#but my busks are. in transit. somewhere.

[discountalien-pancake]

Fucking darts the placement is so inconvenient but look at this side-by-side and tell me this pattern isn’t exactly the perfect shape for Galadriel’s chestplate:

Obviously the bottom hem needs a bit more spring and a different curve but I’m making a fucking waistcoat so it’s not like i’m that concerned about being screen-accurate. The buttons will be replaced with hooks and eyes so that i can make the edges meet exactly in the center without overlap. And obviously the collar will need to be altered, both for accuracy and comfort.

I essentially want this bodice to be functional as a cosplay and potentially as an evening gown bodice as well.

These are the colors I’m contemplating right now for the final version:

I’m leaning towards lower left but I need to get swatches to make sure.

[mooncademia]

for the ask game 🖊🤔💭 !!

ash, tyy 🥺hours of lab work have been paid off 😋

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP:

oop! was about to drop a kaminari snippet but LOL, its a drabble the snippet gave a lot away, so here's a shinsou one; we love busking!oc & her beloved guitar :)

"And then…after your 6th song, you saw a familiar face in the crowd.

His hair just stood out too easily.

But there he was.

The boy that makes you heart swooned, standing in the very front of the crowd staring at you with his classic intriguing eyes.

He had his hands tucked in his pockets with a backpack slung over his school uniform. When you saw him in the crowd, it took all the might in you to not strum the wrong chord and you did your best to focus on the cover. Though, no sooner after that thought, you caught an amused smile tracing his lips when you took another glance at him.

The boy’s mouth dropped slightly in awe as he watched you sang ever so beautifully with your hips swaying side to side with the rhythm of the song.

“Wow, she’s really cute, huh?” A guy beside him said to his friend.

“Yeah man…and her voice…” His friend replied without taking his eyes off of you for even one bit.

He agreed 100%. You were effortlessly beautiful and your voice hit him like a cool breeze—like when the summer heat finally breaks and you begin to believe that things in life might actually be getting better. Even songs that were written and performed to feel sad or bittersweet... the way you played and the way you sang only poured and reminded him of good memories. And so with your hips swaying, your passionate eyes glistening, and your cute smile shining as bright as ever as you sang, he thinks that he may be actually falling for you."

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?

Hmm... probably trying to describe actions or feelings that flow so well in your mind but so effing hard on paper! transitions too~

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

omg literally spent a couple minutes wondering about what this q was asking...if it's my writing style or how i write certain characters hahaha!! but ig i commonly write an oc who is strong, super confident, sometimes silly/shy at times, flirty but not at all needy/or is in need of affection! i love it when the other side can see oc as "not like other girls" (ew, ik, a such a cliche/cringe statement but im sry its true!!) and appreciate that they love this person bc they are not scared to say no and they stand up for what they effing believe in!!! i use a lot of inspos from other fictional woman characters like annabeth from R.R's books or that one super cool spy agent who can get what she wants in movies hahahah! hope this ans lands somewhere in the field for this one :)

[kpopboysreact]

Ghost - a Min Yoongi Scenario Pt. 1

Read Part 0 here And check out my masterlist! ❤️ Words: 2,609

Note before reading: R1 is an app that allows rappers who either never made it or never tried put their material out there. Yoongi’s had a profile for years. He doesn’t write much, but he follows a lot of users he claims are hidden gems. Most of his writings are raps responding to WAV3’s music, your music. The app is fairly stigmatised, as a lot of underground rappers use it to criticise society and speak ugly truths. Also, I italicise internal dialogue if you haven’t seen it before 😘

Preface

His eyes burned as he frantically scrolled on his phone, desperate for an answer. Not this one. Yoongi sighed and left the tab, searching for another. Don't these people have lives? The jarring pound on his studio door jolted Yoongi out of his mesmerised state. He didn't answer, rubbing his eyes and returning to his phone. He heard the lock click and the door push open, but pretended he didn't. “Hyung.” Namjoon approached, looking over Yoongi’s shoulder. “R1?” He squinted to read the tiny words on the phone better. “Why are you on R1?” Yoongi looked up idly. “So many people claiming to be WAV3′s ghostwriter. It’s bullshit.” “Do you really think the ghostwriter would reveal themselves, though?” “Well if they do, it'll be on R1.” Yoongi found another, a profile promising to be WAV3′s ghostwriter. He read some of their work and scoffed. “Bullshit.”

Earlier

“What does this mean for me?” You asked your CEO, fear in your tone. It’s not like any of you wanted the world to find out about WAV3′s ghostwriter. Just some disgruntled ex-employee had the nerve to out your company’s biggest secret. “You’ll keep writing.” He replied, as though it were obvious. You sighed in relief, thankful to still have a job. “But I expect you to continue to keep your identity a secret.” Your chest tightened. “Is there really a point for that anymore, though?” “Everyone is talking about this scandal. Do you know how good that’s been for WAV3′s music on the charts?” You could hear a subtle hint of annoyance in his response. “...I see.” You mumbled. “Thank you.” “Keep up the good work, y/n.” He stated flatly. You could picture the fake, toothy smile on his face you’ve grown all too used to, and hung up. May was resting in the other room, so rather than yelling out your frustrations, you sat on the cold, tile floor of the bathroom, letting the sink run quietly so you didn't face the anonymity of silence. Rather, you faced the anonymity of identity. You pulled your knees against your chest and thought. Sure, the house was comfortable, safe. Sure, the food was good, nutritious. But the bags under your eyes weighed your whole body down. The cracks adorning your knuckles stung and bled from the constant busking. Maybe, just maybe, you could make enough money to one day leave this place, reclaim your life as your own, and finally tell your story to the world as you; not some ghost writer. Maybe...but not today. Today, you were just another one of the 7 billion people in the world, nameless. Your phone buzzed. You hated that expensive piece of metal. All the money you made from the extra busking went to buying it. A necessity, your CEO needed to keep in touch with you. It would've been nice if he felt the need to pay for it, too. Disheartenedly, you checked the notification. Couldn’t he let me have five seconds to myself? Your CEO wanted you in now to show him new material. Back to work.

