#George Bassman

[pauls1967moustache]

Celebrating London pride tomorrow by going to see Paul’s gay little pictures :)

[yulesmistress]

My first story I’m finally publishing, hope you lot enjoy it lolz.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning: This is SMUT.

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/369395515?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=yulesmistress

There I sat..in a studio, with the bass guitar that had lingered and taunted my dreams since I was a young lassie. God, it was beyond ethereal...the way the polished wooden neck felt upon my honored left hand, the girthy twang of the strings ringing as my rough fingers plucked and strummed them. Now before this, I would've thought,

"Shit, this is THE dream, my dream...it couldn't possibly get any better than this."

I can't even begin to fathom that fucking stupendous thought.

Why, you might ask..?

A sweet, sing-songy voice suddenly strokes my eardrums, contrasting with the low, gravely sound of my bass. Mmm, how could I possibly ignore this painfully familiar voice, the voice in subject that I had studied for many, many hours. The person to which the voice belonged to I had also, madly, studied. His low eyelids slowly unveiled his tantalizing globes, just like how the sun peeks over a horizon, as his eyes greet mine in his usual stern manner.

Geeeeooorrggee Harrison.

He crept me a shy smile, appreciating me only from the corner of his eye before continuing to rehearse Old Brown Shoe with the lads. I bit my lip, hoping to sustain the violent quivering that activated as soon as his gaze shone on me.

I still cannot believe I am in a studio...with the Beatles...playing with George Harrison and the bassman himself Paul McCartney. I questioned my worth as I sat so feebly in that room full of musical geniuses. I wasn't sure how to contain myself—how to manner myself. But, obviously, I had no other choice but to conceal these brash admiral feelings...as they all felt I was a pretty impressive artist. After all, they had invited me to jam with them, and I wasn't going to fuck it up by revealing the fact I was somewhat of a fangirl. I couldn't.

bannerrrrr

After a few eventful hours of mindlessly jamming and productive writing, lunchtime came around. With Paul, John, and Richie's temporary absence, George and I were abandoned in the studio with only the suffocating tension of one another. I resumed on my bass quietly, slouched on an uncomfortable chair as I faced the ceiling. However, the subtle sound of George stumbling over some thick wires had deflated the dome I was in.

"Fucking hell.", he cussed sharply under his breath.

My slightly tired eyes shifted to the cigarette that was once in his mouth, noticing it was now lying on the ground. He was still venting the smoke through his lips from the previous puff he had taken, which I had found oddly attractive.

"Tragic."

I shot him a fake-sympathy frown, which earned a low chuckle from him.

"You don't 'appen to have a Marlboro on you, do you, Madame?"

George's words interrogated me slowly and smoothly, his thick accent tickling the tip of my tongue as I pulled out the precious pack of cigarettes I luckily had. A wide grin magically appeared on his cheeky face, causing me to chortle at his reaction as his hand began to eagerly reach for a ciggie.

"Ah-uh."

I cooed, averting the pack of cigarettes from his grasp as I swayed them tauntingly in his face. George shot me a befuddled look, his propped up eyebrow leaving that hint of playfulness in his expression that his face so beautifully displayed.

"My, where are your manners Mr. Harrison..?"

I noticed a cherry hue that enriched his cheeks as I teased him. Did he enjoy this?

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, me gracious queen.", he sarcastically remarked.

With a swift movement of his long fingers, he managed to snatch a ciggie and prop it in between his glistening lips, then without warning, approached my face daringly close to slowly ignite his cigarette with my own. My eyes shifted down at the touching tips of our cigarettes...steadily watching as a familiar ember glow emerged from the toxic paper. George then clasped the smoke with two of his slender digits once it was properly lit, and exhaled a cloud of toxicity right in my face. I noticed his bashed expression and prominent features through the sheet of smoke that was now flowing between both of our faces.

Why was that hot? I panicked internally.

This was only one of the subtle, steamy moments I had encountered with George.I had noticed it, and I knew I wasn't going fucking crazy.

He had to be into me.

The shameless flirting that painfully teased me, oddly leaving me wanting more. The sheepish glares he would sneak my way from across the studio, followed by the rather riskier glares that would trail from my operating fingers...up to my lips...down to my tempting cleavage which—of course—I had left there on purpose. The way he'd somehow always seemed to find an opportunity to interact with me in any way. The stone ball of tension that would clump up in my chest everytime his presence neared me. His peculiar shyness and tint in his cheeks when I would catch him staring particularly hard. His admiration of my musical abilities that he was never afraid to express; How my skills were a sort that he has "never seen before and should be more recognized." George saw me...saw me as a woman with "crazy good taste", with personality, not as the stereotypical 60's birdie who would try her hardest to be the perfect girl for her man. Who would make sure to shut up and stay to the side, only arising when a man needed her for sex, children, food, marriage, comfort...for anything he wished for. Because that was all women could be according to society. However I refused to stay within these ridiculous boundaries society had set up for me, and actually be a woman who was aware of her own wants and feelings in life, and wasn't afraid to express these things in any way she pleased.

