DJ Lovebug Starski was doing a bit of call-and-response with his audience. 

From The Independent:

"The DJ [was talking] over the music, and the kids were going crazy. He would say something like, 'Throw your hands [up in] the air' and they'd do it," she recalled. "All of a sudden, something said [to me]: 'Put something like that on a record, and it will be the biggest thing you ever had'. I didn't even know you called it rap."

At first, Robinson had no takers. No rapper or DJ she approached thought making a hip hop record was a good idea. It was just a fun thing people did at parties. It wasn’t something that would ever end up being profitable. According to cultural critic Harry Allen, when Chuck D of Public Enemy first heard that rap was going to be put on records, he asked, “'How are you going to put three hours on a record?' Because that's the way MCs used to rhyme. They'd just rhyme and rhyme and rhyme for hours."

But Robinson would eventually find some people to rap on a record. It’s unclear whether or not it was her son or her herself who initially found the first member of her rap group, but it happened at a pizza shop in Englewood, New Jersey, where Big Bank Hank was spotted rapping while working his shift. Robinson then brought Hank out in front of the parlor to audition. The next member, Master Gee, would then audition in her car, followed by Wonder Mike. Robinson couldn’t decide which rapper she liked most, so she decided to sign all of them. And thus, the Sugarhill Gang was born.

However, it should be noted that Big Bank Hank, Master Gee, and Wonder Mike were absolute nobodies at the time. They weren’t serious MCs or DJs. The guys who had been putting it down since hip hop’s inception like Kool Herc, Afrika Bambaataa, Grandmaster Flash, and Kool DJ AJ had never had these guys rap on their stages before. They were total amateurs.

But Robinson didn’t care and not long after she signed them, “Rapper’s Delight” came to fruition. The #1 song in the country at the time happened to be Chic’s “Good Times,” and coincidentally, it was also a superb beat for rapping over. Robinson probably thought that using an uber popular instrumental for her rap record would move units, too, and ultimately, she would be proven right. She enlisted a funk band called Positive Force to recreate the “Good Times” instrumental, and,  incredibly, they and the Sugarhill Gang pumped out “Rapper’s Delight” in a single nineteen-minute take. There were no lyrical flubs and no mistakes by any of the players. It was an amazingly efficient use of studio time.

That nineteen minutes was then pared down to 14:30 and the recording was pressed to wax and then went to sale. However, “Rapper’s Delight” failed to catch on at first. Radio DJs were reticent to play such a ridiculously long song and hip hop party DJs had no idea who the Sugarhill Gang was. But once a radio version was cut, which is the version I’ve posted today, the record got radio play, which then translated to immense record sales. It made the Billboard Hot 100, peaking at #36, while hitting #4 on the R&B chart. And it became an even bigger hit outside of the U.S., reaching the top-five all across Europe, Canada, and South Africa. It also sold literally millions of records. The second hip hop song to ever be recorded for commercial purposes was a suddenly and completely unexpected global phenomenon. Hip hop had hit the big time.

But outside of the fact that this monstrous song was clearly a mere ploy to make money and was actually not an organic piece of Bronx-bred hip hop culture, there was even more fraudulence to it. Big Bank Hank, the second MC to grace the track, actually stole all of his verses from another rapper, the legend Grandmaster Caz. Caz was a member of a foundational hip hop group called The Cold Crush Brothers, who were known to rap at parties in the Bronx. Hank offered to become Caz’s manager and took out a loan to upgrade Cold Crush’s soundsystem. Then, to pay off that loan, he got a job at the pizza shop that he was eventually discovered in. But when he was seen rapping while working and was quickly auditioned afterwards, he used Caz’s lyrics. So, when Hank introduces himself on “Rapper’s Delight” with, “I’m the C-A-S-A, the N-O-V-A, and the rest is F-L-Y,” know he is spelling out one of Grandmaster Caz’s nicknames, and without his permission. And to this day, Caz hasn’t seen a single dime from “Rapper’s Delight”’s sales. Criminal shit.

But in the grand scheme of things, despite that bad sleight on Caz and the ultimate motive to record the song, “Rapper’s Delight” is still, by absolute happenstance, a masterpiece. It’s not just one of the first hip hop records, but it’s just so infectiously fun. But because of how fun it is, another thing that apparently pissed off other rappers at the time was that the song wasn’t about anything important. A lot of rappers were angry at the conditions in which they lived and they thought it was lame that a bunch of outsiders had cashed in on their artform while not even channeling any of the south Bronx’s inner rage. But a few years later, Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five would release hip hop’s second unmitigated classic, “The Message,” a socially conscious-painted picture of the South Bronx. And it was released on, funnily enough, Sugar Hill Records.

There’s a moral or something to this story somewhere. Without the selling out and without Big Bank Hank’s lyrical theft, who knows where hip hop culture would be today? “Rapper’s Delight” sure wasn’t made for the purest of reasons, but it exposed hip hop music, and then eventually the actual authentic Bronx culture, to the entire world. Had Sylvia Robinson not seen dollar signs in this fun and unique party gimmick, would Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five or Afrika Bambaataa or Kurtis Blow become household names? Would hip hop ever be sold commercially? Would the following, more lyrical Def Jam wave with acts like Run-D.M.C. and LL Cool J ever happen? And then would N.W.A happen or the Native Tongues posse with A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Busta Rhymes, Queen Latifah, and Black Sheep? I could go on, but you get the picture.

[aion-rsa]

How All in the Family Changed the TV Landscape

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All in the Family is roundly considered a touchstone for television achievement now, but when it debuted 50 years ago, even the network carrying it hoped it would fizzle quickly and unnoticed. CBS put an army of operators at phone lines expecting a barrage of complaints from offended middle Americans demanding its cancellation. Those calls didn’t come. What came was a deluge of support from people hoping this mid-season replacement was a permanent addition to the network’s lineup. The premiere episode contained a considerable list of “television firsts.” One of these rarities continues to remain scarce on network TV: creator Norman Lear trusted the intelligence of the viewing audience. To celebrate All in the Family’s 50th anniversary, we look back at its journey from conception to broadcast, and how it continues to influence and inform entertainment and society today.

Actor Carroll O’Connor, who was a large part of the creative process of the series, consistently maintains he took the now-iconic role of Archie Bunker because All in the Family was a satire, not a sitcom. It was funny, but it wasn’t a lampoon. It was grounded in the most serious of realities, more than the generation gap which it openly showcased, but in the schism between progressive and conservative thinking. The divide goes beyond party, and is not delineated by age, wealth, or even class. The Bunkers were working class. The middle-aged bigot chomping on the cigar was played by an outspoken liberal who took the art of acting very seriously. The audience cared deeply, and laughed loudly, because they were never pandered to. They were as respected as the authenticity of the series characters’ parodies.

Even the laughs were genuine. All in the Family was the first major American series to be videotaped in front of a live audience. There was never a canned laugh added, even in the last season when reactions were captured by an audience viewing pre-taped episodes. Up to this time, sitcoms were taped without audiences in single-camera format and the laugh track was added later. Mary Tyler Moore shot live on film, but videotape helped give All in the Family the look of early live television, like the original live broadcasts of The Honeymooners. Lear wanted to shoot the series in black and white, the same as the British series, Till Death Us Do Part, it was based on. He settled for keeping the soundstage neutral, implying the sepia tones of an old family photograph album. The Astoria, Queens, row house living room was supposed to look comfortable but worn, old-fashioned and retrograde, mirroring Archie’s attitudes: A displaced white hourly wage earner left behind by the social upheavals of the 1960s and 1970s.

“I think they invented good weather around 1940.”

American sitcoms began shortly after World War II, and primarily focused on the upper-middle class white families of Father Knows Best, Leave It to Beaver, and The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. I Love Lucy’s Ricky Ricardo, played by Cuban-American Desi Arnaz, ran a successful nightclub. The Honeymooners was a standout because Jackie Gleason’s Ralph Kramden was a bus driver from Bensonhurst (the actual address on that show, 328 Chauncey Street, is in the Bedford–Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn). American TV had little use for the working class until the 1970s. They’d only paid frightened lip service to the fights for civil rights and the women’s liberation movements, and when the postwar economy had to be divided to meet with more equalized opportunities there was no one to break it down in easy terms. The charitable and likable Flying Nun didn’t have the answer hidden under her cornette. It wasn’t even on the docket in Nancy, a 1970 sitcom about a first daughter. The first working family on TV competing in the new job market was the Bunkers, and they had something to say about the new competition.

Social commentary wasn’t new on television. Shows like The Twilight Zone and Star Trek routinely explored contemporary issues, including racism, corporate greed, and the military action in Vietnam, through the lens of fantasy and science fiction. The war and other unrest were coming into the people’s living rooms every night on the evening news. The times they were a-changing, but television answered to sponsors who feared offending consumers. 

Ah, but British TV, that’s where the action was. Lear read about a show called Till Death Us Do Part, a BBC1 television sitcom that aired from 1965 to 1975. Created by Johnny Speight, the show set its sights on a working-class East End family, spoofing the relationship between reactionary white head of the house Alf Garnett (Warren Mitchell), his wife Else (Dandy Nichols), daughter Rita (Una Stubbs), and her husband Mike Rawlins (Anthony Booth), a socialist from Liverpool. Lear recognized the relationship he had with his own father between the lines.

CBS wanted to buy the rights to the British show as a star vehicle for Gleason, Lear beat out CBS for the rights and personalized it. One of the reasons All in the Family works so well is because Lear wasn’t just putting a representative American family on the screen, he was putting his own family up there.

“If It’s Too Hot in The Kitchen, Stay Away from The Cook.”

Archie Bunker dubbed his son-in-law, Michael Stivic, played by Rob Reiner, a “Meathead, dead from the neck up.” This was the same dubious endearment Lear’s father Herman called him. The same man who routinely commanded Lear’s mother to “stifle herself.” Lear’s mother accused her husband, a “rascal” who was sent to jail for selling fake bonds of being “the laziest white man I ever saw,” according to his memoir Even This I Get to Experience  All three lines made it into all three of the pilots taped for All In the Family. When Lear’s father got out of prison after a three-year stretch, the young budding writer sat through constant, heated, family discussions. “I used to sit at the kitchen table and I would score their arguments,” Lear remembers in his memoir. “I would give her points for this, him points for that, as a way of coping with it.”