Yoongi didn't bother to get up this time. He'd fallen yet again during rehearsal, but not during the same part of the song as the time before...or the time before that. “Yah, what’s with you today?” Jin poked Yoongi’s side as he stood, glaring back at his hung. “I’m distracted.” “Let’s take a break, okay? Good job, guys.” The boys all bowed to their leader and filed out of the practice room one by one to get water, all except for Yoongi. Namjoon waited until everyone left before speaking again. “Are you okay?” “Hungry.” Yoongi mumbled. “We can go eat later. Maybe once you've made it through one dance without tripping, stumbling, or falling out of synch with the rest of us. Yoongi locked his jaw. “I understand you're upset, hung. But this shouldn't be affecting you so harshly.” “You don't know a thing.” Yoongi spat back. “Maybe I don't. But I do know that you're okay. You're not hurt. Your life is going on just fine. It’s just an anonymous writer!” “Just an...” Yoongi chuckled, thinking back to the journal that he used to covet. The journal of you. Though destroyed, the thought of it brought him peace. The thought of you, the you that put raw emotion into your music. No, he didn't know you. But he knew you. And he felt like you knew him, too. “Just an anonymous writer. Right. Sorry. Let’s get back to rehearsing.”

Present

You sat in the lobby playing on your phone looks like it’s actually good for something and waited. You were getting more used to this treatment, sadly. When you’d first joined the company, you were treated like a precious diamond. Now…it’s as if the diamond never transitioned from the coal. It was kind of frustrating hearing people come by, check in at the front desk, and be helped right away. But hey, it’s not like you had anywhere to be. You looked up from your phone and nodded your head in a quick but polite bow at the man sitting down next to you. He did the same, and smiled. You returned back to your phone, but were distracted by him addressing you a few minutes later.

“Busy day today, yeah?”

“It always is in this industry.” “Yeah.” More time passed before he continued speaking. “What do you do here?” “I work in PR.” You replied. That was the lie your CEO had decided on for you, should you run into a situation that required one. “You?” You looked over the man, assuming he was a trainee or something from his looks.

“I actually don’t work here, I’m part of another company.”

“Oh!” You turned off your phone, now curious. I’ve missed having a genuine human conversation about something other than my damned company. “Which company?” “A small one called BigHit.” BigHit…that sounded familiar. “Oh shoot…” Now that he mentioned it, he kind of looks familiar, too… “Are you a member of BTS?” “Yeah! You’re a fan?” “I uh-my friend is. Could I get you to sign something? Sorry! I know you probably don’t want to, just she-“ “I wouldn’t mind at all. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Mina…” You rummaged through your bag, thankfully finding a receipt from one thing or another, and handed it to him. He took a pen from the table in front of you and you watched as he wrote a little message with neat handwriting. “RM?” You questioned, looking at how he finished the signature. “What does that stand for?” “Real Me.” “Real Me…then, who is the real you?” Namjoon chuckled. “I don’t really know how to answer that question. If you listen to my music, maybe you’ll find out.” “I feel the same way.” Namjoon looked at you, a little puzzled. “Oh, I write music sometimes, too.” “You do?” He smiled and you noticed his dimples. Wow he’s cute.

“Only sometimes. Nothing ever really good.”

“Aw come on, I doubt that.” “No really, you’d be shocked.” Namjoon chuckled. “Do you have an R1 profile?” “Yeah…but it’s really not good.” “Well maybe I could check you out? Maybe that would help me see the real you.” You felt yourself blush and just hoped it wasn’t obvious. “I guess…” Namjoon handed you his phone and you pulled up the R1 app…and couldn’t help but let out a faint gasp seeing his recent search results. “Is everything okay?” “Y-yeah, fine…you’re interested in WAV3’s ghostwriter?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m here, actually. One of my members is a little obsessed with finding out his, her, or their identity. It’s affecting his work and, as his leader, it’s my responsibility to help him out. I was hoping to have a word with someone who could let me know the identity of their ghostwriter.” “They wouldn’t do that.” You responded quickly, a little sharp.

“Oh?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?” “That’s…one of our company’s biggest secrets. I don’t even know who the ghostwriter is.” That came out pretty smoothly. Maybe I don’t know the ‘real me’ after all.

“Well there’s no harm in asking.”

“Do you like WAV3’s music?” You couldn’t help yourself from a little prodding as you pulled up your R1 profile on Namjoon’s phone.

“I love it. I was disappointed when I found out they have a ghostwriter, too. I expected more from them. But life has its ups and downs.”

“Just gotta keep it real.” You added.

“Exactly.” He smiled at you as he took back his phone. “Do you mind if I read through some of your stuff now? Something tells me I’ll be waiting here a while.” “With a request like talking to someone who can tell you the identity of our ghostwriter, I’m sure a while is an understatement.” Again with that cute dimple smile as he turned to his phone and opened your first tab.

“That was…” You turned to look at him as he began to speak after a few minutes. “Was it okay?”

“I loved it.” Your phone buzzed. Checking it, you saw you had a new R1 follower.

“Do you do the rapping yourself?” “Oh, haha, no…just do the writing.” “You should give rapping a try. There’s so much passion in your writing, I’m sure you’d be able to project that in your voice.” “Thank you…I’m more of a behind-the-scenes person, though.” “I get that. But, I do really think you should go somewhere with this.” “Maybe…” “Y/N ssi, come on.” One of the assistants to the CEO called you up. “I gotta go…” “Okay. Before you go, since I gave you an autograph, could you give me one?” “Really?” “If you wouldn’t mind.” You smiled and took the paper he handed you from his bag, along with the same pen from before. “Oh, and um…” Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe you could put your number on it, too. Just in case.” “I-In case of what?” “Well um…” He laughed. “In case I like you.” You smiled in return, somehow managing to stay composed on the outside whereas on the inside you were freaking out. It was a little embarrassing having to check your phone to see what your phone number was, but it’s not like you needed it much. You felt the assistant’s eyes burning a hole into your back as you finished your little autograph and handed it back to Namjoon. “I’ll see you later.” He called to you as you left. “Is that a promise?” You boldly called back, and left to the sight of his dimpled smile. Namjoon settled back into this chair and entered your number into his phone, remembering your name from when the assistant called you. “Y/N…cute.”

“How did it go?” Jin asked Namjoon when he returned to the dorms.

“How we expected it would.” Jungkook let out a disappointed sigh. “Now what are we going to do?”

