#5) he would pay for a world renowned artist to draw you but he would NOT do it himself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scriptaed · 7 years

Text

Ink Nemesis | 03

Genre: Angst/Fluff || paparazzi!au; fake dating!au;

Pairing: Reader x Yoongi

Length: 8.0k

Synopsis: As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret.

“Did you hear about the new reporter on SS?”

“You mean Ink Nemesis or something?”

“Kind of ominous, that name. I don’t really like it…”

“I never thought anyone else would work for the SS. It’s kind of… invasive, you know?”

“At least the original writer Peach Cream seems like a sweet girl behind the screen, but with Ink Nemesis… I feel like she’s doing it out of greed. Something about her gives me the creeps.”

“She better not write anything bad about the boys.”

“She kind of sounds like a bitch.”

“An actual snake.”

“More like a snake in its developmental stages.”

“A disgusting, backstabbing snake.”

With unbearable heat radiating from the bottom of your computer which blows a constant breath of warmth against your lap with its fans, the boundaries between your nightmares and your inner monologue from last night stirs you awake. A stream of light peeks through the navy curtains by your bedside and your eyes struggle to peep open with the swarm of incoming light and lack of a good night’s sleep.

Like many afternoons after falling asleep in bed while working on a piece of literature—which last night’s persona of a tabloid journalist had suddenly dawned upon you could hardly count as literature—you slam your laptop closed and swing it aside your bed sheets before stretching your arms above your head and lolling your head in circles to rid the strains of your neck. Your phone continues to vibrate, both from a notification warning you of 5% battery and a flood of texts coming your way after the breaking news of you, Yoongi’s supposed girlfriend; but as you crept deeper and deeper into the night, the light of your glaring phone screen and the sounds of all outsiders had drowned into the background until you had become desensitized to all forms of life.

But you’re awake now. What’s been done has been done. As much as the thought of working for such acquisitive business disgusts you as an aspiring writer, the spur of emotions after last night’s argument with your supposed boyfriend had pushed you to finally post your first article under the treached pseudonym Ink Nemesis. At least no one knows you’re writing for Solji’s tabloid. If no wrong is recognized, then maybe you shouldn’t take it so hard on yourself, right?

The only viable option you have now is to return to society, and that means your next step is to check your phone. Taking a deep breath, you rub the corners of your eyes with the back of your hand as the other reaches over to grab the phone you had subconsciously tossed in your repressed state under the pillow beside you during the darkest of midnight.

Coworker #1 [6:29 A.M.] You’re dating Yoongi? BTS’ YOONGI?!

The Girl Next to Your Cubicle [6:31 A.M.] I can’t believe the news!! GIRL, I thought we were close enough for you to tell me! I would’ve kept your secret!

The Annoying Mustache Guy Who Keeps Hitting On You [6:33 A.M.] I thought you were single.. But who knew you were dating a super star. I guess that’s why you’ve been avoiding me… but if you’re ever having relationship problems, I’m always here to listen ;)

The stream of messages from people whom had never cared to even greet you in the morning continue on and on as you roll your eyes and do a quick scan of the names until you finally decide enough is enough and clear all notifications. Still no signs of Solji. God, it must be fun to be too busy frolicking around as a married couple to pay attention to gossip like this.

A flicker of regret crosses your mind when you toss your phone to the side once again instead of charging the burning battery of your phone, but once your entire body falls back into the mattress and your eyes shut out the rest of the world.

All that remains in the scrambled thoughts that had dissipated into the back and brought forth the only comprehensible form of figure now is the remembrance of him.

And it’s ironic that of all things and people, you’re thinking of him; he had dragged you into this mess, he had defied your view of those powerless like you, and he, who had refuted your beliefs and methods as an entrepreneur, spoke down to you only in hindsight. Yoongi could only tell you to chase your dreams, because he had done so and he had done well; and even through broken hearts and shedded tears, not everyone can be as lucky as him, so it only ticked you the wrong way when he had alluded to the faults in your decision to work for the SS.

But even then, a part of you knows you agreed with him and what really aggravated you was the truth he spoke. Surely, you aren’t the only one mistakened, but the fuming attitude you had given him last night still burns heavily in the back of your mind. Maybe you were too harsh on him—no, you surely were too harsh, because even a stubborn person like you acknowledges how seriously you take your writing career to heart. Even if his words hurt you—fast and quick like a papercut—there wasn’t a good enough reason to blow his intentions out of proportion…

…and perhaps, just perhaps, you shouldn’t have written that article of him last night.

However, the pent up guilt isn’t enough to turn things around now.

The article isn’t much of an invasion of privacy, you convince yourself, and he had granted you permission to post it anyways. You had promised Solji you would take care of her precious Secret Spilled project for her in the upcoming weeks, so it isn’t like you have the option to back out, right? Surely, this will only propel your writing career.

As you head to the bathroom and splash fresh, cold water onto your groggy state, the day goes on and the popularity of you, the resident of renowned artist Min Yoongi’s significant other, proves to distract you from what you thought would be a positive outcome of this entire scandal. The constant swarm of bustling crowds and flashing cameras invade your space of what should’ve been privacy, and even when you draw the curtains even closer and jam earphones into your ears, the eerie presence of the impudent fans and reporters outside never ceases to divert your attention elsewhere, at anything but your book-in-progress.

The worst worry which plagues your mind, especially as a writer, is the thought, the observation that these people only know and care of your existence because of this popular icon, who had falsely put on a facade as your significant other, and not because of your own efforts in writing.

You want to be recognized as a writer, not a teenage heartthrob’s girlfriend.

When will your efforts come to light? What is needed to receive recognition? When will you be enough?

The dejection and insecurity only grows heavier and heavier in your already constricted chest, and the memory of Yoongi and the charming calm yet concerned look he had given you last night twists your gut with guilt and jolts your jumping heart with an unidentified cause. Writing is the last thing you could possibly accomplish at this point in time.

And so, your hands subconsciously find their way to your charing phone, pulling up Yoongi’s number in your contacts and texting away as if it was second nature.

You [5:56 P.M.] Hey, are you busy right now?

The next few minutes seem like hours as you revisited your high school days, tapping your fingers, bouncing your jittery leg in bed, and staring at the unfinished chapter on your word document while shooting frequent glares at your phone and expecting a new text message before averting your attention back to work in hidden disappointment, as if you weren’t all that desperate nor nervous to read his dreadfully delayed reply; and even if you tell yourself that you should hold yourself to a higher degree, that you should take control of what can barely be referred to as a relationship, your hands scramble for your phone the second it buzzes.

Yoongi [6:00 P.M.] Yeah. I’m working on some stuff.

Yoongi [6:01 P.M.] Is something up?

Frowning, you stare at the glaring screen. Reading his message over and over, you can’t seem to comprehend his question, because even you can’t answer it yourself. Why are you texting him anyways?

You [6:02 P.M.] Not… exactly; but your angry, screaming fans and reporters are marching in the parking lot of my apartment, that’s what’s up.

Your message comes off as slightly passive aggressive, even if you don’t intend to, but you figure Yoongi must be used to it by now; and if not, he should probably do so soon. You just can’t seem to find a way out of the hole you had dug yourself.

Why, just why, did you have to text him now of all people?

Yoongi [6:03 P.M.] Haha… having trouble focusing on work?

The surprising accuracy of his prediction brings a smile to your lips; how could he understand you, someone he had just met, inside and out? Had he not forgotten all the sleepless nights and hair-pulling stress that came with his rookie days? Suddenly, within the length of his five simple words, you don’t feel so alone in this industry anymore.

The comfort of having someone by your side, even if faked and forced, is enough, so for the first time since you graduated college and entered society, you let yourself out into the state of unfamiliar vulnerability.

You [6:04 P.M.] To be honest, yeah. A bit.

And for once, it’s reciprocated.

He receives your call for help.

Yoongi [6:05 P.M.] Want to work at my studio then?

The escape from the grasping claws of the paparazzi doesn't prove to be all that difficult, perhaps because your stardom is still on the ride, but a simple pair of shades and a car parked in the underground garage of your apartment are enough to temporarily save you… until you find yourself presented before yet another catastrophic danger.

“Welcome to the Genius Lab.”

Yoongi stands just a few feet from you, hands raised in the air as he nonchalantly shrugs with a smug, albeit too idle to really exert that snarkish mien of arrogance, pressed grin. Frowning, your eyes scan the front door to the familiar studio which you had stormed away from just last night; dressed in a white tee hidden under an unbuttoned black collared shirt, a color which seems to be a theme based off of his matching black beanie, jeans, and Converse, Yoongi leans his weight against one leg and you come to notice the new addition of an uninviting floor mat.

Contrary to the warm and welcoming invitation he had sent you through text, the cartoon white cat which flips you off and the bright white letters plastered across his floor mat, reading ‘go away,’ crashes any speck of gratitude you previously held towards the boy standing before you.

“The Genius Lab?” your brows arch and your arms cross over your chest. “I don’t remember receiving an invite to some sort of ‘Genius Lab,’ and I certainly don’t see one…”

The purse of your lips as you scan your surroundings, feigning oblivion, elicits a scoff from Yoongi. Shrugging at what he must claim to be your impertinent ignorance, he shakes his head, “you’re right; I guess you’re not entering one either then.”

“Wait, what?” your eyes widen as you gape and watch him turn his back on you, unlocking the door and opening it just enough for him, and only him, to slip through. “You’re joking right? I nearly died trying to escape your paparazzi and your fans!”

“Good. It’s nice to know you finally understand me somewhat,” he utters flatly, fumbling with the keys for a few seconds as if to torment you further. Turning the keys down, up, and around the iron key-chain like a ride stuck on a Ferris wheel, the touch of your hands on his shoulder and your pleading eyes somehow manages to crack through his cold facade. After what seems to be an eternity, Yoongi sighs and turns his head to reveal the unamused, albeit smug, look of his. “What are you doing standing there? Like you said, there isn’t any Genius Lab to enter.”

Time seems to stop when his words register in your panicking state and your jaws nearly slack to the ground, because contrary to your previous judgement, this man, this idol fawned over by millions, Min Yoongi, can quite possibly be the most petty person you’ve met by far.

Clearing your throat, you awkwardly and swiftly retract your hand from his shoulder before standing upright once again and nibbling on the inside of your bottom lip, “okay, you win.”

He raises a brow and cocks his head, as if encouragement for you to finish what you started.

“All hail to your ‘Genius Lab,’ oh Great Min Yoongi,” you say through gritted teeth, snapping your gaze off the ground to glare at him. “Now, let me into your studio already. I have an update to finish and post tonight, and I haven’t written a single page since I woke up. Please.”

Relishing in the sweet taste of your forfeit with his eyes closed, Yoongi nods in satisfaction; and as much as you would love to take advantage of his blackened vision with a quick knee to the crotch, the second his eyes flutter open and the lashes of his monolids are presented with its subtle yet firm elegance of its own, it’s you who’s caught up in a daze.

