#WAIT. they had metro in the batman movie. all is well

[rillette]

Pretty boy! Everyone you draw is so pretty lmao

TYSM!!! That's very sweet of you to say! T^T <3 <3 <3

[klcthebookworm]

Megamind Mega Fanmix

A little late for the Megamind celebration week, but I didn't want to wait another year for it to roll around again. So here you go, the Megamind Mega Fanmix, the most movie-accurate soundtrack I was capable of putting together.

At first I thought I'd just make a fanmix of the songs used in the movie that were not part of the score, but I ended up buying the official soundtrack as the easiest way to get the four songs they had included. I read the complaints, but figured the score tracks were arranged badly. They are arranged badly without a track that feels concluding, but so much of the score music is missing I went looking. The movie's been out so many years, so someone must have already put together what I want: a movie accurate score soundtrack. This worked when I wanted all of Zimmer's music for the Nolanverse Batman movies.

I found Megamind Recording Sessions somewhere. I neglected to keep the link and now I can't bring it up in Google search results. Its tracks became the base that I built the rest of this soundtrack around. So I slotted in the songs Hans Zimmer and Lorne Balfe didn't do, and realized the climatic battle music of the movie between "Welcome to the Jungle" and the "What a Drama Queen" scene was still missing.

Seriously, what did that bit of music do to people to make them leave it off the official soundtrack and the recording sessions? I finally found a YouTube audio clip of it provided by Big JJ. Switching that to just a mp3 went so well, I used the same technique to get Metro Man's song of "lyrical magic" from another YouTube clip of the scene.

I'm not going to list all the tracks here because there are 54 tracks in the zip file. To download it, click HERE. Enjoy!

Oh, and if you think it would be more accessible on AO3, let me know. I haven't gotten feedback on the fanmixes I already have up, so I brought this one straight to Tumblr.

[strivingscribe]

Salt of the Earth ~ 004

Salt of the Earth by MsMoon

Chapter 4 ~ The Sword of Damocles

Chapters: 4/?

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4,

Fandom: Young Justice

Rating: ExplicitWarnings: Angst, Feeling? Violence?

Relationships: Maybe I was a little hasty in my last post…but no. She’s still 14, and this is Gen.

Summary: After responding to an incident, members of the team are saved by an unknown metahuman. But no protocols are in place to deal with the series of unfortunate events that assail Anitia Moore. What exactly should the team do when a someone with powers needs training but doesn’t want to be a member of the team?

Batman slipped back into the bioship with Miss Martian, Bumblebee, and Robin. It wasn't the first or last time he envied Martian tech, with their semi-sentient vehicles with superior camouflage. 

"We managed to plant two listening devices." Robin reported. "Both are operational and online. One is in the kitchen, and the other is in the girl's room."

"I got a few pictures of the girl's room." Karen offered.

"Anything of note?" Batman asked.

"She's into collecting…." She reported, typing in rapid-fire on her holo-computer. The images she'd captured began to upload.

"Everything's in bags." M'gann notices.

And it's true to a certain extent. There are a few bits of art and fabric on the walls, a single bed, a desk, dresser and sundry. The 'collections' that Bumblebee mentioned, assorted music, books, tiny stone statues and such, are all localized around collapsed bags...ready and waiting to go. The books and CDs were all stacked vertically, smallest on top of largest inside of soft bags... The bags sizes varied, but the obvious purpose remained. 

"Picking up anything interesting over the listening devices?" Batman asks.

"The only thing I've picked up thus far is the mother promising to talk later, and the beginnings of a very tense meal." Tim reported.

"That gives us time to reconvene back at HQ." Batman decides. Robin sets about connecting the software to transcribe whatever the listening devices might overhear on their way back.

Anita knows she's stalling when she realizes she's drying a perfectly clean pot. Also, Mom's leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, and she has no idea how long that's been going on.

"I don't think we can put it off any longer." Mom says.

Anita nods at the bone dry pot in her hand.

"I take it you were not crying because you remembered our dearly departed Sirrah Bowie earlier today."

Anita shook her head.

"Come and sit down, dear." Mom said, sitting at her usual spot at the kitchen table.

Anita's shoulders wilted at the term 'dear'. She hated 'dear'. 'Dear' in mom-speak (at least in her Mom's mom-speak) meant 'I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed and-a-little-mad-ok'. Still, there wasn't much she could do about it...Anita sat down, half melting in the wooden chair.