“Youaren’t going to do anything. I’ll keep an eye on Yoongi. You guys just have to pretend that everything’s completely normal, and it will be.” The present members nodded and Namjoon walked up to Yoongi’s room, knocking quietly. “Hyung? Are you asleep?” “No.” A tired voice said from the other side. Namjoon entered. “How are you?” “Dumb question.”

Namjoon walked up to where his grumpy hyung was sitting on his bed and held out a hand. “Your phone?” Yoongi handed it over without question. “There’s this R1 user I think you’ll like.” “You told me to stay off R1.” “Only because you were using it obsessively to find that ghostwriter. There are still things to appreciate, you know.” “No. No, I don’t know. Everything’s fake.” “Everything isn’t fake, hyung. It’s just-“ “You’re wrong. Those lyrics were me. They were my everything. And they still are.” “It’s not like the lyrics are what’s bad! It’s just a ghostwriter.” “No. It’s just the world showing that it’s always fake. That there’s nothing to really believe in.” “Well, I met this writer myself, so I can assure you they’re the real deal, not some ghost.” Yoongi huffed and took his phone back. “Life has its ups and downs. You just…gotta keep it real.” Namjoon smiled. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now.” Yoongi lightly punched Namjoon’s arm. “I’ll check out this writer. They’re good?” “Amazing. I really think they’ll help you out of this rut.” “Okay. Thanks.” Yoongi managed a slight smile as Namjoon left the room, and he turned to his phone, pulled up to the page of the R1 writer. He looked at it for a few seconds, before opening your first song.

Namjoon left Yoongi’s room, hopeful. Even a little confident! That confidence drained when he remembered he had your number saved in his phone, and that you’d probably be expecting him to text you some time soon.

He entered his room and plopped down on his bed, taking out his phone and pulling up your contact, feeling his face get a little hot as he tapped the text icon. You shouldn’t be getting this nervous. “Hey, it’s RM. You can call me Namjoon, if you want.” That seemed fine. He hit send and waited…delighting in the fact that it didn’t take long for you to respond. “Hey! Thanks :) is that the real you, then? Namjoon?” “You tell me…have you listened to any BTS music yet?” oh shit oh shit I hope that wasn’t rude…

“Yep! I went on a binge about an hour ago. You guys are really good~” “I know, right?” “A shame you’re not popular.” He smiled at your snarky response. “Well, at least we’ve got some fans.” “And what if I sold one of them your phone number?” “Lol, have fun with the entire five dollars you’d make from that.”

A knock on his door followed by Yoongi entering distracted Namjoon from his conversation with you. “I guess you can come in.” “They’re good. That writer you showed me.” “I know, right?” “No, like, really good. Where did you say you met them?” Ummmmmm…“Just on the bus. I noticed R1 open on her phone and asked about it. She showed me some of her writing and I thought you would like it.” “Did she recognize you?” “Kind of. She knew who BTS is but she didn’t know me by my stage name, and she said she only just listened to our music like an hour ago.”

“Wait…you’re talking to her?”                             “Oh, um, yeah.” Yoongi was silent for a little bit. “Are you into her or something?” “What?! No way. Just wanted it in case.” “In case of what?” I should’ve thought of an answer to that by now. “Writing advice.” “…Yeah, okay.” Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Can I have it?” “Have what?” “Her number. Keep up.” “Why do you want her number?” Yoongi smirked. “Same as you. Writing advice, right?” “Well, I’d have to ask if she’s okay with that.” “She’s fine with it.” Yoongi took Namjoon’s phone out of his hands before he could react and screenshotted your contact, then sent it to himself. “Thanks.” He said and tossed Namjoon his phone back. Namjoon sighed while shaking his head, and quickly texted you to inform you of Yoongi now having your number.

Now back in his room, Yoongi pulled up his messages on his laptop and his contacts on his phone, entering your number slowly and carefully; sure to not make a mistake. He was about to save it, when he realised, I don’t even know her name…

He tapped the name box and entered the only thing that came to mind: “Ghost?”

[cloversreblogs]

Brass in the grey- Chpt. 10

Previous chapters (AO3 only): 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9

Links: FFN.net, AO3, Wattpad

Read on Tumblr: 7 / 8 / 9 / X / 11

Christmas chapter because Christmas! :D

Pairing: FrUK

Genre: Modern AU, Artists AU

Chapter rating: K

Chapter warning(s): None!

Just some quick Christmas fluff for the holidays :) The bolded lines are the phone dialogue, btw.

João- Portugal

Angus- Scotland

Just as swiftly as the transition of November to December, Autumn left and Winter arrived.

The snow had a delicate magic to it. It turned whatever it touched into something sublime and enchanting. The park's trees had long lost its leaves the previous week, but this morning, a blanket of snow had covered the park so that it was like a piece of Narnia had dropped into London.

"Anything else on your mind, Francis?" The therapist asked.

"Erhm… no, actually," he replied. It was actually the first time in a while that he had meant it when he said those words.

"Alright, fantastic!" She said with a smile, and they shook hands. "I think that you've made quite a lot of progress over the couple of weeks! I'll be visiting my family back in Suffolk, so I won't be here for the rest of the year, sadly. Are you planning to do anything for Christmas?" she asked as Francis grabbed his coat.

"Not much. I'll probably just Skype my dad and such. One of my friend's brother have a Christmas party going on at their place, so I'll probably be there."

"Sounds great! See you next year! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you too!" And then he left his therapist's office.

Dr. Turner was a therapist who Francis saw every two weeks. Even though this was only their second session, Francis was starting to feel better already.

Her office was across a mall near the apartment block, so as he walked through it, he could hear the Christmas cheer everywhere.

Carollers were singing the carol of the bells, a Christmas tree that touched the ceiling stood proudly in the centre of the room, a line of children lined up for a mall Santa, and people carrying bags of wrapping paper as well as toys and other gifts buzzed like bees. A violinist who busked outside of the mall played Silent Night, and Francis tossed a shilling to the violin case.

It was even snowing a bit, just enough to dust the people in snow, but not too heavily as to cover people up with snow entirely, which added to the nice Christmassy atmosphere.

Very soon, he made it back to the apartment. The apartment was decorated with tinsel and Christmas lights. Gilbert plugged in the Christmas lights, making the Christmas tree in the middle of the room light up.

The TV was showing Home Alone, while on the couch, he could see Antonio chatting with his (recently declared) boyfriend Roderich.

"Hey Fran!" Antonio called out. Gilbert, on the other hand wasn't as certain.