“I knew you always had potential to be a genius, Y/N,” he continues to nod as he extends a hand to pat your head before burying it in his pockets once again, nudging the door open to a width of an entrance for two with his back. “Only geniuses can recognize this lab, after all.”

“Well,” you quickly stride into the richly ventilated air of his studio, turning around to continue chiding with your hands clasped behind your back and a cheeky grin plastered across your face, “I didn’t think people were so into guys with their head stuck way too far up their asses these days. Trends surely are interesting, aren’t they?”

The joke fails to incite any form of reaction, unless one lacking of amusement counts as an expression.

“Do you want me to kick you out again?”

And just as swiftly as you had altered your demeanor when you thought you had the upper hand, you return to humility when your eyes dart to the ground and your head hangs low. “No. I’m sorry, Genius Min.”

And even if this shouldn’t be appropriate for any reasonable person’s reaction, what comes next takes you for surprise; because when this seemingly unreachable man walks past you, shoulders brushing yours in his wake, the soft chuckle which softly cascades from his soft lips like that of a droplet into a pool of water causes ripples of fluttering in your own strangely constricting chest.

Is it the odd feeling of accomplishment after finally cracking a smile on this man sought over for on a nationwide scale which renders you speechless? Or is it simply sparking the tiniest bit of light to what could have been the darkest of day like yours for this illegible man whomst, supposedly, is your lovable significant other?

Nonetheless, whatever this feeling of elation originates from, his joy only brings you more.

“What’re you doing staring at the wall like that? Is my room that intriguing?” Yoongi muses and your popped eyes dart towards his direction in which he remains seated by his desk swamped in equipment.

“Uh,” you subconsciously mutter under your breath as your hand scratches the back of your head nervously.

Yoongi frowns, brows scrunching and lips turning upside down; the abundance of judgement radiates from him afar, “I know my studio is great and all, but try not to faint or anything. I don’t want to pay for your medical bills.”

“Tch, but you make millions more than me,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and clutching your right elbow with your left hand. “I can’t believe kids look up to frugal men like you these days.”

“You can kindly sit over there, Ms. Y/L/N,” Yoongi deadpans, ignoring your remark.

Huffing to yourself once again, you shoot a scowl at him the second he returns his undivided attention to the screen of his monitor, but, still, obliging to shuffle your way to the seat beside him.

The silence of the ticking clock and the presence and clean, masculine cologne of the man only a few feet beside you all retreats and blurs into the background as one once you enter your own zone. A good minute of shifting around in your seat, opening your laptop, and cracking the knuckles which had been strained from repetitive typing and backspacing are all that you need to focus on the one thing which mattered then and now: writing.

Word document up. Dictionary opened. Distractions ridden of.

Everything is ready to go, except for just one little thing—

“—need a cup of water?”

“Huh?” your eyes avert from the glaring screen of your computer only to find Yoongi’s gaze locked on yours, and suddenly, you feel much more self conscious than before; did you look silly while practically shooting death glares at your laptop? But why does it even matter what he thinks anyways? Furrowing your brows, you realize his gaze remains fixated on you, waiting for a response. “How… did you know?”

“I usually work with a full cup of water by my side so I can sit here by my desk for as long as I can, uninterrupted,” he explains, “I figured you might’ve been the same as a composer for words of some sort.”

“Oh,” you quickly reply with widened eyes, “if me being here distracts you from your work, I can always move somewhere else. I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“—no, that’s not what I’m implying,” he frowns, a small laugh intermixing with the judging look on his face. “I wouldn’t have invited you here if I didn’t want you here. We’re both composers, so I’m just sharing my resources with a fellow creator out of my own free will. Now do you want some water or not?”

Both composers. Sharing my resources. Fellow creator. Own, free will.

The words echo repeatedly in your mind and a hint of smile dances on the corner of your lips but you’re not sure why. Yoongi really isn’t too bad after all. He teases you with meaningless threats and rarely adequately conveys to you his rather bland expressions, but at the end of the day, you can still see, read, and feel his heart; most importantly, however, he had already forgiven you and even reached out a helping hand even after how you had treated him last night, whereas you stubbornly remain unapologetic.

Even after having written tabloids about him to leech off of his success.

“Yeah,” you peer up to flash him a pressed grin, “I mean, yes, please, Genius Min.”

Yoongi scoffs, lightly flicking your temple and heading towards the door, “right, right, sit tight, your Highness.” He then mutters his last words under his breath prior to exiting the room, eliciting a chuckle from yourself, “I can’t believe I’m being treated as a waiter in my own studio.”

Through years of injustice, struggling to shape your career and enter a renowned company only to depart shortly after, a part of you had somehow adapted to this norm of yours of being alone; but now that you’re seated in the fresh, warm air of this man’s studio, you’re finally being reminded of what support and, ironically, company really means.

And for the shortest of seconds, you can’t help but admit to yourself how nice it would be to immerse in this—and more specifically, his—comfort.

Nonetheless, writing is of the utmost importance to you at the moment; from being your career, your hobby, your passion, every single aspect of your life now revolved around it and only it, and today fails to be an exception. Despite the lack of interest circulating your works, the trust and love you’ve built for your own thoughts and novels are more than enough to keep you going. Immersed in chugging out a new chapter to your latest short story, seconds to minutes to hours pass by, the sun sets and the moon rises, and not even the gentle setting of the cup of water Yoongi had brought you—followed by a soft chortle when he realizes how oblivious you are to your surroundings—nor his plopping into the leather chair beside you are able to pique your interest.

Because writing is your entire life right now, and anything else but that would no doubt turn your world upside down.

Unlike the choppy writing you had produced back in your apartment filled with commotion right outside of your window, the words now come to you like second nature, like water streaming through aqueducts to provide your crops of unsubstantial strings of sentences with life. Everyone has experienced it before—the feeling of getting down to business, shutting out the entire world around you, focusing on this one small task until neither time nor pain are of comprehensible concepts to you anymore. Even if you’re usually prone to distractions, this zone you’ve managed to immerse yourself into has proven to you that nothing really ever is impossible.

Typing in your last sentence, copying and pasting into the new post of your blog, and finally hitting that blue enticing box titled ‘post’ which you’ve been staring at this entire week, a loud sigh of relief escapes your lips and your entire body slumps over more than your already slouching posture.

The world around you finally reemerges from the blur of a background, the occasional clicking of Yoongi’s keyboard and mouse and the ticking of the persistent clock hung on the wall to the left of his desk, but nothing quite stirs you to sheer consciousness than the cold set of three fingers to your forehead.

Too tired to protest, your body obeys the gentle push of his cold, albeit soothing, fingertips until you find yourself reclining against the back of—what you had failed to notice before—the rather comfortable leather chair.

Immediately, your alert eyes dart to Yoongi’s usual, blank equivocal gaze—except this time, you’re not sure if it’s the hours of glaring blue night which takes a toll on your vision, but you could’ve sworn the soft edges of his warm, dark eyes were that of fondness and worry.

“You’re sitting too close to the screen,” he explains lowly, turning his head back to his monitor, “it’s not good for your eyes; so if you plan to write in the long future ahead of you, then you should invest in a monitor.”

“I don’t really…” the words slip from your lips in a slur until you clear your throat, eyes still staring at his side features, “I can’t really afford a monitor at this point in my life…”

Silence follows, his hands remaining clasped over his lips as if pondering in deep thoughts, and you’re wondering if you had just sailed the dreadful pity ship or if he had even heard you in the first place.

“...do you want to use one of my old monitors?”

Your eyes blink rapidly and your jaw slacks open in disbelief.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he states, continuing to click and type away without throwing the shortest of glimpses in your direction.

A soft scoff intermixed with a confused laugh precedes the shutting of your laptop. “You’re my pretend boyfriend, Yoongi, not my sugar daddy.”

“Well, I have no use for it and was going to throw it out this week,” he turns his head, finally averting his attention from his work to your flabbergasted gaze before musing, “but you don’t want it? Fine by me. Your loss—”

“—I’ll take it,” you blurt, biting your bottom lip when your lack of self control gets the best of you as you retract, “only… because it would be a waste if you were to throw it away, of course.”

“Right,” he smirks at you before turning his head to return to his work. “Just send me your address then and I’ll send it over to you somehow.”

A large smile stretches from ear to ear as you’re just about to jump and embrace him in glee and gratitude, but reaching out your hand to even touch him is enough to make you think twice. You two aren’t even dating, Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to appreciate skinship, and most importantly, he already has a girlfriend.

Everything screams at you that you’ve made a good, logical decision to retract your hands, so what is this drop of your stomach for? Why are you even spending private time alone with him? And why was he being so kind to you when he’s taken?

“...thank you,” you utter and drop your hands to your lap, looking away to stare at the logo of your laptop. The grim thought plagues your mind: he has a girlfriend. “...I’ll pay you back someday.”

“Can you though? In addition to interest?” he cocks a brow at you, simpering when your eyes pop with fear. “Just take my offer before I change my mind.”

He really isn’t giving you any chance to turn away and run from what you know is an all too catastrophic, impending turmoil—whether it be drowning in pools of debt or falling for something completely out of the reach of your world, your greatest fear remains to be the latter.

“So,” he breaks the silence which befalls your lips, “did you get to finish your update?”

“...yeah. Oddly, it’s a lot easier for me to write in this room than even my own apartment, so…” your voice trails off, “thank you… for inviting me.”

A soft chuckle graces the space between you two.

“What’s it about?”

“Huh?” you subconsciously answer before registering his question, because no one except Solji has ever asked you that before, not even your ‘friends’ whom you would more accurately call business partners.

Eyes trailing up to find him hard away at work, you blink blankly in loss for words. The short story you had just posted really isn’t anything you would ever be proud to share. In reality, you just needed something to throw out there and keep your readers hooked enough to one of your most popular, albeit cliche and overdone, series. It doesn’t hold any special meaning to you. Sharing a work of yours that even you aren’t proud of to someone of such a high tier as Yoongi, someone who has clearly built his success upon hard, quality work, turns out to be your second of many fears tonight. So, without thought, you succumb to the toxicity of human nature.

You lie.

“I was working on my novel about a boy, a pianist to be precise,” you pause and take a deep breath, hesitating to proceed in explaining an idea you’ve had in mind for years now, too scared to put into words; but the nod of his head is all that you need to muster much needed courage. Yoongi wouldn’t judge you. He’s a fellow creator, after all. “He’s the top student of a music academy, and one day, a girl transfers to his school and becomes awe-inspired by his talent after accidentally catching him in a practice room… but the thing is, the boy becomes a borderline dropout student and the girl, completely devastated, tries to become his inspiration to pick up music again like he had done for her.”

“...and may I ask why he suddenly lost interest?”

You nibble on your bottom lip in an attempt to keep you from spilling too much, but alas, your efforts remain to be in vain. “Because his family is poor, and it’s hard to support your son coveting for a career only one in millions can make a living off of, don’t you think?”

The air stagnates, but his next words ripple throughout his studio and everything and everyone within its sway, including you.

