#Mea culpa jazz | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mainsslim · 2 years

Text

The style council paul weller

THE STYLE COUNCIL PAUL WELLER FULL

THE STYLE COUNCIL PAUL WELLER CODE

THE STYLE COUNCIL PAUL WELLER PLUS

The music video for "You're the Best Thing" was directed by Tim Pope. The song was included on The Singular Adventures of The Style Council, The Complete Adventures of The Style Council, and Greatest Hits. Both the 7-inch and 12-inch formats were officially titled 'Groovin'", although edited versions of both songs appeared on the 7-inch release.Īs well as the song's single release, it has featured on various compilation albums released by The Style Council. Contributor: Craig Austin The Style Council was loads of fun for me, maybe too much fun. In the UK and Australasia, the song was released as a Double A-sided single with "The Big Boss Groove". feature this single version in place of the full-length album version that appeared on all editions of Café Bleu. Certain editions of the My Ever Changing Moods album in the U.S. G Gbm Em A Bb B Bm Chords for The cost of loving - The Style Council (Paul Weller) with song key, BPM, capo transposer, play along with guitar, piano, ukulele & mandolin.

THE STYLE COUNCIL PAUL WELLER FULL

Scroll down to read the full track listing and pre-order it here.The 7-inch single version of the song adds a saxophone solo that is not present in the original album version. All format details and track listings below. Over four albums and 17 singles, The Style Council made a stand and became the standard bearers of progressive soulful pop and social comment.Īs well as digitally, the album will be available on double CD and triple album vinyl: limited editions of both vinyl formats: black vinyl and a highly covetable colored vinyl version. 'Shout to the Top' by the The Style Council was composed by lead singer Paul Weller, and was released in 1984 on the 'Vision Quest' soundtrack. In a quest for new sounds, the group travelled to realms previously unchartered for a pop group incorporating musical influences as wide ranging as Blue Note jazz and Chicago soul, Claude Debussy and Erik Satie, Chicago House and Jacques Brel.Īt the same time, as battle lines were drawn in a decade under Margaret Thatcher culminating in the miner’s strike of 1984-85, Weller’s lyrics spoke with the language of the activist and his state of the nation addresses were both fierce and eloquent. As their leader he had become a deity-like figure and for his fans, The Jam’s split was unimaginable.īut creatively restless and of inquisitive mind, Weller jettisoned them at their height to form a collective with an eventual core line-up of Weller with Mick Talbot, Dee C Lee and Steve White.

THE STYLE COUNCIL PAUL WELLER CODE

In fact, at the age of just 24, he was already a musical veteran with six albums and nine Top 10 singles under his belt with The Jam. Paul Weller - Official Store 2 STYLE COUNCIL T-SHIRT The Style Council US31.00 Delivery from US6.40 Select size / option Small Medium Large Extra Large Extra Extra Large Sorry Sold Out Product code 7807248A Format T-Shirt SCREENPRINTED UNISEX T-SHIRT. When Paul Weller announced The Style Council’s arrival in March 1983, he’d come a very long way. The Style Council It Just Came to Pieces in My Hands (1983) On the B-side of A Solid Bond in Your Heart lurks Weller’s mea culpa take on the sudden demise of the Jam, the arrogance of youth and. Of course, there were thousands of fans there, but because my. Its the perfect location for what felt like a fairly intimate gig. The album was remastered at Abbey Road Studios. We watched Paul Weller from the VIP section at Dreamland, Margate. Long Hot Summers features rare photos, an introduction by Paul Weller, a new essay by Lois Wilson, and sleeve-notes from ‘super-fan’, actor Martin Freeman. Scroll the page down for full tracklisting and format details. The album also features key album tracks and fans’ favourites such as “Headstart For Happiness”. What followed was a hugely successful solo career, yet he still has. Of course, it also Includes all the band’s classic singles –12 top-20 hits -including the debut single “Speak Like A Child” and “Long Hot Summer”. At 32, Paul Weller found himself sat at home without a record deal wondering what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

THE STYLE COUNCIL PAUL WELLER PLUS

Long Hot Summers also includes two unreleased tracks – an intriguing demo of the top 5 single “My Ever Changing Moods” with strings, and the extended, 5-minute plus version of “Dropping Bombs On The Whitehouse”. The release also ties in with a new Sky Arts documentary about the band, also out on October 30, featuring interviews with all key members, fans and collaborators. As well as the huge hit “Long Hot Summer”, the album also includes the band’s sterling debut top 5 single “Speak Like A Child” as well as other signature hits such as the languid “You’re The Best Thing”, “Ever Changing Moods” and dance floor filler “Shout To The Top”.

#The style council paul weller

0 notes

nevarrhoe · 2 years

Text

btw part three of mea culpa is in the works atm! i've been super busy this week catching up on uni & i've been doing late shifts at work so i apologise for the delay but it'll be out at some point next week💕

#jazz talks #mea culpa

6 notes · View notes

thedarksyk · 3 years

Text

POV: you a Decepticon and you bout to die

#transformers #autobotjazzweek #well it’s supposed to be for jazz week but I forgot #mea culpa #get jazzy on it

13 notes · View notes

trevorbarre · 3 years

Text

Tyshawn Sorey: A 'Choice' Drummer

How often does one choose to order an jazz or rock album (on Amazon, what's more, mea culpa) specifically because of who is sitting on the drum stool? I can barely record such an occasion, although obviously who the drummer is can often contribute to a decision to purchase. (Anything with, for example, Eddie Prevost or Paul Lytton, will pique my interest.) I think that I bought a Decoding Society LP on hearing Ronald Shannon Jackson's work on James Blood Ulmer's Are You Glad To Be in America? way back in late 1980. Jackson sounded like something out of a experimental New Orleans marching band, or, at the very least, a military band on acid. But, drummers, in rock music at least, have often been figures of fun: thank Spinal Tap in part for that, perhaps. (The film certainly reinforced jokes like: "define a quintet - four musicians and a drummer".)

I bought Vijay Iver's recent trio release on ECM Records, Unease, as a toe-in-the-water tryout (having being unfamiliar with the pianist previously). I immediately fell in love with it, one of the reasons being the incredible drumming of Tyshawn Sorey, whose yin and yang playing covers everything from muscular belligerence to gentle brushwork and shimmering cymbals. His rimshots are worthy of Art Blakey, his pulse-drive of Sonny Murray, and his clattering timbre of Tony Oxley. But he is his own man, and his sound is entirely his, whatever influences he conjures up. He is one of the few percussionists whose 'line' I follow as closely as the supposedly more 'frontline' instruments, something that writers such as Richard Williams have commented on with regards to Unease, a factor which is ultimately the legacy, of course, of the immortal 1959-61 'three-in-one' Bill Evans Trio and the various Paul Bley groups of the 60s (especially his trio with Paul Motion and Gary Peacock).

So, I have ordered Iver's album with Sorey, Rudresh Makathappa (alto sax) and Steve Crump (bass), mainly because of the drummer's presence. Interestingly, the album itself, Blood Sutra, was released in 2003 on John Snyder's Artists House label, an outfit which released several important, and now hard to get, LPs in the late 70s. There were only 14 in total (1978-82), but they include Ornette's Body Meta and the very first two albums by James Blood Ulmer, the second of which is referenced above. The label was relaunched, with the compact disc and other media now in ascendance, with Blood Sutra as one of its first releases. I found this an entirely satisfactory occasion, as the few Artists House (AH) LPs that I possess are great artifacts, with the emphasis on 'arty', and the artists themselves were apparently given 'complete artistic control', to the extent of ownership of the master tapes. It thus seems entirely appropriate that Uneasy is a product of another label that values its artists, ECM Records.

Iyer (born in 1971) and Sorey (1980) are both young enough to promise us many more years of challenging material, as the shining example of Bob Dylan demonstrates, on today, the occasion of his 80th birthday. A lot to look forward to then, as we move away from 'lockdown'!