"Ah, Fran! Erhm… how was the therapist's?"

Sure, Francis had felt better, but ever since he had told him about his anxieties, Gilbert had started restraining everything that he said.

"Gil, it's fine, you don't need to censor everything you say. I wasn't being completely honest with myself over the last couple of months, so I'm trying to do so right now. I'll just remind you whenever I want the topic to be changed. OK?"

"Hm, kay." Gilbert still seemed distracted. Francis sighed. He was a perfectionist, and hated causing problems.

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door. While turning the doorknob, a small part of him wondered if it was Arthur. Turned out, it was Antonio's brother, João, who had came all the way from Portugal. He greeted him, and went over to the sofa before promptly going into a lengthy conversation with Antonio.

As Francis stood, and looked over to Antonio with João and Roderich, he realised something.

Arthur on the other hand lived alone, as far as he could tell. He never mentioned much family, either. Was Arthur spending Christmas alone?

He walked into the bedroom, and dialled Arthur's number.

"Hello?"

"Arthur! Hi! We're having a Christmas party at a friend of mine's, do you want to come?"

"Erhm… no thanks. Parties aren't exactly my thing."

After some more small talk, (how were you, etc) they hung up.

Francis thought. Maybe he could go over to his apartment, but then there was the Christmas party over at Ludwig's house, and he didn't want to miss that. On the other hand… how alone was Arthur? Maybe he could just give him a gift or something.

He knew that Arthur liked to read, but his bookshelves were full, and besides, it was sort of a predictable present. Arthur wasn't great at cooking, so maybe he could cook him something. Maybe a casserole? They still had more than an hour until they needed to be at Ludwig's. Yes, that sounded good.

And so he got to the kitchen and got to work.

Watching re-runs of Doctor Who while embroidering and sipping hot chocolate was a good way to spend Christmas, in Arthur's book. He wasn't the type who got too festive of anything, he just hung up some tinsel and called it a day.

He held up the embroidery hoop, and examined the piece of embroidery. The blanket stitches hadn't worked as well as he had hoped, and were a bit wide for his liking. Again, the satin stitch-

A knock on the door distracted him, and he stood up. He was pretty confident that it was Francis, though he wasn't sure why he was here, especially so shortly after a phone call. He took a deep breath in. The worst case scenario would probably be Francis accusing him for not wanting to go to the Christmas party, though he reasoned with himself that it'd be insanely unlikely. The best case scenario would be that Francis decided to spend Christmas with him or something like that. The most likely thing would be that Francis decided to drop in for a quick "Merry Christmas", maybe even give a card or a gift or something.

As per with his third prediction, Francis was standing at the door carrying a casserole pot.

"Hi, Arthur!" He greeted before handing him the pot with a smile. "Merry Christmas."

"Ah." He took the pot. Even with the lid closed, he could smell the savoury content of the pot, and it smelt absolutely mouth watering. "Thank you. Erhm, wow, you didn't have to give me a casserole." Francis smiled, and shrugged.

"It's the least I can do. I have to go now, unfortunately. Bye!"

Arthur waved while Francis walked away to join with another small party of people. Arthur looked down at the hallway, and then down at the casserole, still warm in his hands. It had been awhile since he was given a Christmas present. Sure, there were still the Christmas cards given by that overly festive co-worker, but otherwise, it had been awhile.

He brung the casserole back into his apartment and onto the table. Actually, it had been awhile since he had something close to a proper Christmas dinner. During Christmas, he usually went out to eat, whether if it was at a fancy diner or at a takeaway place. The last time he had a proper, hearty Christmas dinner was…

Was…

Seven years ago.

Had it really been that long? Wow. Seven years. Almost an entire decade.

He grabbed a dish and opened the lid. The tantalising aroma of hot lamb, rosemary, potatoes, and peas flooded the room immediately. His mouth watered. It smelt delicious!

A memory popped in his head. One year during Christmas, Angus tripped on the cat and fell into the trifle. He snickered at the memory. Mum wouldn't let the cat sleep on the dining room floor after that.

After he put some of the casserole into the dish, he noticed the way the potato slices were arranged so that they overlapped like fish scales. His own mother would just stack them.

He blew the casserole piece on the fork, and ate it. A million memories of Christmas during his childhood flooded his mind.

It tasted good. It tasted like home.

Arthur went on to finish half the casserole, and put the pot into the fridge. While he did, he wondered: shouldn't he give Francis a Christmas present as well?

He thought. What would Francis like as a present? Something music related, maybe? The stores were closed already, so if he was to give him a present, he would had to improvise. He definitely couldn't give him something cooked, hell no. Well he did have books…

There was this book he bought earlier in the year. Arthur walked over to his bookshelf. He had only read it once or twice, so it should be somewhere at the bottom shelf…

Ah! There it was wedged in the bottom. He pulled the book out, and brushed the cover.

For a second, he wondered if it was a good idea. Was he really going to give him a book? At least the casserole had effort put into it, this book was pretty much just something he pulled out of his ass.

Arthur took a deep breath in. The shops were closed, and he couldn't think of anything more suitable as a present. At least the book wasn't at the same calibre as, say, gifting Francis a used napkin or a plastic bag, at least there was some thought put into it. Besides, the book was still in a pretty good condition.

After reminding himself of those things, he felt better about it, and went out and headed downstairs.

"Hey, Fran, I think that this is for you or something," Gilbert called out as he came back from collecting mail the next day.

"Hm?"

"Here. It's from that Arthur guy." He handed him a book with a post-it note stuck onto it. A book from Arthur? Huh. The cover had a blue trombone on it. The reason that Arthur had picked this one was probably because it was about trombones, which was somewhat close to saxophones. Sure, Francis didn't like trombones more than saxophones, much less know how to play one, but he appreciated that at least Arthurĺ tried to pick something that peaked his interests.

"Thanks, Gil." He read the note:

Hi, I found this book while rummaging through my things. It's a book about a girl with sound-colour synesthesia, and it's quite an interesting read. The shops were closed, so I wasn't able to get wrapping paper, I must apologise. By the way, thank you for the casserole.

Merry Christmas,

Arthur

He flipped the book over, and read the summary. Reading books were not exactly his thing, but the premise sounded interesting. He reached for his phone:

Thank you for the book! <3

A few seconds later, there was another text:

You're welcome :-)

The book, trombones are blue, is a real book, by the way, though it is a WIP by @wildrhov. Thank you, Rhov for letting me mention the book!