All in the Family, season 1, episode 1, provides an almost greatest hits package of these terse and tense exchanges, which also taught Lear not to back away from the fray. He served as a radio operator and gunner in the U.S. Air Force during World War II, earning an Air Medal with four Oak Leaf Clusters after flying 52 combat missions, and being among the crew members featured in the books Crew Umbriag and 772nd Bomb Squadron: The Men, The Memories. Lear partnered with Ed Simmons to write sketches for Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin’s first five appearances on the Colgate Comedy Hour in 1950. They remained as the head writers for three years. They also wrote for The Ford Star Revue, The George Gobel Show, and the comedy team Rowan and Martin, who would later headline Laugh-In.

Lear went solo to write opening monologues for The Tennessee Ernie Ford Show, and produce NBC’s sitcom The Martha Raye Show, before creating his first series in 1959, the western The Deputy, which starred Henry Fonda. To get Frank Sinatra to read Lear’s screenplay for the 1963 film Come Blow Your Horn, Lear went on a protracted aerial assault. Over the course of weeks, he had the script delivered while planes with banners flew over Sinatra’s home, or accompanied by a toy brass band or a gaggle of hens. Lear even assembled a “reading den” in Ol’ Blue Eyes’ driveway, complete with smoking jacket, an ashtray and a pipe, an easy chair, ottoman, lamp, and the Jackie Gleason Music to Read By album playing on a portable phonograph. After weeks of missed opportunities, Lear remembers Sinatra finally read the script and “bawled the shit out of me for not getting it to him sooner.”

The creative perseverance Lear showed just to get the right person for the right part is indicative of the lengths Lear would go for creative excellence. He would continue to fight for artistic integrity, transforming prime time comedy with shows like Good Times, One Day at a Time, and the first late-night soap opera Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. He brought legendary blue comedian Redd Foxx into homes with Sanford and Son, also based on a British sitcom, Steptoe and Son, which starred Harry H. Corbett and Wilfrid Brambell, best known for playing Paul McCartney’s grand-dad in A Hard Day’s Night. But before he could do these, and the successful and progressive All in the Family spinoffs The Jeffersons and Maude, he had to face battles, big and small, over the reluctantly changing face of television.

“Patience is a Virgin”

After Lear beat CBS to the rights to adapt Till Death Us Do Part he offered the show to ABC. When it was being developed for the television studio, the family in the original pilot were named the Justices, and the series was titled “Justice for All,” according to a 1991 “All in the Family 20th Anniversary Special.” They considered future Happy Days dad Tom Bosley, and acclaimed character actor Jack Warden for the lead part, before offering the role to Mickey Rooney. According to Even This I Get to Experience, Lear’s pitch to the veteran actor got to the words “You play a bigot” before Rooney stopped him. “Norm, they’re going to kill you, shoot you dead in the streets,” the Hollywood icon warned, asking if Lear might have a series about a blind detective with a big dog somewhere in the works.

Taped in New York on Sept. 3, 1968, the first pilot starred O’Connor and Jean Stapleton as Archie and Edith Justice. Stapleton, a stage-trained character actor who first worked as a stock player in 1941, was a consistent supporting player for playwright Horton Foote. Stapleton originated the role of Mrs. Strakosh in the 1964 Broadway production of Funny Girl, which starred Barbra Streisand. Lear considered her after seeing her performance in Damn Yankees. She’d made guest appearances on TV series like Dr. Kildare and The Defenders.

O’Connor was born in Manhattan but grew up in Queens, the same borough as the Bunker household with the external living room window which wasn’t visible from the interior. O’Connor acted steadily in theaters in Dublin, Ireland, and New York until director Burgess Meredith, assisted by The Addams Family’s John Astin, cast him in the Broadway adaptation of James Joyce’s novel Ulysses. O’Connor had roles in major motion pictures, including Lonely Are the Brave (1962), Cleopatra (1963), Point Blank (1967), The Devil’s Brigade (1968), Death of a Gunfighter (1969), Marlowe (1969), and Kelly’s Heroes (1970).  O’Connor appeared on television series like Gunsmoke, Bonanza, The Fugitive, The Wild Wild West, The Outer Limits, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., I Spy, That Girl, and Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. He’d guest starred as a villain in a season 1 episode of Mission Impossible, and was up for the parts the Skipper on Gilligan’s Island and Dr. Smith on Lost in Space.

The first pilot also starred Kelly Jean Peters as Gloria and Tim McIntire as her husband Richard. ABC liked it enough to fund a second pilot, “Those Were the Days,” which shot in Los Angeles on Feb. 10, 1969. Richard was played by Chip Oliver, and Gloria Justice was played by Candice Azzara, who would go on to play Rodney Dangerfield’s wife in Easy Money, and make numerous, memorable guest appearances on Barney Miller. D’Urville Martin played Lionel Jefferson in both pilots. ABC cancelled it after one episode, worried about a show with a foul-mouthed, bigoted character as the lead.

CBS, which was trying to veer away from rural shows like Mayberry R.F.D., The Beverly Hillbillies, Petticoat Junction and Green Acres, bought the rights to the urban comedy and renamed it All in the Family. When Gleason’s contract to CBS ran out, Lear was allowed to keep O’Connor on as the main character.

Sally Struthers was one of the young actors featured in Five Easy Pieces, the 1970 counterculture classic starring Jack Nicholson. She’d also recently finished shooting a memorable part in the 1972 Steve McQueen hit The Getaway. Struthers had just been fired from The Tim Conway Comedy Hour because executives thought she made the show look cheap, which was her job. The premise of the show was it was so low-budget it could only afford one musician, who had to hum the theme song because they couldn’t afford an instrument, and one dancer, as opposed to a line of dancers like they had on The Jackie Gleason Show. Lear noticed her as a dancer on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, a counterculture variety show which Rob Reiner wrote for with Steve Martin as a writing partner. Reiner’s then-fiancée, the director Penny Marshall, was also up for the role of Gloria, but in an interview for The Television Academy, Reiner recalls that, while Marshall could pass as Stapleton’s daughter, Struthers was obviously the one who looked like Archie’s “little girl.”

Reiner, the son of comedy legend Carl Reiner, was discovered in a guest acting role on the Andy Griffith vehicle series Headmaster, a show he wrote for, but had also played bit roles in Batman, The Andy Griffith Show, Room 222, Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C., The Beverly Hillbillies and The Odd Couple. Reportedly, Richard Dreyfuss campaigned for the role of Michael, and Harrison Ford turned it down. Mike Evans was cast as Lionel Jefferson, the Bunkers’ young Black next-door neighbor who sugar-coated nonviolent protests with subtle and subversive twists on “giving people what they want.”

“We’re just sweeping dirty dishes under the rug.”

The very first episode tackled multiple issues right away. It discussed atheism, with Michael and Gloria explaining they have found no evidence of god. The family dissects affirmative action, with Archie asserting everyone has an equal chance to advance if they “hustle for it like I done.” He says he didn’t have millions of people marching for him to get his job, like Black Americans. “His uncle got it for him,” Edith explains, with an off-the-cuff delivery exemplifying why Stapleton is one of the all-time great comic character actors. The family argues socialism, anti-Semitism, sausage links and sausage patties. The generation gap widens as Archie wonders why men’s hair is now down to there, while Gloria’s skirt got so high “all the mystery disappears” when she sits down.

All in the Family would continue to deal with taboo topics like the gay rights movement, divorce, breast cancer, and rape. Future episodes would question why presidential campaign funds are unequal, how tax breaks for corporations kill the middle class, and weigh the personal price of serving in an unpopular war as opposed to dodging the draft. When Archie goes to a female doctor for emergency surgery a few seasons in, All in the Family points out she is most certainly paid less than a male doctor. When skyjackings were a persistent domestic threat in the 1970s, Archie suggested airlines should “arm the passengers.” It is very prescient of the NRA’s suggestion of arming teachers to combat school shootings.

But the first showdown between Lear and the network was fought for the sexual revolution. The first episode’s action begins when Edith and Archie come home early from church and interrupt Michael and Gloria as they’re about to take advantage of having the house to themselves. Gloria’s got her legs wrapped around Michael as he is walking them toward the stairs, and the bed. “At 11:10 on a Sunday,” Archie wants to know as he makes himself known. According to Lear’s memoir, CBS President William Paley objected, saying the line suggested sex. “And the network wants that out even though they’re married–I mean, it was plain silly,” he writes. “My script could have lived without the line, but somehow I understood that if I give on that moment, I’m going to give on silly things forever. So, I had to have that showdown.”

The standoff continued until 25 minutes before air time. CBS broadcast the episode, but put a disclaimer before the opening credits rolled, which Reiner later described as saying “Nothing you’re about to see has anything that we want to have anything to do with. As far as we’re concerned, if you don’t watch the next half hour, it’s okay with us.” Lear knew, with what he was doing, this was going to be the first of many battles, because this was the first show of its kind. Television families didn’t even flush toilets, much less bring unmentionables to the table. “The biggest problem a family might face would have been that the roast was ruined when the boss was coming over to dinner,” Lear writes. “There were no women or their problems in American life on television. There were no health issues. There were no abortions. There were no economic problems. The worst thing that could happen was the roast would be ruined. I realized that was a giant statement — that we weren’t making any statements.”

“What I say ain’t got nothing to do with what I think.”

Politicians and pundits worried about how the series might affect racial relations. The country had experienced inner city riots, battle lines were drawn over school desegregation, busing children to schools was met with violent resistance. Did All In the Family undermine bigotry or reinforce racism? Were people laughing at Archie or with him? Was it okay to like Archie more than Mike?

Lear believed humor would be cathartic, eroding bigotry. Bigots found a relief valve. Lear always insisted Archie was a satirically exaggerated parody to make racism and sexism look foolish. Liberals protested the character came across as a “loveable bigot,” because satire only works if the audience is in on the joke. Bigoted viewers didn’t see the show as satire. They identified with Archie and saw nothing wrong with ethnic slurs. Mike and Gloria come off like preachy, bleeding-heart liberal, hippie leeches. Lionel handled Archie better than Michael did.

O’Connor humanized Archie as an old-fashioned guy trying to make sense of a rapidly changing world. Bunker gave bigotry a human face and, because he hated everyone, he was written off as an “equal-opportunity bigot.” Not quite a defensible title. Archie was the most liked character on the show, and the most disliked. Most people saw him as a likable loser, so identifiable he was able to change attitudes. In a 1972 interview, O’Connor explained white fans would “tell me, ‘Archie was my father; Archie was my uncle.’ It is always was, was, was. It’s not now. I have an impression that most white people are, in some halting way, trying to reach out, or they’re thinking about it.” It sometimes worked against O’Connor the activist, however. When he backed New York Mayor John Lindsay’s 1972 anti-war nomination for the Democratic presidential nomination, Archie Bunker’s shadow distanced progressives.