“Yeah, it’s a feeling I know all too well,” he prims, but before you could inquire further, he clears his throat and proceeds with a nervous scratch of his forefinger to his chin until his eyes find yours. “I really love your story though. I think it’s a great message, and it seems really special to you, I can see it in your eyes. Actually, writing in general seems to make you happy.”

“Oh?” you raise a brow and a sheepish laugh follows. “You can tell…?”

“You hardly even made a peep in the last few hours. In fact, I thought maybe you were a ghost at one point,” he scoffs at your snort. “Well, I’m glad writing means so much more to you than your poor attempt as a paparazzi. Tabloid writer by day and groundbreaking writer by night,” he laughs, reclining into his seat and crossing his arms. “I like it.”

Those three simple words set ablaze sparks in your racing heart. They’re simple, they’re words many others hear on a daily basis, and they’re easy to say and easy to fake, but it means so much more to you than that. Others might not understand it, especially not your coworkers whom you strive to out-compete and had somehow put up a wall like the numerous walls of cubicles in the bustling, robotic office, but to know and to hear someone compliment a work you’ve spent hours on with lack of feedback holds profound significance beyond imagination.

A part of you curses Yoongi for even stringing you along like this and treating you so well, but the larger part of you warns you not to get too close, because this is all pretend, after all. You two aren’t actually dating. He has no interest in you. He has a girlfriend. Just snap out of it before it’s too late.

And yet, your conscience remains shrouded in guilt for straight up lying to someone who had consoled you, a near stranger, and went out of his way just for you.

“Actually...” he quirks a quizzical brow at your mumbling. “...I wasn’t working on that. It’s just an idea I’ve wanted to write for a while now. I was too ashamed of what I was actually working on to tell you the truth.”

“Oh…” he blinks blankly. “...why aren’t you working on what you want to write?”

“Because, Yoongi,” you cut, taking a sharp breath through gritted teeth before you could implode like you had the other night. “People like me, who need a source of income and vie for views, comments, recognition, we don’t really… have the luxury of writing what we want. People like melodrama, they like sappy romance and happy endings—”

“—so basically you’re scared people won’t like the real writer inside of you.”

Gulp—the walls of your parched throat scrape against one another.

Blinking blankly, your gaze averts to his monitor which had dimmed after inactivity, but Yoongi grabs both armrests of your chair to swivel you around until you confront him eye-to-eye. You’re being caught red-handed by a person whom you would hate to admit understands you, even though, clearly, the wall you had constructed is of utmost transparency to him.

“I think your story is great. You should write what you want to write, and if sappy love stories are what others like to write, then that’s fine, that’s cool, but that’s not you,” he articulates and you can barely breathe when he looks at you straight in the eye; you’re too scared to look away, but you don’t even want to anymore at this point. “I know you’re more mature and different than the rest. You have a shit ton of understanding regarding how the industry works—hell, you have more logic than even I do—but the world deserves to read those intricate perspective of yours. Actually, fuck that, all that matters is that you deserve to share what you want to write.”

“...but,” your voice cracks, “it doesn’t matter if no one reads my work. Current readers might even hate me for working on projects that they aren’t following.”

“Well, they can fuck off,” he deadpans. “And it’s impossible for no one to read your work.”

“What do you mean?” you scrunch a frown. “It’s more than possible—”

“—you’ll at least have one reader,” he interjects, cocking his head at you in lack of amusement, as if the answer to your question is all too obvious, “me.”

Despite how confusing his alternating miens persist to pique your interest, from teasing and caring little to nothing of his reputation in your eyes, somehow, he actually seems to care underneath it all, because this very moment proves it; and if it weren’t for the goosebumps which rise from his overly cheesy and enclosing proximity, you’re not exactly sure how you would comprehend the way his words manage to melt the painful cuts of worries piling in your constricting chest.

Thank you for rebuilding that confidence I lost so long ago as a writer—is what you want to say, but what would he think of you? Would you be playing too easy to get? Is it even appropriate for you to be sharing this tender moment with a man who’s obviously taken, a man of stardom you just know is out of your reach?

“Okay, I’ll hold you accountable to that then,” you snicker and he rolls his eyes with the tiniest of grins tugging at the corner of his lips.

Reclining into his seat, he swivels his chair back to face his undivided attention to his monitor once again. With the shake of his mouse, the screen lights up against the reflection of the glasses—something you’ve noticed he wears while working in his studio—and illuminates the stacks of colored boxes, wavelike lines and spikes which immediately pulls you in for a daze.

“So,” you chime, “how are things going on your side of work, Genius Min?”

The furrow of his brows, purse of his lips, and loud intake of breath followed by a sigh exuding of frustration surprises you. Despite Yoongi’s lack of tendency to mince his words, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this stressed. Was he struggling this entire time and you were just too busy to notice? Something about your lack of attention plagues you with guilt, especially after how he had just consoled you.

“Not great,” he mutters, folding his hands into a balled fist and lowering his head to rest against his knuckles. “I just can’t seem to be satisfied with anything I produce lately.”

“Well, what exactly are you working on?”

“My mixtape,” he breathes, fingers smoothing out the creases between his brows. “It's just that I'm not sure if I should be talking about certain topics to the public.”

“What topics…?”

The question turns his attention towards you, for his eyes shoot you a quick glimpse before returning to the surface of his desk.

“Well…”

He's struggling to find his words, struggling to open up to you; and even if you know it's completely understandable, a part of you wishes he would confide in you like you had to him. It's not just that now you're wondering whether you had over shared, but it's this need, this desire to comfort a distressed someone you've somehow become fond of.

Before you met him, you only cared for yourself, and now, you're learning to expand those horizons to others.

“It's okay. I get it. Some things are easier to say through music first, right? It's the same thing for writing, so I understand,” you assure him, sighing at the small grin of his lopsided, curved lips that, in his own silent form, thanks you.

“I don't know if they're ready for the truth. It's not something society likes to talk about. I don't know if people want to know the other side of me.”

“Well, they better be ready when you drop it,” you quip and his eyes dart to yours as you snap your finger. “Plus, the only way you can start a discussion is by speaking up about it first, right? As a wise man once told me, people who aren't accepting of the other equally real side of you can fuck off!”

Yoongi snorts at your remark, “that man sounds like a genius.”

“Eh, not really,” you shrug and laugh when he throws you a glare. “But you should just talk about whatever you want to and are ready to share. You get to decide whether the world is prepared or not. Either way, you'll still have me, and I'm always ready to hear you out when you drop it.”

“Huh, odd. For someone who rebuked me for my perspectives last night, you seem to be stealing a lot of my lines lately,” he muses with a smirk.

“I'm just saying,” you roll your eyes, “and since when did Min Yoongi give a fuck about what others think? If you're an imposter, please give me the Yoongi I so despise back.”

“You’re right. What am I even worrying for? I knew you were worthy of this Genius Lab,” Yoongi remarks followed by the rolling of your eyes before reclining in his seat and sighing with his hands clasped in his lap. “But that doesn't change the fact that I'm still in a slump.”

“Mm…” you hum, ravaging through your scrambled mind to search for a solution to this regrettably familiar problem of writer’s block—bingo. Without another second to waste, your hands grab his rather cold ones and drag him up and away towards the door. “Lucky for you, I just happen to know the exact concoction to cure this slump of yours—”

“—hey, hey, slow down,” he firms his help and forces your tracks to a stop. “Does this concoction entail exiting the building?”

“Yeah… why?”

“Now? It's midnight,” he frowns, but you frown even harder. “Aren't you scared of the paparazzi catching us?”

“And aren't we supposed to be dating? What, are you scared to be seen in public with me?” you quip, and even though a part of you would do anything to hear his response, you proceed with your argument before he could do so. “Are you more scared of the paparazzi or of this slump?”

Air stagnates once again until Yoongi breaks his silence with a groan, sighing as he digs his hands into the pocket of his jeans to pull out two pairs of classic white masks to cover your nose and lips; and before you could protest, he takes a step forward to enclose the gap between you two, hands reaching up to hook the two loops of fabric around your ears and chilling fingertips grazing against your cheeks.

Your eyes widen at his proximity, because all you can do now is stare straight at his facial features as he stands a few inches away, close enough for you to catch a whiff of his fresh, crisp cologne. Luckily for you, his gaze remains too fixated on hooking the loop around your ears to notice your gulp.

“Okay, now we can leave—ay!” he scolds when you grab his hands and drag him out the door in a bolt. “At least pay attention to a genius when they talk!”

But what he doesn't know is that you're paying attention all too well.

“Whoa.”

“...whoa…. whoa… whoa...”

His words echo throughout the empty concert hall. The enthralled look on his face elicits a proud smile from you as you skip down the slope of the middle aisle and twirl about with arms out wide.

Dimmed lights looming above the endless rows of red velvet seats, balconies hovering above ground in the back of the vast room, and warm gold lights which illuminate the one thing which matters in this room—the performer.

Enchantment is the very embodiment of this otherworldly dimension where humans are inspired and dreams are made.

“Simply jaw-dropping, right?” you grin from ear to ear.

“How do you even have the keys to this entire building?” he remarks, eyes still roaming around the large theater in awe.

“I used to attend classical concerts whenever I was searching for sparks of inspiration. Gradually, I became accustomed to visiting just a few minutes before closing time at night after work—because that really was the only time I had available—until the janitor was awed enough by my passion to hand me a copy of the keys.”

“Actually, he was probably tired of your shit and cleaning up after you every night.”

“Hey, I'm trying to help you here,” you glare at him and he chuckles with a nonchalant shrug. “Well, do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” he chortles, striding down the aisle to join you in the very first row. Plopping into the seat right beside yours, his arm bumps into yours and remains fixated next to your arm rest as a rush of his cologne fills the air. Then, before you know it, he turns to connect his line of sight with yours and, suddenly, you find yourself lost in the warmth radiating from the windows to his soul.

Level with level, eye to eye, piece by piece, two artists of two completely different worlds and two completely identical conditions begin to truly witness the other in its most raw, precious form.

And it's in this very moment when you gaze into his eyes that you realize: the simple reciprocity from one of millions, someone who understands you in and out as well as you do them, reminding you of the beating flesh of your living being, is one of the most innately beautiful form of love which could ever exist.

The pull of this mystical room nearly disables you in catching yourself from falling too hard.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you utter and he quirks a brow to insist you to proceed. You gulp, “I'm sorry about yesterday. I was just… mad. I thought you didn't understand me, and it's fine if you don't, but I'm thankful for your respect in however I choose to tackle my career.”

“What's with you tonight?” he scrunches his nose in distaste. “I didn't know you were the cheesy type.”

“Do you want me to kick you out of here?” your snarl elicits a chuckle from Yoongi.

“I'm joking, I'm joking. This place is gorgeous, Y/N, so consider your apology accepted. Thanks for bringing me here, really,” he gives you a lopsided smile before turning his attention to the grand piano on stage. “God, am I getting swarmed with nostalgia. I used to perform piano recitals here all the time as a kid. I can't believe it's been so long.”

“You can play the piano?” you raise a quizzical brow. “I mean, I know you're a genius, but are you sure you're not putting on airs now?”