"Tell me about your morning." Mom insisted.

Anita took a deep breath, scrubbing her face with both hands before leaning her elbows onto the table for support. "I decided to wake up early… Beat the morning commute and all."

"On a Sunday?" Mom didn't have to say 'you odd duck', because it was implied with her tone.

"I wanted to get some shots over the Metro-Narrows before it got really congested and while the light was decent. Mostly the water against the bridge's trusses. I was thinking of working them into a report that I'm going to be writing at the end of the semester about long term effects of salt water against different metals… Professor Llom really enjoys that level of showmanship." she let out a huffy little laugh, finding it funny how much things had changed in one simple day. "Metro-Narrows has that beautiful structure, it's trussed deck extends below the deck as well as in the arches above…." she shook her head. "Anyway. I was taking pictures. Distracted by that, mostly."

"Did you get into your 'zone'?" Mom asked, smiling the way people do at videos of kittens trying to jump and usually failing.

Anita hesitated, thinking about it. "No…" she murmured with a tiny shake of her head. "I mean, I got some shots, and I tried to focus on what I was doing, but there was this feeling I kept getting like.." she took a deep breath, not sure how to describe the sensation. "..like I wasn't entirely safe or something… or maybe like...like someone was watching me or something. That weird, low-grade tension that builds up before a jump-scare in horror movies, I guess."

"And that's when hell broke loose?"

"Uhhh, yeah." Anita squirmed in her chair, her spine undulating slightly as if she needed to work a kink out of it. "I thought….maybe one of those big tankers got in a wreck or something. It felt like there should've been some sort of explosion, but there wasn't any fire or anything. There was just this guy. This guy wearing masks." she rolled her bottom lip into her mouth, biting it before continuing. "People started rushing everywhere at once. I darted behind one of the beams… I stayed there. I knew if I tried to run, I'd just trip or get shoved and...everything was just chaos."

"You pressed yourself against a beam?"

"Yeah. I ducked behind one and just let everyone run past me...used to beam for cover, I guess." she snorted. "I didn't realize how many commuters walk on that bridge till then."

"Then what happened?"

"Capes showed up. I didn't see where from, but they were there… and things got bad fast."

"And that's when you pitched in?"

Anita took a deep breath in and met Mom's eyes. "He was gonna die."

Mom closed her eyes, leaning her elbows on the table. "Baby." she said, trying to soften the next blow. "We have had this talk." She paused, waiting for a steady moment to round out the final statement in the argument between them. "People die by the billions every day. That doesn't mean you have to risk yourself."

Anita rolled her eyes. "Mom, it was Superboy. Superboy was going to die! Super. Boy. Superman's Boy. Might as well be Metropolis boy, Our boy, and there was no one else there!"

"Anita, really? Superboy is our boy?" Mom held up a hand. "If you're willing to make decisions worth dying over, that's...that's not fine, I'm not happy about it, but it's your decision. Die for the people you love, die to make the world a better place, but don't die for some pseudo-fascist iconography! I'm sure that works really well for Superboy, but everyone else doesn't think of you as their girl, and they're not willing to save you. Clearly!" Mom rolled her eyes heavenward, squeezed them shut to pray for strength and serenity because she didn't want or need to yell right now. "So, what? You just jumped into the fray? Caution to the wind, and all that."

"I changed my shape!" Anita argued before her expression went a touch watery. "But.. I guess I just...forgot my—" The rest was muffled as she groaned into both hands.

"Your fingerprints." Mom grumbled. She shook her head. "If I ever find the asshole that suggested a fingerprint day..."

"That was the year a bunch of kids went missing, Mom." Anita reminded, forking the fingers of both hands into her hair and pushing it back away from her face. She rested her chin on the table and left her hands on top of her head in a deflated-flan-in-a-cupboard sort of look.

Mom put both hands on the table, her shoulders arching just a touch as she took a deep breath and then relaxing as she let it go.

"So...you...stepped in. What happened, exactly?"

Anita sat up a bit, keeping her hands in her hair. It felt comforting for some reason, and she wasn't willing to let it go yet.

"Hit the guy with the masks. Hard. I rarely take my jasper off, so." she made 'you know' expression on her face, and Mom nodded. "The guy had put a glowing green rock on a lead chain around Superboy's neck…" Anita tapped her own collar bone as if to illustrate this scenario. "It's what was killing him."

"A glowing rock? What was it?"

"It was Kryptonite."