Archie was relatable beyond his bigotry. He spoke to the anxieties of working- and middle-class families. Archie was a dock worker in the Corona section of Queens, who had to drive a cab as a second job, with little hope of upward mobility. He didn’t get political correctness. The character’s ideological quips were transformed into the bestselling paperback mock manifesto The Wit and Wisdom of Archie Bunker. White conservative viewers bought “Archie for President” buttons. 

“If you call me Cute one more time, I swear I’ll open a vein.”

As cannot be overstated, All in the Family set many precedents, both socially and artistically. The Bunker family is an icon on many levels, Archie and Edith’s chairs are at the Smithsonian. But Archie Bunker is also the Mother Courage of TV. The antithesis of the bland sitcom characters of the time, he also wasn’t the character we hated to love, or loved to hate. Archie was the first character we weren’t supposed to like, but couldn’t help it. This phenomenon continues. The next TV character to take on the iconic mantle was probably Louis De Palma on Taxi. Audiences should have wanted to take a lug wrench to his head, but Danny De Vito brought such a diverse range of rage and vulnerability to that part it was named TV Guide’s most beloved character for years.

We shouldn’t like Walter White, especially when he doffs that pretentious Heisenberg hat, on Breaking Bad. And let’s face it, Slipping Jimmy on Better Call Saul isn’t really the kind of guy you want to leave alone in your living room while you grab a drink. Families across the United States and abroad sat down to an Italian-style family dinner with Tony Soprano and The Sopranos every Sunday night. But on Monday mornings, most of us would have ducked him, especially if we owed him money. Even the advanced model of the Terminator guy was scared of Tony.

The best example of this is South Park’s Eric Cartman. While we don’t know who his father is on the series, he’s got Bunker DNA all over him. He’s even gotten into squabbles with Sally Struthers and Rob Reiner. This wasn’t lost on Lear, who contacted creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone to say he loved the show in 2003. Lear wound up writing for South Park’s seventh season. “They invited me to a party and we’re partying,” Lear told USA Today at the time. “There’s no way to overstate the kick of being welcomed by this group.”

“I hate entertainment. Entertainment is a thing of the past, now we got television.”

Television can educate as much as it wants to entertain, and All in the Family taught the viewing audience a whole new vocabulary. The casual epithets thrown on the show were unheard of in broadcast programming, no matter how commonplace they might have been in the homes of the people watching. When Sammy Davis Jr. comes to Bunker house in the first season, every ethnic and racial slur ever thrown is exchanged. In another first season episode, and both the unaired pilots, Archie breaks down the curse word “Goddamn.” But a large segment of the more socially conservative, and religious, audience thought All in the Family said whatever they wanted just because they could get away with it.

All in the Family debuted to low viewership, but rose to be ranked number one in the Nielsen ratings for five years. The show undermined the perception of the homogeneous middle-class demographic allowing shows like M*A*S*H to comment on contemporary events.

All in the Family represented the changing American neighborhood. The show opened the door for the working poor to join situation comedies as much as when the Bunkers welcomed Lionel, Louise (Isabel Sanford), and George Jefferson (Sherman Hemsley) when they moved into Archie’s neighborhood. Lear reportedly was challenged by the Black Panther Party to expand the range of black characters on his shows. He took the challenge seriously and added subversive humor. Sanford and Son was set in a junkyard in Watts. Foxx’s Fred Sanford rebelled against the middle-class aspirations of his son, Lamont (Demond Wilson). Good Times was set in the projects of Chicago, and took on issues like street gangs, evictions and poor public schools.

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Married With Children, The Simpsons, and King of the Hill continued to explore the comic possibilities of working class drama. Mary Richards on The Mary Tyler Moore Show was a successful, upwardly mobile television producer. Working-class women were represented on sitcoms like Alice, but didn’t have a central voice until 1988 when Roseanne debuted on ABC, and Roseanne Barr ushered in her brand of proletarian feminism. All in the Family’s legacy includes Black-ish, as creator Kenya Barris continues to mine serious and controversial subject matter for cathartic and educational laughter. Tim Allen covets the conservative crown, and is currently the Last Man Standing in for Archie. But as reality gets more exaggerated than any satire can capture, All in the Family remains and retains its most authentic achievement.

The post How All in the Family Changed the TV Landscape appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[thebandcampdiaries]

Fish In a Birdcage introducing a brand new studio release: Waterfall

December 2020 - Fish In a Birdcage is an artist with a focus on creating beautiful and personal indie-folk songs with a broader creative twist. Recently, the act released a brand new studio album named "Waterfall," which feels like a great calling card for the artist and his work.

The sound quality is pristine, and the record has a beautiful production: bright and crisp, highlighting the varied melodic textures of each song. This album has a really cool aesthetic concept, with each song billed as a “Rule,” not necessarily following the number order based on the playlist, but rather creating a continuity with the artist’s previous releases. Rule #1 is featured on the artist’s 2014 debut, beginning a serious that would go on to reach #22, the last song on this album.

 The title track itself combines anthemic drums with melodic vocals and intricate guitar patterns, in the vein of artists like Ben Howard. There is even room for a more old-school feel: the song "Fiddler's Heart" has a cool folk vibe with a playful and witty sound. "Four Aces" is a song with a very theatrical feel to it: I could almost picture Tom Waits coming in and crashing the party with his howling vocals! On the other hand, this track remains melodic, with a beautiful approach to storytelling.

"Movies" is a playful song with a more alternative touch and a really fantastic arrangement. I enjoy the way the vocals lock in with the harmonies, and the guitars create a nice rhythm counterpoint with the drums and bass. Instead of everything being traditionally assembled, it seems like every instrument has its own space, and they overlap beautifully on "common ground."

"Two Sides" has a more old-fashioned feel, with a bluesy flavor and an amazingly relatable arrangement with stunning vocals by Kristina Helene taking the lead.

The track "Lion" is another fantastic example of the artist's incredible creativity and ability to swiftly combine genres and ideas. This song is catchy and immediate, combining elements of alt-pop with folk and a bluesy touch.

"Amigo" is another blues-influenced country, with a bit of a funk influence. The vocals really make me think of Anthony Kiedis during the golden age of Red Hot Chili Peppers (especially One Hot Minute / Mother Milk era). "Blessed by a Curse" is perhaps one of the most melancholic sounds on this release, and I really enjoy how the song starts small and understated, letting some of the ethereal background sounds creep in and become more prominent as the arrangement goes along.

"Momento Mori" is a beautiful song with a very creative feel and a really unexpected twist. The intro is mellow and slow-paced, but the track turns into a syncopated jam, with so much groove and rhythm. The vocal performance is incredibly distinctive, providing a completely different vibe and giving the album a kaleidoscopic twist since every track has something new to offer.

The final song is an intimate ballad titled "If Trees Could Talk." This is one of the most heart-wrenching songs on the album, and it really makes me think of artists like Damien Rice, as well as earlier stuff from Ed Sheeran and John Mayer. This song is a winning example of how "less is more" when you do it with your heart first. The song's arrangement is mostly built on guitar and vocals, although some additional colors, such as a nice string section, chime in, later on, adding more depth to this particular release.

Overall. This album is a very beautiful artistic achievement, and it is incredibly well-produced. The sound of the instruments is very natural and engaging, as Fish in a Birdcage managed to create a warmer sound that's far from the overproduced indie-folk releases that you see around these days. Instead of obvious pitch corrections and digital samples on everything, we're faced with a more organic sound, which makes it so much easier to experience a positive one-on-one connection with this music. As a listener, I always find myself gravitating towards the songs that are a bit more spontaneous and heartfelt in this genre, rather than the ones that hide the artist's humanity behind a thick veil of studio production trickery. While the mixing, recording, and mastering are extremely professional on this album, there is also a lot of room for those "beautiful accident," those natural sounds like the hands moving on the guitar strings or a singer breathing in before a line, that you can only capture if you stay true to the sound of the music being performed, instead of trying to bury it.

The album features ten songs. This fact in itself is quite an amazing achievement. If you stop for a moment and take a look at what most artists are doing, you'll find that singles and short EPs are everywhere. The industry is pushing a trend of releasing smaller bursts of music at a more frequent rate in order to continually provide content for the audience. While this might be a good way to keep your presence on platforms with fresh music more frequently, it might not be ideal if you want to give your audience something more. I personally love a more immersive listening experience, so I am always thankful to see artists like Fish In A Birdcage still working on full-length albums.

This release comes highly recommended, especially if you are a fan of artists such as Elliott Smith, as well as Damien Rice, Jack Johnson, Bright Eyes, Beirut, or Death Cab For Cutie, only to mention a few.

Find out more about Fish In a Birdcage and listen to "Waterfall," which is currently available on your favorite digital streaming platforms.

http://www.fishinabirdcage.com/

https://open.spotify.com/album/4RX7OLRicCMQ4ORUJTQVTm?si=-o44rIMZTyCtz0cC6RMPFg

We also featured one of the songs on our Indie Gems playlist, along other amazing international artists to discover!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3vCtmkPDbpE9pj5DfJnycU?si=sBxnZjkgTuGpL90BUVUiZw

We also had the opportunity to ask the artist a few questions: keep reading for more!

I love how you manage to render your tracks so personal and organic. Does the melody come first, or do you focus on the beat the most?

Answer: It really depends on if I'm writing lyrics or if i'm creating an instrumental melody. If I'm making lyrics I will create the Cello/Mandocello riff/rhythm first, something that I find really captivating, and then try to find the emotion within that riff to draw the lyrics from. If its instrumental most of the time I'll sing melodies into the air without chords and then find the chords that accompany the melody later on 🙂. The beat comes later when I have a producer on my side. I try to just focus on the cello/mandocello mixed with vocals, then find musicians of the instruments I want to hear within that track, then give them complete freedom to create whatever they want. Most of the time it turns out better than I could have ever imagined. 

Do you perform live? If so, do you feel more comfortable on a stage or within the walls of the recording studio?

Answer: Oh definitely more comfortable on a stage, or even more comfortable in a house concert type setting. It's definitely a lot more stripped down live because most of the time it's just me, my cello, my loop pedal and vocals. Getting used to playing to a click track without singing when I first got into a studio was the hardest part of recording, to get that solid chord structure with rhythms laid out so we could build the song around that.

If you could only pick one song to make a “first impression” on a new listener, which song would you pick and why?

Answer: This is a really tough question, because over the years I've loved asking people "what track is your favorite" and the range of answers is great. So many people have different favorites and that tells me I'm onto something. A lot of the older generation has told me they really like "Rule #7 - Angel Tango, and Rule #12 - Through the Tides" when the younger generation really digs the quirky vibes of some of the newer tracks like "Rule #15 - Four Aces"

My favorite changes over time. But I think the one that holds the most meaning for me is "Rule #3 - Paperwork", although it's an older song, it really goes back to my roots of when I really fell in love with songwriting and music.