The snide remark renders him silent aside from his stank side-eye glaring. “Do you not understand the definition of a genius? And here I thought you were a writer.”

“Prove it then, Genius Min. Prove to me you're worthy of enlightening me in the first place,” you snicker and cross your arms in triumph.

“Why? You're not leeching off of my talents to find some sort of inspiration for your novel, are you?” he smirks.

“I won't be inspired in the least bit if you keep that act up, boy,” you quip before a soft laugh cascades from your lips. “I'm just joking around. I only brought you here to help you get over that block of yours. I thought since you used to play the piano, maybe playing it would spark something in you again.”

“I guess you have a point for once,” he deadpans with a nod, ignoring your death stare. “Oh, but just a quick warning before I perform.”

His delay elicits a groan from you, “what—”

“—you're not going to fall for me, are you?”

A gasp of disbelief leaves your gaping mouth and slacking jaw. You know Yoongi has a curt way with words, but did he really just go there?

“Hey,” he calls out to you down the aisle, “you said you like to listen to classical music for inspiration right?”

“I'm surprised you were listening.”

“Well,” he ignores your remark, pointing at your phone, “feel free to record this once in a lifetime performance.”

“Wow, is this the perk of being Min Yoongi's fan club president?”

“No, I told you my fan club is full already,” he says smugly, turning his back on you to continue up the stage before glancing over his shoulder to throw in one last sentence, “this is dedicated to my first fan who truly understands me for me.”

A scoff replaced by a suppressed grin befalls you, and even despite your best efforts to remain stubbornly unaffected by this overly confident boy, eventually, you find yourself falling deeper than ever to the sway of his music. The light, sophisticated footsteps of his pattering against the waxed wooden floor, his upright and confident posture as he seats himself before the keys which tell you he's done this enough times to perform in his sleep, and the stagnating air which, under his control, freezes time for a brief minute until the gentle press of his ring finger flourishes the room in his grace like a breeze on a sweltering summer all manage to captivate and allure you under his wings. Gazing up at the ethereal him, propped high up on stage above you, seconds and minutes pass by as your phone catches it all on tape.

And soon after, you're free falling.

Tonight has been a long day. If you had told yourself yesterday that you would be lowering your walls and revealing the most vulnerable part of yourself today, you wouldn't have even dropped by his studio in the first place. After all, showing your cards to your enemies is the exact opposite of what you had learned throughout your struggles in this industry, and yet, it’s profusely ironic how much you’re exposing the most raw persona, the most real you to someone you had just met under absurd circumstances…

...but the thing is, he isn’t just someone; he understands you more than anyone else does and realizing that very fact is both your greatest nemesis and your greatest epiphany to ever coexist.

That's the thing about Yoongi, though. You don't realize you're falling until it's too late to save yourself.

And just like you had learned in the past, that sort of carelessness is what crafts for the most painful of crashes known to humankind.

The three sets of paired vibrations of your phone snaps you back into reality as your attention subdivides from Yoongi’s performance to the glaring screen placed before you in your lap.

Dreams are bound to end, after all, and now, it’s time for you to wake up.

[Blog Notification: user151020 commented, “I can't believe I waited this long for the worst pairing possible.]

[Blog Notification: user161020 commented, “This chapter is shit. Ruined everything.]

[Blog Notification: user171020 commented, “It sucks that even your most popular work ended like this. Probably why you'll never be well known.]

Yoongi may understand you as a fellow artist on a surface level, but he will never truly understand the distant world in which you live in.

[Audio uploading: 45%]

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thirstinmore-blog · 6 years

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Best Albums of 2018

BEST ALBUMS 2018

20. Noname: Room 25

19. Jeremih & Ty Dolla $ign: Mih-Ty

18. Tierra Whack: Whack World

17. Parks Burton: Pare

16. Oneohtrix Point Never: Age Of

15. Angelique Kidjo: Remain in Light

14. Shannon Shaw: Shannon in Nashville

13. Curren$y & Freddie Gibbs: Fetti

12. Ariana Grande: Sweetener

11. Vince Staples: FM!

10. DJ Koze: Knock Knock

9. Mariah Carey: Caution

8. Courtney Barnett: Tell Me How You Really Feel

7. The Carters: Everything is Love

6. Snail Mail: Lush

5. Shannon & the Clams: Onion

4. Teyana Taylor: K.T.S.E.

3. Kacey Musgraves: Golden Hour

2. Blood Orange: Negro Swan

1. Dirty Projectors: Lamp Lit Prose

(Spotify playlist)

(Capsule reviews of Top 10 below)

10. DJ Koze: Knock Knock. The music writing trope of “a sounds like b + c” is as lazy as it is played, but sometimes you hear a record and those type of comparisons spring to mind, like when I first heard Saint Pepsi’s Hit Vibes and instantly thought of J Dilla making a disco record. That was also my response to Knock Knock, which sounds like the Avalanches making a more patient update of Since I Left You for 2018 ears. The record is long and lush, and draws from roughly nine billion different aesthetics, but its particular mélange still manages to sound fresh. As with SILY, the album is best experienced as a complete piece of music (though several tracks, such as “Lord Knows” and “Scratch That” would sound great in a mix or DJ set). Knock Knock takes the listener through ambling pathways that wrap around and revisit each other, like an evening stroll through the spacious Joshua Tree National Park depicted on its cover. It’s nearly a two-hour journey, but it’s well worth the price of admission.

9. Mariah Carey: Caution. Mariah got a dirty mouth and I’m here for it. As mother, a twice-divorcée, a woman nearing 50, her work and her image are all her own; if she wants to include the word “fuck” in a bunch of songs on her new album (“GTFO,” “With You,” “The Distance”), then who the fuck are we to tell her no? It’s a refreshing twist from someone whose public persona is often so curated, but I’m burying the lede. The real story here is that Caution is a batch of excellent R&B songs from one of the genre’s all-time greats. It’s not overwrought – by contrast, the album’s sultry blue cover art is indicative of the moods within. The Ty Dolla $ign-featuring “The Distance” is laid extremely deep in the cut, assisted by some subtle production from Poo Bear, Lido and—holy shit, Skrillex? Yup, and like Mariah herself, everyone involved uses an even hand and measured patience to let each song breathe.

A personal highlight for me is “A No No,” which flips the Lil Kim/Lil Cease classic “Crush On You” on its head. Here, where Biggie intones “he’s a slut, he’s a hoe, he’s a freak/got a different girl every day of the week,” there is no irony intended. She gauges her suitors’ intent and responds simply: “that’s a no-no.” In fact, the word “no” accounts for easily half the song’s lyrics, but it’s still a blast on subsequent listens. But don’t get it twisted – highlights abound herein, from aforementioned singles “GTFO” and “The Distance” to the thoughtful, expansive, Dev Hynes-helmed “Giving Me Life,” which begins as a downtempo club hit and morphs into a surrealist dream. Mariah Carey is one of the artists who’s been in my life the longest – I’m so happy she’s still killing it.

8. Courtney Barnett: Tell Me How You Really Feel. Courtney Barnett is what I was raised to believe an indie rock star should be: an unassuming, smart slacker with regular clothes and the ability to unleash earthbound poetry and atmosphere-puncturing solos with equal aplomb. That effortless cool permeates every facet of her work, from her casual half-singing style to her loose but proficient playing, a mighty guitar god in the body of a humble 31-year-old. (That she recorded a collaborative record with renowned cool guy Kurt Vile should surprise no-one.) But what’s really striking about Barnett’s work is her wryly observant lyrics; whether she’s describing the banalities of urban life (“City Looks Pretty”) or eviscerating toxic masculinity (“Nameless, Faceless”), her keen eye and incisive wit pervade every line. Tell Me is the sound of a strong artist getting stronger.

7. The Carters: Everything is Love. I often say that as I get older, my favorite elements of songwriting are editing and restraint. That’s why I tend to hate double albums and love EPs. I just believe that most double albums would be better if distilled down to one really strong record. EPs, on the other hand, leave the listener wanting more. Such is the case with Everything is Love, which reads like a Beyonce trap record with a number of guest verses from Jay. Regardless of speculation on who did the lion’s share of the writing on the record, both are in top form. Bey’s signature vocal virtuosity is on display as ever, but the real delight is in her capable delivery as a rapper. She glides effortlessly through triplets like “Poppin, I’m poppin, my bitches are poppin, we go to the dealer and cop it all.” Big Sean could never. Meanwhile, Jay turns in a few of my favorite bars of the year (and also a very slick Drake diss) on “Boss:”

“You not a boss, you got a boss. N*ggas gettin’ jerked, that shit hurts, I take it personaly. N*ggas’d rather work for the man than to work for me. Just so they can pretend they on my level, that shit is irkin’ to me. Pride always goeth before the fall, almost certainly. It’s disturbing what I gross. Survey says: you not even close. Everybody’s bosses till the time to pay for the office, till them invoices separate the men from the boys. Over here we measure success by how many people successful next to you. Here, we say you broke if everybody is broke except for you. BAWSE.”

I don’t know if they intend to release more records as The Carters, but Everything is Love is a fun, successful experiment.

6. Snail Mail: Lush. There’s no reason for a debut LP to be this good. The record, from solo project-turnt-band of 19-year-old Lindsay Jordan is focused, clever, and sophisticated. Every component of these songs appears exactly as it should. Jordan’s songwriting is clean and incisive (“I hope whoever it is holds their breath around you/’cause I know I did,” she sings on album standout “Heat Wave”). The arrangements are smartly simple; seldom do they deviate from the four-person rock lineup, so the embellishments that are included (the French horn on “Deep Sea,” the layered keys on “Speaking Terms”) really leap out. The playing throughout is lovely, with Jordan’s beautiful guitar technique front and center (the finger-picking on “Let’s Find an Out” is a particular delight). Everything in its right place – only where Radiohead’s inward gaze can be mopey and self-indulgent, the core strength of Lush is its efficiency. There’s no filler here – just the exact amount of support that each piece requires. The drumming feels especially strong in this regard – there’s an economic directness in Ray Brown’s playing that prioritizes the backbeat over everything, including his ego. The fills that he does include are modest and workmanlike.

It’s right that the record would be released by Matador, because these songs are drenched in the influences of the 90s slacker rock of Yo La Tengo, Sonic Youth, Sleater-Kinney and Sebadoh. And as with each of those bands, Snail Mail’s songs are buoyed by excellent lyrics. Jordan doesn’t just sound wise beyond her years, she actually seems to have lived more in her 19 years than many folks twice her age. There’s a subtext of sobriety in some of the songs (“It just feels like the same party every weekend, doesn’t it?” on “Pristine,” or “I’m so tired of moving on/spending every weekend so far gone” on “Heat Wave”). Perhaps the self-reflection that’s required in recovery has helped to distill her worldview.

And look, I don’t mean to be patronizing here – this album would be a major achievement from any person of any age. But to hear an artistic vision this crystal clear and laser-focused from a 19-year-old is something truly special. I can’t wait to hear what she does next.