1 note · View note

dustedmagazine · 5 years

Text

Aly Keïta/ Jan Galega Brönnimann/ Lucas Niggli – Kalan Teban (Intakt)

youtube

Africa, actual and diasporic, informs and explains the music contained on Kalan Teban. Made by percussionists Aly Keïta and Lucas Niggli alongside reedist Jan Galega Brönnimann, it’s a heady blend of jazz and ethnically sourced elements. Keïta hails from the Ivory Coast while Swiss musicians Niggli and Brönnimann spent their childhoods together in Cameroon. The trio formed around a 2014 concert in Zurich and became a going concern shortly thereafter. Five years later, a studio date under the auspices of the Intakt label brings their art into sharp aural relief.

Brönnimann’s reed palette skews to the register extremes of soprano saxophone and contra alto and bass clarinet. He also functions as principal composer and third percussionist, fielding kass kass and kalimba with a rhythmic malleability that reflects an ongoing affinity for hip hop and drum ‘n’ bass. “Noussandia” opens to the rich sounds of his heaviest reed, threading a delicate melody met by the bright cross-beats of chromatic balafon and percolating drums before switching to sinuous soprano. Up-tempo and effervescent, it’s also a harbinger of the album’s optimistic affect throughout.

Keïta’s “Djafa Nema”, which translates to the mea culpa, “please, excuse me” seizes on another spinning vamp that Brönnimann augments with a huffing low register ostinato. Niggli’s sprinting brushes are the finishing touch against the composer’s ringing mallets, culminating with a switch to sticks for a driving solo. “Hang Ever” is similar in its pendulum between minimalism and controlled bombast. Niggli’s sticks negotiate both extremes as his partners take turns bridging melody and rhythm along concentric arcs. “Matonge Cache Cache” with all three players on percussion almost sounds like acoustic computer music in its rigorous crosshatching of revolving patterns.

An accompanying essay draws a direct lineage to pioneers of African-influenced jazz noting a difference between influence and integration. Earlier experiments often felt stitched together in the assemblage, but the music conjured by this trio is a different sort. Where seams were often visible on those efforts, here the ingredients sound and feel fully integrated. These players have been soaking in and internalizing this music for virtually the entirety of their lives. That lived in and lived of quality presents a palpable difference, one that makes the antiquated signifier fusion sound hollow and somehow off the mark.

Derek Taylor

#aly keïta #jan galega brönnimann #lucas niggli #kalan teben #intakt #africa #jazz #swiss #balafon #dusted magazine #albumreview #derek taylor

1 note · View note

mordopolus · 5 years

Text

Liste: Die 25 besten Alben 2018

Wem es noch nicht aufgefallen ist: Dieser Blog kennt keine Zweifel, es gibt nur Imperative. Deswegen stand es auch nie zur Debatte, die Liste der 25 besten Alben des Jahres vielleicht doch nicht zu veröffentlichen, oder sich zwischenzeitlich eingetroffenen Erkenntnissen über das vergangene Musikjahr zu beugen. Nein, es sind unten stehende Platten, die ich vergangenen Dezember für die besten hielt, lediglich die Texte sind teils frisch. Die Daumen bleiben derweil weiter gedrückt für den Musikjournalismus, dem es 2018 nicht allzu gut ging und zu dem Blogs wie dieser hier, ganz zu schweigen von noch schlimmeren, keine Alternative sind. Wir hören spätestens im Dezember voneinander.

25. Pilz/Tod / Geburt

Spoiler Warnung, aber: Beim erneuten Durchgehen meiner Liste ist mir aufgefallen, dass “Tod/Geburt” tatsächlich das meiner Meinung nach beste Deutschrap Album 2018 geworden ist. An wem das nun genau liegt, soll an dieser Stelle nicht weiter verfolgt werden, gebührt Pilz doch jedes Lob für eine Platte, die mit stabilen Beats, hervorragender Themenwahl und vor allem einer unfassbaren Attitüde aufwartet. Zu Unrecht vielerorts unter ferner liefen gelaufen.

24. A$AP Rocky/Testing

A$AP Rocky hatte das Gegenteil eines guten Jahres. Nachdem die euphorischen Stimmen zum weit weniger als gewohnt hitsicheren “A.L.L.A.” die pessimistischen, warnenden locker ausstechen konnten, schienen jene, die sich trauten, “Testing” zu loben, stets ein bisschen ahnungslos dem Titel und seiner Programmatik verfallen. In der Tat schleichen sich irgendwann kleinere Längen ein, tendenziell, wenn Rocky alleine agiert, doch alleine die erste Hälfte dieser Platte ist schlicht unschlagbar, vor allem dank permanent rotierender Szenarien, durch die Rocky lediglich genialisch-benommen stolpern muss.

23. Cupcakke/Ephorize

“Ephorize” ist nicht nur die dritte Rap-Platte in dieser Liste, sondern auch die dritte, die nicht restlos (Beats könnten ausgebuffter sein, Strukturen waghalsiger), aber eben mit Charakter überzeugt - im Gegensatz zu Rocky ist es nämlich eben gerade Cupcakke, die ihr Album zum Faszinosum macht.

22. Bilderbuch/Mea Culpa

Die Welt war so ein bisschen überfordert, als Bilderbuch so kurz vor Abgabeschluss mit “Mea Culpa” unbedingt noch ein neues Album in den Äther ballern mussten, und reagierte hektisch entweder schulterzuckend-abkanzelnd oder überschwänglich lobend. Tatsächlich haben sich Bilderbuch nach dem irgendwo zwischen Entwicklung und Hit-Lieferantentum operierenden “Magic Life” hier für den Schnitt entschieden. House, Gigantomanie, 90s-Lounge, seichter Pop, all das wird so gebacken, dass es in kein Maul passt. Dazu überstilisierte Sorglosigkeits-Eskapismus-Lyrics. Mit mehrmonatigem Abstand lässt sich mit Sicherheit sagen: taugt.

21. Bosse-de-Nage/Further Still

Zwei Leute: Bryan Manning, der sich weltverloren in mal morbide, mal diffuse, oft belanglose Kurzgeschichten steigert und Harry Cantwell, der jedem Song seine scheiß tranzdentalen Federn stutzt und die Anderen in der Band einfach verdrischt. Sehr guter Black Metal.

20. Robyn/Honey

Nach acht Jahren konnten neun Tracks irritieren, aber irgendwie waren alle einfach froh, Robyn wieder unter uns zu wissen. “Honey” bestätigt dann auch die dumpfe Gewissheit, dass einfach niemand in der Lage ist, derart charmante Musik zwischen expressionistischer Disco, Engtanz und Beachvolleybal zu platzieren, wie die Schwedin.

19. Mitski/Be The Cowboy

“Be The Cowboy” macht es niemandem so richtig leicht, gerade weil Mitski ihre Größe so beharrlich im Fragment sucht, Blech und Äther und Tanzpop zu einem Mosaik knüppelt, das in seiner Schlichtheit oft unbegreiflich ist. Vielleicht ist auch alles anders, aber gerade wegen dieses Zweifels kommt man Monat für Monat zurück, nur um zu wissen, ob dieses Album wirklich so ist. (Ja, ist es.)

18. Rejjie Snow/Dear Annie

Es ist die Platte, die Tyler, The Creator warum auch immer nie machen konnte, und weil das wohl mittlerweile alle verstanden haben, hat Rejjie Snow sie eben gemacht. N*E*R*D werden in Gedenken an Jazz aufgedröselt und zu einem Coming-Of-Age-Musical zusammengekehrt. Einzelne Songs funktionieren nicht so gut, "Dear Annie" umso besser.

17. Idles - Joy As An Act Of Resistance

Es scheppert, ist mit Post Punk ebenso wenig erfasst wie ‘77 und will dabei eigentlich gar nicht anstrengen. “Joy As An Act Of Resistance” nimmt so ziemlich alles an sich ernst und weiß, wo Schweigen angebracht ist.

16. Cloud Nothings - Last Building Burning

Cloud Nothings hatten sich die Reise zurück in die Stille so schön als Pop-Punk-Revue ausgemalt, doch die Leute wollten sie noch nicht gehen lassen. Deswegen steigt Dylan Baldi eben doch nochmal in den Ring, mit Krach ohne Grund, Frustration und Free Jazz. Es müsste falsch sein, wäre es nicht einfach Rockmusik.