What does it take to be “innovative” in music? 

Answer: I think it comes down to pushing your own limits constantly. I'm constantly trying to improve my cello playing in as many different genres as I can possibly dive into. I think you are a combination of every person you've sat in a room with and had a conversation with, and that includes speaking through instruments. I wouldn't be creating the music that I do without playing with all of the bands that I've played with over the years. I've heard so many incredible musicians blow my mind and those influences have rubbed off on me. 

Any upcoming release or tour your way?

Answer: I have album number 4 in the works, it will most likely be an instrumental album, just cello with multiple layers. That's what I'm working on these days. And the discography of fish in a birdcage is basically chapters of my life as I make my way through this musical journey. It won't be recorded for a while although. Because recording is not cheap. 

And because of COVID-19, it's just hitting the practice shed and busking until things become somewhat normal again. 

Anywhere online where curious fans can listen to your music and find out more about you?

Answer: fishinabirdcage.com is probably the best place to find that, and I'm pretty active on Instagram @fishinabirdcage so any updates will tend to pop up on there. 🙂 Thanks for the interview! This was a lot of fun!

[sinceileftyoublog]

Cassandra Jenkins Interview: What I’m Dealing With

BY JORDAN MAINZER

I’ll always remember where I was when I found out David Berman died: on the highway, driving back from a beautiful hike in Southern Illinois, unable to pull over and look up exactly what happened, instead occupied by my own thoughts. Singer-songwriter Cassandra Jenkins processed his death in a similar mind’s isolation, though she was closer to Berman than many. Set to play in his Purple Mountains band and finding herself mourning and grieving mere days later, she had to make a change. Her old songs didn’t feel appropriate; she had to write about her loss. She got on a plane to Norway and starting writing what would become An Overview on Phenomenal Nature, her remarkable new record out next Friday on Ba Da Bing! Records.

An Overview on Phenomenal Nature is not so much a record about Berman’s death as it is one about processing things that are out of your control. Yes, he’s mentioned by name, and Jenkins’ self-described “diaristic” details refer to her story, like on “Ambiguous Norway”, where her Purple Mountains tour outfit comes in the mail and she looks at it wondering what could have been. But the album’s a document of a period in Jenkins’ life rife with general change and her responses to it. Knowing she’d need some songs she could feel good getting up and singing for an opening tour for The Hold Steady’s Craig Finn, after writing in Norway, Jenkins returned to New York to flesh out the new tunes with multi-instrumentalist, producer, and engineer Josh Kaufman. The songs are rich, but simple, leaving space for Jenkins’ matter-of-fact singing and storytelling with efficient instrumentation. On “New Bikini”, she considers how much immersing oneself in nature as a healing force really helps, thinking out loud about Berman over acoustic strumming and Stuart Bogie’s layered saxophone. “Michelangelo” is an alt-country ripper about the eternal limbo of dealing with trauma, Jenkins comparing it to a virus (“Treatable, not curable”). The epic “Hard Drive” starts with a voice memo of a tour at The Met Breuer as Jenkins reflects on different people in her life that have affected her, big and small, spoken word over Bogie’s sax; “The mind is just a hard drive,” she posits, storing information, unknowing of when a small moment might just turn profound. It’s these small moments--interactions with strangers, birdwatching in Central Park--that pepper An Overview on Phenomenal Nature and simultaneously prove to be further artistic fodder for Jenkins, a sort of symbiotic relationship of inspiration.

When I call Jenkins from her home in upstate New York, it’s clear she’s still embracing these small moments, especially as ways to cope with the push-pull of change. She had just come back from a walk in the woods and was considering going again after we were finished. “Walking has been the thing that gets me through everything right now, especially if you can find a little patch of nature wherever you are,” she said. Gearing up to release an album after being in essential isolation for a year due to COVID-19, Jenkins released “Hard Drive” on January 20th and was surprised by its rapturous response, as it landed on best-of-the-month lists and garnering a coveted Pitchfork Best New Track designation. Now, she’s receiving a slew of interview and live stream performance requests, balancing between being outwardly social and retreating to her isolation. She gets through it with her walks, and talking to friends, including those who work at Ba Da Bing!, fully aware that the significance of any given instant may or may not immediately present itself.

Read my conversation with Jenkins below, edited for length and clarity.

Since I Left You: Is it weird to put out a new record at this moment in time?

Cassandra Jenkins: It is very weird, [but] I’m very fortunate. There’s no part of me that’s bummed out that my record is coming out during COVID. It’s really the opposite--this is the most I’ve been in touch with people this entire time. It’s so nice to be feeling connected to people through my music. I feel like this record is different than my other records. I don’t feel precious about it. It has launching pads for conversations. We’ve put out two songs so far, and it’s reached more people than I thought it would ever reach--it’s been really wonderful but also overwhelming, to go from spending all of my time very alone, in complete solitude, to hearing from a lot of people in my life I admire and who I feel shy around because I look up to them so much. I’m having this very strange cognitive dissonance of being totally alone and getting really comfortable with that, to talking to a lot of people. It’s sort of like being in two completely different gears at once.

SILY: Was it the Pitchfork review of “Hard Drive” that caused a lot of that?

CJ: Yeah. I blame Pitchfork. [laughs]. Those rascals! They’re blowing up my solitude. But yeah, Pitchfork was very unexpected, especially right now. I was set to put this [album] out in the spring [of 2020] on Bandcamp. But I’m thankful that this record is coming out at this moment in time. A lot of the record is about processing a difficult moment in my life. I think a lot of people are in that moment in their lives for a lot of different reasons. Oddly, though it’s very personal, it seems to be resonating with people. Had I talked to you a week ago, I think it would have been a different conversation. But the music stays the same. I’m feeling really excited by it but overwhelmed by any amount of attention, to be honest. Hearing from a few friends would be overwhelming at this point because I’m so alone. [laughs] I can’t underline that enough. We all are. It’s bizarre.

SILY: David Berman’s death was the catalyst for this record, but is it the focal point of the loss that comprises the record? Or did it inspire you to reflect on past losses and trauma?

CJ: That’s a good question. While it’s the catalyst, I wouldn’t say it’s the center of the record. It’s what launched me into this moment in my life, where I thought things were gonna be one way, and then they were not. And then they changed again. And then they changed again. A lot of rapid change in my life, and writing the record was partly out of necessity. I was planning on going on tour with the Purple Mountains band, coming home, and then going on another tour opening for Craig Finn. I was gonna play my songs I had in the bag. Once my tour got cancelled, I couldn’t play my old songs anymore. I’m really obsessed with Tig Notaro, and I heard her talk about what it was like getting a breast cancer diagnosis, and getting up on stage telling [old jokes], she just couldn’t do it. She had no choice but to write about what she’s going through. I’ve listened to her so much through this pandemic because I find her spirit and general approach really inspiring. In a similar way, I had that moment in my life, too, where I was like, “I can’t get up here and play these songs anymore.” So I wrote it all really quickly, partly so I could go on tour and sing songs I could actually sing. I tried--I booked a show at one point a month after [Berman’s death], in September, and I tried to play my songs and ended up completely abandoning them and doing this weird, pseudo stand-up set. [laughs] It was definitely not good, and after that show, I was like, “I definitely cannot get up and do this every night on tour.” I really respect Craig, and I’m not gonna open his shows this way. I had to write new songs. I have this thing, which is a tour, and what I’m doing on this tour is singing songs, and I need that, so I’m gonna make new songs.

SILY: Did you do stripped down, acoustic versions of these tracks from this record, opening for Craig?

CJ: Yes. And Craig has a great saxophonist in his band, Nelson Devereaux. Usually, it’s Stuart who plays on the record, but this was this [Nelson], and he ended up joining me for my set near the end of the tour. I usually end up playing things a little differently every night. I’ve never been too streamlined about what I do. I like staying on my toes. Usually, by the end of the tour, I’ve collected a musician or two playing with me. I was glad to have a saxophonist, because these songs have a lot of saxophone.

SILY: There are a lot of biographical moments and specific references to David on here and what happened. In the songwriting, how did you balance those more concrete moments with broader metaphors about what you were going through?

CJ: Except for “Michelangelo”, which was the only song I had worked on before, so it’s kind of an outlier, I was pulling from my journal and from my song journal and voice memos. Things I had written on scrap paper and on the subway on the way to the studio. It was very much a sound art kind of process of pulling together pieces and fragments of a lot of different moments from a very short period of my life. I was really just processing what I had been through, and what I had been through was this brush with playing with a band that was a dream come true and meeting this person I felt immediately attached to. It was strange to only know him for 4 days and have so much of my life really change. Total strangers can have that effect on me. I think that’s what I was taking away from a lot of my observations at the time: You can have very brief encounters with people that will dramatically change how you see the world. It’s a chemistry that can happen if you’re in the right mindset. They [can] say something to you that can be transformative. I’m not always looking for that. I walk into it. It’s really profound, and they’re not really trying to do that. David is one of those people, and he’s so much more than that. It’s very strange to be writing about someone who was such a brilliant writer and feeling, “I don’t feel like I have any business writing about this person, except in the way they affected me.” That’s my experience, and that’s my experience alone. I can write about that experience, but it still felt strange at the end of the day with anything outside of my direct experience of this person, because it feels really silly to think about approaching him or his work any other way. 

SILY: The emotional centerpiece of the record to me is “Ambiguous Norway”. You reference your tour outfit coming in the mail, and you’re never able to use it.

CJ: It was super weird. We all wore our suits to some of the memorials that happened

SILY: There’s a line on there that sounds like something David would have written: “The poetry, it’s not lost on me / I’m left asking how it found me.” I was interviewing someone else yesterday who had an album coming out about various types of loss, and on it, she questions how much meaning there is in loss. At what point do you stop trying to find meaning in it and accept the chaos or randomness of it? Is that something you were thinking about here?

