Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr
Photographed by Mary McCartney
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★ 【1102】 「 アビイロード ABBEY ROAD 」 ☆
✔ republished w/permission
⊳ ⊳ follow me on twitter
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My dad tried to convince me that the Beatles were an emo band because “emo is short for emotional, and happiness is an emotion”.
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I love the "every member of the Sparda family has a signature instrument" type of trope on fanfics and from the little we can see on canon story. Dante is the guitar, Vergil is the violin, Nero is also the guitar — due to his dmc4-dmc5 taunts, although I like to think he's also an drums guy.
Sparda himself? Totally a piano player. He's a classic fancy man on our eyes and canonically speaking, and piano is such a complex instrument as Sparda is an complex character as well.
On Eva, I like to think she's the acoustic guitar. I also like to think she has an beautiful, harmonious voice. Can't you all picture that woman playing and singing Here Comes the Sun for the little twins on a summer evening, with the golden hues of the Sun shining upon them as she sings and they do the "doo-doo, doo-doo"?
Pardon me, I got emotional on that.
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Dhani Harrison
Photographed by Mary McCartney
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“Paul then got a bug about tadpoles. “Is it possible to make a pond, Dad?” he asked one day.
“What for, son?” asked Dad.
“To raise tadpoles,” replied Paul.
Dad was always very good at trying to supply anything we wanted – particularly if he thought it would be of an informative or educative nature. A few days later he dug a big hole in the back garden and sank a beer barrel in the space. Then he left us to fill it with water.
Paul got a lot of frog-spawn from somewhere and dumped all this into the barrel. For weeks he lived for nothing else but that spawn. The moment he came home from school, he’d be out into the garden, stuffing his face down into that spawn to see how it was getting on.
“They’re getting tails!” he’d yell at me and then I’d go and look at the messy stuff. I couldn’t understand what was exciting him.
“Look, there’s one with a body!” he’d point. All I could see was stuff that looked like a whole lot of dirty marmalade.
Then one day he ran into the house yelling blue murder.
“They’re getting away!” he was shouting. “They’re running off into the fields!”
Mum and I ran out and there was a horde of frogs jumping and leaping about all over the place. We managed to grab one or two and hold on to them for a moment or so but the minute we set them down again, off they went, into the bushes and hedges. In a very short time, Paul’s pond was completely empty! You should have seen his face! It would have made you laugh and cry at the same time. He had never counted on his spawn turning into real live frogs – neither had the frogs!”
Mike McCartney for Woman Magazine, Saturday, August 21, 1965.
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