I'll be taking a bit of a hiatus to figure out what's going to happen in the next couple of chapters, so no chapters next month, unfortunately. But on the other hand, thank you for the comments last chapter!

Happy holidays, everybody!

[smallgeneration]

caveu des oubliettes

There was something about that jazz club, a magical quality bordering on the sinister that promised a good time remembered through the haze and headache of next morning’s hangover. Le Caveau Des Oubliettes. Tucked away down a crooked and cobbled pedestrian alley in the upper West corner Paris’s fifth arrondissement, it was the perfect club to lure tourists into thinking they’d discovered a hidden hotspot, an underground local scene on a wandering night out in the City of Lights. The place was dark. The big window in the front of the bar was tinted a deep red, and the black awning that loomed over the door was emblazoned with a medieval font that during the daytime appeared cheap and corny, a nowhere place between Notre Dame and the Panthéon one might pass while getting lost. But come midnight, and the sepia glow of the streetlamps cast jagged shadows over the rough stone walls of that ancient building, silhouettes danced to muffled jazz in the dim glow of the red window, and the place transformed. It became Somewhere.

My first night at Le Caveau was a Friday in mid-September, two or three days after my arrival in Paris. By accident or some cliché fate, I had fallen into friendships with two girls who, like me, were artist-writers taking gap years or time off school to live and work in the historic Shakespeare and Company bookshop, which was located around the corner from Le Caveau. Anneli was a writer and photographer from the farmlands outside of London, and our friendship began my first day in Paris when, within five minutes of us meeting, she declared us kindred spirits on the front stoop the bookstore. She later introduced me to Jess, a poet from New Zealand, who was on fall break from an undergraduate study abroad program in Lyon. At twenty years old, Jess became mine and Anneli’s adopted big sister, for we were only eighteen and had recently finished high school.

That mid-September Friday night began with a shared bottle of cheap wine on a bridge over the Canal Saint-Martin, where I met up with Jess and Anneli at around 8pm. After a small epidemic of bedbugs had forced them out of their free lodgings at Shakespeare and Company indefinitely, they were now crashing at a friend’s apartment in the 11th, a short walk from the Canal in the Folie-Méricourt district of Paris. Lou, the tenant of the apartment, met us briefly on the bridge where Jess and Anneli introduced us, and she expressed her disappointment in being unable to join us on our night out. She had already made plans with her coworkers at the café that ajoined the bookshop, where she had befriended Jess and Anneli weeks earlier. I was immediately blown away by her inherently French beauty and her generosity in offering me a place to stay the night, in case I wound up too drunk to return to my youth hostel. She said explained that though her apartment was small, there would be plenty of room if I didn’t mind sharing a the couch with Anneli or a cot on the floor with Jess, and I happily thanked her for her kindness.

As Jess, Anneli, and I finished our bottle of wine, we discussed our plans for the evening. We were to rendezvous with Harry, a young Australian street musician who often busked in front of Shakespeare and Company and was recent acquaintance of Jess’s, before buying more wine. Then, we would wander into the nearest bar or club providing live music for a night of adventure and dancing. For my first night out in Paris, Jess and Anneli wanted to give me “an authentic experience of the city,” which would only amount to a realized dream we’d read about in books and watched countless times in our favorite movies.

An hour later, Anneli and I were following Jess to our meeting point with Harry. The Oberkampf station let out onto a corner of Boulevard Voltaire, where the Metro Café was nestled beneath a large wall mural of an ostrich that glared down at us as we danced and sang Edith Piaf’s “Non, je ne regrette rien” and waited for Harry to arrive. Anneli and I thought it would be funny to take off our shoes and dance barefoot on the streets of Paris, and though it was chilly, we were warm with adrenaline and cheap wine. Jess was on the phone with Harry, who had gotten lost, and she was too drunk to be giving directions. She kept saying, “Look for the ostrich! We’re dancing under the ostrich!” This sent me and Anneli into a fit of giddy laughter as we spun ourselves dizzy and wound up giggling, sprawled out on the dirty sidewalk.

“What the hell are you lot doing!” came the drunken shout from down the street. Anneli and I sat up, grinning and out of breath, as Harry ran up and greeted Jess with a hug. He turned to us and extended a hand. “Don’t you know the streets of Paris have got to be the the filthiest in all of Europe? What! Not even wearing shoes?”

He helped me and Anneli to our feet. He was already drunk as well, a tall sand-blond boy with red cheeks and an infectious smile, and as Jess introduced us another girl walked up, stunningly gorgeous and smiling expectantly.

“Guys,” Harry said, putting an arm around the girl, “This is Belle, my friend from high school. She’s visiting from Australia for the weekend, so I thought she should come along for the night’s festivities.”

We were more than glad to have another member in our party, and it wasn’t long before introductions gave way to the quick and close kind of friendships that fall into place on drunken Friday nights. It was just after 10pm, and our next step was finding a liquor store.

After discovering I was from Nashville, Harry seemed to forget my name. He bought two six packs of beer to share, and as we drank more and wandered into 11pm, he began referring to me only as Nashville, and the nickname stuck. Soon Jess, Anneli, and Belle were all calling me by my hometown, and I was either too drunk or too happy to have made friends to be bothered by it. I taught Belle racy French phrases, Harry gave Anneli a piggyback ride, and Jess passed around her cigarettes for sharing. In barely an hour, we had become inseparable companions, talking and laughing as if we’d known each other for years.  

The plan to locate the nearest live-music club proved to be futile. We were lost, drunk, and had to retrace our steps once or twice to retrieve a shoe that Anneli kept dropping. Harry resolved to call the five of us a taxi, remembering a flyer for a live jazz bar somewhere near the bookshop. We piled into the cab, the extra beers in my tote bag clinking against my shoes and scores of loose change. I stretched across Harry, Belle, and Anneli in the back, and the driver amiably indulged Jess’s front-seat request to play “La vie en rose” on repeat throughout the drive. He laughed at our attempts to make drunken conversation, and I remember saying something like, “Je parle mieux le français quand je suis bourrée.” The blur of the cab ride dissolved into a series of dizzying sounds and images, saxophones and red lights, kisses and tequila and barefoot dances in the stoney cavern of that magic magnetic jazz club.