15. US. Girls - In A Poem Unlimited

Musik, die heruntergewirtschaftete Genres nochmal auf den Tisch packen möchte, ist oft peinlich, "In A Poem Unlimited" aber aus verschiedensten Gründen nicht. Unter anderem weil: Meg Remy es musikalisch so sorgfältig und textlich so dringlich macht, ohne den Reizen der Patina einfach naiv zu erliegen. Früher war nicht alles besser, sonst bräuchte es ja Platten wie diese nicht.

14. Interpol - Marauder

Kommt her, Interpol-Fans aller Länder, versammelt euch unter der kuscheligen Decke, die Fogarino, Banks und Kessler für uns ausgeschlagen haben. Keine Angst, die Touristen, die wegen "El Pintor" mal wieder was von New York und Indie wissen wollten, sind schon wieder Zuhause. Also raus aus der Anzug-, rein in die Jogginghose, damit wir uns alle krumm machen können, wie dieses Album, bei dem Interpol die Zügel so aus der Hand geben, dass alles verrutscht und wir durch gänzlich neue Bahnen rutschen können, ohne dabei diese erdrosselnde Wärme zu vermissen, an der manche von uns unterwegs so gerne erfroren sind.

13. Emma Ruth Rundle - On Dark Horses

Andere haben Emma Ruth Rundle vorher verstanden, für mich war es dieser sachte Abstieg in Dark-Psych-Folk-Metal, der denn Reiz dieser Musik Song für Song ausbuchstabieren musste, um ihn begreifen zu können. Immer knapp am Kollaps operierend, mit dreißig Jahren Singer/Songwriter-Musik von Menschen, die keine Singer/Songwriter sein wollen im Gepäck und einem guten Gespür für fusselige Texturen, in denen unbedarftes Publikum verlorengehen darf.

12. Die Nerven - Fake

Eigentlich dürfte so ein Album gar nicht funktionieren, eigentlich müssten die Nerven als Band auch einfach auserzählt sein, aber irgendwie ist "Fake" das unverdiente Einserabi von drei Filous aus der letzten Reihe geworden.

11. Yves Tumor - Safe In The Hands Of Love

Erst weiß man Bescheid: Sample-Kram, Brainfeeder beeinflusst, aus Tradition bei Warp unterschrieben, alles klar, bin dabei, mal eben kurz. Dann bricht aber leider alles ein, Pop übernimmt. Noise knaustert die Papiere zusammen. Bei Warp ist das trotzdem richtig aufgehoben, aber weniger wegen des Sounds, sondern weil hier jemand an der Zukunft interessiert ist.

10. Death Grips - Year Of The Snitch

Schwierig zu sagen, wo sich Death Grips gerade in ihrer Karriere befinden. Nach dem Statement “The Power The B” täuschte “Bottomless Pit” den Mindfuck an, gab sich dann jedoch erstaunlich gefällig. Bei “Year Of The Snitch” ist es anders rum: “Streaky” bleibt eine Ausnahme, stattdessen ist es wirr, kaputt, was man erst erkennt, wenn man sich mal von den Klischees rund um Death Grips verabschiedet. Ist eigentlich auch nötig, weil hiermit bereits das zweite Album einfach regulär erschienen ist, ohne Leaks und Trennungen und Serviettennachrichten. Das Management des Übergangs in die eher wieder normale Phase dieser Band läuft gut, bleibt dran!

9. Dödsrit - Spirit Crusher

Wenn Crust und Black Metal zusammenkommen, denkt man eher an so kleine, fiese Passagen, an den Dreck und Hass als gemeinsamen Nenner. “Spirit Crusher” flickt beide Genres aber an einer Transzendenz zusammen, von der man gar nicht wusste, dass sich das ausgehen könnte. Keine Bewegung, nur ein, zwei, drei, vier unbequemes Kratzen.

8. War On Women - Capture The Flag

Eine Schelle, eben weil die pfeilschnellen Songs des Debüts hier richtig aufgelockert wurden, mit mehr Alternative, Thrash eher im Sound als im Spiel und vor allem einer Attitüde, die keine Kompromisse kennen möchte, ist das zweite Album der nach wie vor formidablen War On Women geworden. Eigentlich dürfte das alles gar nicht so viel Spaß machen, aber.

7. Haru Nemuri - Haru To Shura

Verstehen lässt sich “Haru To Shura” nicht, wohl aber durchleben, und damit hat Haru Nemuri dann doch ziemlich genau das gemacht, was Rap 2018 laut einiger Experten auszeichnet. Freilich nicht nur versierter und überdrehter, sondern versetzt mit Alternative-Girl-Group-Glitch-Rockismen, die nach Luft schnappen lassen.

6. JPEGMAFIA - Veteran

"Veteran" rauscht vorbei, ist anstrengend, und zusammengenommen irritiert das. Sieht man sich dann einmal ein paar Gesprächsfetzen mit Peggy an, merkt man schon, wo das alles herkommt, fragt sich aber doch, wie das so rauskommt. Blubbertechno, Glitchgeballer, und eben nicht MC Ride, sondern so ein reptilienhaftes Winden und Keifen und bisweilen auch Säuseln. Sollte man vielleicht auch nicht zerdenken.

5. Anna von Hausswolf - Dead Magic

Es muss schon dieses ganze Album sein und verstehen zu können, wie Anna von Hausswolf hier gegen Ende der Dekade die Spuren zwischen Indie, Folk, Doom und Drone vollends verwischt, um zu einer eigenen Form von Überwältigungsmusik zu gelangen, die eben so knochig wie knochenbrechend ist. Hätte Michael Gira nicht rechtzeitig die letzte Swans-Phase beendet, vielleicht hätte er sich die Zähne an diesem Entwurf ausgebissen.

4. Tocotronic - Die Unendlichkeit

Der Manierismus hätte daneben gehen können, ebenso wie die autobiographische Nabelschau. Tocotronic lehnten beides jedoch so beweglich aneinander, dass sie nach den (meiner Meinung nach gerade richtigen) strauchelnden 10er Jahren alle abholen konnten, die unterwegs warum auch immer hängengeblieben waren. Eingefasst von Überlegungen zur Unsterblichkeit, zur Bühne und vielleicht auch zum Rock wuseln sich Zank, Müller, von Lowtzow und McPhail durch die Musik ihres Lebens, ziehen die richtigen Referenzen, teils dreist direkt, teils toll überblendet, und generell: Wie Dirk da teils Details fokussiert, Szenerien verschwimmen lässt, Begebenheiten abstrahiert und Brücken baut, zählt zu den richtig guten Momenten dieser an richtig guten Momenten nicht armen Karriere.

3. Kero Kero Bonito - Time'n'Place

Zwischendrin habe auch ich gedacht, dieses Album sei irgendwie scheiße, von den Singles und Twists besser gehypt, als es letzten Endes ist. Aber Leute: Schlagt euch mal den Kaugummi in die Backe, legt euch einen Lavalampenfilter über das Display, scrollt dann munter durch die Timelines, lasst euch von diesen 2018er Foo Fighters beballern und erzählt mir am Ende, das hätte gar nichts mit euch gemacht, oder schlimmer noch - das hätte keinen Sinn ergeben. Typen wie euch verwandeln Kero Kero Bonito einfach in GIFs. Rock hatte abseits von dieser Platte keine Relevanz in diesem Jahr.

2. Kids See Ghosts - Kids See Ghosts

2018 war unter anderem das Jahr, in dem man bei Kanye nicht nur nicht mehr mitkam, sondern auch nicht mehr mitkommen wollte. Ja, wieder eine Talkshow an die Wand gefahren, irgendwelche nicht mehr kruden, sondern nur noch dummen Bill-Cosby-Donald-Trump-Statements gebracht, mit irgendwem für irgendwas kollaboriert und dabei immer egaler geworden. Aber dann gab es da eben doch diese 24 Minuten, in denen unter der Flagge von Emo Rap nicht nur Kanyes (angenommener, aber wie gesagt: mir egal) Mindstate und Kid Cudis wirre Alternative-Rock-Versuche zu einem guten, porösen, hittigen, absurden amalgamierten, sondern sich eben jener Gruppeneffekt einstellte, den The Throne bei allen Hits nie erreichen konnte. Vielleicht, weil Kanye da noch zu gut und Jay Z ohnehin zu sehr Ikone war. Man wollte lieber den Mogul und das Genie für sich betrachten. Heute kann das Genie kaum genug hinter dem Alias verschwimmen.