CJ: Yeah! I feel totally inadequate so much of the time with language. It feels impossible to translate the bizarre and exquisite experiences and naturally occurring events in my life that might be brief and fleeting. How do you encapsulate that in language? It feels impossible. It’s just everywhere around me, and it will go just as quickly as it came. Sometimes, grief and loss, which may not have inherent meaning, can activate a certain way of seeing in us that allows us to see meaning everywhere, and it’s this manic, supercharged way of looking for meaning in everything. I’ve had other tragic losses in my life in the past. I remember a high school friend’s mother came to me at a funeral once and came to me and said, “There’s nothing like someone dying to make you feel alive.” There’s that element of it that turns you on to things in a heightened way. I was in that heightened mourning space and also travelling. When I got home, I felt like I was seeing everything through the lens of a traveler, observing my surroundings with so much more open space. It reminds me of reading Michael Pollan’s book on How to Change Your Mind. [When you take psychedelics], your inhibitors are knocked down in this new way. Extreme experiences like grief and loss can have that effect as much as they can also be painful. I think I was just in that space of seeing meaning and seeing connections between things and feeling blown away and not knowing what to do with them. I was like, “I am just gonna let this wash over me.” Only I can really see this harmony, and it’s pointless to explain it to someone else. It feels like I’m the only one that can make sense of it in a particular way and feel tickled by it, for lack of a better word. To feel a sensation of two things coming together in front of you.

One thing I was thinking about was this conversation I had with someone when I was out in Norway. Here I am, sitting on a dock by myself, almost at the edge of the ocean. I was writing my journal about my experience with David--it hadn’t even been a week. This Danish fellow rolls up and starts talking to me about clouds and how in Denmark, the cloud formations there look like mountains, partly because they don’t have a mountainous landscape, so they get to have the mountain feeling from the clouds. He said it in a much more poetic way, but I was thinking, “This guy doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know what I’ve gone through. Here he is talking about mountains turning into clouds, and David’s middle name is Cloud. Like, what?” Then Katie Von Schleicher texted me this cartoon that David had done. It was the drawing of a house that said “Ambiguous Norway” at the bottom. In the middle of having this uncanny conversation with a stranger, and she sends me this cartoon, it’s all this swirling stuff. I was really overwhelmed, but it was really funny, also. I felt like I didn’t know what to do with any of it, and I was writing it all down, but feeling like I was always falling short. It was isolating, but I didn’t feel alone--I was dissolving into whatever atmosphere and landscape I was in.

SILY: Your mention of the stranger reminds me of the line in “Crosshairs”: “All I want is to fall apart in the arms of someone entirely strange to me.” Of course, post-COVID, people might look at that line and think you might miss being around people.

CJ: I thought about that. It could totally read that way now!

SILY: You also have the line about a virus on “Michelangelo”.

CJ: That freaked me out, too. It does feel strangely prescient. I felt squeamish putting out a song like that. Right before COVID hit, the last performance I saw was Renee Fleming singing Bjork’s "Virus” with an orchestra. It was so beautiful and so surreal. It’s not the first time that someone’s dropped a metaphor about a virus in the song, but it’s still weird it’s on there.

SILY: Is it possible to understand this record without knowing the context?

CJ: I hope so. It’s strangely diaristic. I’ve always thought that we should be able to appreciate any art, whether a watercolor or a piece of music, without knowing the context. There are works of art that of course are incredible when you appreciate everything around them, like the footnotes of T.S. Eliot. Reading it for the first time, and how much context there is, this deep web, and how great it is to get into that person’s world and mind. But I appreciate art most when you can walk up to it and appreciate it as is, and learning more about it might deepen your appreciation if you’re curious. The fact that something deeply personal can be appreciated without context, if it’s coming from a real place. I’m embarrassed to think that it would have to be dependent on the context. I hope there’s both a reverence for the experience I went through as well as realizing there’s one of many experiences, and maybe the experience I had of running into someone at the farmer’s market can be at equal weight when thinking about our lives and the way we take things in.

SILY: We haven’t yet touched on the instrumentation of the record; it’s so layered and beautiful. How did you and Josh approach complementing your words with arrangements and instrumentation?

CJ: That was very intuitive. Josh is an incredible musician. We were just playing with stuff in the studio. We knew we wanted to get Stuart Bogie in there on the saxophone, and he also plays the flute. It’s actually kind of a stripped down record compared to my last one. I thought I was gonna go into the studio and walk out with an acoustic guitar and a vocal, and that would be the record. But we started playing with things, and Josh was playing with things while I was on my way to the studio in the morning, and suddenly there’s fretless bass on it! We’re both like, “Man, I love that!” It was never going in with an expectation and working with someone who I really trust. Josh and I really worked on these songs together. It was always guided by a lyric and a lyrical structure already in place. It kind of reminded me of working with soft clay: taking something out, putting something in. Versus walking in with a slab of marble and chipping away at it, which my last record was a little bit more like.

SILY: “Michelangelo” was started before this record, but I really am intrigued by the contrast you pose in it about the three-legged dog in the song: “Looking for what I lost” versus “Working with what I got.” Do you think that dichotomy is exemplary of the entire record?

CJ: That’s funny. I didn’t think of those things as being on polar sides of the spectrum. It’s a metaphor that’s kind of funny to me, because it falls apart when you see a three-legged dog. They’re not looking for what they lost. They’ve adjusted their gait. They’re such a beautiful model for what it is to lose something, work around it, and build balance. They do that naturally in their physiology and psychology, and they’re playing frisbee just like every other dog as if nothing happened. Of course, some of them do have mobility issues--I’ve met a few more [of those] recently. But it’s the human experience to add so much aversion to any feeling of loss. You have that analogy of getting shot with an arrow, and it’s often in our nature to shoot another arrow into the same wound by saying, “Oh my god, I can’t believe I was shot by an arrow,” instead of mending to it.

I have some medical issues, and I often am really frustrated by feeling like I’m handicapped. All of us have to face at some point or another the limitations of our bodies. To feel, “This is what I’m dealing with.” I can either be frustrated that I’m not a perfect specimen, or I can work with it. I can be myself and just enjoy that self as long as I get to live on this earth, amidst all this chaos and imperfection and wonder. That’s what “Michelangelo” is about for me, and feeling similarly about trauma. “Gosh, if I hadn’t had this traumatic experience as a child, maybe I’d be President of the United States by now, but instead I have all these bad habits because I have this deep, limiting self-belief.” But coming back, I’m like, “My trauma is actually a portal for me to connect with people and myself and get closer to a more universal experience. That’s a great gift, and I have to work with that.” That whole song is me being, “God damnit, why am I imperfect in this way?” but it’s actually the thing that will teach me more than anything.

SILY: On “New Bikini”, you sing a lot about the water. Do you find the water to be a particularly healing thing to be in or by?

CJ: Yeah. I was born right next to the ocean. [But] that song is not totally sincere. It’s a little bit of me collecting advice from people that at times brought me solace and at times was frustrating. It’s like, “Hey, get in the ocean, it will make you feel better!” “Yeah, but it’s not gonna bring someone back from the dead, and it’s not gonna fix my DNA, and it’s not gonna heal this person.” At the same time, it’s going to help me. I’m taking mineral salt baths every night and finding them to be really healing for my nervous system and thinking about that song. [laughs] I also ironically got very sick on contaminated water at the very beginning of 2020 and hated that song for a minute, as I was feeling really dejected about water. When I play that song on tour, I love that there were people in the audience who heard it, and came up to me after the show and said, “I never feel better than I do when I’m by the ocean. Thank you. I love being by the water, and that song took me there, even though we’re in Dallas.” This middle-aged woman was able to think about her really good time being at the beach. [And I’m thinking,] “I’m happy this is a space for you that you can access and that we can access together.”

SILY: When did you realize you wanted to release “Hard Drive” on Inauguration Day?

CJ: It was logical timing for when the release date was, and I saw it was on Inauguration Day and questioned whether it was a good idea. But it is a good idea because the song embraces change and struggle and a moment of time where we can pause and breathe because there’s change happening. It’s been a tough time for a lot of people. If we can talk about that, then great! It was really nice on Inauguration Day to have a song come out and not really pay attention to it. I actually felt, “All of America is having the same experience right now.” Really, the whole world is looking on. To get to experience again, very alone, a universal experience, watching the shift of power happen. I’m not really sure I love attention--I think I’ve always been way more comfortable not having attention--so I really loved, “Hey, here’s this song, gotta go, let’s watch the President now!” There was something about that moment. That people got to hear it days after the Inauguration because the type of people that gravitate towards my music were experiencing a collective relief. We could actually take a breath. So it may have reached people in a way it might not have otherwise. I didn’t realize how much it would be felt or how much I’d be feeling that day. I cried a lot that day. I think a lot of people did.

SILY: Is “Hailey” named after the actress you mention in the song, Hailey Gates?

CJ: [laughs] Yeah. I had a song called “Halley” on my last record, and I wanted to make a follow-up Halley. Halley 2.0. The other one was written by my friend Ian, and it’s a love song for the comet. So I figured I would write a love song for Hailey Gates. She’s a friend of mine and is someone I’ve often thought of when I’m going through a difficult moment, like, “You know what? That woman is so incredibly powerful in everything she does.” I look up to her so much, and I don’t think she really knows how much I look up to her. When I got really sick from drinking contaminated water, I would think that Hailey was a reporter for several years of her life, traveling, getting food poisoning, and still managing to get her message across with such grace and gusto. She has a real grit to her I admire. Grit is something that I look for in people. The fact that she has that and is also stunningly beautiful and very feminine is a cool model. I also like the challenge of writing a platonic love song and writing about another woman and letting it be about celebrating someone. In the end, it was nice to have this contrast: Mourning, but celebrating people who are alive and inspire us while we’re here. I feel kind of bad: if someone wrote that song about me, I’d be really embarrassed. I felt a little bit of shyness about it. But I hope it’s just a sweet way to celebrate women in general, and she’s sort of my mascot in that moment. Women who are really smart and powerful and have this gentleness about them as well. She’s got all these qualities that are really striking. She’s a really brilliant person. She deserves to have a million songs written about her. I’m probably one of many.

SILY: Has she heard yours?

CJ: [laughs] Yeah, she has. I think she got embarrassed. I finally sent it to her a few weeks ago, and was like, “Hey, I’m putting out a record and wrote a song about you, I hope that’s okay.” She said she was really honored to be on the record. I also reached out to Lola Kirke, and she joked, “Why didn’t I get a song about me? I just got a mention on ‘Hard Drive’.”

SILY: In the lyrics sheet for [instrumental] “The Ramble”, you have a link to a YouTube video of Chris Cooper birding in Central Park.