Le Caveau des Oubliettes is made up of two floors. The first is where the bodies form a roiling congestion of arms, heads, and torsos, where elbows needle evanescent pathways to the bar. The arms toast overfilled whisky tumblers and splash their contents to the floor. Heads balance cigarettes behind their ears and crane their necks to locate the bathroom door. Torsos rub against strangers and smell of sweat, cologne, and smoke. French, English, German, and Spanish all blend into a cacophony of conversation, punctuated by the wail of a horn section and the crash of drums emanating from the ground below. The room is small and cramped, and in the far left corner is the bar where the tenders take hasty orders and don’t bother saying more than the price of the drinks and merci.

In the far right corner is an arched stone doorway that leads into a steep and narrow set of stone stairs worn slick with age that descend into what was once a medieval dungeon. A set of iron bars line a diamond-shaped window cut from the ancient walls of the stairway, and through it you can see the small stage where large French men in velvet shirts and cowboy boots improvise funk and jazz under psychedelic blue and purple lights. The stairs let out into the middle of the room, and whether the floors were dirt or simply dirty I can’t remember.

We sat in the back, squeezed around the only table in the room. Of the thirty or so people in the dungeon, only a handful were dancing while most sat on small wooden stools, mesmerized by the music. When the waitress came to take our order, she wouldn’t serve us until Anneli and I had put on our shoes. We did, ordered a glass of wine each, and Harry ordered a beer for him and Belle. Jess ordered absinthe, le fée verte, as a testament to the writers and legends of the bygone Paris we secretly hoped we could recreate.

On the wall above her head, I noticed that carved into the stone was the year 1467. America suddenly felt like a dream, a world as lost and unimaginable as it would have been to the men who once were held captive within these walls. The concept of time was now blurred, becoming medieval, Renaissance, Belle Epoch and Roaring Twenties all at once.

While Jess and Anneli chatted with Belle and her history with Harry (they had dated once, in high school, but were just friends now), Harry and I were absorbed in the music. We talked about the colors and the tones of every chord, becoming more deeply entranced by the major-minor shifts and transitions from rock to funk, from funk to classical jazz, and at one moment, the groove was so powerful it sent us leaping to our feet with a shout.

“You get it, Nashville,” he exclaimed, squeezing my hand. “You really get it, don’t you?”

We stayed for an hour or so, laughing and making toasts to Paris, toasts to the cave, toasts to each other, until the music ended and the band packed up to go.

After that night, we became regulars at Le Caveau. I ended up moving in with Jess and Anneli at Lou’s apartment, where I lived for the next three months, and after Belle went home to Australia, Harry remained a member of our small gang. We spent our days writing songs and poems, reading books and frequenting Paris’s many museums, but our nights inevitably culminated at the jazz club. We remember stories from those nights in jumbled drunken vignettes, filling in each other’s blacked-out details where we can, but many of our memories have inevitably been lost to that time vortex cavern. For a while, we believed that “le caveau des oubliettes” meant “cave of the forgotten,” and we thought it perfectly appropriate, like some poetic justice that made our drunken antics somehow more meaningful.

“Le Caveau des oubliettes” actually translates to something more like “vault of the dungeons,” as Lou later informed us, and though we were disappointed in its lack of poetry, the place never lost its magnetism.

Many months later, after our gang of expatriates had since returned to their native countries and Lou moved back to her hometown in the French Alps, I travelled again to Paris, and found myself drifting through those cobbled streets behind Shakespeare and Company in search of our old jazz club. But Le Caveau des Oubliettes was gone, its red window covered with faded flyers and a handwritten note that simply read fermé. Whether it was to be closed forever or indefinitely was unclear, but it left me with an eerie, ominous feeling of loss. I thought that if I could just go inside, dance again within those ancient stone walls, I might remember. Remember what, I didn’t know, but I could hear it echoing somewhere behind those locked doors, somewhere deep in that crypt of all the lost and forgotten details of those nights.

[onestowatch]

Q&A: Jess Kent Defies Societal and Artistic Expectations

Jess Kent is an artist on a mission to subvert expectations. The England-born, Australia-raised artist first made her mark with an aptly titled introductory EP, 2016’s My Name Is Jess Kent, as well as supporting the likes of Coldplay, Troye Sivan, and Years & Years on tour. 

For Kent, the past two years have seen her move to Los Angeles and hone her sound. Returning with a double-sided release, “Bass Bumps” and the Wes Period-assisted “No Love Songs,” Kent sways between the sounds of Australia’s and England’s vivid club scenes to a smoldering and vulnerable R&B number with ease. Yet, it’s her most recent release “Girl” that speaks volumes towards her skill as an artist.

A veritable pop anthem that tackles the expectations society at large places on women from birth, “Girl” is an earworm for a woke audience. Currently working towards a long-awaited debut album with enthralling single after single, the hype surrounding the future of Kent is very much real. We sat down with the artist on the rise to get to know the person behind some of our recent favorite tracks.

OTW: How long have you been in Los Angeles for?

Jess: I actually didn’t realize that I have been gone from home-home for like a year and a half now, which is crazy.

OTW: How does it feel being in sunny Los Angeles?

Jess: Some of that has been touring, so I haven’t realized that time going. I have been in and out of here and we dipped in to make a whole record. So, it’s gone by fast.

OTW: What can you tell us about the upcoming record? Is there are overarching narrative?

Jess: Yeah, there is in a sense that they are all stories. It’s kind of been like a process of figuring out how to keep all the stuff that was in the first EP or my first demos that are just like me and figuring out how to make it the next incarnation of that. So, it is not the same, because then that would mean I haven’t grown or learned anything new. It is just an evolution from that.

OTW: How do you go from busking to basically opening up for Coldplay?

Jess: *laughter* Just like that! I guess I was playing because I loved it genuinely, and busking for me was the quickest and easiest way of plating, especially when I was underage and couldn’t get into clubs, or I didn’t know producers to make demos. I could just go on the street and connect to hundreds and hundreds of people all in just one day and kind of construct my own show without needing a venue or anything like that. When we started putting out original music, it made it almost easier to be like, I’m used to performing when people don’t have to stop and listen if they don’t want to. They don’t give a shit really. In comparison, it just seemed easier, well not easier but it was just exciting because these people actually love music and are here to see that and have a good time, so let’s go and have a good time.