1. Deafheaven - Ordinary Corrupt Human Love

“Ordinary Corrupt Human Love” ist keine Platte, die beim ersten Hören Album des Jahres schreit, obwohl sie so heraus ragt, aber eben ambivalent bleibt und sich auch ein bisschen forciert anhört. Alleine “You Without End” - ach, komm. Aber dann schlört man sich nochmal zu den Livekonzerten, man erlebt, wie "Honeycomb" und "Canary Yellow" geballt ins Publikum fliegen, und plötzlich macht irgendwie doch alles erschreckend viel Sinn, der Metal ist da und der Postrock und plötzlich liegt die Platte nicht mehr in einem diffusen Mittelfeld, das man sich so im Laufe des Jahres imaginiert hat, sondern ganz vorne, weil bei allen guten strategischen Manövern die Musik einfach schön ist. Da, ich habs gesagt.

1 note · View note

lunapaper · 6 years

Text

Album Review: ‘High As Hope’ - Florence + The Machine

Florence Welch finally feels free.

In a recent interview with Billboard, the singer described the stark contrast between recording Florence + The Machine’s latest album High As Hope and 2015’s How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful:

‘[…] I was a mess, making every song was painful. It was all so painful, I was heartbroken, couldn’t figure out my stuff with booze. [High as Hope] was so free, and I don’t think, because I had not been drinking for a while, so it’s almost I wouldn’t say this was a sobriety record, but it really comes from a place of even getting underneath that because when you put the drinking down, all the other stuff is going to show up.’

Though vivid motifs of nature, religion and the elements still persist, High As Hope presents a raw, reinvigorated Welch ready to lay her demons to rest, much lighter, airier yet more solitary compared to the heady, cinematic swells of How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful.

First single ‘Hunger’ – addressing the singer’s past battle with an eating disorder – is as close to early F+TM as it gets, soulful yet urgent as Welch celebrates the ‘vibrant youth’ who ‘make a fool of death with your beauty’ whilst restlessly searching for her own sense of purpose. The richly chaotic ‘June’ recounts heavy days ‘when love became an act of defiance,’ written in the wake of the 2016 Pulse Nightclub shooting in Orlando, where dark piano tremors soon burst into an exuberant call to arms as Welch implores with full-throated vigour: ‘Hold on to each other.’ The fragile sweetness of ‘The End Of Love,’ on the other hand, has the singer draw parallels between the tumultuous flood that was her 20s with her tragic family history, including her parents’ divorce and her grandmother’s suicide (‘And in a moment of joy and fury I threw myself/From the balcony like my grandmother so many years before me’).

‘Sky Full Of Song’ – a divine hymn resplendent with bass plucks, string swirls and ghostly echoes – recalls the sparse, introspective nature of How Big… standouts ‘St Jude’ and ‘Long And Lost’ as Welch proclaims ‘I thought I was flying but maybe I'm dying tonight,’ finding solace on stage while her world crumbles around her. ‘Big God’ (a highlight co-written with Jamie xx), meanwhile, recalls a ‘favourite ghost’ who keeps the singer up at night, ‘to my messages, you do not reply,’ a harrowing, jazz-laced epic featuring Kamasi Washington on tenor sax, Welch slightly unhinged as her haunting vocal leers atop minacious strings and shuddering bass.

High As Hope also sees Welch pay tribute to two of her favourite heroines with heartfelt majesty. ‘Grace’ (dedicated to Welch’s younger sister) is a stirring, piano-laden mea culpa flourishing with gospel overtones, the singer referencing everything from dropping out of uni to dropping acid at Grace’s 18th (‘And the sunshine hit me and I was behaving strangely/All the walls were melting and there were mermaids everywhere/Hearts flew from my hands and I could see people's feelings’), while ‘Patricia’ (for Patti Smith, Welch’s ‘North Star’) rides a swirling, celestial rush of strings and horns, declaring the Godmother of Punk a ‘real man’ who makes this ‘cold world beautiful.’

High As Hope is simply sublime, Florence Welch finally bright-eyed and sober as she swaps youthful abandon for subdued beauty, her stark lyricism among her best yet, though an ornate heart still beats beneath the album’s dreamy sense of calm. High As Hope derives great power from its restraint.

‘And if tomorrow it's all over/At least we had it for a moment…’ she sighs on final track ‘No Choir,’ acknowledging the lack of cinematic ballads and the supposedly fleeting nature of her latest body of work. But what a moment it truly is…

- Bianca B.

#music #florence + the machine #high as hope #new #reviews #albums #Bianca B

6 notes · View notes

gazemoil · 4 years

Photo

RECENSIONE: Viagra Boys - Welfare Jazz (YEAR0001, 2021)

Il secondo disco degli svedesi Viagra Boys s’intitola Welfare Jazz ed è una bomba post-punk che esplora ulteriormente il gusto musicale onnivoro della band, con influenze che vanno dal funky al blues, dal jazz al country. Un disco dalla facciata aggressiva ed i modi ignoranti che ci racconta episodi carichi di brillante umorismo e sarcasmo sotto i quali si nasconde una profonda intelligenza emotiva.

Essendo una delle poche principali uscite sul programma di gennaio, tradizionale periodo di inattività nel mondo delle uscite discografiche, Welfare Jazz è nella posizione unica di poter stabilire un primo tono per il 2021. Ed è sicuramente un ottimo tono, il piede giusto per iniziare un anno dove ci piacerebbe da morire continuare a sentire questa benedizione che è il revival della scena post-punk ormai chiaramente in atto negli ultimi anni dalle grazie di Idles, Fontaines D.C, Protomartyr e Shame - solo per citarne alcuni.

Ma qui ci sembra doveroso non accomodare troppo i Viagra Boys col genere post-punk, nonostante siano apprezzati da chi gravita nella scena. Bisogna dire che c’è sicuramente quel tipo di attitudine à la Joe Talbot (Idles) che si mette a torso nudo sul palco e con la pancia ballonzolante esposta prende a pesci in faccia la mascolinità tossica, ma a livello di sound la band capitanata da Sebastian Murphy incorpora tantissime altre influenze. Il titolo del disco, infatti, non è del tutto una presa in giro sbruffona e non soltanto perché il sassofonista Oskar Carls fa la sua figura nella formazione, ma perché effettivamente si vanno a toccare corde blues, jazz e funk ormai con naturalezza rispetto al debutto Street Worms del 2018, dove già si leggeva chiaramente il manifesto della band. Sono degli elementi che li avvicinano di più agli affini all’art-rock come Preoccupations, Ought ed Iceage oppure ancora a quelle band ibride tipo HMLTD e Tropical Funk Storm nate proprio dalla fertilità della scena, ma che effettivamente hanno interpretato e riportato in vita l’attitudine del pensiero punk per riscriverne le sonorità e non viceversa.