5. Shannon & the Clams: Onion. Upon first listen, Onion struck me as the best record the Clams have released to date. Now, admittedly, I’m a sucker for keyboards, and the inclusion of organist Will Sprott is pure Patrick-bait. But beyond my own tastes, the organ both fills out and anchors the Clams’ garage doo-wop sound. There’s a welcome succinctness to Onion: the songwriting is tight, the guitar playing is melodic and utilitarian, and the vocal performances from both Cody and Shannon are more technically refined than in any of their previous outings. One wonders if Shannon’s work on her own solo album (the very good, Dan Auerbach-produced Shannon in Nashville, which also came out this year) pushed her to improve her technique. And don’t get it fucked up – this is still a Clams record. It’s still shaggy and loud and rambunctious – but they’ve worked hard to reign in their wildest tendencies. Some might say that it’s layered, just like-- *an oversized cane hooks around my throat and drags me offstage* ….Well…..let’s just say it’s good.

4. Teyana Taylor: KTSE. Of all the seven-song mini-albums Kanye produced in Wyoming this year, KTSE is both the best and the least talked-about. She arrives seemingly out of the blue, a fully-formed artist who knows her strengths exactly. She has bars when she feels like spitting them, a beautiful husky alto when she feels like crooning, and a profound connection to multiple styles of club music that’s borne of her history as a dancer. It’s become a bit trendy to nod to vogue & ballroom culture in the last few years, but while Drake’s Big Freedia feature on “Nice for What” feels a little forced, Taylor can walk it like she talks it. A dancer by trade, her comfort in the ballroom is palpable.

Ye keeps it simple, remaining comfortably in his wheelhouse and flipping excellent soul samples such as Billy Stewart’s “I Do Love You” (which he repurposes into a nostalgic 4/4 slapper on “Hold On”) and The Stylistics’ “Because I Love You, Girl” (which he expands into a melancholy mediation on the horn section of the original). It’s a welcome return to form.

3. Kacey Musgraves: Golden Hour. In her SNL performance earlier this year, Kacey Musgraves appeared as a flat-ironed, longhair disco queen. As she slayed Golden Hour’s catchy lead single “High Horse,” I was reminded of Dolly Parton. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Dolly’s mid-70s and early-80s catalogue this past year, having purchased vinyl copies of All I Can Do, New Harvest…First Gathering, and Dolly, Dolly, Dolly. Parton is one of those artists whose discographies are so gigantic as to seem practically impenetrable, so I’ve been trying to hear as much as I can. Dolly, Dolly, Dolly is an especially interesting entry: released in 1980, it was her 23rd album, and it represents a pretty clear swing for crossover success. A handful of the tracks are straight-up disco, and these are what Musgraves called to mind. I was thrilled – Dolly’s disco experiments were widely panned, but I think there’s a lot of good there, maybe Golden Hour would be an attempt to vindicate Parton’s vision?

Unfortunately or not, I was incorrect. In total, Golden Hour bears more resemblance to Dolly’s friend & frequent collaborator Emmylou Harris (Kacey’s hair should’ve tipped me off, SMH). It’s a beautiful, understated, and thoughtful set of songs that could fit as well on a folk radio station as a country one. Like Harris, Musgraves has an innate sense of how to let a great song be great, hanging back in both arrangement and vocal performance. She’s emotive when she needs to be (“Rainbow”), and contemplative as needed (“Golden Hour”), always letting her writing breathe. Also, she has the confidence to bury the lead single so deep on Side B that you almost forget it’s there (and are thrilled when it is). As a person who prefers the full album experience to that of a shuffled playlist, this is one of my very favorite tricks.

Quite simply: great songs + great arrangements = a surprising list-topper for me.

2. Blood Orange: Negro Swan. For years, the roles of sexuality and gender in black identity have been foci of Dev Hynes’ work as Blood Orange. He spent time with drag queens and sex workers while writing his debut album Coastal Grooves, and has often cited transgender icon Octavia St. Laurent as one of his primary influences. But while these interests have colored his previous albums, on Negro Swan they’re the bedrock. In a press release preceding the album, Hynes described the album as “an exploration into my own and many types of black depression, an honest look at the corners of black existence, and the ongoing anxieties of queer/people of color. A reach back into childhood and modern traumas, and the things we do to get through it all. The underlying thread through each piece on the album is the idea of hope, and the lights we can try to turn on within ourselves with a hopefully positive outcome of helping others out of their darkness.”

These ideas are fundamental to the songwriting, and they’re reinforced by snippets of conversations with Janet Mock and Kai the Black Angel (who adorns the cover in a durag and angel wings) peppered throughout the album’s 49 minutes. On “Family,” Mock defines community as “the spaces where you don’t have to shrink yourself, where you don’t have to pretend or to perform, you can fully show up and be vulnerable in silence, completely empty, and that’s completely enough.” That search for community, the desire to be seen and loved and supported as your whole self informs each of these beautiful songs. Already a competent producer, Hynes continues to grow, selecting beautiful flourishes like the jangly, perfectly out-of-tune guitar on “Charcoal Baby” or the soft, echoing snare drum on “Dagenham Dream” to characterize the thematic content of each piece. Negro Swan is a powerful and complete work of art. It sounds like he’s finally found some answers to the questions he’s been asking.

1. Dirty Projectors: Lamp Lit Prose. On Lamp Lit Prose, David Longstreth appears to be having more fun making music than he has in years, probably because almost 100% of his band has turned over (kudos to longtime bassist Nat Baldwin, whose playing tethers him to his own beginnings). Beyond the new Projectors themselves, Longstreth spent the months during the writing of the album making new friends in the LA music scene, and bringing them around the studio to record various parts. Members of Haim contribute to album standout “That’s a Lifestyle,” Syd (of The Internet) anchors the refrain in “Right Now,” and Fleet Foxes’ Robin Pecknold and Vampire Weekend alumnus Rostam Batmanglij stack harmonies onto the swirling ballad “You’re The One.”

I see LLP as the second half of a diptych begun by the self-titled Dirty Projectors, released last year. While that record wallowed in the pain of a broken relationship with former Projector Amber Coffman, LLP reveals a healed and newly in love protagonist. Both records feature David Longstreth at his most vocally competent: he’s now able to truly execute the melismatic R&B runs he lovingly wrote and charmingly attempted in his earliest work, his diaphragm now supports his every leap and bound, and his croon is sweeter than ever before. But furthermore, both albums expand on ideas that have popped up throughout his illustrious and impressive body of work. Whether he’s reviving the Rise Above era blasts of noisy guitars on “Zombie Conqueror” or revisiting the orchestral ambitions of The Getty Address on the stunningly soulful “I Wanna Feel It All,” Longstreth sounds like a worker with a complete toolbox and a detailed blueprint. He’s been working at honing his craft for years.

I saw the Projectors in June, at a time when only “Break-Thru” and “That’s a Lifestyle” had leaked. I didn’t know what to expect, being among the seemingly small minority of fans who liked their previous record. But their set was staggering. Flanked by his group of mostly-new faces, Longstreth was bouncing all over the place, proudly showcasing each instrumentalist & vocalist (seemingly everyone had at least one moment in the spotlight), visibly excited about playing with this group of people. And that makes sense: LLP is Longstreth relishing the fundamental glee of musical collaboration. The joy is positively bubbling over in tracks like “Right Now,” “I Feel Energy,” and “I Found it in You.” To see him play these songs live is to wonder if he’s talking about the act of musicmaking itself when he sings: “Ask now, I’m in love for the first time ever.”

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balarouge · 5 years

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Small Music Venues Are Disappearing in Montreal

Katacombes Is Merely the Newest Sufferer of an Ongoing Pattern

In advanced October, Katacombes Co-op, understood for its own task in underground popular music settings, introduced it would be actually closing on Dec. 31 after 13 years of operation. Image Aysha White

It's certainly not immediately that our experts are actually going to feel the complete impact of nearby songs places enclosing Montreal, mentioned Julien Senez-Gagnon, when a speaker for the right now closed place Divan Orange.

" It is actually in 5, 10, 15 years, when our experts'll claim that there are actually far fewer and fewer nearby process getting the odds to increase internationally," he claimed. "There'll be far fewer given that there are actually fewer options, far fewer places, much less lifestyle in Montreal."

But, the closures happen as gentrification has actually added to fundamentally enhancing a lot Montreal over recent many years.

New businesses and costly actual sphere boost area leas, usually pressing out individuals as well as companies that have actually helped define their areas for several years, also decades.

Venues for real-time music deal something momentous to the concert goer, an expertise they can not acquire at property paying attention to Spotify.

However as gentrification carries on to hold, these tiny venues are actually fading away.

In late October, Katacombes Co-op, known for its function in underground songs scenes, introduced it would certainly be finalizing on Dec. 31 after thirteen years of function.

The explanation? High rental payment costs at its own Quartier des spectacles location on St. Laurent Blvd. The renowned black brick property is actually also looking for major repair work.

Katacombes "possessed a specific niche that I don't think is definitely occurring similarly anywhere else, as well as it's heading to be a shame to drop that," mentioned co-owner Janick Langlais.

Image Aysha White" This failed to happened out of nowhere," stated Janick Langlais, one of the co-owners of Katacombes. "It wasn't an easy choice, but we have actually been actually having financial difficulties for several years."

While she claimed several of the members of the co-op have actually chosen to carry on to new factors, she's remaining with what she understands. "I've spent half my everyday life in this songs setting. I couldn't definitely find on my own doing everything else."

While understood largely as a hub for steel, punk, and also different below ground popular music categories, the place had expanded its offerings a fair bit, adding variety programs, open evenings, improv comedy, and also business celebrations to its own calendar.

" Our experts possessed a specific niche that I don't believe is actually definitely taking place the same technique anywhere else, as well as it's visiting be an embarassment to drop that," stated Langlais.

Cécile Demers concurs. Demers is an outfit designer as well as range reveal producer that has actually possessed a considerable amount of expertise along with Katacombes, both as an artist and as a member of the neighborhood.

Merely days just before the closing was actually revealed, she produced the 2nd edition of the Bal des sorcières variety series, which Katacombes delivered the excellent background for.

" It was produced due to the imaginative neighborhood, plus the wall surfaces with the skulls, the dark atmosphere-- it was actually perfect for the activity."

To Demers, places like Katacombes are what make Montreal thus exclusive.

" All of these outdated properties consisting of Katacombes only possess this awesome status. With a brand-new property, you have to fix the whole status as well."

It isn't simply Katacombes or even the option, thug, or even metal scenes that are taking a hit from closing.

Katacombes' scenario becomes part of a much larger fad.

Final March, Sofa Orange, another co-op open for thirteen years, shut for good, citing a buildup of sound problems as well as, similar to Katacombes, a walking in lease costs.

Closing much smaller sites protects against passersby to discover new popular music and also spontaneously stroll in to a series, clarified Julien Senez-Gagnon, who expects the disappearance of culture in Montreal. Picture Aysha White

Le Cagibi, a coffee shop and gig venue, was actually forced to move out of the Kilometer Edge due to a significant rental fee rise that very same year. It located a new area in Little Italy but shed the area needed to have to frequently bunch programs.