OTW: You were born in England then later moved to Australia. How did that shift influence you as an artist? 

Jess: I was born in England, and I moved to Australia, going to Adelaide. So, that’s where I started busking. There wasn’t really a music scene there. A lot of my early influences were English kind of bands like Blondie, The Beatles, Oasis, that kind of thing. Then I moved to Sydney just ‘cause that’s where I had one or two friends. To me, it just seemed like there was such a cool music scene, and I just wanted to know what it was about. People are just like DJing and producing and playing guitar and like Tame Impala is playing in a band. Flume is doing all of these sets and then there’s Alice in Wonderland with all these crazy people. So I just packed a suitcase, a guitar, $200 and found somewhere to live. That’s how I started actually.

OTW: Your music delves mostly into pop, but also soul and R&B. The duality of your double release “Bass Bumps” and “ No Love Songs” was a superb showing of that versatility. The former sounds like a straight Mura Masa produced south UK vibe, while the latter is a very moving R&B number.

 Jess: Aw, thank you. Yeah, I think the record is sort of delving more deeply into those aspects, which is kind of why we chose them as the first two singles. Like with “Bass Bumps,” I basically wrote it about Sydney—when we used to go the raves and listen to Mura Masa and Danny Brown. Shout out Danny Brown! Just like straight up techno and acid house. Just having a good time basically. And what also kind of weaved into that commentary is also a bit of this underlying… I guess it’s just that this subculture is all so fun. Like the opening line is, “Hype’s a beast that we all feed,” and I still want it to have that element of being a social commentary and to still have smart lyrics that I would happily discuss and start a conversation about, and I would hope other people would too. And “No Love Songs;” I don’t think I really delved into that in the EP—like just being super vulnerable and being open with my fans it that way. So that’s probably one of the biggest things in this record that wasn’t in the EP, is that it's super honest. Literally whatever was going down was what I was writing about, and there was a lot of crazy shit happening this past year. Everything from traveling, the stadium run, and going into the studio. Then like the transition from the current administration, going from Australia to here, and all these cultural differences and like four of those months I was in Asia. It was just a whirlwind of stuff.

OTW: Going through all of that and being in Asia for four months. What was that sense of disconnection like?

Jess: I think it kind of opened a different chapter of writing from an observational perspective. But like, it sounds dramatic, writing a lot on planes and what I want to get out of it. There are a lot of people in the world, and there’s a lot of good stuff and bad stuff going on. What do I really want to say that is going to matter? What can I do as a person with a microphone and feelings, and it spurred a lot of that on for me.

OTW: So, do you think that artists have a certain responsibility to speak out when they have a platform?

Jess: I think people with public profiles can choose to use it however they want. I think some people are more outspoken about things, different things in the world or they want to get political or whatever. I don’t think there should be a pressure to be like that, because like at the end of the day I write songs, and that’s what my job is. But at the same time as a songwriter, I do think it is important to speak my truth and to be honest ‘cause that’s just the type of connection I want with fans. So, yeah, I feel that pressure, like sometimes I don’t want to admit how I am feeling today in the studio, and I just want to write a party song, but deep down I am burning about something. Hopefully, in the lyrics, there are more direct on-the-nose meanings and then some read between the lines lyrics.

OTW: As a semi-recent Los Angeles convert, is the party scene way better in Australia? Be honest.

Jess: I mean I had a good run of the festivals, playing my shows around that, and sideshows. I think there is definitely a culture around music and art and making that fun. The time I was there it was really exciting because everyone was doing the fashion and like the parties. Like everything would coexist together and all these subcultures would overlap, and all these genres would overlap. Yeah so, it’s pretty fun. I also have a super chill element as well. I actually don’t party that much. There is definitely that scene, but a lot of what I listen to is either like rap or hip hop or something more chill. I am definitely an introverted nerd at times, like get some really good headphones and sit and put on an album from start to finish and be like drawing and shit. I am like that as well.

OTW: Oh, so you draw as well?

Jess: Not well. I have piles and piles of notebooks, and I just write down little lyrics and poems and just like sketches. Or like Pinterest. I am just a Pinterest hoarder of subphotos and subphotos.

OTW: What is your Pinterest aesthetic?

Jess: That would be giving away some album tea. It is funny because all the songs have different photos and stuff. But then overall they all look like they are from the same album which is crazy. I am like a color freak as well.

OTW: What color is it right now?

Jess: Right now, it’s yellow. Yeah but then the overall thing is like a palette. As soon as the love heart emoji changes color, then it is time for a different phase.

OTW: What is the backstory for your latest single, “Girl”?

Jess: I think it kind of sums up what I have been trying to articulate for a really long time. And I never thought I’d be the one to write this particular song, but it is a song I had always wish existed. And that is all I’ll say.

OTW: Who are your Ones To Watch? Jess: I think it is a really exciting time for pop in general and obviously hip hop. The new Robyn song I fuck with really hard. New artists: Sasha Sloan, Charlotte Lawrence. Pink Sweats literally has two songs out right now, and I’m obsessed with them.

OTW: Last question: If you could say something directly to your fans, what would it be?

Jess: Thank you for believing in songwriters and female songwriters. And being a “day one.” I welcome you to my world!

[ulyssessklein]

American Idol David Cook on His Music, His Fans and Making a Difference

By: Rick Landers

David Cook – Photo by David Quillard

Many of us recall being enthralled by the performances and artistry of David Cook, as he ran the competitive steppes of “American Idol”.

David impressed us with his vocals and risky song selections that were staples of the airwaves and firmly embedded in our national entertainment psyche.

Catch Cook’s rendition of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” where he lifted the high water mark of Michael’s catalogue and plopped it into the world of ballads.

Perfect.

And as he lifted the song, “American Idol” lifted him from obscurity to a level of fame, most performers only dream about.

And, it all could have ended there or shortly thereafter. The star-making machinery can severely crush ambition and germinate cynicism, leaving promising artists on the off-ramp of fame, to regain their footing or go back home to get a day job.

What’s intriguing about David Cook is that he leveraged his new found fame to blend his altruism with his ambition, and it seems he’s smart enough and kind enough to allow his altruism to lead.

Most recently, we find David Cook not performing at large venues, following the money track. His altruism leads.

In May 2018, he could be found in Washington, D.C. at The 2018 Race for Hope, where he supported his 2018 Team for a Cure-Making a Difference. His team raised $78,000 to benefit ABC2 and The National Brain Tumor Society.