A scontornare ancora di più il profilo ci sono i synth che portano il disco anche su versanti dance, acidi, su cui il mono tono cavernoso e grezzo di Murphy - che o si odia o si ama, e qui lo adoriamo - è un sodalizio riuscitissimo, in quanto aggiungono pennellate al personaggio-macchietta di Murphy che si auto-interpreta come il macho ignorante e gradasso che però con qualche birra e sostanza di troppo in corpo inizia a perdere di credibilità ballando come una scimmia sul palco e sparando qualche frase - apparentemente - senza senso che ne svela, appunto, l’ironia ed il surrealismo. Vedi Girls & Boys che sembra un aggiornamento di LCD Soundsystem, sviluppato attorno a tre note lanciate dall’energetica e serratissima sezione ritmica spesso arricchita dalle sferzate in improvvisazione di un sax dalle sensazioni punk-funk. Sempre sull’improvvisazione si mantiene la strumentale 6 Shooter sulla quale volevo fare un cenno di approvazione. Un brano che spezza a metà il disco coi suoi cinque minuti, e nonostante immaginiamo possa prendere davvero vita in live, rimane avvincente e riesce ad isolare l’ascoltatore da tutto il resto catapultandolo nella frenesia musicale. Creatures invece è un ottimo tentativo di scrivere una canzone pop sfruttando la sempre attuale lezione dei Talking Heads.

youtube

L’apertura Ain’t Nice è un manifesto che dice “non sono una buona persona” e dipinge un personaggio senza scrupoli nell’ammettere di cercare una controparte di cui approfittarsi per non rimanere in mezzo alla strada e continuare a fare quello che gli pare, con la quale non è disposto o forse non è nemmeno in grado di ricambiare emotivamente la relazione. “I’ll start screaming if you look at me funny” anzi, avvisa per sottolineare il fatto di essere una persona assolutamente intrattabile. Non c’è però una totale strafottenza ed assenza di pentimento. Quella di Murphy è interpretabile come un’ammissione di colpe da cui partire e sicuramente ha capito dove ha sbagliato, semplicemente invece di chiedere perdono e fare un “mea culpa” col capo chino decide di dire: “mi sono comportato da totale stronzo ed è imperdonabile, quindi questo è tutto lo schifo che ho fatto senza mezzi termini”. In Toad che si avventura su una galoppata scatenata quasi country-western dice nella maniera più rozza possibile che non ha intenzione di intraprendere nulla di serio con la sua donna che farebbe meglio piuttosto a smettere di fantasticare sul sistemarsi insieme in un posto carino, non perdendo l’occasione per mortificarla.

youtube

Nelle ultime tracce vediamo proprio un approdo ad un cambio di atteggiamento, un tono diverso che corrisponde a sonorità ancora diverse, a conferma della sua presa di coscienza. In To The Country la vediamo quando la sua affermazione diventa “I wouldn't scream and yell and ramble 'bout my problems” mentre chiede alla controparte di prendere una casette insieme perché forse è ciò che vuole davvero e prosegue sulla cover di John Prine di In Spite Of Ourselves che chiude il disco.

Più volte si è tentato di leggere i testi dei Viagra Boys sotto una lente politica, complice sicuramente il paragone con tutte le band inglesi di prima, ma un’altra cosa che li differenzia da loro è che non fanno del commento socio-politico il loro primario interesse. Murphy stesso ha affermato che per lui l’atto in sé di fare musica è un atto politico e che non necessariamente, o almeno non volontariamente, dentro i suoi testi ci sono dei significati politici. Per noi Welfare Jazz ha inevitabilmente - anche - una lettura politica perché non potrebbe essere altrimenti quando si fa del sarcasmo sulla mascolinità tossica, la misoginia, lo squallore adottando un metodo che alla fine somiglia tanto a quello del dadaismo. E non solo, si capisce chiaramente il pensiero dei musicisti dietro un lavoro musicale del genere, rendendolo esplicito quando nelle interviste dicono “right-wings don’t like music”.

Welfare Jazz è un disco puramente libero sotto il punto di vista musicale che ti fa godere delle chitarre, dei bassi spessi come mattoni, del sax impazzito ma sempre misurato e funzionale, dell’idiozia iconica del suo frontman. Che dire, ci piacciono pure gli intermezzi.

TRACCE MIGLIORI: Ain’t Nice; Toad, Creatures; Girls & Boys

TRACCE PEGGIORI: Into the Sun

VOTO: 85/100

di Viviana Bonura

#recensioni #recensione #viagra boys #welfare jazz #gazemoil #musicali #musicale

1 note · View note

bareshares2020 · 4 years

Text

Jesus was a cool guy, a hippie, a revolutionary like a Lennon or Stravinsky, a Lemongrass Teacher who ate plants and refused to hunt for sport, for murder. He wore sandals, fed his people, supported his pupils.

How different from a Bodisatva? From a third eye. From a center.

Aren't We all ego gods? Roaring out righteousness and derision? Killing each other?

If we embrace all gods we'd be easier to get along with. All colors, tribes, philosophies, beliefs? Rules?

The trouble with the south violence magnifies.

I landed a few minutes from Atlanta. I like my life now but this year has been a shitshow, reality TV times 1000, even worse RBG died.

Now, look who gets another justice in? Kavanugh was creepy enough. God let the Biden win. Ignore the destruction of postal sorting machines, feigned ignore of scientific studies and facts. If this is my only prayer to any god? Help us. But god doesn't. We help ourselves. Let's face it. We're on our own.

But if you want to believe, go ahead.

The bill of rights isn't wrong.

The threat of violence permeates this culture tv stickpins show us what to think. We kill everything we touch. Burn what we own. We ruin our planet, exploit one another, buy and sell one another, enslave one another and how is this godly? Honorable?

Jesus would not have suppprted a death penalty, his mother couldn't have been a virgin and I doubt he walked on water.

Jesus tossed us like a discarded card.

A diguarded card. Discarded Art. A Reject. Loser. Albino. Junkie. Black. Iranian. Persian. Mexican Moslem. Immigrant alien Mistake. Inconvenience. Homeless. Burden. Gay. Wrong. Liberal. Hippy. Peacenik3. Promontory 5. @&"7$xc. Jesus's password.

Jesus wasn't resurrected into a cloud. Perhaps transformed into ether, into matter, into the energy form that transforms, lifts up, loves. Hurley gurly men. Drag queens. Prositutes. Perhaps dung beetles or scabs. The poor.

Jesus favored whores and murders as companions, you know. So, sluts and pro-life women would have been welcome in his camp.

Didn't he tend to roam? Nomadic? Traveling Bones.

Jesus wouldn't have supported your religions you hateful dread fear mongers. He wouldn't have voted Republican or lived suburban in suburbans and BMW's.

I think of him in the Flinestone car, peddling away in the desert, across rugby fields, on an ATV in Florida with no teeth and tobacco stains on his wife-beater t-shirt.

He wore a wife beater into the synagogue? Turned a table. Admonished greed and prejudiceJudgmentHypocrisy.

As a woman who has generated her share of negative pr-I have created the suspicions of my own sincerity.

I have disappointed millions like the paper Jesus will. This is a bare fact from Bare Shares.

______________________

Substantial Sunnier-side of Depression: the dead character actor pics.

_________________Georgia on my blind_______

Fiddle Dee Dee, a ridiculous expression, aside, I forced myself to evacuate my crash site in Jack Town. I threw up my hands and said Fuck this behavior. Love yourself longer, stay alive.

I adore the historical mansions nearby, the new hysterical women I live with, the elegant architecture, jazz history, blues legends, film industry fairy dusters musicians and legends sprinkled all around ATL.

I left legends in Mississippi. One I may have loved. I'm not sure. I hope so. I hoped not, but you know what bullshit hope means-nothing substantive, MEA culpa full of shit.

Walked in Midnight Splinters advocates protest downtown, marches fill the streets while covid spreads in large gatherings and Walmart's.

Southern governors shackled their states to bags of Washington chameleons and to frauds. I am bored with masks and mandates but I'm considerate of other people. Just because I've wanted to die doesn't mean I can endanger their lives.

This Jesus card from the back of a mahogany pew floated through a drainage ditch. Afterthoughts.

Jump back on the cross where you belong!