CJ: The Ramble is a place I went very much every day at the beginning of the pandemic. I was really saddened by the story of Chris Cooper but really impressed by the way that he handled it. I really thought of him as a role model for how we can handle intolerance. There are a lot of ways to handle intolerance and ignorance, and the way that he handled ignorance in that moment I thought was so beautiful. That interview with him is great because it’s really more about him and how he relates to birding and what a great person he is as opposed to the hatred we could walk away from the story with. He really shifted the emphasis away from behavior that was ignorant and racist towards a conversation of tolerance. He exemplified that. It’s rare you see that. I found him to be really inspiring. That’s one of so many things that happens in “The Ramble”. It was added later on. I recorded “The Ramble” when a lot of the protests were happening in New York. I went from being in The Ramble [alone] every day and birdwatching, which is something I do in a meditative way that really grounds me...to me going to some of the protests. I watched Central Park really transform into this place of progress, I guess, but it also has this life at night, known for nefarious things like drug deals, sex. It’s this wild place that I was starting to see as my sanctuary. When I saw the Chris Cooper story come out, it really saddened me, because the birding community was something I thought of as untouched. It’s so pure and beautiful. I’d seen Chris many times, and I was really sad someone treated him the way they did, and to see how in that moment that story became really important because there was a broader story happening in the public eye. He had this moment to be himself.

So “The Ramble” isn’t as much about him as about me wandering. Janet Cardiff is an artist I really love. She has a Central Park walk you can go on. It’s an audio guide that she made. It’s a poetic collage of songs and history. It really transforms the way you hear. I originally recorded my own binaural audio guide to The Ramble and ended up taking it out. I realized, “Ok, this is an album and there might be someone in Australia listening to it. How can they enjoy this walk? It’s probably better without me narrating how to walk in the space.” But it originally had this timed narrative with a start and end where you’d go on a walk with me. The ghost of that narration is there, and it’s ended up instead a spatial experience--hopefully.

SILY: The record ends with these two lighter tracks, a tribute to a friend and to a place. Was it important for you to order the album such that you talk about the loss in the beginning but it ends on this different note?

CJ: Definitely with “The Ramble”. I made every other song before COVID. I wanted “The Ramble” to exemplify how much life has changed for everyone since these songs were written. I wanted to bring it into the world we’re in now. And I want to bring it into a world with peace and hope in it. Those are two big words that are corny sounding, but I want there to be a moment for you to find peace and tranquility in a world of chaos. It is still there, and it’s okay for you to take that for yourself. Not only can we find that peace within ourselves, but we can find beauty in it and admire our surroundings. We can still appreciate everything we’re given, even in a total crisis. The Ramble was a place for me where I’d find that every day. I’d wake up at 5 in the morning every day and look at birds and feel myself vanishing in that landscape in this tiny corner of nature. I wanted to leave everyone on that note: Nature is gonna figure this out. It’s gonna take over and come in through the cracks in the sidewalk. If I can end the record with the dandelion coming through the cracks in the sidewalk, I’d like it to be there.

SILY: What’s the story behind the album art?

CJ: That’s by my friend [Ole Brodersen]. He thought it was an interesting photograph. He’s the one in “New Bikini” that I’m visiting and he left me a post-it note that said, “Get in the water, it cures everything.” He’s a good friend of mine. We visit each other every few years. I love his work; he’s an incredible photographer and has a large-format photography darkroom he created, on an island, off the coast of Norway. In this photograph, he uses long exposures and kites. He plays with light in natural landscapes around where he lives, with this kind of unknown element in a really static environment. It’s hard for me to speak for him, but he likes to have a lot of control over his photography, and this beautiful landscape is his origin, and there’s this element of an unknown variable in all of his photographs. I looked at that photo as a beautiful example of what I’m talking about in “Ambiguous Norway”. It’s almost like there’s this intangible spirit that’s this element of poetry in the air that you can’t quite identify what it is. It’s almost a literal interpretation of that, where you see this floating magical orb in the middle.

He was such a wonderful host. When he wanted to give his partner a gift--he wanted to give her a down pillow--he shot the ducks himself, created the down pillow, and I ended up eating a bone broth made out of the bones of those ducks at some point in his house. I was like, “This is really living in your environment and thinking about the way you interact with people and objects and your environment around you.” If I can touch a fraction of that, I’m doing great.

SILY: Are you planning on playing these songs live?

CJ: I am getting a lot of calls now to do stuff online. I would love to play with a band in real life. I think about it every day. I didn’t realize how much I was going to miss playing live. I can’t wait to put a band together. I have all these different fantasy leagues in my head of which band I’d want to bring with me on tour. If this record has any kind of positive reception, I’d love to be able to pay my band really well, finally, after years of not being able to and my friends coming on tour with me because we like being with each other. I realize I can’t do that forever, and we need to make a living. That would be so great. It’s a dream of mine.

SILY: Have you thought about how you’re adapting the songs to the stage? Or is that dependent on the configuration of the band?

CJ: I think the songs are pretty flexible. “New Bikini” is only 2 chords. The songs themselves are really simple. My last record has fancy stuff. This one is “A” and “B” and that’s the whole song! I love songs where it doesn’t matter who is there and what instruments are playing, as long as we listen to each other, the song will just flow. It’ll depend on whether I’m opening for someone, how much I can afford, what feels good in the moment. I think they’re gonna take their own shape.

SILY: Is there anything else next for you in the short or long term future?

CJ: I have to be honest. I’m having a lot of anxiety because I feel like when I’m able to do things again, I’m not really ready for that yet. But I’m going to be. I feel like there are certain dreams I have about getting to play music. I’m working towards being capable of seeing those dreams come true. I hope that my health is in a good place and my mental health is in a good place. It’s been a really hard year for all of us, and I want to make sure I can be easy on myself as I ease back into the world. As much as I want to go to a party, I actually will need a lot of gradual time to ease back into the world again and process the path. We’re all going through a lot right now.

SILY: Is there anything you’ve been listening to or reading or watching lately?

CJ: I’m reading a book called The Peregrine. It’s one of Werner Herzog’s favorite books. It’s really cool. The author is English, and he’s studying birds to the extent that he almost becomes them. He talks about transmutation of landscapes and clouds and birds in a way that I was like, “Oh my god! He’s drinking the same tea I am.” But he takes it to an extreme degree where he’s questioning his sanity--and you might be questioning mine, too, at this point. [laughs]

I was just listening to Caroline Shaw. I’ve been listening to Tig Notaro’s podcast. I wait for it every week. It comes out every Wednesday, so today was my lucky day. [laughs]

[secret-blacklight-domain777]

Drew McDowall speaks to Chloé Lula about new solo album Agalma and the reissue of Coil’s 1999 opus Musick To Play In The Dark

21 years after its initial release, Coil’s Musick To Play In The Dark is being remastered and reissued by US label Dais. The release coincides with ex-member Drew McDowall’s fourth solo album Agalma – which he describes as an extension of the ritualistic practices that were “woven into Coil’s DNA”. Like the industrial group’s later work Agalma drips with spectral textures, angelic backing vocals and glitchy cinematic sweeps formed from warped field recordings and modular processing. Here, he reflects on finding inspiration in solitude, the insidiousness of the patriarchy and the power of synchronicity in music and in life.

Chloé Lula: Musick To Play In The Dark has been hailed as the point at which Coil pivoted from “sun music” to “moon music”. According to Jhonn Balance, it was motivated by a desire to “let in things you had shut out before: the feminine. The tidal. The cyclical”.

Drew McDowall: Musick To Play In The Dark kind of put the stamp on a process that was happening for a couple of years with Coil. Balance and Sleazy’s music was considered kind of solar as it related to an album like Scatology with a queer, male energy. During the period that I was involved as an official member, from about ‘94 or ‘95, we began investigating lunar energies, like with Moon’s Milk or Under An Unquiet Skull, one of the Solstice/Equinox 7"s, I think the driver behind this shift was our distaste and distrust of the patriarchy, both from a cultural point of view and from an occult point of view. Musick was a conscious effort to tap into lunar, traditionally feminine energies. And in an occult sense, to move away from the ostensibly solar, patriarchal, hierarchical Crowleyian aspect of the occult into the more fluid, chaotic, unconscious practices of Austin Osman Spare.

Not a lot of people know this, but Balance and Sleazy would always say grace before a meal, and they would always give thanks to the Goddess. They did that almost as long as I knew them. I kind of liked that. So it was about those energies that only really come out in the dark, that are less blatant and present and in your face. It was a process, it wasn’t a sharp delineation. But Musick was when that crystallised, and in that sense it was an album that was completely moon music.

What were your specific contributions to the album?

It was really fragmented. I’d moved to New York after living in London for 15 years, and was dealing with a lot of chemical issues, drug issues, whatever. I went back to work on Musick, but my imbalance had gotten so extreme that I could only be awake during the nighttime hours and was asleep during the daytime. Their studio was in Weston-super-Mare, this decrepit seaside town. They’d gotten sick of London, and they wanted to get Balance away from all of the temptations that he was prey to. It was kind of an attempt to save his life, really. They had this huge Victorian mansion on a hillside overlooking this wonderful bay, the River Severn.

Balance, Sleazy, and Thighpaulsandra worked in the studio on the bones and the structure and the stratum of these tracks during the day, and I would stagger out of whatever comatose stupor I was in in the evening and just take what they’d done and process it and rework it. It was a way I wasn't used to working with Coil, but I think it added something – some kind of psychosis or strange pathology to the recordings. Back then – this was ‘99 – granular synthesis wasn’t really readily available. We’d gotten a hold of some prototype stuff that was really not very easy to use. They didn’t have the nice interface that you have now. But that was part of the fun. I was also taking things and running the material through different filters and synths that we had in the studio. I would leave the files on one of the computer desktops and go to bed. We’d cross each other’s paths in the morning, have breakfast and chat for a bit, and then I’d go to sleep while they worked for the rest of the day.

I’ve read that what you generated through granular synthesis was intended to sound like a fire. What was the idea behind that?

It was almost a kind of ritual aspect, like being around a ritual fire, or a primitive fire, and tapping into what we were and where we came from. If memory serves me right, those were some of the conversations that we had, fire being this idea of being in a glade or an opening in the forest around a fire, and having that sound, the smell and the sight of it. We could only really capture the sound of it, but hopefully we managed to create the effect of the whole experience.

You’ve mentioned to me that you like to go to upstate New York when you want to work on your solo material now. How do isolated settings, like the Catskills or Weston-super-Mare, impact your ability to tap into highly creative states?

We [Coil] loved to get out of the city and go to places like Avebury. We would take day trips or trips for a couple of days and visit stone circles. Back then, in the mid- to late-90s, they weren’t quite the Instagrammable tourist hellholes that they are now. So you could really get to these places that you weren’t allowed to be in, and you’d either cut through a fence or just walk into these places that weren’t even fenced off, for the most part. Getting out like that was a lot of our inspiration prior to doing any recording. Especially when we all lived in London, it was so vital to get out and get into the forests and connect with Pan. That was part of Coil’s methodology, and I kind of carried it over into the way that I work now. If I’m not recording upstate, I’m doing a lot of the pre-recording meditation there and getting myself ready, either psychedelically or mentally or physically or whatever. Or even doing some of the recording if not the whole album. The album that Nicky [Hiro Kone] and I did [The Ghost of George Bataille] was recorded entirely upstate in the Catskills.