Which is actually not mentioning other iconic venues such as Café Chaos or les Bobards, which shut in 2014 and also 2015 respectively for causes featuring high leas as well as sound issues.

Senez-Gagnon was actually a component of Sofa Orange right till the end. Ever since, he's stayed in the world of Montreal's local area songs scene through operating at Quai des brumes, a bar as well as popular music venue on St. Denis St.

" I didn't specifically befall of my seat when I heard the headlines-- not simply that it was Katacombes, however that one more site is actually Montreal was shutting," mentioned Senez-Gagnon.

Many of these smaller sized venues fit a specific niche in the Montreal artistic performances, which might possess had the effect of confining their scope.

There is also the inquiry of their reason: Are they pubs? Songs places? Both? Neither?

Senez-Gagnon mentioned that Divan Orange knew that issue all too well.

" Our company intended to say to folks that our experts weren't just a pub. We were actually additionally a performance place, however our company also wished to say that our team weren't merely a performance site like Carbonated water or the MTelus. That's where it is actually unusual," said Senez-Gagnon.

Langlais experienced the exact same form of concerns with Katacombes.

" Given that we may not be actually a bar, and also our experts are merely open on times with celebrations, which isn't each day, it is actually hard to obtain lease loan along with exactly how our routine was actually. With the rental payment climbing and all the expenditures our experts needed to pay for, it was becoming definitely hard," stated Langlais.

Gentrification isn't a trouble that is actually one-of-a-kind to imaginative places, however as they are more vulnerable to monetary vulnerability, according to Senez-Gagnon, they often suffer the outcomes earlier.

" Because these spots are presently susceptible, when they close it is actually type of a sense of factors ahead for these areas. When rental fees boost, they are actually the initial to go because they merely can't endure," pointed out Senez-Gagnon.

" Every one of these old structures including Katacombes merely possess this unbelievable prestige. Along with a brand new structure, you must restore the whole cachet too."-- Cécile Demers

As venues maintain closing, it is actually simple to overlook that new ones are additionally opening.

The Diving Alarm Social Club, found in the Stage, opened its own doors in 2018 and has been actually property to a range of celebrations, consisting of live music, stand-up, movie assessments, as well as also pop-up outlets.

Austin Wrinch, among the co-founders and also co-owners of the Scuba diving Alarm, understands gentrification properly.

" I'm really from Vancouver initially, so I think that in a great deal of means I'm sort of like a refugee residing listed here in Montreal, like, creatively," pointed out Wrinch.

" There it's thus far gone-- it's once so expensive. The reason Vancouver is recognized as 'No Exciting Area,' [is actually] songs places or just about anything that makes noise are a no-go. Our experts definitely could not do what our experts are performing right now in Vancouver or Toronto," he added.

There is one concern along with the Scuba diving Alarm's room: It is actually on the 3rd flooring of an aged structure.

" We are actually certainly not very easily accessible, which really, really sucks," said Wrinch.

" It's sort of a condition where it's the only real means that our team could be fiscally easily accessible for performers. It truly draws that physical ease of access is actually no excellent. It is actually type of among those things where if our company performed the first stage, our company directly can certainly not pay for the rental payment," included Wrinch.

Also still, Wrinch believes they were privileged in discovering this space at all. Evan Johnston, one of Wrinch's partners, who is actually likewise entailed along with Barbossa on St. Laurent Blvd., talked to his landlord that there was actually an abandoned area that was being actually made use of for storage.

Johnston as well as Wrinch had knowledge running do-it-yourself areas over the last as well as had actually been searching for an area that will be actually even more secure and also successful. Much, the Diving Bell has satisfied these requirements.

Area in Montreal is actually already at a premium in numerous districts, as well as locating an appropriate area for a venue is actually as difficult as it's ever been actually.

" Our team carried out think concerning relocating [Katacombes], however after trying to find 2 years, our team understood there just had not been really anywhere our company could relocate," claimed Langlais.

Katacombes is actually closing in part as a result of the high rental payment costs at its own Quartier des spectacles area on St. Laurent Blvd. And, the famous dark brick property is also wanting primary repair services. Photograph Aysha White

Even great spaces can easily be actually wrecked through outdoors variables, especially sound problems. Those criticisms were an element in the death of Divan Orange, which accumulated big greats since, as Wrinch put it, "some douchebag was contacting noise grievances on all of them."

In areas where luxurious condos are actually appearing, like the Plateau, where some of these sites have commonly been, sound could possibly end up being a huge hassle for location managers.

" It is actually downtown, it's brought in to be loud, therefore why are you establishing up listed here if you don't desire that? It's Montreal! Guy, go reside in St. Lambert!" stated Demers. "What our team need to have is actually some form of insulated shelter. Barring that, all the loud things like our company are going to have to go further as well as better away."

Wrinch recommended that brand new places would perhaps help in the gentrification complication in the areas they would certainly move right into at the same time, which might carry out more damage than good down the road.

How perform you maintain much smaller venues from closing?

Depending on to Senez-Gagnon as well as Langlais, the government requires to give additional assistance to for-profit sites, especially as gentrification remains to raise operating costs.

" It is actually a question of political willpower," said Senez-Gagnon. Depending on to him, the area ought to use a lot more regulations to better combine songs places in to general vicinities. And the government as well as rural levels of federal government need to acknowledge the payment these locations offer arising popular music, he stated.

" When our experts announced our team were finalizing, our company wished to send out an information, make a little a scene so that we could steer clear of the closing of various other places," mentioned Senez-Gagnon.

He pointed out that they preferred the overall public and also people in energy to make note of what was happening therefore that some form of modification could happen.

" I am actually certainly not stating our team didn't succeed given that Katacombes shut, however it carries out present that there is actually been actually no motion. If there is no activity about that, the hemorrhage will carry on," stated Senez-Gagnon.

Langlais mentioned that it is vital for artistic communities to have their own rooms run through folks from their settings.

" Along with the closing of Divan Orange and also right now our team, there is actually still independently had areas that can manage programs, however it isn't folks coming from the scenes. It is actually private proprietors placing on shows because its own monetarily realistic to all of them," claimed Langlais.

Wrinch concedes, but delivers a caution: There needs to have to be a willingness from the community, too.

" I really feel like there's a separate in between people's expectations of what their areas may carry out for them, type of an absence of knowing that help stems from people," claimed Wrinch.

" If you're going to observe a band, you need to wish to pay the door expense due to the fact that you discover that it's one thing straight assisting, ideally, your pals, however even artists that you don't understand," claimed Wrinch.

Wrinch included that often, people don't heed the points they like up until they may absolutely no a lot longer have it.

" As well as then suddenly it becomes this major problem and individuals feel like, 'Ah man, gentrification is actually destroying it,' and, well, what was their organisation like for recent pair of years? Was actually folks happening out to their series? Performed folks support all of them? Did they actually look after?" stated Wrinch.

The answer to that concern is surely combined.

Through certainly not operating outside of days with programs, Katacombes discovered itself in a vicious cycle, with longstanding monetary concerns.

" I failed to specifically befall of my office chair when I listened to the headlines-- certainly not only that it was actually Katacombes, yet that an additional location is actually Montreal was shutting," mentioned Julien Senez-Gagnon. Picture Aysha White

Langlais claimed that organisation has actually grabbed because the announcement, which absolutely offers credence to Wrinch's aspect. Even Wrinch thinks his very own aspect is actually also damaging. "There is actually still a lot of support in the neighborhood, as well as lots of people obtain that it is actually a shared respect factor."

When smaller performance sites fail, it isn't simply the manager as well as the concert-goer that are actually affected. Without these sites, developing performers do not actually possess anywhere to cut their teeth.

Somebody merely starting their profession or smaller sized private artists may not be going to be playing the Bell Facility, which indicates fewer chances to conduct in front end of groups and also get found.

" The MTelus, areas like that, if you do not have a ticket, you're certainly not visiting go there certainly," stated Senez-Gagnon.

" The songs isn't obvious. If you pass in front end of it, you can not mention, 'Oh, that appears cool, I'm going to go check it out,'" mentioned Senez-Gagnon.

" Those are actually the locations we are actually losing, areas where you may go discover stuff automatically. Those locations are actually gathering points and revelation aspects for fringe Montreal popular music."

This content was originally published here.

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itsworn · 6 years

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Take 5 With Mark Trostle, Head of Dodge, Chrysler, and SRT Design

The unfortunate truth is that most folks aren’t working a dream job. They may have snippets of pleasure from time to time, but as a whole work is a daily grind that comes and goes with the sunset. Mark Trostle is different. As the Head of Dodge, Chrysler and SRT Design the man is not only entrenched in some of the coolest automotive projects on the planet, but he also gets to lead a team of young designers in a field that he’s beyond passionate about. He’s also humble, authentic and quite honestly, one of the nicest guys we know.

HRM: At what point did you realize you were talented enough to be a designer?

MT: I was fortunate enough that my father was not only a car designer but a gear head as well, and I grew up reading HOT ROD magazine because of him. He taught me how to put V8s in old Vegas and repaint cars in our driveway.

It started to come together in high school. I was always that kid who could draw cars and take shop class, but I sucked at math. I’ll never forget telling my guidance counselor in my junior year that I wanted to be a car designer. He said that I didn’t have the math grades for that, to which I responded, “No, you don’t understand, I can draw a mean car and I know about this field!”

He replied, “No, that’s an engineer.” I’ll never forget that.

HRM: Was car design something that came naturally to you or were you exposed to it at an early age?

MT: There was a car design competition at the Detroit Autorama in my senior year of High School. I won, and it gave me a whopping $1,000.00 scholarship to attend College for Creative Studies (CCS). That and ArtCenter College of Design are the two renowned automotive design schools in the country. That’s when it started to sink in that maybe I could make a living at this, and that realization was kind of cool. I was also fortunate that early on in my High School days I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

HRM: When did you decide that automotive design was your calling, and how long from that moment did it take to make it happen?

MT: I was probably sixteen or seventeen years old. It became my goal to be an automotive designer. It was either that or my other interest, automotive photography. I thought that would’ve been cool as well. But I love to draw and obviously with my Dad, it was a pretty good career path.”

HRM: Describe your first paying job in the world of automotive design.

MT: It was the best job I could have had, and it happened right after my sophomore year at CCS. I was twenty years old and had just received an internship at General Motors Design. It was epic! I wasn’t even old enough to drink, yet I’m at GM Design working on the coolest things in the world with design legends. Chuck Jordan (Vice President of Design for GM from 1986-1992 -ed) was still there, and I’ll never forget him coming into the studio. There was Jerry Palmer (Vice President of Design for GM from 1986-1992 -ed), as well as Tom Peters (Director of Exterior Design, GM Performance Car Studio –ed), who worked on the Corvette. He was my boss and one of my heroes. I then ended up going to work on Viper, the exact thing that was counter to what he was working on. That was my first job – a summer at General Motors- it was awesome, and it paid well.”

HRM: Why Dodge/SRT and when did you start your career there?