0 notes

musevassal · 7 years

Text

Millennials are Garbage

So, millennials, huh? What went wrong there? And golly, Enid, those flappers sure were a real menace, what with their reefer and jazz music and sex in motorcars. Hmmm, now that I start to dig into it a little, it's almost as though there's always been people who insist on framing things in terms of generational conflict. Who go for the layup of old versus young when they want to get their dander up about something, because goddamnit they aint gonna let something like not having anything interesting or useful to say stop them from getting their spleen on! And then oh what a bland cul-de-sac of the zeitgeist we find ourselves in. At this point, those of you expecting a hit piece on millennials are probably wondering what the fuck I'm doing. The short answer is: You've been clickbaited. Now, there are two camps of people who would respond to such bait: those who agree that millennials are terrible; and those who took offense at the title and came looking for some more of that sweet, sweet offensive fuel for their raging fire of righteous indignation. For those of you in the first group who came looking for something of an echo-chamber to amuse yourselves: sorry, there's not going to be much here for you in terms of that. But do feel free to pull up a chair and hang about if you're so inclined. I do actually have a point here and it might not do you any harm to check it out. Now, for those of you who came torches and pitchforks in hand, I would ask you to take a step back and ask yourself how it is that you've been clickbaited. Not why (that's an easy one: it's to drive traffic to my content), but how? The how of it is actually pretty simple. It's an old sales technique and one of the tricks in the How To Win Friends and Influence People bag. To combat indifference and disinterest, the manipulator instigates the target's irritation or anger. These feelings, while negative, are an emotional response. The target now has engaged emotionally with you; a connection has been established. From there it is child's play to defuse the anger, and what follows is a dopamine rush from the perceived conflict resolution, however minor. In that state it, the mark is much more likely to buy that used car they didn't want. But this is the internet. There's no car for them to sell you. So what's the payoff? Attention. Traffic. That is the currency. You see something that pisses you off, and what do you do? You share it, you comment on it; then your friends to the same. Attention. Traffic. Mission accomplished. You read something that pisses you off and you click to read more. In order to do what? What need does that impulse serve for you? I have already told you what need of mine you have serviced, but what service are you doing yourself? The only logical answer is that you like being angry and offended. Fair enough then. But if you don't like that mental state, then what the fuck are doing to yourself? For my benefit, no less. This is the media cycle we now are meant to participate in. The celebrity offensive act or tweet, followed by the mea culpa apology circuit. These are not missteps; they are calculated manipulations. Their name is trending on Twitter. Attention. Traffic. This is not to say it isn't useful to get angry at things sometimes. But take a second and think about how you are interacting with what has angered you. Is your attention hurting or helping the object of your ire? Are you signal boosting exactly what it is you claim to be fighting against? Get angry, sure. Say your piece, even better. But don't serve their fucking agenda. Make a case for what you believe without linking to that offensive tidbit that baited you into action. That's the way to do it. Think of it in terms of that old philosophical exercise: “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around, does it make a noise?” The answer is: no it doesn't. Noise is a human concept. There are vibrations in the air, but they are not interpreted by a human mind that makes a judgment about what is noise and what isn't. So, if a shitty tweet is posted and no one reads it, is it offensive? Without human attention and interpretation, all of this is nothing more than dust blown into the void. Binary ones and zeros dumped into a sea of data storage. It's nothing. Until you make it something.

#millennials #millenial #offensive #offended #clickbait

2 notes · View notes

chrismurman · 7 years

Text

Exectives Don’t Think We Are ‘Doing Agile Right’

I can still remember the pit in my stomach when Steve Jobs tried to quiet the complaints of the newly launched iPhone 4 (the first I ever owned). The smartphone giant came out with a brand new design of the device, which included a new radio antenna. Instead of doing a mea culpa (which came later, of course), Jobs responded with a line that would launch a thousand memes:

“You’re not holding it right.”

We laughed at it then. It’s still funny today.

Regardless of the industry, though, we all have our own version of the phrase. With conference season in full swing, I can guarantee a similar phrase will be repeated in conversations:

“That’s not Agile. You aren’t doing it right.”

Was reminded of this while reading a recent white paper released by UK consultancy 6point6. Included in the paper are the results of a survey of 300 US and UK CIOs. The numbers do not paint a pretty picture of Agile IT delivery, at least from the executive perspective.

Over half of CIOs regard Agile development as “discredited” (53%).

Three-quarters (75%) are no longer prepared to defend it.

Almost three-quarters (73%) of CIOs think Agile IT has now become an industry in its own right.

Half (50%) say they now think of Agile as “an IT fad”.

At first glance, those numbers shouldn’t surprise many of us. Many of today’s IT executives don’t have the day-to-day interaction with their teams. Agile transformation and coaching are just the latest in a long line of consultants at their door knocking for business.

They also don’t care how they get work delivered. Just that it does and often that’s the only success metric. If you combine that with the recent State of Agile survey, productivity is the only metric that probably matters. The line that did stick out to me was this:

“In many ways, Agile was a reaction against the very forces that are now testing its limits.”

What are these forces? Can we look at these currents stated in the survey and explore the concept of improving how we work with executives?

CIOs expect quick wins. Really quick.

The average length of tenure for today’s CIO is 14 months, according to the survey. Granted, the paper does not list how many are fired and how many voluntarily leave. It does not give the exec much time to make an impact, though.

If the HBR articles and countless books promising quick wins of Agile are to be believed, this points to why companies are “buying Agile” for organizations.

Many of my friends might point to poor expectations of early evidence of transforming IT departments. Others could point to consultants selling Agile as a product (supported by the stats above). Either way, leadership can’t afford to give us time to rebuild their teams from scratch.

The call on change agents is to hit the ground with both feet running and start delivering value early.

Should we count “quick wins” as something to prioritize when kicking off a new effort? I wish the answer was “no” with all my heart. That’s just not the case most of the time. This supports the notion of developing proper success metrics early on with leadership to provide transparency. Curious what ways you have done this with your clients and companies.

Old school methods are not going away.

One could argue that the accelerated need for early success on agile teams might diminish the need for heavy-weight legacy methods. That’s just not the case, according to the survey. CIOs see Agile projects fail because of a lack of documentation (44%) and upfront planning (34%).

Turns out Waterfall is fighting its death harder than many of us thought.

These projects are not cheap. The paper stated the average cost of an IT Project is £8M (almost $10.3M). For that amount of money, leadership wants to know what exactly it’s buying. Combine that with the estimate that 12% of all projects completely fail, there is extreme nervousness over delivery methods.

Most of our agile colleagues can speak to the success working with teams on the ground level delivering working software. We take a backlog and we work it one story at a time.

Would executives see that as successful delivery? One could argue these stats say “no”.

Agile consultants are increasingly getting into boardrooms, which might help align the expectations around how much planning is “just enough”. The call on us appears to need to double down on this conversation.

Agile execution is just jazz hands without proper technical leadership.

The survey states 68% of CIOs agree that Agile teams require more Architects. This comes from a few areas where teams struggle to deliver true needs of the organization. Most backlogs tend to focus on new features first (35% of respondents said so) and leave the non-functional work for later in the project.

Also, 46% stated they felt Agile projects don’t function with any kind of strategic vision. Business and product leadership tend to focus on the big shiny items of value to show their bosses how well things are going on their teams.

This ignores the principle of business and teams talking every day and mutually agreeing on the highest priority items to tackle next.

Failing to prioritize items like security and performance earlier in the product lifecycle creates a ton more work later on. This is where concepts like thin-slicing of features can be a benefit.

Now, one might ask if allocating more archtects to these efforts will solve the problems. I’ve encountered many architects that can absolutely draw a new system and carve out methods of implementation. And yet, teams still struggle with delivery. This again could point to expectations of what benefit this actually provides.

Roadmaps need to speak to technical and business outcomes. Only then can agile teams build proper backlogs of value.

“From a leadership point of view, Agile is currently not in a good state.”

This line should send chills up and down the spines of our community. These are the folks signing checks for our efforts. If we can’t engage in leadership and encourage better ways of running Agile projects, we are truly doomed to becoming a fad.

Are we indeed “not doing Agile right”? You tell me.

Tagged: Agile projects, CIO, expectations, leadership, survey from WordPress http://ift.tt/2pH5h1h via IFTTT

#IFTTT #WordPress

1 note · View note

nevarrhoe · 2 years

Text

mea culpa (m.m) - one

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter. (masterlist + playlist)

warnings: afab reader/fem pronouns, age gap, smut, p in v, choking, unprotected sex, alcohol, swearing (and ur friendly reminder that just because something is hot in fan fiction does not mean it's hot in real life. use protection kids, and don't fuck lawyers who are fifteen years older than you.)