I mean shit, it wasn't illegal was it?

George saw a true character in me, and so I did him. Although he had usually been the discarded one during band sessions, his lack of brashness only melted me into him even more. I knew he was a genius. After all, the ones with the finest ideas are forced to keep quiet, so the egotistical ones can propose as they please. George had this perplexing detail about him...about his aura...about those eyes that had grabbed me by my heart and reeled me in shamelessly. I wanted to know all of him—not just what the papers had claimed.

Shifting back to the present moment from my short tunnel of thought, I quickly noticed the blinding gray haze had already slipped away, leaving George's gradually red face and mine only mere inches away. My eyes widened for a split second and an alarmed cough heaved from the edge of my throat, as I attempted a fake smile.

He definitely noticed.

And it definitely turned me on.

"Hey-uhm..I was actually working on some stuff last night for..."

I didn't finish my sentence, for the reason that when I stood up and positioned my hands to prepare to strum a new bassline, George had halted my fingers with his own, turning my beloved bass in a different direction.

My heart did not jump.

No—it damn near performed backflips at his sudden taking of action. I swallowed quietly as that overwhelming feeling overcame me; y'know, that suffocating warmth where you're sweating but you're not really sweating..? He had noticed my use of gimmicks to attempt to change the subject, but he didn't want to change the subject. Nor did I, at least not anymore after weeks of this anticipation-filled taunting of ours. I shifted my attention up to his eyes and they were already fixated on me, just as I expected them to be as I felt his gaze sifting through the tender grooves of my ego when I was looking down at my instrument earlier. He sent me a look that I can only decipher as need.

"Y/n"-

His yet to be gathered words are quickly cut off before he can even finish my first name. That look was all George needed to do to send me over the edge. I dropped my bass (which pained me to a great extent, but at that moment I couldn't care less) in order to grasp his face with both hands and pull his lips to mine in a heated kiss. I felt his body jerk the slightest bit, in reaction to the sudden feeling of my lips daringly welcoming his. Both of George's eyebrows shot up, eyelashes fluttering shut as he proceeded to kiss me back in a slow, painfully sweet manner.

I am literally kissing George Harrison right now.

It was incredulous. The sentiment of his lips were incredulous. With each rhythmic pucker in which his mouth morphed into mine, a fluid saccharine dispersed through my veins. After 5 incredibly steady seconds, our lips parted with only the sound of a wet smack followed by synchronized panting. I inhale shakily, parting my swollen lips in awe as I peer up at his flustered face. Something was suddenly...different about George's demeanor. From his taunting frame displayed an aura that was 10 times more powerful than it was five seconds ago, that had me questioning whether I should be scared—or excited—or both.

"George..."

My words trailed off into a cry as George longingly pressed my figure against his, demolishing any space between us that could interfere with the intertwining of our rutty bodies. With one of his hands applying pressure to my lower back forcing my crotch to bump against his, and the other holding the back of my neck to ensure I was strictly only inhaling the air that left his mouth which still had a smoggy hint to it, he kissed me once again deeper than before.

We were in a rut, like caged fucking animals who haven't been able to interact for years. The slow, sentimental kissing we had partaken in just seconds ago had quickly turned into a hot, sloppy make-out, as several chairs, guitars, and drinks had been repeatedly knocked over consequently from our passionate fondling. Oh, how passionate it was. The harmonic "huffs" and "puffs" reverberated off the studio walls, blending with the sound of George's groans, which I earned from from occasionally tugging at his silky brown locks I cherished so much. He had then slipped his eager tongue past my inviting lips, as it explored every empty space inside of my mouth and occasionally swiveled its wetness around mine. After traversing around the room in a lustful tango for what seemed like forever, I eventually felt a cold collision between my back and the wall behind me.

"Shit, Harri...", I wept to his right ear, the grip I had on his shirt growing even tighter from the shifting levels of our hot clothed sex down below. Our bodies were inseparable at that point, being so close that I could sense the heat that radiated from George. Suddenly I felt the corners of his moist lips expand into a smile against mine.

"What 'appened to 'Mr. Harrison?'"

The pitch of his voice steeped lower than usual, however he still had that undertone of mockery that rang through my ears and shot signals down to my aroused areas. Huffing a light chuckle through his nose, he urged to continue his hand's exploration of my vulnerable body...however I had interrupted his hungry gestures.

"You're gonna have to prove yourself for such a title...", I whispered as I took both of his veiny hands within my grasp and started to slither them down over my chest, then eventually to my stomach...then lastly I guided him to where it ached for his infectious contact the most. When I shifted my attention back to his face, his peering velvet pools indicated he had took me on to this "challenge".