MT: After my junior year, I had an internship at Chrysler. It was a special project in conjunction with CCS, and it exposed me to Tom Gale, John Herlitz and Neil Walling. Those were the leaders of design for Chrysler at the time.

The Viper concept car had come out shortly before I graduated, and the show cars they were doing were the most incredible at the time, and they were killing everybody with them. That combination, the design work and the passion – I’ll never forget that about Tom Gale.

There’s something special about the designers at Chrysler – they’re car people and they’re real people. There are very few of us that have big egos and Tom epitomized that which helped draw me to Chrysler.

My natural gravitation has always been towards performance. I was always the guy who was trying to work on a skunk works project. What can we do to make a car go faster, look a little tougher? I road raced for years so everything I was doing in my personal life was more on that side of things. At work I would get asked to work on those types of projects because, somehow they seem to find each other.

HRM: We’re old enough to remember when classics were used as daily drivers. How much of the past goes into the future of design, and do you think that “retro” design trends will always have a place on future models?

MT: A lot of that has to do with the type of vehicle being designed. Obviously with the Challenger, that was our main goal. The number one purchase consideration from our customers for Challenger is styling. Our customers love its size and the connection to the original. Charger has a little bit of that flavor as well. It’s not as literal, but it still has some retro or nostalgic cues to it.

Dodge has evolved into such a performance brand for us, and I always tell the guys that our cars have a soul. There are companies that would die to be able to pull from a historic past and bring it into the future. I want to continue to leverage that. That can just be in the details of things: lighting, tail lamps, headlamps, shapes like that, and I think that it’s something that helps give our brand a uniqueness.

HRM: Do you find that CAFE and NHTSA regulations are a hindrance or a challenge in regards to design?

MT: I try to be optimistic. There are absolutely times when you think – how am I going to solve this one? But as an industrial designer you look at the problem and try to use it to create a unique solution.

We spend more time in the wind tunnel these days because of those regulations. Can we still make a car like the Challenger be slippery and have a 200mph top speed while meeting those café numbers? It would be easy to complain, but that’s what helps evolve not only engineering, but the fit and finish on cars as well. It also lets us do neat tricks that are invisible to the customer, yet still allows us to have a car that doesn’t look like everything else.

HRM: What other facets of design do you gain inspiration from, for example: aerospace, commercial design, architecture?

MT: That’s a tough one for me. I love modern architecture. I am intrigued by it, the cleanliness of modern homes and such. I think it influences you because to me, design, regardless of the subject, be it your phone or what have you, gives one a sense of feeling, and that feeling is unique for everyone.

For example, I’m still baffled that planes, as large as they are, fly through the air. Yet they’re so cool to look at, especially military aircraft. They function, but they have a finesse to them that you might find on say, the surface of a wing. While I can’t say I’d take any one of those things and put it into a design I’m working on, it’s more of the emotional aspect that transfers over.

HRM: We’re currently at a precipice when it comes to automotive technology. On the one hand, we’re living in the golden age of horsepower, yet we know the push to electric and autonomy is in full swing. How much longer do you think you’ll be designing cars that are driven as opposed to cars that drive themselves?

MT: I don’t think anyone who reads a magazine like HOT ROD will ever want to be driven around. It’s tough because there are two sides to my job. There’s the passionate, emotional, performance side, and then there’s the “okay, I’m still an industrial designer designing a product for hundreds of thousands of people” side. Fortunately, we have enough products that allow us to focus on those different areas. While I love driving, I also understand there are those who should not have control of the wheel (laughs).

HRM: Have you ever been given a project that you were not passionate about, and if so, how was that handled?

MT: I’m a pretty optimistic and passionate guy by nature and I always try and look at things as a challenge, even if the challenge may not be super exciting. I remember I was given a tail lamp to design, and I thought, “Really? I’m going to design this tail lamp?” But you know what? It ended up being the first thing I designed that made it to production, and I learned so much about what went into a tail lamp (laughs). I thought it was just a tail lamp, but there were tons of requirements. What that said to me was that, while I may not always get goose bumps over a project, it’s more than likely I’m going to find something about it that makes me think it’s cool. Hopefully that comes through on what I’m working on.

HRM: At what point in your career did you transition from Luke Skywalker to Yoda?

MT: Ralph [Gilles, Chrysler’s Global Head of Design] always tells our young designers, “You gotta get control of your light saber, man! You’re swinging that thing around, you’re cutting limbs off, and you’re hurtin’ people!” We get a lot of young designers in that go crazy, and we always talk about how they’ve got too much design on one car. So, I love that analogy, and we use it all the time with our young guys.

I’ve gotten to the point where it happened organically. I remember when I first became a design manager, I was like, “Oh my gosh, I’m responsible for some of this?” But then you think, “Wait, I know what to do,” or, “This doesn’t make sense,” and it just starts to happen. The most important thing for a successful designer to do is to leave their ego at the door and understand the needs of both our engineering and marketing folks.

HRM: Has technology improved design, and has it allowed you to think in deeper dimensions than before?

MT: As an artist, pen and paper is still such an important piece to get an idea from your brain down, and we still use that because it’s based around emotion. It comes right from your hand onto a piece of paper and I don’t think that’ll ever go away.

Because I was one of the youngest guys here when I started, I was one of the first to use Photoshop to draw electronically and create 3D models on a computer. I’ve lived that transition, and the biggest piece we’ve taken from that technology is the efficiency it provides. As a car designer, you don’t do one sketch or one front-end design and everyone says, “Yup! That’s it, build it exactly like that!” You have layers of bosses, reviews, and someone saying, tweak this and make that headlamp a little bigger. Now, rather than re-drawing something every time there’s an aesthetic change, we just go in and manipulate it electronically.

HRM: Does performance dictate design or vice versa?

MT: Whether I’m working on a Pacifica or a Challenger Redeye, there are certain criteria that I have to design around. When it’s a performance vehicle, we have to take more consideration in regards to cooling, downforce, aero balance, and things like that. What growing up wrenching taught me was that not only do I want things to look cool, but I also want them to function. There are times when it’s frustrating, but I truly believe that form and function have to work together.

HRM: I would assume design and engineering work closely together. When you butt heads, which usually comes out on top?

MT: There can definitely be frustrating moments, absolutely. I’ve learned that sometimes the best way to remedy something is to show them. One of the benefits a designer has is that we can visualize something different than words on a page would dictate. A lot of times, showing them visually what they’re asking for makes them go, “Oh, okay now we get it.”

I believe that creative tension with engineering is an important piece. So many of our engineers have an appreciation for how the car looks, and I have an appreciation for how it functions, plus the cost of building it. When we work together we’re able to work through things and find what’s best for the customer mechanically as well as aesthetically. Also, and in a lot of cases, when something looks cool, it usually works. Science isn’t always the answer, sometimes it’s the artistic pieces that can help something function too.

HRM: As the lead at one of the largest OEMs, how do you inspire young designers?

MT: I always put myself in their shoes, as I know they probably look at me and think, “This guys been around forever. What does he know?” The biggest piece, is to keep them enthusiastic.

There’s a certain naivety that someone without experience in the design studio has, and we benefit from that. They don’t know how things necessarily fit together, or that what they draw – even though it looks cool – will cost a ton of money to build or fit the program the right way. What they do provide are those new ideas and passion. So I always like to try to find things that we can use from our young designers. Their ideas, their passion, and inject that into what we’re working on. Once our designers see that, throughout our different programs, their toolbox grows, and they get closer and closer to that Yoda status. Plus, enthusiasm breeds enthusiasm, and the most passionate car people make the best designers.

HRM: What are your top three moments in automotive design?

MT: Early on in my career I designed three-in-row of our Chrysler concept cars. The first one was the Chrysler LXH concept. That was 1996. I’d only been here three years. When Tom Gale introduced the car at the Detroit Auto Show, there was a big movable stage with a digital screen, which was brand new at the time, and when I came out from behind the stage, I was actually drawing the car live during his intro in front of hundreds of people. I was literally shaking. I was 24 or 25 years old.

Next would be working on the Gen 5 Viper and Gen 5 Viper racecar simultaneously. Working on a Viper and trying to evolve this legend (and not screw it up) and also developing the racecar in secrecy– it was the coolest thing in the world, and I couldn’t believe I had a hand in that icon of a car!

Then, there is the Hellcat and Demon. Working on the Hellcat in the design studio and the Demon with the Widebody, along with the intros of the cars and the wind tunnel stuff– just the significance of what they did for our brand and automotive culture as a whole – to be designing a car that’s going to be a legend in the world that I love is surreal to me.

HRM: Here is the toughest question of all (from a design perspective): what is your favorite car and why?

MT: There are several cars on my favorites list. A 1970 AAR ‘Cuda is a car that embodies what I’m trying to do in the modern era. It’s a car with so much soul. Then, there’s the 427 AC Cobra just for the purity of it. I then think of the Ferrari 250 Testa Rossa and the shape of it for the late 1950s! The Lamborghini Miura… I could go on and on. I’m just fortunate to own a couple of cars, namely the Demon and Viper, that I feel would make it onto the list of a real car person.

The post Take 5 With Mark Trostle, Head of Dodge, Chrysler, and SRT Design appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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adambstingus · 6 years

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5 Things You Learn Professionally Squatting In AWarehouse

When you hear someone talk about “squatters,” you probably think of hobos/borderline hobos stinking up a crumbling old house or abandoned grocery store in the middle of some broken chunk of urban sprawl. Usually their ambitions don’t extend beyond “keep dry” and “have a nice place to do heroin.” But all over the world you’ll find a different kind of squatter community, involving hundreds of people — often artists — who live their lives outside the direct control of the law. Some of these communities have existed right in the middle of major cities for decades.

Why do they do it? How can they get away with it? We went and visited a couple to find out …

#5. You’ve Got To Fight For Your Right To Squat

Let’s say you and a bunch of friends want to take over a patch of land that isn’t yours and set up your own little community. How would you go about keeping the cops from just arresting everyone and sending in the bulldozers? Set up barricades? Armed guards?

Actually, the answer is art. Allow us to explain.

Just don’t ask us to explain the art.

Squatter communities usually involve a bunch of weirdos who spend most of their time making art living rent-free outside the confines of society’s laws. There’s one in Copenhagen, Denmark, that’s been there for almost 45 years, containing about a thousand squatters/artists. There are independent squatter communities in the United States, too — we visited Slab City, California, last year — but they tend to exist well off the beaten path. That’s because, well, what they’re doing is usually illegal as hell. “Squatting” by definition means they didn’t pay for the land they’re sitting on, and in almost every case lots of people are unhappy about it.

The two anarchist-ish squatter compounds we visited were both in Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. The first, Metelkova, has been around for more than 20 years and hosts a shitload of art from renowned painters, sculptors, etc., from around the world:

This used to be a Yugoslavian army guard tower.

And this used to be a literal nightmare.

The second, Social Center Rog, also contains a shitload of art and — bonus! — a giant skate park.

No one built it. It just sort of appeared.

Why doesn’t the government just come and tear it down? They totally tried.