MINORS DNI - this has been clearly marked as having explicit content and with these clear warnings in place, you are reading this whilst being aware of said content and i bare no responsibility for what you to choose to consume. with that in mind, if someone who a) does not have their age in their bio or b) does so and is a minor, you will be blocked.

i don't even know where the idea for this series came from but i am home from uni for the weekend and the amount of times my poor mother almost saw my laptop screen whilst i was writing this was...not good. enjoy.

-jazz xx

You fucking hated these parties.

Sweaty lawyers, classy music, champagne that cost thousands of bucks but tasted like piss. And it was all for what? For every lawyer on the Upper East Side to have a dick measuring contest and decide who the best prosecutor was? Yeah, that sounded about right.

It would have been less insufferable if the barristers in question were younger, hotter and more prone to using antiperspirant. Sadly, they were none of those things. All well past their sell-by date. You could deal with an older man but these were just…old. Daddy issues were one thing but gran-daddy issues was where you drew the line. Much unlike the gorgeous blonde girls hooked on the arms of the eighty-plus law firm partners, flaunting the expensive rocks on their fingers and praying for the day that their husbands finally keeled over and left their estates to them. You’d always sworn not to become one of them. At least not until you were twenty-seven at most - and it wouldn’t have been hard, given that your father was the District Attorney and had every high-flying lawyer in his pocket.

You didn’t need their money though, not when you had his. Obviously, most of it was family money - district attorneys didn’t exactly make money bags. Not much of an issue given that your family name ranked a little between the Vanderbilts and the Rockerfellers.

So there you were, perched on the edge of some random firm’s annual mixer. You’d cracked out your mother’s vintage Chanel suit - a red-and-black checkered blazer and matching mini-skirt, finished with black platform heels and a spritz of Coco Chanel. There wasn’t a hair out of place - that was rule one of finishing school.

“Darling, are you going to mingle at all?”

Eyes flickering up from your champagne, they locked with your father’s a few feet away. The scowl was natural.

“What am I supposed to talk about?” you asked. “They’re all boring. And old.”

“Any man here would give you a job,” he replied. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to have one.”

“Oh father, please,” you snorted. “Your great-grandad didn’t spend years exploiting oil tycoons for billions of dollars for me to break my nails working.”

You could have gotten any job or degree you wanted - money aside, you were smart as fuck. You’d graduated top of your class at Harvard at the mere age of 21. Two years later, however, your degree was just decoration, with you having discovered you much preferred just…existing. And spending money on clothes, bags, and whatever else you fancied that day.

“Our ancestors worked hard-”

“- I never said they didn’t work hard,” you cut him off. “You clearly put a lot of effort into sucking Wilson Fick’s dick.”

Shoving your glass of champagne into your father’s hand, you blew him a kiss and stalked off.

It was that particular conversation that caught Matt Murdock’s attention.

He stood a good few meters away from you, nursing his own glass of barely-touch bubbly and fiddling awkwardly with his tie. Foggy Nelson had dragged him there - c’mon Matty, it’s just a formality he’d said - and then duly fucked off to flirt with a stunning law clerk. What a jerk.

Your comment had been flippant, but it was the first mention of Fisk’s name in a negative light that he’d heard all night. It was no wonder he wasn’t very popular there, given how his law firm had attacked the big guy.

“You look bored…” you trailed off, eyes flickering down to the name tag on Matt’s lapel. “...Murdock.”

That wasn’t why you’d come over to him. Okay, maybe it was a little but also because he was a) a stunningly attractive man in a room of viable Jabba the Hutt’s and b) his blazer was just a little too tight for his arms. He’d been meaning to get it taken out a little but man, life was just so busy at the moment.

It took exactly five seconds for your entire being to fill his senses. Faint Coco Chanel and expensive body cream, all of which had clearly been used to mask the smell of tobacco. Expensive tobacco too. The taste of champagne lingered every so slightly on your breath, but not enough to show you’d had that much. He could read you just from that. You smelt like you - or your daddy, most likely - had money and it was clear you weren’t big on drinking. At this event, at least - because what socialite in modern day Manhattan didn’t have a drinking problem?

It was weird how he could tell when people were staring - it was just a sense that their lingering eyes just happened to be in his direction. But even if he was in their line of sight, it was clear they weren’t looking at him. No bets that you were one of the best sights in the room.

Matt was bored. You were bored. And that was where the entire problem began.

The lawyer gave you a smile. “This isn’t really my scene.”

“Oh, please,” you beamed back at him. “It’s not mine either. You should be grateful you can’t see what’s going on right now - it’s like watching hundreds of Rich Uncle Pennybags drag around their discount Pamela Anderson sex dolls.”

Matt let out a derivative snort. Hell, you were funny too.

“I very briefly remember what Pamela Anderson looks like,” he replied. “Even a discounted version of her is arguably still very beautiful, no?”

“Mmm,” you hummed. “I mean…I would.”

“I can only assume based on the way you’re speaking about these established lawyers that you’re not one of them?”

“Absolutely not,” you shot back. “I never got around to passing the bar.”

“So why are you here?”

“My old man’s the district attorney,” you replied. “And I can tell by the way your face just fell that you don’t like him.”

“I don’t not like him-”

“- it’s okay, Murdock,” you cut him off. “Rest assured, I probably hate him more than you.”

“So I’ll ask again,” he raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”

“Family obligations,” you rolled your eyes. “But what I wouldn’t give to stop playing happy families and leave this godforsaken hall to drink alcohol that doesn’t taste how my Great Aunt Betty smells.”

Matt normally wouldn’t have accepted your hint, but he was so done with the night already. Daredevil aside, he hadn’t been living a very exciting life the last few weeks. Maybe it was time he did something for himself. Something younger, funnier, and prettier than the woman he would normally find in New York on a Saturday night.

“Are you even old enough to frequent establishments that sell alcohol?”

“Oh, you’re funny,” you huffed. “Old enough by just over two years, but I can assure you I’ve been drinking much longer than that.”

Matt smiled. “Then I might know a place.”

–

All eyes were on you the second you stepped inside Josie’s Bar. Not for the same reason they’d been on you at the last event.

Your outfit alone probably cost more than the yearly rent of this hole. It was a nice hole, though. Nicer than you’d expected. Even if the carpet was sticky on your heels and the air thick with tobacco. At least here you wouldn’t have to hide your own smoking habits.

“What’s your poison?” Matt asked. He kept a hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the bar. Nice.

You glanced at the bar, scanning the shelves for your choice of intoxication.

“I’ll take a double dark rum and coke, please.” you replied - half to Matt, half to the woman behind the bar who you assumed to be Josie.

“Diet coke?” she teased.

“Not necessary- regular is fine,” you replied. “I assume you accept American Express platinum here? I’ll tip as well.”

Josie smiled. “Touche - and for you, Matthew?”

“I’ll take an IPA.”

You smiled, resting a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I kind of liked just calling you Murdock.”

“I don’t mind if you want to keep doing that,” he replied. “That little play with the AmEx card was cute.”

“Oh yeah?” you quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not gonna let her talk down to me just because I’m not…working class like everyone else in this bar.”

“How long did it take you to come up with a nice word for poor?” he teased. “Didn’t they teach you grammar in private school?”

You ran a hand down his arm, acrylic nails leaving a trail of goosebumps. “You like running your mouth, don’t you, Murdock?”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

Maybe this was unlike him. Actually, maybe it wasn’t unlike. In fact…it was more like him than the everyday Matt Murdock he liked to let in. It felt a little sacreligious that it was a pretty rich girl that brought it out of him - never mind that you were at least ten years younger - but hell, he’d take it. Life was short and he knew how fun the daughters of rich businessmen could be. Elektra Natchios was testament to that and was arguably much less of a good time that you were so far.

You slid his drink towards him. “Better get drinking then, huh?”

–

You tried to outdrink Matt.

Matt tried to outdrink you.

And that was the only explanation as to how you were still at Josie’s by final call. Neither of you were drunk - tipsy at a push - and somehow, you were both walking the line between giving the other your all and still playing hard to get. You’d learnt that Matt was a tease - no doubt a smooth talker in the courtroom - and he could easily keep up with your taunts and jabs.

“I can’t believe we got kicked out!”