Mom's face wrinkled in a harsh squint. "Krypton… where Superman is from?"

"Yeah. Evidently, Kryptonite is really bad for Kryptonians. Something to do with the sun's radiation affecting the rock.… I'm not clear on that." she shook her head. "Lois Lane wrote an article about Superman when she interviewed him way back in the day, and another one about Krypton later on... it's not as enlightening as I'd hoped it would be." she sighed.

Mom was still squinting. "Why would you tell a reporter these things….?" she mused.

"There aren't a lot of scholarly articles about kryptonite out there, sadly." Anita shrugged. "Anyway, I was going to try and get rid of it, but I couldn't. I think that guy in the masks had some sort of holding ability, because he had Robin and that Lagoon Boy pinned too."

"Lagoon boy...that's the one that actually looks like the creature from the black lagoon, right?"

Anita paused. "I mean...yeah, but young and hot." Mom paused, tilting her head sideways and suppressing a smirk. "Don't give me that look."

"Young and hot, huh?"

"Sooo not the point right now." Anita reminded.

"Right, right." Mom sighed, but she occasionally slid suspicious eyes towards her daughter...the smirk totally ruined the effect. "The lead death necklace."

"I took it."

"...the ...lead?" Mom sat up straighter, leaning over the table, closer to Anita. "You know what lead does to you."

"Not the lead, Mom. I mean, I did tap the lead too. But...the kryptonite. I took it." Mom froze in place staring at her. "I took it all."

There was a heavy beat of silence as they surveyed each other.

"How...is that?"

"Uhhh." Anita half laughed, her eyes drifting towards the ceiling as she nodded rapidly. "Horrific." she continued laughing breathlessly. "It's like… like I feel really weightless, or I could be if I want to, but there's this weird...shortness of breath. And I want to cry. Like, all the time. And I keep going between really just wanting to curl into a tight ball and sob and wanting to stare listlessly at the dirt, but I feel like I need to run or something's going to eat me." she shook her head. "It's like… like being clinically depressed, being aware of the depression, and trying to rationalize it and knowing you don't have time for this shit."

Mom reached both hands across the table, taking Anita's in hers and keeping them in a gentle grip.

"That explains why your eyes turned so green." Mom observed, wondering how her daughter had managed to hide that from her for this long. Anita ducked her eyes, staring at their joined hands instead. "It's ok. They're still your eyes." Mom picked up their hands and kissed Anita's knuckles. "What happened then?"

"Uh…" she swallowed harshly. "I'd uh… So, I'd punted the ass in the masks across the bridge, right? He was on the other side of the bridge. And Superman shows up…" she chuckled softly. "He just t-balled the guy with an enormous metal beam, and the guy flew all the way back across the bridge, back near us again." her expression sobered significantly. "But then, he flew towards us, and he… I was affected by it."

"By what?"

"The kryptonite. I mean, I'd taken it all but… but kryptonite's such a trip. Like, I couldn't—" she shook her head. "I was the thing that was killing them."

"Ok, first, you are not a thing."

"Not really the point, Mom." Anita reminded. She sighed. "Anyway, something hit me and knocked me off the bridge." Mom's grip became tighter. "And I was full-on hovering out there… like.. Kryptonite's really really intense and horrible, but evidently, it gives you wings." Mom let out a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding, deflating like a cheap wal-mart balloon. Anita started chuckling softly again. "I remember thinking, 'I lost my camera, my scarf, and I lost my peace of mind all in one outing'." she laughed, shaking her head. "It shouldn't be funny."

"I think we've gotten into hysterical territory, hon." Mom said. "Come here." she rose and drew Anita into a hug. "You don't have to go to school tomorrow if you don't want to."

"I think I need to. I think I need something to focus on."

"We'll see in the morning." Mom decided. Maybe Anita did need things to think about, but it wasn't as if she couldn't occupy herself on her own. She would also need to sleep, and Sharon had no idea if she'd be able to manage that after such a trying day. "I'm sorry about your camera."

Anita drew away, shrugging. Thinking about it made her feel sick to her stomach...but it wasn't like there was anything she could do. "I mean… it's been four months since the last birthday, and I backed-up daily..." the words sounded hollow, even in her own ears.

"But you love taking pictures." Mom reminded, as if she needed to.

"Yeah.." Anita croaked before clearing her throat. "..but it is what it is." she said sullenly. "I can...just use my phone if I really want to take photos. I use it for everything else." She finally met Mom's eye. "What… what are we gonna do?"