Metelkova was built over the rotten corpse of an old Yugoslavian military base. As the military pulled out, the area was promised to local artists as a work space by the government. But the government almost immediately decided “fuck that” in lieu of bulldozing the whole thing and selling the land to developers. One of our sources for the article, Natasha, was there when the demolition started. “They brought all these machines, wrecking balls as well … but by coincidence, someone passed by, saw what was happening, and informed all the other members. People gathered and decided to attack to protect the buildings.”

This “attack” took the form of dozens of artists rushing the demolition site and setting up in buildings as they were being torn down. The basic logic was, the government probably won’t kill us all for this land. The squatters erected barricades to keep the government out (which obviously wouldn’t hold them off for long) and started covering everything with art. “Artists just gathered and started gluing ceramic tiles on the wall. The purpose was to protect the building with art … then maybe they won’t demolish it.”

“After all, you never see them bulldoze a spraypainted building, right? Right?!”

OK, so that sounds like about the hippie-dippiest bullshit imaginable. “If we cover the walls with enough art we can melt the government’s hard hearts!” It’s the kind of plan that could have been dreamed up only by people too high to remember that the government has access to things like tear gas and truncheons.

But it worked.

Like the old saying goes: “The Illuminati-baby humping a soccer ball sculpture is mightier than the sword.”

Next, local artists started donating paintings and sculptures, and the squatters began hosting as many concerts and art shows as possible. “In two months, like 200 different events happened.” Natasha’s job during all this was to take clippings from newspaper articles about the squat and different events it held. Several Slovenian intellectuals teamed up with an American architect named Kevin Kaufman and produced the Metelkova Development Plan, a detailed blueprint for the future expansion of the squat.

All of this was meant to establish the squat as a legitimate piece of cultural heritage, rather than just a place where young hippie kids got fucked up. And it worked: The government relented, declared Metelkova a cultural heritage site, and pulled back the wrecking balls and the cops.

Having a spider-tank on their side didn’t hurt.

After more than a decade in operation, Metelkova inspired another squat — Social Center Rog — which began when a bunch of artists started occupying an abandoned communist bike factory. But the Rog had to fight for its existence against a different foe: junkies.

#4. Squatting Means Kicking Out Previous Squatters

“Wait,” you’re probably thinking, “aren’t all of these people junkies?” Shockingly, no. On our second night in the city we attended a “wild” party thrown by the Rog as a fundraiser. The publicly available drugs were beer and wine … that was about it. Nobody got shitfaced, nobody started fights, and, on the whole, it was considerably tamer than Cracked’s annual company Christmas party.

They only had one beer in that fridge, and it belonged to Ganesha.

So folks at the Rog aren’t teetotalers, but it’s not a drug-soaked den of inequity, either, partly because the residents are dirt poor, but mainly because the first big stumbling block in the Rog’s existence was kicking out the dangerous junkies who squatted in the abandoned factory before the artists arrived. One long-time resident told us, “At first it was half artists, half junkies. Some on drugs, some just alcoholics. We kicked out the worst of them until eventually just one old alcoholic was left.”

The squatters managed to force out most of them via a concerted campaign of passive-aggression: making them feel unwelcome and ostracized until they packed up their shit and left for another abandoned building. But that one old alcoholic didn’t respond to social pressure. “Then he got some woman drunk, and we found her outside in the middle of winter — she had turned blue.”

“They can’t attack me if I turn my skin into art!”

The woman nearly died, but the squatters were able to get her medical attention. That near-death gave them the motivation they needed to physically force the last of the former tenants out of the factory. That’s the sort of thing you have to do yourself when …

#3. The Police Stay Out Of It … For Better Or Worse

Metelkova’s international reputation as an art gallery gained squatters a lot of affection within Ljubljana. When the Rog started up, they took advantage of that goodwill. “The police know it would look bad to come in here … so they don’t.”

During that giant party we attended, the cops did show up because of a noise complaint, but they were content to stay outside and give the DJ a 40 euro ticket for being too noisy. The Slovenian cops were actually super polite about the whole “loud squatter party” thing. As they wrote out the ticket, a group of around 40 people formed around the three officers, chanting slogans we assume were not positive about The Man and generally getting rowdy. At no point did the cops call for back-up or draw their weapons. But don’t misconstrue us: This isn’t because Slovenian cops are pacifists. They have riot police who fire tear gas at protesters, just like any country:

The tears just fuel more art.

From our vantage point, it seemed almost like the police were afraid of the squatters. Not that they might get violent, because nobody had any weapons in hand (this being Slovenia, none of them owned guns). The cops clearly did not want to actually enter the Rog and shut down the party because it would’ve been bad PR.

The negative flipside of this is that the police also aren’t willing to enter the squat to arrest people committing actual violent crime. One man we talked to in the Rog was assaulted by a crazed violent teenager and beaten badly with an iron bar. His jaw was broken and his skull was cracked to fuck and back. When he reported this to the police, their response was basically, “He’s your problem.” Hey, you want to live outside the law, you get your wish.

“Live by the squat, die by the squat.”

So, the squatters of the Rog decided to handle the perp themselves. “We dressed up in masks and gloves and showed up in his room in the middle of the night and threw him out. We gathered up all his stuff and tossed it out too.” Oh, hey, it’s starting to look like there might be an ugly side to the squatter artist life …

#2. You’re Only “Off The Grid” Until You Can Steal Your Way Back Onto It

When the first generation of squatters started squatting in Metelkova, they were living in half-demolished buildings with no water and power in the midst of a European winter. “The circumstances were rather hard. Many … just left because they could not bear the conditions. There was no electricity. Winter was coming. It was rather hard, and these people were … adults in the midst of careers. And then other squatters came … punks and people who wanted to party.”

The young punks were spry enough to last a bitter winter. They managed to acquire an old generator to power their concerts and started stealing water from the city. The Rog did the same thing, hijacking a fire hydrant for their own use.

Which isn’t to say things are super fancy there, even so.

Once they had the water, the government couldn’t take it away from them because then someone might die and it’d technically be their fault. As someone in the Rog told us, “The city installed a meter, and now they foot the bill for our water. At least … I hope they are paying the bill. I haven’t gotten a bill!”

OK, so this entry might make these people sound like the lazy suckers-of-government-teat your Trump-voting uncle assumes every liberal arts major aspires to be. But this is the hard reality of living off the grid. You can reject the evils of governments, corporations, and modern society, but you are still an organism that needs water to not die, as well as heat to stave off the winter and electricity to power your guitar. So there is always a point at which someone in the squat comes up with a brilliant idea to make some cash — you know, just enough to keep everyone alive. That’s when you find out …

#1. Going Legit Can Kill The Squat

Metelkova has existed — and grown — for 20 straight years. They’re an official NGO now. Today they’re hooked up to the city water and power grid legally … but that means they have bills. They pay them with profit from concerts and several bars (some of which are operating illegally), which have grown into a sizable revenue stream for Metelkova. “They finance everything; maintaining the building, paying the artists … not much, but something.” Metelkova has actually become successful enough that many folks make significant amounts of money running galleries and holding concerts there. It’s gained international recognition at the cost of, ironically, becoming too expensive for the kind of poor punk artists who founded it. Today it’s a popular place for rich student hipsters to party and feel cool.

The much-grungier Rog still stays true to its roots: Anyone can show up and make art or play music. But since Metelkova has bills, they can’t afford to let just anyone play or set up art: “If a band won’t bring in a lot of people, they won’t sell enough tickets and the bars won’t sell enough beer … so maybe they don’t get to play.” And that seems to be the life-cycle of these squats: They start with a bunch of furious, motivated young artists who want to create a place for themselves and their work. Then they get popular, start making money, and turn into boring ol’ art galleries just as snooty as their more traditional predecessors. That was clearly a major worry of several of the Rog’s “founding” residents. When we first visited, they were willing to give us a brief tour of their facilities …

Including the fake Dracula castle they were building for an independent horror movie.

But they didn’t want to sit down for an interview, and they pointed out several times that “no one is allowed to make money from the art they make here.” They warmed up to us eventually and even offered to sit down with us over coffee and explain their viewpoint.

Their coffee table was an old TV.

They all respected what Metelkova, the older squat, had done for squatter’s rights in the city. But they didn’t like what it had become (“It is in every tourist guide to Europe.”) and they all worried that the Rog would get too popular and become another hip concert venue for rich kids from London and Berlin to use as a backdrop for selfies. One resident pointed out that international companies have already started eyeing the Rog as a location to shoot ads. “Garnier Fructis wanted to pay us to film a commercial here.”

As you can tell from their non-table TV, they aren’t big fans of commercials.

Despite the fact that Garnier put thousands of dollars on the table, and despite the fact that most Rog residents are literal starving artists, they said no. Partly because Garnier tests on animals, they said, and partly because they’re straight-up terrified of getting too popular.

But that’s just how it goes. Over the years idealism melts away, money starts flowing in, and pretty soon what was once an enclave of the counter-culture becomes a commoditized chunk of the regular culture. In the beginning, Metelkova was host to dozens of squatters: Now just one person lives there full-time. The Rog is currently host to anywhere from eight to a few dozen residents, depending on the time of year. But every year they get a little more established, a little more money trickles in, and, eventually, the Rog will likely find its way into tourist guidebooks and become just another place where rich kids pay to party.

“115 of your friends have checked in here!”

And when that happens, a new generation of young artists who can’t afford to pay $50 to see a concert or drink $4 beers at a gallery show will find another abandoned building, fill it with art, thumb their noses at the cops, and the whole cycle will continue on.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-learn-professionally-squatting-in-awarehouse/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/177107993387

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allofbeercom · 6 years

Text

5 Things You Learn Professionally Squatting In AWarehouse

Why do they do it? How can they get away with it? We went and visited a couple to find out …

#5. You’ve Got To Fight For Your Right To Squat

Actually, the answer is art. Allow us to explain.

Just don’t ask us to explain the art.

This used to be a Yugoslavian army guard tower.

And this used to be a literal nightmare.

The second, Social Center Rog, also contains a shitload of art and — bonus! — a giant skate park.

No one built it. It just sort of appeared.

Why doesn’t the government just come and tear it down? They totally tried.

“After all, you never see them bulldoze a spraypainted building, right? Right?!”

But it worked.

Like the old saying goes: “The Illuminati-baby humping a soccer ball sculpture is mightier than the sword.”

Having a spider-tank on their side didn’t hurt.

#4. Squatting Means Kicking Out Previous Squatters

They only had one beer in that fridge, and it belonged to Ganesha.

“They can’t attack me if I turn my skin into art!”

#3. The Police Stay Out Of It … For Better Or Worse

The tears just fuel more art.

“Live by the squat, die by the squat.”

#2. You’re Only “Off The Grid” Until You Can Steal Your Way Back Onto It

Which isn’t to say things are super fancy there, even so.

#1. Going Legit Can Kill The Squat

Including the fake Dracula castle they were building for an independent horror movie.

Their coffee table was an old TV.

As you can tell from their non-table TV, they aren’t big fans of commercials.

“115 of your friends have checked in here!”

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-learn-professionally-squatting-in-awarehouse/

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