You’d stumbled out the bar about two minutes before, arms linked with his to guide him down the street. Matt’s cane was tucked up neatly away now - he could have pretended to still use it, but the way you held onto him and led him down the street did far too much to his senses to deny himself of it. It was a mixture of expensive perfume and rum, and what felt like electricity every time your hand touched his wrist.

“It’s called closing time,” Matt shot back.

“In my world, that’s just a Green Day song,” you said. “You go a few blocks east of here and they’ll stay open as long as you keep paying.”

“We could go a few blocks east - or we could go one block south and go back to my place.”

You grinned. “Lead the way! Wait - oh my god. Was that really mean?”

He chuckled, grabbing your hand and leading you in the opposite direction.

Matt’s apartment was nice - high ceilings and big windows, though sparsely furnished and minimal at the same time. You followed him through to the kitchen, kicking off your heels and sliding into a bar stool beside him. He threw aside his glasses and cane, spinning around to face you.

“So, tell me,” you began. “How does a small-time lawyer like you afford a place like this?”

“I take men like your father to court,” Matt suavely replied - he reached across the counter and yanked over a bottle of scotch, popping off the lid. “Care for some?”

“Mm, Glen Mckenna,” you glanced at the label. “I’m not much of a scotch gal, Murdock. At least scotch that’s only thirty years old.”

“It’s older than you, sweetheart.”

“My age hasn’t been much of a problem the rest of the night,” you shot back.

You unfolded your legs, ever so slightly pushing up your skirt as he did. You knew Matt couldn’t see, but some part of you knew even more that he was picking up on your signals.

That suspicion became something of certainty when he practically threw aside everything on the kitchen counter, large hands grabbing your hips. Within a matter of seconds, as though something had snapped, he had you placed on top of the cool wood, fingers splayed into your sides and mouth just inches away from yours.

“You’re really playing the age card, huh?” his voice was raspy; bare, green eyes dark with lust. “You know nothing.”

You gave him a grin. “So teach me.”

Matthew Murdock’s lips were on yours before you’d even finished your sentence. Not unlike his hands, they were thick and calloused, bringing a thousand senses over you at once. He was clearly an experienced kisser - and a giving one too. Worlds away from the immature frat boys you’d spent the last few years gallivanting about with.

He was right -you did know nothing.

But that was just it, right? Matt was older than you - ten years, fifteen at the most. You’d slept around here and there but hell, nothing had been like this. Two minutes into whatever the fuck you were about to do and Matt had you shaking, cocky demanour gone; hands tangled in his hair and cunt begging, craving for a man you’d never even had before.

Matt’s teeth tugged on your lower lip and you knew then you’d completely lost your mind. The moan that escaped your mouth only lulled him on, hands squeezing your hips even harder and pulling you closer towards him.

You felt it then, pressed against your lower stomach. He was hard as fuck.

“Stop teasing,” you grumbled.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Matt hissed.

Still, he obliged. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he pulled you off the counter, carrying you over to the sofa. He held you with only one arm, free hand tangled in your hair and holding your lips on his.

You both fell onto the couch, clothes flying everywhere. It didn’t matter how expensive your stupid vintage Chanel was then- it looked much better on his floor than it had ever had done on you. Matt’s shirt and pants followed suit, landing before yours in a crumpled pile.

“You in some kinda fight club or something?” you paused, tangling your hand in Matt’s hair and pulling him back. Your free one followed down his torso, fingers ghosting across the pink ridges on his abs. No complaints here.

“Less talking, sweetheart,” he brushed aside your comment. “=

“Who put you in charge?”

“Me,” his words were muffled, barely audible as he attached his lips to your neck. “You gonna do as I say?”

“Or what?”

“It wasn’t a question.”

Matt’s lips were quickly replaced by a calloused hand on your throat. He gave it a light squeeze, a wicked smile spreading across his face when your wise demeanor was suddenly gone. He pressed another kiss to your neck, then another, following up to your ear.

“If it gets too much, you say - okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you replied. “I promise I can take it.”

Another kiss, this time on the lips. “Good girl.”

You let out a whimper, brain not entirely sure what to focus on as Matt’s hands went to work. He kept one on your throat, squeezing it just enough to earn a moan out of you, the other creeping up your thighs and gently slipping inside you. That caught you by surprise - how gentle he was, and yet completely the opposite at the same time.

Matt pushed you down into the cushions, hand still gripping your throat. His fingers curled inside you - back and forth, back and forth. A steady beat that hit the right spot over and over and over. Ecstasy took over your body like a rush, senses consumed by nothing but him.

“Matt,” you murmured. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” his voice was still gruff, holding some type of contagious venom at you for distracting him. “I’m getting plenty from this.”

And he was. He was getting everything. The quickening pace of your heart, the smell of you, the tiny moans and whimpers that escaped your mouth every time he so much as moved. It was exultation for him as well - and almost completely sinful, the way it made him feel. Not that he gave a fuck about any religious figure in that moment. The man was willing to spend an eternity repenting his sins if it meant just one night with you.

You came quicker than you ever had with anyone - better than you ever had with anyone. It rushed over your body like a fountain of cold water, ripping from your stomach and up to your already-dysfunctional brain like the sharp drop of a rollercoaster. Falling, falling, falling, until Matt’s hands grabbed you and grounded, softly caressing your face, holding your jaw as you cried out his name.

“You want to stop?” he gently asked.

“No,” you sharply sat up, scowling. “Didn’t I say that I would tell you-”

“- careful with your tone, sweetheart.”

Matt grabbed you by the hips again, pulling you down into the sofa. The next few moments were unbearable in the best way - a blur of teeth on your neck, chest, stomach and thighs, barely even registering what was going on until you felt his tongue swipe over your folds. A cry escaped your mouth, still overstimulated from your last orgasm.

“If you want something,” Matt popped his head up, shit-eating grin across his stupidly gorgeous face, “you should just say.”

“Stop fucking teasing.”

He moved back up towards you, brushing his lips against yours. “You make it so easy.”

With that, Matt placed his hands on your ass and hoisted you into his lap. He gave it one final slap before grabbing his dick and maneuvering into inside you - you couldn’t help but let out a moan of relief, dropping your head into his shoulder and gently biting his skin.

“Didn’t take you for a biter,” he chuckled. Running a hand up your back, he dusted across your shoulder, large fingers finding place on your jaw. “Move.”

And move you did.

It was heaven the way he felt inside you - his fingers had been one thing but this was incomparable. You didn’t give a fuck about a stranger’s neighbours at the best of times, but you had absolutely no respect in that moment for anyone belove or below (in more than one sense). You were loud and Matt fucking loved it. He couldn’t see you - couldn’t see your glazed over eyes or freshly bruised and bitten skin - but hell, you filled his other senses enough to make up for that.

You kind of knew the minute you met that he had a big dick. It was in the way he held himself: confident, but humble. Funny, but in an unassuming way. And it hit just the right spot, repeatedly edging the same spot that his fingers had tired out just moments before.

It went on for a few more minutes; you were completely lost in one another, brains barely able to comprehend that you’d known each other less than twelve hours.

You didn’t need to tell Matt that you were - he knew, and rather than slowing it down so that you could revel in the last few moments, he picked up the pace; hand tightening on your throat, other squeezing your ass in a way that was sure to leave a mark in the morning.

Your second orgasm was indescribable - you opened your mouth to let out a yell and yet, it was silent. Your acrylics clawed up and down Matt’s back, digging into him in an attempt to ground yourself. That only egged him on, the sting adding to his euphoria as he came undone inside you.

Matt laid you back down on the couch, pressing kisses to your jaw as he did. You frowned when he began shuffling about - then he produced his shirt from the floor. He maneuvered your arms so that he could pull it over your head, before reaching for a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around your middle.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go get you a cloth. Don’t move.”

“I’m never moving,” you softly chuckled.

He smiled. “Good.”

#matt murdock is the catholic of the year #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock reader insert #matt murdock smut #matt murdock angst #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock imagines #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #daredevil imagines #daredevil smut #marvel smut #avengers smut #avengers imagine #marvel imagines

537 notes · View notes