George had surely understood the assignment.

We both heaved out a sigh as his yearning fingers started to slide under the waistline of my jeans, and very slowlyyyy dipped into my sopping panties. I bit my lip as my eyebrows caved in, anticipating the electric touch of his fingertips. He tapped the slick residue from my aching heat, almost as if he was testing the waters, jaw clenched tight from the wet abundance that coated his fingers. I could tell it was turning him on like crazy. While humming blissfully through pursed lips, George gently pushed his independent digit inside of me making sure to curve it at that perfect angle which ever so slightly hit my sweet spot, before drawing his drenched finger back out. A whine escapes my mouth at the emptiness of my needy muff.

"Fuck, I can't", he exhales while looking at my squeamish body.

"What do you mean"-

"I can't wait any longer, I want to taste you."

Leaving a beam of excitement shooting through my core, he lifted me up with both hands supporting my ass, and lied me on the piano. As the shock of the cold surface raised my restricted nipples almost immediately, George skimmed his hands down my body, then slid down my pants so only my lacy underwear remained.  The corner of his lips formed a coy smile when he noticed the decently sized dark spot that lingered on the fabric of my crotch. Then as he licked his lips once more, he pulled my panties aside with a singular finger, exposing my—

"Pretty cunt", he buzzed while he admired the not-so-still picture that was now displayed for him. His word choice seemed brash, but the way it slurred of his tongue was so gentle...in a way that made him seem strangely humble.

He's unreal, I thought as a wave of shyness came over my body in reaction to the sight of him observing my sacred parts, urging me to quickly close my legs. However before the skin of my thighs could smack together, George pulled them back apart, revealing his cheeky smile.

"Ah-uh."

A tingling pink hue scattered through my face when I realized that he was mocking me from our little Marlboro situation. The sass of that man.

George didn't waste a second re-entering his finger into my seeping twat, following that slow, steady rhythm he had performed just seconds ago. He knew exactly where to hit. Every dip and protrusion of his experienced feeler that rubbed against my sensitive walls shot pulsing signals through my body— and catapulted me into a fucking orbit. My stomach caved in as I tensely watched his finger disappear in and out of my pussy, each time coming out shinier than before. My front teeth sank into my bottom lip in attempt to hide restrained whimpers that escaped my mouth...until he snuck in a second finger (it wasn't sneaky at all) with a wet kiss to my clit. Unable to bear the dilated size and girth of his two fingers alone pumping into me so sweetly, my head flew back and I started let every gasp and moan he triggered spill shamelessly from my lips. I couldn't tell if he wanted me to beg for mercy...or serve me by satisfying any desires and fantasies that I wished. George was so alluring...so complex. I loved it.

"Yes...thats it, love, don't hold back. Am I makin' you feel good?"

He knew what he was doing. He was fully aware of the dramatic effects he had on my body, but he just wanted to partake in toying with me further. George's thick accent that bled through his vocabulary only turned me on so much more with each syllable rattling my core—making it so much more harder to choke out words, therefore I only nodded my head obnoxiously to satisfy his question.

"Mm-mm, I need to hear you. Let me hear how good my fingers make you feel. C'mon...", he encouraged as his tall frame draped over mine; long strands of chocolate hair gracefully tickling my hot cheeks. As he serenaded my soul with his words, his fingers were gradually fucking my insides faster and faster, each stroke producing a raunchy squelch that became more and more audible. Torpedos of pleasure repeatedly shot through my body with each time George flawlessly curved against my G-spot, never missing a beat. Finally, I folded my neck to desperately look at his eyes which were keenly observing every facial and bodily reaction that was fingered out of me. His staggering orbs then peered into mine, hassling me to give him that audible closure he yearned for, as his locks shuddered from his jerky movements. I managed to to cry out one more shaky moan before panting out,

"Yes Mr. Harrison, it feels so good. I want you so bad...I want to come all over your fingers. Please."

George plastered an appreciative smile on his face in attempt to mask the fact my pleading and name-calling had drove him fucking feral; the suffocating protrusion in his pants making it evident already. His right hand crept down to the band of my undies, retracting it so it would audibly slap against my skin. His eyes shot up to mine.

"May I?", he questioned as he continued the fiddling of my intimates.

I bobbed my head once and with that, he hooked his fingers under the east and west ends of my panties and sluggishly pulled them down to my ankles, slick rubbing off on my thighs on the way down. George took his time enjoying every twitch and squirm of anticipation that ran through my legs, subconsciously swiping his tongue over his lips several times before I was finally free of any restraints. His attention shifted to the wall clock for a brief second before returning back to the helpless—dressless—woman that was now naked and ready for him.

"Sorry, love. Im going to have to make this quick", he says before flashing a smirk.