"What do you mean?"

"About.." she waved her hands in ambiguous circles. "All this."

"We can tell the boys whenever you're ready."

"I'm not talking about the smols, Mom. We had Batman on our doorstep tonight. Like…. Batman. It doesn't get much more serious than that."

Mom shifted her weight slightly, shrugging as she leaned her elbows on the table, stacking one forearm over another. "According to what you've said, I don't see where you've committed any crime. I can't imagine that we'd have to worry about superheroes." she took a deep breath. "You are a law abiding citizen, after all."

"Yeah, but… I mean, there's gotta be more to it than that." Anita reasoned. She sauntered back to the drying board and and started putting the dishes back where they went.

"Hm… He did say they wanted 'access' to you…" Mom leaned back against the doorway. "That's a vague term at best." she shrugged. "I guess we just do what we always do." she said with a smile. She let her hips slide forward in the seat, resting her shoulders back against the chair back in a collapsed slouch. "We play it cool, close to the vest. We've done nothing wrong, and no bills are due."

"I guess… just.. feels like... You know that term 'I have the sword of Damocles hanging over my head'?" she stalled, shaking her head. "I think that this feeling I have... that's what it is. Like there's some ambiguous penance ready to smite from on high."

"It'll be ok, sweetheart." Mom said, standing up and drawing Anita into another hug. "I don't know how, but it will."

"You don't know how?" Anita asked, drawing back to look at her mom's face.

Mom shrugged. "Most of life is just figuring out how to keep on keepin' on." she smiled. "That's just what we'll have to do now." 

[esthermeronobaro]

FYF Fest 2013: My Bloody Valentine Fairy Tale

This review was first published on slugmag.com on Aug. 30, 2013. Read it here. Photos: Tod Seelie

The Choice of a New Generation

Ten years ago I was 17 years old. I "road tripped" 40-minutes south of the small, sinkhole town I lived in to one slightly more populated (with rest homes) for my first concert at a venue imaginatively named the Electric Theater. The headliner didn't make it that night––van troubles or something––but I still have the ticket taped to the brick I claimed as my laptop and covered in Weezer stickers. That year also marked my first mutual boyfriend, and my very first kiss––also mutual.

Around the same time, a kid in Los Angeles named Sean Carlson, just a couple of years older than me in 2004, decided to "boldly go where no man has gone before"––probably to impress some babes––and started Fuck Yeah Fest by booking some shows in a bunch of venues around the city. Honestly, anything I write here about his story is speculation, as the "About" section on the FYF website was blank up until this year, when a lineup history magically appeared along with a link that makes me wish I had requested an interview with the man himself, rather than vying for time with the dazzling lineup of bands at this year's festival.

Regardless, the little information I could piece together about FYF's history, along with this telling Wikipedia page and the clever, generational details observed at FYF Fest 2013––from stages named after Sex and the City characters to the exclusively '90s movie sequel trailers playing after dark between sets on the main stage monitors––give me the confidence to declare that Carlson and I have a common goal, and this past weekend, we sold out together.

Nobody Jaywalks in LA

I have a love-hate relationship with Los Angeles. The reliable weather, the [overcast] beaches, the abundance of vegan food, and its general "vacation" vibe are all reasons why I forget how much I hate all the concrete, the snotty attitudes, the careless drivers and mind-numbing traffic. I know FYF Fest was organized by a like-minded individual because doors aren't until 2 p.m., which means plenty of time to sleep or read a book while shivering on a hotel towel in seagull-infested sand. On our way to one such aquatic adventure, a perfectly manicured 20-something bumps into the back of our rental, causing a few hours delay and ultimately leading to an untimely appearance at the festival, but I am happy to let Dan Deacon introduce me to my FYF 2013 experience. Technical difficulties result in an atypical Dan Deacon set that is more stand-up than music––which works out because I'd missed the comedy during the first part of the day. He makes fun of his balding head, apologizes for all the glitches and the fact this is, indeed, their final song, and manages to still blow me away in his final five minutes on stage with a rainbow light show, two frenetic live drummers, an improvised monologue, and electronic music that sounds like a band made up of Jane and Michael's playroom toys brought to life by Mary Poppins.

Eye Wonder Who Karen O Dates?