You helped remaster both volumes of Musick. Is there anything notably different about these reissues?

We remade Musick into a double album and added a really beautiful etching on one side. All of the Dais reissues sound even better than the originals, thanks to Josh Bonati who remastered them. Corners were cut a little bit in some of the original packaging, and the print quality wasn't as good back then. So not only does Musick sound better, but it looks absolutely gorgeous because we got all of the original files for the artwork and gave them the kind of high-resolution, beautifully packaged reissue that it deserves.

What was it like to revisit the material? Are the guiding principles behind it still relevant 20 years later?

I think they might be even more relevant today, if anything. There’s this massive pushback into this really regressive patriarchal state worldwide. Obviously we see it here in the USA, but in Poland, Hungary – all of those places. It feels like patriarchy’s last death spasm. Unfortunately, as we all know with male rage and white rage, the death spasm can take everything down with it. And while it’s unquestionably a good thing that it feels like its death spasm, we should be aware that it will try to destroy the planet in its desire to not give up power. I think that’s in the nature of patriarchy. It would rather burn the planet to cinders than cede its position. Patriarchy and white supremacy both being intermeshed in the same thing. Things felt apocalyptic back then too, do you know what I mean? But now there is no hiding from as it really feels like everything’s spiraling and whiplashing into oblivion.

I really hadn’t listened to Musick very much, because the process of making it was often very traumatic. And dramatic. I didn’t hear it until about two years after it was released. So when we were listening to what we had during the process of having it remastered, it was kind of mind-blowing. There are moments of darkness, but there are moments of really delicate sweetness, like “Broccoli”, where Sleazy is singing in his soft and sort of adorable voice about vegetables.

I hear similarities between songs like “Are You Shivering?” on Musick and “Agalma II” on your new album. There’s so much going on in their sense of depth, space, and evolution, and their allusions to familiar instruments combined with granular glitch.

That wasn’t deliberate, but it’s kind of inevitable. I added to Coil’s DNA, but Coil added to my DNA as well. There’s something we tapped into that I want to keep exploring. That never changes – this feeling that the work is never done, the mission is never complete. You can always go deeper or explore more, or take it in different directions.

In past interviews, you’ve talked about how your music as part of Coil and as a solo artist has aimed to trace various dissociative states.

I disassociate very easily. And rather than fighting it, I try to use it as a wellspring – as fertile ground for the work that I do. That’s always been a process, and always been part of the work or part of the inspiration for the work. I took my inspiration from those states that we all experience, that we can’t really put a name to. There are moments that fall short of language, and when we try and pin these moments down, it feels like we’re trying to hold water in our hands and it’s slipping out, and we feel adrift. So the idea with Agalma was to try and capture those moments. I guess the closest that I could come to putting a word on it was trying to capture the feeling of the sublime. Not just beauty, but joy, terror, dread. It was partly that. And the working title of the album was Ritual Music. That’s another thing that’s kind of been woven into my DNA from being with Coil. All of the music that we did was ritual music, and everything I’ve done since then has been a form of ritual music.

Agalma feels improvisational in its sense of chaos, but controlled enough to indicate planning, arrangement, and methodology. How did you put it together?

I’m not a very rigorous conceptualist. For me, it’s really trial and error and serendipity. Some of the inspirations or methodology might be that I’ll take the particular architecture of a dream and translate that sonically. Or it might just be a process of iteration, which is really my main workflow: manipulating what I’m doing to the point that something else is revealed in it, something that was trying to get out – that I was consciously cajoling or persuading to speak to me – or else something that just pops up unexpectedly, and I’m like, “This is where this piece is trying to take me”. I might take something through the modular and put it through different processes on the computer, then send it back into the modular. A lot of what I find really rewarding is field recordings. There are a lot of field recordings in my work that don’t even sound like field recordings. I kind of like that, where it’s not immediately apparent what something is.

What were some of the field recordings you used on this album?

I was in Naples a couple of years ago staying in this incredible apartment building that was carved into the side of a hill. I spent hours just recording in the marbled hallways. I got a ton of really good field recordings that I then shaped using the modular. You can’t really listen to it and say, “Oh, that sounds like a voice”. It just sounds like traces and resonances of something. But it’s really hard to pinpoint what it is you’re listening to.

Eight out of nine tracks on Agalma feature contributions from other artists. How did you choose who to work with?

This album started to take shape in my head last year, before I started recording. I really wanted to work with people that inspired me. I wanted to work with people I had that sense of trust with. I didn’t give anyone any guidelines, but everything just gelled in a way that felt really magical and weird.

We’ve talked quite a bit about subverting the patriarchy and being an outsider. Are your collaborations motivated by a desire to mine that feeling of operating from the margins?

That’s interesting. All the collaborators on the record are friends. That was one of the important things. My personal connections with people are always predicated on the idea of this affinity of outsiderness. Alterity. When I meet someone I like, I get the sense that they’re also kind of an outsider. Even if it’s not, like, explicit, there’s always a strand. For this record, it just felt that those were the voices who I really felt a presence with.

One of the feelings that I was also trying to explore and skirt around the edges of, or have in some way in my brain, was the sense of the sacred, and to really reconnect with that idea. And not in any religious terms. That’s something that was very, very much part of Coil. Even though their focus changed for me, I still see it as going back to the albums that preceded my involvement. Coil always had a strong sense of the sacred, and it wasn’t in any Sky God sense. It was in the sense of a sacred materiality. Like “sacred” in the Bataille sense of the word. That’s always been part of my work, but with this I wanted to make it more up-front.

It’s powerful when the act of following a kind of altered, oneiric logic leads to moments of synchronicity.

Those moments have to be valued and not just dismissed as coincidence or something mundane. There are moments of just huge resonance that we’re often not aware of at the time – like the moment feels loaded in a way that we can’t immediately put our finger on. But sometimes months or even years later, we see them as points where our life changed and we started on a different path. We do ourselves a huge disservice to just write them off to chance or happenstance or accidents. What they are I don’t know, but I think they’re much more meaningful than just randomness.

Agalma is available via Dais now. Musick To Play In The Dark is released on 27 November

By Chloé Lula

[demytasse]

  [Shinzaya] Past Affection

— 

  The afternoons which bordered Summer were just as much a nuisance as they were a spectacle.

On one hand, they were the creators of colourful settings—beautiful, vibrant hues that blended from one stage to another; and the sun, a keen mage, slowed the passage of time until it was difficult to determine the current hour. Moments were easily lost, now with an unfamiliar schema that needed to be followed. That was the unfortunate other hand.

To which lost moments were already too many for students who’d been locked away in stuffy classrooms prior to the bell. Because all things considered the school grounds weren’t the place students wanted to remain past academic droll and extracurricular electives—sports teams and clubs. Yet inevitably time would get away from them; at least in return they created lifelong memories.

  One day—in exact two before Summer—there was a particular club that fell victim to that of an extended school day.

The club was its own undefinable thing; a sort of study hall but also not. A science club by name, but a ruse. That and it was comprised only of a peculiar pair who had decided to rehash middle school upon a whim—late in the game, mid-career.

Hardly needed was a biology lab they once took advantage of, so a sterile box was ditched for an unused classroom that lacked decorations and student accommodations.

Beside its wide window were the founders, Izaya and Shinra, who had positioned themselves across from one another and occupied two turned desks united at their cutoff. Under the table their ankles did much the same—rested near each other, suspended in open space, their legs crossed in mirror.

Though one was a bob, a percussion that Shinra played against Izaya’s leg without his awareness; hardly nervous, rather a content tic—an old habit that resurfaced, years unpracticed thus a drumming disaster instead of something consistent and precise.

Regardless, he continued on with his unconscious backbeat for the seasonal cicadas and conditioned air flow—just as well accosted Izaya with low key affection.

Struck, Izaya was separated from his studies, hit with memories he wasn’t prepared to remember; scenes from his early teens, details he had tossed aside for less important ones. Though he was innately familiar with the beat, it was easy to move on.

That is until Shinra started to hum a swooning melody that matched the calm afternoon; that was when Izaya completely lost concentration.

    He stuttered words within his notes, failed to comprehend excerpts already read in his textbook. It was far too difficult to focus with a track sweetly and tenderly sung in reverb; the only song Shinra ever hummed.

With that calling it was a struggle not to smile.

Though maybe he had, despite his wishes—given the glance he shared with Shinra for a second before his clubmate went back into space and beyond.

Further a distraction was the song itself. Izaya never had a name for it—nor did he have an artist or lyrics, just a general genre. Truly it never bothered him before, but lost in the moment it did, like he wanted to steal an mp3 from the internet in order to listen to it on repeat, unsure of if a moment like this would continue on in the future.

That aside it was pure curiousity.

A mystery he wanted his friend to reveal as a detective Izaya hired under the table with a nudge to halt the beat.

    "So, I believe it's due time that you fill me in on what song you've been humming."

    Shinra stopped. "Was I humming?"

    "You weren't aware of that?"

    "Well, I did have a song stuck in my head..." he looked to the ceiling, finger at his chin.

Izaya knew Shinra’s obliviousness was straight up crap.

    "Perhaps you’ve had the same song in your head going on four years, then. Not like I doubt the possibility, with your proclivity to obsess over solo things."

    "Oh geez, did you become an esper without me knowing? I mean, I would expect your desire to pry into the inner workings of other people’s minds, but never mine."

Shinra remarked slyly which ruffled Izaya.

He already had a hard enough time asking an oddball question out of the blue. Rather, it was odd for him to ask a personal question of a person he knew personally. Mind you, fairly exact.

    "No." Dead-eyed, he continued. "Like I said, you hummed out that incessant ear-worm...and have been for so long that it’s permanently attached to my eardrums."

    "Right,” Shinra nodded, “and just now you’ve begun to wonder what the song was." 

    “I’m sure if you roll back the script you’ll find your answer.”

    “Well if you insist, should we take it from the top—” Izaya kicked Shinra, who laughed when his knee jerked in reaction.

    “Spare me, Shinra.”

    “Haha, alright! Alright! I’ll relent.” His laughter died as blind thought replaced his bespeckled vision.

    Surprisingly the name wasn’t at the tip of Shinra’s tongue, unlike the wit he usually taunted. With a slack frown, he reviewed memories played in reverse.