Why?, I thought as I turned my head around to try and look at the clock, however my thought was mercilessly pushed away by George's wetness invading my eagerly displayed pearl. My teeth almost immediately captured my bottom lip at the surging pleasure that quickly dispersed through every nerve that claimed my system.

Boy, did he have some magical tongue.

George steadied himself by setting his hands on my jerking hips as his tongue flicked heavy stripes and circles around my clit—every motion erupting huffs, moans, groans, and squeals from my core to the edge of my lips. And with every lewd sound and dirty prompt that shamelessly spewed from my mouth, a groan, hum, or chuckle from him followed...each one a wet vibration to my clit. His encapsulating eyes flicked up second after second to capture every reaction that was sucked so graciously out of me. Every once in a short while my eyes would meet his, and I could tell this man was enjoying every jerk and squirm my body made, every cave and expansion of my stomach, every pant I heaved like a dog in heat, every direction my eyes would turn whenever he hit a particularly sweet spot....he made sure to absorb everything. While my hands were desperately trying to grab something for support, they just so happened to meet George's messy mop, tugging tightly until it urged a groan from his lips—and an addition of two fingers inside of me.

"Oh god..." , I whimpered as the mixed sensations of Georges gentle kisses and licks to my jewel and his skilled digits rhythmically pumping inside my heated walls pushed me closer and closer to the edge. I watched tentatively, noticing how between kisses his gaze would shift constantly between the hot sloppy juices that exited my body and coated his fingers, and the priceless facial expressions that morphed my face...almost like he struggled deciding which view was better.

"Right there..?, he cooed with his mouth hung open, being entranced by the image before him and wanting more of it. I helplessly nodded my head as he continued to course his curious muscle around my clit, pleasantly tossing it around and sucking it occasionally with his pillowy kisser. With a few more bumps his fingers had flawlessly pressed to my G-spot, that all-too familiar sensation started creeping up from the depths of my core like a volcano, as I felt the earth-shattering eruption overwhelm my body.

"George..!", I cried, squeezing his left hand that still rested on my waist—which was now elevated a few inches off the piano—I experienced a high I've never done before. Patches of color and patterns masked my vision in a striking haze as I bared the painfully-sweet orgasm that possessed my body.

Damn, all he did was eat me out.

Once I recovered, I fluttered my eyes open to see George below me—messy hair, flushed cheeks, and...wet clothes? I quickly scanned the area and noticed the piano speckled in a water-like fluid, along with my own clothes.

Oh.

Once I realized what George had evoked out of me, I shot upwards and closed my legs shut, hands flying to my mouth in embarrassment.

"My, where are your manners?", he mocked once again with a stupid smile tweaked in his lips, standing up straight to uncover my bashed face with his hands.

"Don't act so posh now, you devil."

He mumbled something sultry under his musky breath before dipping his head in for another kiss, however before the edges of our lips could meet, a parking vehicle catches our attention from outside the window. Our heads turn simultaneously as our eyes slowly track a familiar figure strut out of the car and closer to the studio building.

It was Ringo.

[byneddiedingo]

Lana Turner and John Garfield in The Postman Always Rings Twice (Tay Garnett, 1946)

Cast: Lana Turner, John Garfield, Cecil Kellaway, Hume Cronyn, Leon Ames, Audrey Totter, Alan Reed, Jeff York. Screenplay: Harry Ruskin, Niven Busch, based on a novel by James M. Cain. Cinematography: Sidney Wagner. Art direction: Randall Duell, Cedric Gibbons. Film editing: George White. Music: George Bassman.

It's one of the most memorable entrances in movies. Actually, her lipstick enters first, rolling across the floor toward him. She is Cora Smith and he is Frank Chambers, the man her husband has just hired to work in their roadside café/filling station. But more important, she is Lana Turner, one of the last of the products of the resources of the studio star factories: lighting, hair, makeup, wardrobe, and especially public relations. And he is John Garfield, one of the first of a new generation of Hollywood leading men, trained on the stage, and with an urban ethnicity about him: His vaguely presidential nom de théâtre thinly disguises his birth name, Jacob Julius Garfinkle. The pairing shouldn't work: She's a goddess, not an actress, whom the publicists had turned into "the Sweater Girl" while claiming that she had been discovered at a drugstore soda fountain. He was the child of Ukrainian-born Jews and grew up on the Lower East Side, trained as a boxer and studied acting with various disciples of Stanislavsky. But the chemistry is there from the moment Frank picks up Cora's lipstick and the camera surveys her from toe to head: white shoes, tan legs, white shorts, tan midriff, white halter top, blond hair, white turban. She reaches out her hand for the lipstick, but he doesn't move, so she comes over and gets it. It's one of the many power plays that will take place between them. The rest is one of the great film noirs, from a studio that didn't usually make them, MGM. In fact, the studio head, Louis B. Mayer, hated it, which is always a good recommendation: He hated Sunset Blvd. (Billy Wilder, 1950), too. (Mayer's tastes ran to Jeanette MacDonald-Nelson Eddy operettas and the Andy Hardy series.) It's the only really memorable movie directed by Tay Garnett, so I suspect a lot of credit goes to the screenwriters, Niven Busch and Harry Ruskin, and to their source, James M. Cain's overheated novel. Cain also wrote the novels that were the basis of two other famous noirs: Double Indemnity (Billy Wilder, 1944) and Mildred Pierce (Michael Curtiz, 1945), so the screenwriters and the director had some powerful examples to follow.