When I was a teenager, I used my weekly church attendance as a runway show. At school, I wore the same drab clothes as everyone else, but at church, I was ahead of every revivalist movement: goth, Bohemian, ’60s, ’90s––you name it. I was also a master hair braider, but that’s another story. Now, all I really care about is being comfortable, maximizing my assets and minimizing my … well, other ass-ets. Karen O lives out every minute of her stage life like the rowdiest runway show you’ll ever see––this ain’t no mall walkway with waifs in pastel––and for this reason (OK, and because the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ music is awesome), I find myself at the Carrie Stage on Saturday night. The YYYs’ latest album, Mosquito, has already become a go-to on my playlists, and as Karen O comes on stage in a dirty-blonde bob, sparkling pantsuit (with shorts), pink knee socks and colorful sneakers and moves right into the title track, she sucks all the energy from the thousands gathered and blasts it back in wild yelps and guttural screams. 

The songs move into each other seamlessly, congruent with Karen O’s wardrobe changes. They’re more raw and punk-infused live, and favorites include “Gold Lion,” “Runaway,” “Cheated Hearts” and “Sacrilege”––whose gospel wails follow me out of the festival at the end of the night. A thick, long bright-yellow cord connects to her mic and she moves it around her body like a snake, pulling it over her shoulder, spinning it above her head, and to everyone’s delight, pushing it into her open mouth as a long, throaty moan envelops us like an electric blanket bursting into flame on contact. She dons her famous studded “KO” leather jacket for “Zero,” and at one point, even pushes a headlamp onto her head like a third eye. Speaking of eyes: From the back of the stage, before anyone can look twice, a giant inflatable eyeball is pushed into the crowd midway through––which I guess has been happening at all of their shows, but is a complete surprise to me. As I watch the spectacular performance, all I can think is, “Damn, I wonder who Karen O dates.”

Beach House Lullabies

Sitting on my FYF Fest map, looking at everyone’s dirty faces while I wait for Beach House, I ease into Sunday. In back of the Carrie Stage, there looks to be a wall of vertical wires shimmering as the sun sets, like those fountains at fancy restaurants that look like pouring rain. The dream pop duo are joined by an extra musician so as to maintain the luscious layers of music they’ve created for nearly a decade. I’m far enough from the stage that the people are blurs of slow-moving flesh, but the background shows a starry mess of lights, supplementing the dingy L.A. sky above me, while puffs of smoke from the front of the stage look like bubbles. The coolness of Victoria Legrand’s whispers is complemented by blue lighting, and as the wire wall behind the band starts to move with crimson shapes and the audience sways back and forth, I feel like I’m watching a concert under the sea.

Family Matters

Across the country, Miley Cyrus is pushing her chicken butt into Robin Thicke as Solange drops to her knees with class on the Charlotte Stage in a bright, patterned sweater and Lisa Simpson haircut, gyrating to the funky, retro bass lines thumping behind her. "Let's turn this into a grind fest," she croons into the mic, and immediately, all the white kids around me drop two inches and start shuffling back and forth. Ever since watching 20 Feet From Stardom, I've been keen on any act with back-up singers, and I know that, regardless of Solange's down-to-earth vibe, the sister of Beyonce Knowles will surely boast some classic R&B bells and whistles. As her back-ups ooh and aah, giving the set glimpses of Destiny's Child influence, Solange shows off dance moves that are comparable to her big sis––though they'd feel more at home in an intimate club full of eclectic jazz-hounds than a post-apocalyptic music video set. It must be difficult to have your work constantly thrown up against that of a worldwide pop culture icon's––but really, don't we all live in Beyonce's shadow? As if reading our minds on whether her notable family members might be hiding backstage, Solange happily mentions her mom has come to watch, and lightly asks everyone to say, "Hello Mom." Now that there is no question as to whether or not Beyonce is present, we can enjoy Solange for who she is and what she has to offer: soulful, classic, booty-shakin' music with a '90s twist.

Well, What Other Bands Are There Now?

Sunday is a hazy blur of romantic waves. "We're in this together," is our mantra, and every piece of life and media thrown our way parallels the past year in a microscopic experience. The Breakfast Club plays out in the hotel room as we make our way to the metro, but sit on opposite ends of the aisle, looking past each other to the other side of the weekend in silent repose. As we walk inside, Flume beats like a mad heart in the aptly named Samantha Tent in the center of the grounds, and there we break apart to Melvins and Beach House, respectively, meeting back in the middle for Solange.