All the while Izaya studied Shinra; heavy head in palm, pen long ditched, opposite hand a paperweight.

    "Hmm...you know…” Shinra relaxed his confusion when the answer clicked.

    Izaya hummed for him to continue.

    "It wasn’t ever a song I intentionally picked. As cheesy as it might sound, the diddy automatically played whenever we were alone."

    "Hu. I didn’t expect that… What is it, then? The song."

    "I don’t know, Izaya. It probably shares the tune of a preexisting song."

    "In other words… You made it up."

    "I guess so. Is that so bad?"

Shinra looked without a care, his head nudged in favour of the window, enough to watch the sunset as it painted drifting clouds.

    "Isn't that just like you..."

    There was a definite pause—long enough for Izaya to put his pen to paper, but not enough for his paper to accept written word.

    "Though it's funny, isn't it? That I never thought twice about it... That's rather not like me.”

    Shinra spoke indolently, “but I realised something while thinking over it.”

Izaya let him continue.

    “To be honest, it just reminded me of you," he stirred clouds with his finger, “much like the sunsets often do."

The confession was blunt, but in a good way—in response it widened Izaya's eyes, and all of a sudden the low sunset was blown into full saturation. Not in the sky, but a kaleidoscope swirl upon Shinra's cheeks.

The answer held more weight than he expected. More heart, more sentiment, more romance… It lulled simple honesty, acted as proof that they had become fully comfortable with one another. Finally, an overdue rain-check—fulfilled in the middle of golden hour on that random day.

Izaya remained entranced by his brightened view of Shinra, just as his object of attraction was lost in his skygaze.

     "...ah…"

    Shinra chuckled. “That's all you can respond with?" Clearly, Izaya knew how he really wanted to respond, but he struggled with how to do it; how to redirect that wistful stare upon him.

Even though he was handed the perfect opportunity it was difficult to craft something appropriate for the lackadaisical mood. To pull Shinra closer—more than a friendly distance, shorter than their default comfort zone.

Pathetically, the only thing he could muster was an edge forward with his fingers in lead; but beyond a few inches he froze, contemplated if he could see the simple plan through.

He couldn't.

His desire felt like it would ruin the moment—he lied to his cowardice. Which in return his confidence reassured him that sometimes a moment was better kept beautiful, uninterrupted.

Instead Izaya decided to reciprocate the warm caress of his ankle that Shinra reinitiated, in hopes that it wouldn’t sacrifice their intimacy upon contact.

Shinra twitched, but barely acknowledged it. He simply tapped the tabletop to invite Izaya to connect with him, at the very least by hand.

Covered in shadow Izaya’s smile probably went in vain, though it certainly spoke through his response; a sigh that mocked the blow of air conditioning.

    "Mmm…” Izaya nodded.

    “...that’s all."

—

AN: This is the cheesiest sht. This was originally an idea that was part of my fic Hold Me Tight (Or Don’t) but it didn’t quite fit after things progressed. I loved it too much to let it go to waste. Err...that’s why the setting about them rehashing their middle school biology club days is...is similar. Eheheh...

[shemakesmusic-uk]

Getting to Know...

Ruby Ryan.

You Could Move In, the debut EP from New Brunswick, NJ singer-songwriter Ruby Ryan, opens with a big beat. Before long, the rhythm track is joined by a melancholy – but gritty – electric guitar riff. In a few quick strokes, a mood is established: longing, urgent, expectant, a little lovelorn, more than a little pugnacious, forward-looking. It's stark, and unadorned, and emotionally bare; once you start listening, it's hard to stop. A full half-minute elapses before Ryan starts singing, but she makes an indelible impression when she does. Ryan has a voice with enough tensile strength to carry sadness and determination simultaneously. She doesn't have to try to be powerful; she just is.

The best place to start with Ruby Ryan might be 'Phosphenes,' an exercise in straight-ahead, doomed romantic storytelling. Everything about the track feels absolutely real: the plaintive lyrics, the missed connections with the object of the narrator's desire, the stinging six-string, and the catch in the singer's voice as she expresses her hope and her frustration. Anybody who has ever harbored unrequited affection – or who has just found themselves caught in a difficult and ambiguous relationship – will surely relate.

Ruby Ryan also understands the beauty and desolation of the suburbs. Her clip for 'Phosphenes' is suffused with the distinctive feeling of suburbia in the autumn: leaves are falling, flowers are withering on their stems, a crisp breeze is blowing, and the sands are running out. Ryan and her directorial partner Alex Tichy follow the romantic drama of a young couple whose emotions are impossible to disguise – and that's because they're both wearing enormous heads made of plaster and paint. The contrast between the quotidian suburban surroundings and the fantastic characters who inhabit these streets creates much of the clip's tension, and it's also a sly commentary. When you're young and in love, you really do feel larger than life – and utterly exposed, too.

Watch the video for 'Phosphenes' below and also read our Q&A with Ruby all about You Could Move In, her influences, creative process and more.

Hi Ruby! How have you been? What are you doing to stay sane during this pandemic?

"I am okay. I work at a grocery store full time, so I’m not even sane, I’m just getting through the pandemic. I spend time hanging out with and missing the people I love. I look at and water my plants, and listen to records, and do a lot of cooking and eating. But mostly I’m working, or sending an email."

How did you get into music? Who did you grow up being influenced by?

"My mom will tell you I’ve been making up songs and singing to myself since I was such a small child. I don’t know how she was never driven cray by me, I was always singing just making stuff up, singing my thoughts basically. She’s very musical and she and my grandmother have surrounded me with music my whole life. Whether it was putting me in piano lessons, or seeing my grandmother sing, I was always in a position to feel inspired musically, by them.

"I played in band through all of school, 5th grade through senior year. I played the bassoon, which looking back, was the best thing ever. I loved it. But I didn’t keep it up in college because I was scared of going to school to perform music with an ensemble. I thought the expectations would be really high, and feared I couldn’t learn quickly enough or be good enough to keep up. Or that I might let people down.

"Right after my freshman year of college is when I decided to try writing and playing songs with a guitar. I’d had one for a few years but then (even now, honestly) didn’t know much besides open chords and how to play some Jeff Buckley songs I learned on Youtube. That first year of college though it felt like I was shriveling up, I had no outlet for this musical creativity and it was really getting to me. I had met this friend Phil, and he and I decided to start writing music and later form a band (Old Joy) together. We continued on with that for a couple years, and I left that project last fall.

"I think my mom played only good music when I was growing up. We listened to the radio and CD’s in the car, and I can’t remember specifically which artists but I’m sure she could. I consider the influences I grew up listening to to be the people I listened to and felt really intensely when I was discovering that I wanted to write music.

"It’s a lot of stuff I latch onto lyrically, and sonically. I’m like “how’d they make me feel like that using just a little tap? or strum? or word?” and then I want to learn more or crack open how to make people feel intensely like I do. People like the Carpenters, Bon Iver, The Japanese House, Phoebe Bridgers and Jeff Buckley. Pretty much if an artist could make me wonder “how did they find words for a feeling, so specifically, and do it so elegantly before I knew what to call it?” they’re an influence of mine. I’ve cried and learned how to come home to myself while listening to each of those artists."

You've just released your debut EP You Could Move In. What's the record about and what does it mean to you?

"The record is about dealing with losing people and trying to figure out where I belong. My life feels like a revolving door of people who mean the world to me, just entering and exiting, entering and exiting. This record is written from a place in me that uses my time spent in constant motion as time to process or unravel my feelings. I kind of use driving as a coping mechanism. I’ve written most of these songs while in a car. I’ll either be writing a lyric on the back of a receipt at a stop light or making an audio recording of a blip of sound or a word I don’t want to forget, but they’re almost always while I’m driving. I’m just thinking a lot when I’m driving, trying to put words to what the heck is going on.

"This thing means everything to me, somehow. It feels so vulnerable for it to be out. It’s my first solo release, too. So I can’t hide, there’s no way these words are someone else’s. Everyone knows it’s me, and this is what I’m feeling or going through or went through. It’s a lot. I wrote these songs as a way to process and get through some really tricky stuff. Having these songs out feels like I’m willingly showing everyone home videotapes of my processing my own pain and my own struggles."

Take us through your songwriting/creative process.

"Playing with an instrument in an ensemble, a piece that’s been written and should be played with so much respect for the music and the composer, is a lot of pressure. I would get so anxious. It always meant a lot to me, like it was a high honor to know how to play it, and have the opportunity to be a part of giving life to someone else music. But it was a lot of anxiety, trying to make sure it was right all the time. And it never was, like I’d mess up and be down on myself, which I think is normal. Deciding to write music and play it by/for myself was a life changing decision. I didn’t even know it was possible to feel good like this. I can make something up, (which usually I have to because I don’t know how to play the guitar) and it can sound good. I can remember it and be good at playing it because I made it up, and I don’t have to follow anyone else standards or rules, or impress anyone, it’s just me. Of course I want to do it well and hold myself to a certain standard when I’m playing. I’m really hard on myself. But I don’t have to cry if I mess up a note or sing a wrong word, it can just be funny because it’s only me.

"My process is, I’ll be driving or falling asleep at night and come up with a line or lyric, and keep a running note or journal of them all. Literally I have to inspire myself to life my head up off the pillow and pick up the phone and write it down. I can’t tell you how many lyrics I’ve had ideas for and thought to myself “oh that’s so good, oh thats so catchy, you’ll never forget it” and then I don’t write it down, and now I’ve completely forgotten them. But I keep a running note until it’s massive. Like as long as a jump rope, and then i’ll shuffle them around and make poems, or find ways they connect and then glue them together.

"Sometimes when a melody comes to me (rare) I play the kazoo into a voice recording to remember how it goes. That can become a baseline, a guitar riff or a vocal melody, but thats the only way i can figure out instrumental’s for songs. Then I pick up a guitar or most likely go to a piano, and have to figure out what the notes are by ear, then the key and the chord progression. I don’t know chords or what notes are what on the guitar, so usually it’s just trial and error until I find on the strings or keys what I hear. I have to work backwards and learn how to play what I hear in my brain. It’s a very long and difficult process, and often discouraging. It feels so good though then its complete and written, like this big confused thing I can’t put words to, is finally allowed to exist outside my head and have its own space."

Finally, what's next for you?

"I have no idea. I work at a grocery store, I graduated undergrad straight into a global pandemic, there is no map in my hand, there’s not even a direction I’m walking in. I just hope people like my music. I’m going to keep doing this. It feels really good to make music and share it, I’d follow this feeling anywhere. Especially since I’m not on my way anywhere specific at the moment."

You Could Move In is out now.