[ulkaralakbarova]

A man obsessed with conspiracy theories becomes a target after one of his theories turns out to be true. Unfortunately, in order to save himself, he has to figure out which theory it is. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Jerry Fletcher: Mel Gibson Alice Sutton: Julia Roberts Dr. Jonas: Patrick Stewart Agent Lowry: Cylk Cozart Mr. Wilson: Steve Kahan Flip: Terry Alexander Cynic: Alex McArthur Justice Guard: Rod McLachlan Justice Guard: Michael Potts Justice Guard: Jim Sterling Public Works Man: Rich Hebert Clarke: Brian J. Williams Piper: G. A. Aguilar Henry Finch’s Secretary: Cece Neber Labao Alice’s Secretary: Saxon Trainor Grouchy Nurse: Sage Allen Nurse – Roosevelt Hospital: Joanna Sanchez Cop – Roosevelt Hospital: Michael Shamus Wiles Lawyer: Andrew Lauren Tech: Danny Smith Surveillance Operator: Sean Patrick Thomas Helicopter Pilot: Al Cerullo Cleet: Dean Winters Night Security – Federal Building: Rick Hoffman Surveillance Operator: Peter Jacobson Intern: Troy Garity Alice’s Father: Bert Remsen Jonas’ Aide: J. Mills Goodloe Old Man in Book Store: Leonard Jackson Film Crew: Director of Photography: John Schwartzman First Assistant Director: Jim Van Wyck Original Music Composer: Carter Burwell Producer: Joel Silver Editor: Kevin Stitt Producer: Richard Donner Casting: Marion Dougherty Assistant Editor: Kris Cole Associate Producer: Julie Durk Writer: Brian Helgeland Co-Producer: Richard Solomon Art Direction: Gregory Bolton Editor: Frank J. Urioste Co-Producer: Dan Cracchiolo Co-Producer: J. Mills Goodloe Post Production Supervisor: Ilyse A. Reutlinger Unit Production Manager: Helen Pollak Unit Production Manager: Nan Bernstein Freed Second Assistant Director: John G. Scotti Set Decoration: Casey Hallenbeck Set Designer: Lauren Cory Set Designer: Joseph G. Pacelli Jr. Set Designer: Thomas Betts Leadman: Steven Curtis Husch Still Photographer: Andrew Cooper Video Assist Operator: Martin Glover Underwater Director of Photography: Pete Romano Second Second Assistant Director: Sean McCarron Unit Publicist: Stephanie Pond-Smith Script Supervisor: Sioux Richards Key Grip: Les T. Tomita Best Boy Grip: Audie Aragon Dolly Grip: Brad Rea Location Manager: Robbie Goldstein Location Manager: David E. Kaufman Negative Cutter: Mo Henry Color Timer: David Orr “A” Camera Operator: Mitchell Amundsen Steadicam Operator: Neal Norton First Assistant Camera: Christopher Duskin First Assistant Camera: A. Anthony Cappello Second Assistant Camera: Thomas D. Lairson Jr. Second Assistant Camera: Charles B. Katz Camera Loader: Jacobus Marcus Supervising Sound Editor: Mark A. Mangini Supervising Sound Editor: George Simpson Sound Editor: Richard L. Anderson Sound Editor: Mike Chock Sound Editor: John Dunn Sound Editor: Julia Evershade Sound Editor: Eric Lindemann Sound Editor: Geoffrey G. Rubay Assistant Sound Editor: Oscar Mitt Assistant Sound Editor: Sonny Pettijohn Music Editor: Adam Milo Smalley Scoring Mixer: Michael Farrow Orchestrator: Sonny Kompanek Supervising ADR Editor: James Simcik ADR Editor: William C. Carruth ADR Editor: Denise Horta ADR Mixer: Troy Porter Sound Re-Recording Mixer: John T. Reitz Sound Re-Recording Mixer: David E. Campbell Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Gregg Rudloff Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Jeffrey J. Haboush Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Kevin E. Carpenter Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Dan Hiland Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Gary D. Rogers Foley Editor: Solange S. Schwalbe Foley Editor: Aaron Glascock Production Sound Mixer: Tim Cooney Boom Operator: Todd Bassman Chief Lighting Technician: Andy Ryan Assistant Chief Lighting Technician: Brian Evans Assistant Costume Designer: Christopher J. Kristoff Costume Design: Ha Nguyen Production Design: Paul Sylbert Costume Supervisor: Kimberly Guenther Durkin Makeup Supervisor: Lee Harman Makeup Artist: Richard Dean Makeup Artist: Mel Berns Jr. Key Hair Stylist: Stephen Robinette Hairstylist: Lyndell Quiyou Hairstylist: Monique DeSart Property Master: Erik L. Nelson Assistant Property Master: Christopher Amy Special Effects Coordinator: Michael Meinardus Stunts: S...