Washed Out's "Feel It All Around"permeates the festival grounds as we sit on a curb, sticking morbid PETA stickers on each other's plaid button-ups and thinking about not 10, but 20 years ago, when the '90s meant divorce and new schools and new friends. Washed Out fades away and 2005's summer anthem, "Time to Pretend," sounds out at the south end of the park on the Carrie Stage. Like an oracular beam of light, groups of kids walk past us toward the music, which becomes unfamiliar until the intro of "Kids" marches into our ears, and we know MGMT's set is nearly over, making room for a different tractor beam of noise.

Just about everyone has made jokes about it, but the warnings that pop up between flashes of inculcating "FYF Fest––Best Weekend Ever," trailers for Batman and Robin, and "Next Up … My Bloody Valentine," are very real, along with the bright orange earplugs we pick up at the info booth. This feels new, but in a regurgitated way, mimicking the nervous expectation of that first show I attended 10 years ago. The past six months have culminated into this recursive moment, which I've subconsciously set up as a reset to infinity. Taking a good five minutes to get my earplugs just right so I won't have to mess with them again, I wait in anticipation with everyone around me, but really, just one other person, because this is our moment. The lights drop and the letters "m b v" appear like blood surfacing on a swirling blue pool in the background. The stage looks crowded already with towers of amps, but as the musicians file in, they fit into their respective positions like the last pieces of a puzzle. Kevin Shields leans into the mic, and though I'm too far to make out facial features, and the giant monitors to each side show nothing, his shoulder-length, frizzy white hair is illuminated by the blue light behind him, giving his crisp and single "Hello" an ethereal quality.

I expect a wall of noise to push us all backward from the very first note, but we're eased into the music like a first kiss with one of my favorites, "I Only Said." My Bloody Valentine's most critically acclaimed album may be called "Loveless," but there is a tangible romance inside the static and reverb, which is why we're here together, arms wrapped around each other. I don't have most of the track names memorized, but I know Loveless' melodies and whispers by heart, and though muffled by the foam in my ears (which I end up repositioning so they're not quite so stifling), I smile wider with each song I recognize. We're enjoying the on-and-off violence of "Only Shallow" as the background turns to fiery noise, the amps opening their mouths like dragons and short, shadowed glimpses of Bilinda Butcher's sparkling red guitar––matching her hair and heels––move on the screens––and then silence. I look up from my sway and see the band still playing. More heads in the audience pop up and audible panic swells. The guitars turn back on like a switch, but it happens again, and I fear the magic lost. I feel like Dorothy, peering behind the curtain to see the truth. Just humans with big machines. All seems lost. For some in the audience, this is just another show, another checkmark on their list of bands to see, and these technical glitches are simply minor annoyances. To me, they're stabs in my back. Waves of doubt and despair wash over me as I question the past year-and-a-half, seemingly reflected in the blown speakers and five-minute interruption.

Shields announces the end of their set, apologizing for the difficulties and throwing us a bone by dubbing us their best audience thus far. It feels insincere and only makes it worse. They move into their final song, which I later find out is "You Made Me Realise," from their EP of the same name released in 1988. It's a discordant track, bouncier than anything on Loveless, but I'm frozen in place. The song seems to end, at least the melody, and in its place, the slow climax of thunderous noise rockets from the stage. I'm still frozen, but this time, I can't stop staring at the noise displayed visually on the backdrop. I know it's dumb, it's cliche, but I can't remember how long I stood there. A tractor beam of the loudest music I have ever heard holds onto me, and like a strong dose of radiation, clears away the malignant thoughts that had built up in my brain. I tear myself away and search for recognition in the faces around me. A few creased foreheads express confusion, but for the most part, My Bloody Valentine has managed to baptize an audience of thousands with a single, reverberating chord. I'll learn later that this part of the song is rightfully called "Full Holocaust," and after what seems like a lifetime of eleventh hours (but was only five minutes), they fall back into the melody and finish out the song. We turn around with everyone else to walk out of the festival grounds, but I barely noticed the crowd. "It was like the biggest 'fuck you’ to every band who has ever said they're loud!" I exclaim, thinking it's a witty thing to say. There's more going on in my mind, but for now, I feel relieved and hopeful. It's not until we're back at the hotel, packing silently for the plane ride back home in the morning, that it all comes into perspective. He says, "Well, what other bands are there now?" All the moments––the good, the bad, the hopelessness, the elation––they've culminated here and will repeat into infinity––and you made me realise, it will always be with you.