[barkingbonzo]

THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE

The Postman Always Rings Twice is a 1946 American film noir directed by Tay Garnett and starring Lana Turner, John Garfield, and Cecil Kellaway. It is based on the 1934 novel of the same name by James M. Cain. This adaptation of the novel also features Hume Cronyn, Leon Ames and Audrey Totter. The musical score was written by George Bassman and Erich Zeisl (the latter uncredited).

This version was the third filming of The Postman Always Rings Twice, but the first under the novel's original title and the first in English. Previously, the novel had been filmed as Le Dernier Tournant (The Last Turning) in France in 1939 and as Ossessione (Obsession) in Italy in 1943.

[donospl]

Enrico Rava, Fred Hersch “The Song Is You”

Enrico Rava, Fred Hersch “The Song Is You”

ECM, 2022 “The Song Is You” Enrico Ravy i Freda Hersach jest płytą z gatunku tych, o których trudno nawet marzyć, że kiedykolwiek powstaną. Niespodzianki jednak zdarzają się i teraz możemy cieszyć się mistrzowską muzyką w wykonaniu dwóch wielkich gwiazdorów jazzu. Panowie koncertowali wspólnie już w ubiegłym roku, a w listopadzie 2021 spotkali się w Auditorio Stelio Molo RSI w Lugano, na sesji…

[moviecamp]

After the end of the busy fall semester, I got a 100% day off yesterday which I finished with pasta and this film...

What a great noire! Suspensful, sexy, and thoroughly engaging! Lana Turner's character is an interesting blend of Midred Pierce [MILDRED PIERCE (1945)] and Lola Dietrichson [DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944)].Though a cold murderess, her ambition is admirable and saves her from being just another femme fatal.

The scoring was generally effective, though a bit obvious and heavy handed at times. Still, the main theme is gorgeous and bewitchingly effective.

My complaint with this movie is the same as DIAL 'M' FOR MURDER (1954), that everything leading up to the murder is riveting, but the last third of the film is a dull legal debacle which can become disinteresting.

Even still, it's a great movie and one I highly recommend for those who are into/looking to explore film noire.

[filmnoirfoundation]

New Episode of NOIR TALK Special Guest: Steven C. Smith

Emmy-nominated producer and author Steven C. Smith joins host-producer Haggai Elitzur for a tour of film noir musical scores and their composers. This is the first of a two-part episode. The discussed composers and movie scores including music clips follow:

Adolph Deutsch - The Maltese Falcon  Miklos Rozsa - Double Indemnity, Criss Cross, The Killers  George Bassman - The Postman Always Rings Twice  David Raksin - Laura , Force Of Evil Roy Webb - Murder My Sweet  Max Steiner - The Big Sleep 

Read Steven C. Smith's "Bernard Herrmann and the Music of Desire: An essay on the Composer’s Noir soundtracks" in  NOIR CITY #3: Back issue for sale at www.noircitymag.com/noir_city_3.html Your dollars go towards the Film Noir Foundation’s restoration efforts. 

You can listen either on SoundCloud or on iTunes. Mobile users on Android can subscribe to the podcast using the RSS feed.

[marthamydearposts]

Paul Mccartney (1966)

[lucyhenleyon8tracks]

Check out my playlist on @8tracks: A True Friend by lucyhenley.

Instrumental mix for the true friendship of Thorin Oakenshield & Bilbo Baggins and this glorious, heart-wrenching scene brought to life by Richard Armitage & Martin Freeman.

"I'm glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin, each and every one of them. It's far more than any Baggins deserves." "Farewell, Master Burglar. Go back to your books... and your armchair. Plant your trees... watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place."

[sothisispeerpressure]

Ok I was typing my thought for part 2 and an hour in I lost everything so bear with me!

Synopsis of the first hour:

- poor Ringo was the only one who showed :(

- whoever thought to hide a mic in the flowerpot to hear the private conversation between John and Paul deserves a cookie. They actually did pretty good communicating with each other about their feelings

- they literally don’t know what to do without George. “Let’s go see George” “I was going anyway” “he’s gone to liverpool.”

- Ringo has a tiny symbol on his drum set and it makes me happy

- something LGBT just happened to that kid in the blue shirt

- the apple scruffs are so sweet Awh

- ok but when “im a bigger fan that you are” “well, do you want to fight about it?” I would be mad if I was Linda too

- AND WHEN PAUL SAID “stay out of it yoko” TO LINDA I

- I would’ve went home and started a fight with him

- John makes Paul laugh with one joke and then proceeds to take the next 5 minutes to keep making him laugh

- I was Happy when George returned he looks so good

- they took so much time putting the Apple studio together that they still ended up with just one week left to plan everything

- also Paul’s old tour set list on his bass..I think he still has it on there today

- oh and when Ringo said: 😐😦😐😦😐😦😐😦😐

- Paul being sneaky and recording an Oh! Darling demo without John anyone else there

- John wore a vest over his shirt every day last week so this week Paul starts wearing a vest too in a sad attempt to match with his bestie

- also how Paul predicted Yoko Memes 😂😂

Ok now I’m back

- John is actually dressed nice, not so stink anymore

- and now Paul is on the drums.

- rock that bass Ringo!

- AND PAUL CAN’T HELP HIMSELF HAVING R I N G O PLAY THE BASS THE WAY P A U L WANTS IT PLAYED

- Paul put the bassman sticker on his bass

- Spoken Word of the press by Paul, backed by the beatly sounds of his beatle boys backing him.

- NECESSESSITY

- John sings anything, Paul immediately: 🎤😩

- WOW THE FAMOUS LINE JOHN SAID BEFORE TWO OF US

- plopplopplopplopplop :paul

- George complains about the papers, Ringo: good morning everyone 😊

- I love to see them getting along and playing together

- Paul has succeeded in matching shirts with bestie John, save for the vest (and shade of green)

- oh yeah pauly flip that hair

- I wanna give George a hug

- Ringo smash camera

- “sing Paul” oh you know that made bunny happy

- John saying MLK would’ve been President 🥺

- “did you tape the last one?” “Yes” *excited seagull sounds ensue*

- hello billy!

- I love George so much

- Billy Preston appreciation

- “I’ve spoken with mr. Klein” 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

- WHY IS YOKO ON THE MIC AGAIN

-Paul is just having a ball on the drums with it though

- WHY DO THEY LOVE CREATING FEEDBACK SO MUCH

- uh oh hear comes George

- and as soon as he walks in they stop 😂

- I have other things I need to do right now

- but here I am

-watching this

- TWENTY FLIGHT ROCK

- REMEMBER OUR ROOTS JOHN REMEMBER HOW YOU LOVE ME JOHN

- “you probably don’t remember the 50’s” OH SHADE

- he’s singing oh darling right at John

- George’s guitar 🤩

- “what are you calling this Paul?” “Shit.” “Shit Back” “Shit, take 1”

- George shaved I just noticed

- them remembering the memories and stuff is so cute

- “I think I’m getting Hong Kong flu 🤒 “ “Take drugs 😈”

- “THE BOYS IS READY”

- they’re having such a good time 🥺😭😭

- I have to mention the toast, why so much toast?

- “I’d like Preston as a fifth Beatle” George: “well Dylan would join too what about Dylan if I asked Dylan you guys know I love Dylan-“

- “and the dream I had was you” original Jealous Guy lyrics, which is confirmed to be about Paul??? Sounds fruity

- WHAT IS MAL ON LMAOOOO

- John and Paul aggressively singing “stand by me” at each other

- *two of us instrumental* “Desmond had his barrow-“

- John and Paul really do just stare at each other the whole time

- didn’t know I needed Polythene Pam (acoustic version) (From the vault)

- TEDDY BOY SHOULD’VE BEEN A BEATLES SONG OK

- seeing that picture of John looking so young has actually made me cry what a babey lil babey boy

- India flashbacks!

- and John is back to wearing the same thing two days in a row

- the part everyone has been talking about “we should call it what we did on our holidays” FRUIT BUGS

- Paul’s little laugh

- THE MONEYS NOT THE MONKEYS

- George silences the room once again

- does anyone know what Yoko was writing?

- “long before-” “longer than the-“ they messed each other up lollll

-George looks done with the shit again

- Paul plays along with John’s goofing off, as much as he wants to stay on track and work, he lets John keeps things silly to keep their friendship alive, and I think that’s sweet

- “how do we make the piano sound like absolute shit? That’s what I want.”

- John singing the first song Paul ever wrote “I Lost My Little Girl” awwwwh gay.

- ive only seen them consume toast, tea, and wine in this whole thing

- I see George’s biscuitssss

- “let it be, let it be*cough cough cough*”

- “gotdam you little microphone 👹”

- RINGO STOLE GEORGE BISCUIT

- Let It Be (Upbeat Version) (From The Vault)

WOOOOOO THAT TOOK MY FOR BLOODY EVER TO FINISH COME BACK TOMORROW FOR PART 3

[byneddiedingo]

Eleanor Powell and Fred Astaire in Broadway Melody of 1940 (Norman Taurog, 1940)

Cast: Fred Astaire, Eleanor Powell, George Murphy, Frank Morgan, Ian Hunter, Florence Rice, Lynne Carver, Ann Morriss, Trixie Firschke. Screenplay: Leon Gordon, George Oppenheimer, Jack McGowan, Dore Schary. Cinematography: Joseph Ruttenberg, Oliver T. Marsh. Art direction: Cedric Gibbons. Film editing: Blanche Sewell. Music: George Bassman, George Stoll; songs by Cole Porter. 

"Glorious Technicolor," as a song in Silk Stockings (Rouben Mamoulian, 1957) dubs it, was the hallmark of MGM's musicals, starting with The Wizard of Oz (Victor Fleming, 1939). The fourth and final iteration of MGM's series that started with the Oscar-winning (but now laughably antique) The Broadway Melody (Harry Beaumont, 1929) and continued with Broadway Melody of 1936 (Roy Del Ruth, 1935) and Broadway Melody of 1938 (Del Ruth, 1937) was supposed to be in color, but uncertainty about the European market where war was breaking out caused the studio to cut back on the budget. But who needs Technicolor when you have talent like Cole Porter, Fred Astaire, and Eleanor Powell, especially in the big shiny black set for the finale, with Astaire and Powell dancing to "Begin the Beguine"? We probably won't see the likes of that again ever. For that matter, who needs a plot? Most movie musical screenplays were just threads to string the gems on, and the one for Broadway Melody of 1940 is no exception. Astaire and George Murphy play a down-and-out dance team, one of whom gets a chance at the big time, performing with Powell in a new Broadway show. The problem is that there's a mixup about which one is owed the big break. Astaire's character is the one picked by the talent-scouting producer (Frank Morgan), but through the kind of mishap that mis-happens only in the movies, the co-producer (Ian Hunter) thinks that Murphy's character is the one he's chosen. Both guys fall in love with Powell's character, of course, and everything has to be sorted out. Norman Taurog had a good hand with this sort of comedy, thankfully, and Morgan's befuddlement, which also involves an ermine cape that he lends his dates, is moderately amusing. The only flaw is that the movie follows the tradition of its predecessors in inserting vaudeville-style specialty acts between the musical numbers, so we endure extended routines by a juggler and a comic soprano before Astaire, Powell, and Murphy can sing and dance again. This was the only teaming of Astaire and Powell, and each was reportedly intimidated by the other. Powell's dance style was more athletic and acrobatic than Astaire's, and it's demonstrated spectacularly in her solo number "All Ashore," but any fears that their styles might not mesh were put to rest by their duets to "I Concentrate on You" and "Begin the Beguine." Murphy gets shown up by both, and he looks ridiculous dancing on tippy-toes in the "Between You and Me" duet with Powell, which may be why he quit hoofing and went into politics.

[designinspooo]

The Moderns: Midcentury Graphic Design

Emigres

Josef Albers

Walter Allner

Herbert Bayer

Alexey Brodovitch

Will Burtin

George Giusti

Gyorgy Kepes

Leo Lionni

Herbert Matter

Erik Nitsche

M. Peter Piening

Cipe Pineles

Ladislav Sutnar

Fred Troller

George Tscherny

Massimo Vignelli

Dietmar R. Winkler

Rudi Wolff

Homegrown

Saul Bass

Lillian Bassman

Lester Beall

Peter Bradford

Robert Brownjohn

Jacqueline S. Casey

Chermayeff & Geismar

John and Mary Condon

Donald and Ann Crews

Richard Danne

Louis Danziger

Rudolph de Harak

Louis Dorfsman

Ray Eames

Gene Federico

S. Neil Fujita

William Golden

Morton Goldsholl

Charles Goslin

Irving Harper

E. McKnight Kauffer

Ray Komai

Burton Kramer

Roy Kuhlman

Matthew Leibowitz

George Lois

Herb Lubalin

Alvin Lustig

Elaine Lustig Cohen

John Massey

Tomoko Miho

Reid Miles

Charles E. Murphy

Georg Olden

Tony Palladino

Paul Rand

Alexander Ross

Arnold Saks

Arnold Shaw

Louis Silverstein

Barbara Stauffacher Solomon

Alex Steinweiss

Deborah Sussman

Bradbury Thompson

Lance Wyman

List of mid-century graphic designers from Steven Heller and Greg D’Onofrio’s book The Moderns. 

[glenwoodandbroad]

January 30, 1969 Apple Corps Rooftop 3 Savile Row, London, England

[lennart11412]