David’s been supporting the group for ten years, and he and his team have raised over $1.3 million for brain cancer and brain tumor research, in various fundraising efforts. And in 2018, their efforts were recognized with a 2018 Rabbi Joseph P. Weinberg Triumph Award.

At first blush, one might think that David’s ignoring his career aspirations, but they are deep and wider than we might guess.

And, one might expect more than a single blush from David during one of his last gigs, playing Charlie Price in Broadway’s Kinky Boots at the Al Hirschfield Theater in New York., where he dons some thigh high hot red high-heeled boots and befriends Lola, a drag queen, and works to reconcile his practical and, maybe, not so practical inclinations..

His musical ambitions are still upfront with a new EP, Chromance, that was released February of this year by Analog Heart Music.

Chromance is heavy on the production side, but allows David enough room to breathe, with his vocals a bit on the darker side with touches of rock, ballads and pop, oftentimes rolled into single tracks. The EP is Hall & Oates or Tears for Fears on steroids and is a strong set for his fans, whether they’re into his stripped down songs that focus on his voice – that voice – or are up for this amped up version of David Cook.

So, we see many sides of David in this Guitar International interview; talented singer-songwriter, actor with chops, fundraiser for good causes and a man who’s not only an entrepreneurial seeker, but one who takes on new challenges to reinvent himself, to explore and discover the many facets of not only who he is, but who he might become. We look forward to see where David Cook moves next, to see what mountain he might climb next,  and we’re certain he’ll land with both feet firmly on the ground.

******

Rick Landers: Let’s start where some interviews end.  Let’s imagine your 90-years old and you’re looking back on your life. What kinds of experiences have you had and what are you most proud of?

David Cook: I’ve gotten to travel the world as a musician.  I’m extremely proud to have had that honor.  I actually just wrapped up another year of working with the Race For Hope in Washington DC, with ABC2 and The National Brain Tumor Society.  I’ve been extremely proud of what my fans have helped accomplish over the last 9-10 years of working with that event. 

Rick: Now, let’s go back when you first had an idea that your voice was not only a fun thing to be able to play with, but a talent that could open doors to, maybe fame, and opportunities to live a dream?

David Cook:  I never really gave it much thought, truthfully, until maybe the end of high school or the beginning of college.  I was offered a small theater scholarship for college, and that was my first real confirmation that maybe there was something there.

Rick: How has your initial hobby of playing guitar evolved to become not only a tool to a worthwhile livelihood, but possibly a “side kick” that will likely accompany you for the rest of your life?

David Cook:  I always go back to being a kid, and my Dad always having a guitar around.  He would sit there in the living room and noodle around while I was watching cartoons or whatever.  So, I’ve always seen guitar as a lifelong thing.  As with any artistic pursuit, there’s always another mountain to climb.  You never really completely master it.  I like that aspect of it.

David Cook – Photo by Olivia Brown

Rick:  I think there’s typically a kind of void that a performer has when they start out that needs to be filled by confidence – probably hard won by playing to many audiences – and it might be a form of reinventing one’s self. What kind of progression did you go through in order to gut it out and perform to larger audiences. Or are they easier to entertain than smaller more intimate groups?

David Cook:  I’ve always thought that the larger the audience, the easier it is.  The energy is more abundant, maybe?  I remember playing a gig in Manila in 2009.  I think they said there were north of 100,000 people there.  And then a week later, the next gig was somewhere in Ohio, I think, and it was maybe a thousand.  And I could feel each of the thousand pairs of eyes starring lasers through us as we played.

Rick: Please, tell us about your fans and some of the lessons you may have learned from them?

David Cook:  My fans have been incredible.  They’ve developed this interesting community over the past decade, and to see that community manifest itself not just in supporting my music, and now acting, but also the causes that are important to me.  The empathy and community that exists at that level are things I hadn’t been exposed to before 2008.  It’s inspiring and certainly something I’ve tried to integrate into how I interact with people in everyday life.

  David Cook in Kinky Boots – Photo by Matthew Murphy

Rick: How about telling about your electric and acoustic guitars and do you have a favorite at home? On the road?  

David Cook:  Oh, god.  I think I’m sitting on about 25-30 right now, give or take a few.  I’ve got a handful of Gibson Firebirds, LPs, SGs.  A few Fender Teles.  I’ve had this Taylor acoustic for a while that’s my go-to, sit-down-at-home-and-write guitar.  My favorite on the road right now is a Japanese Fender Tele that I’ve had frankenstein-ed with some souped-up pickups.  It’s in dire need of some fretwork, but it still does the job, so I’m hesitant to mess with it much further until I need to.

Rick: What kinds of experiences have you had with busking, house concerts, open mics and those kinds of “venues”, before you nailed American Idol?

David Cook:  One of my favorite memories was during college, I was playing with this band based out of Tulsa, Oklahoma.  We had a couple nights worth of gigs in Wisconsin, and they were going to swing through Kansas City to pick me up on the way there.  I overslept and missed a ton of phone calls, so they ended up going on without me.  I ended up going on this multiple-ride adventure to get there for the second show.  Slept on couches, pseudo-hitchhiked, but got there.

Rick: Have you found yourself more interested in the technical sides of recording, engineering and producing and do you prefer to have more control than less?

David Cook:  I am a total control freak, but I’m aware of my technical limitations.  So there’s a yin and a yang there.  I try to surround myself with as much talent as possible in that realm, and then just be a sponge.

Rick: Artists have nearly always told me that being on tour really beats them up. If that’s the case with you, what do you do to ward off the stress and the unhealthy habits that tend to creep along with artists when they’re on the road – like too much fast food? 

David Cook:  They’re not lying.  It’s not a lifestyle that’s necessarily conducive to being healthy, physically or mentally.  I went on the road for almost all of 2009, and when it ended, there was a long transition afterwards.  Anymore, I try to keep road time brief and concise.  Month here, month there.  Life balance is the goal.  As far as food goes, it’s doable, but difficult.  You walk off stage late and starving, and the options aren’t usually great.  Takes will power that I don’t always have…

Rick: Tell us about why you showed up in D.C. recently.  

David Cook:  I’ve been involved with Race For Hope, an annual event held in D.C., since 2009, as a way to honor my brother, Adam, who passed away from a brain tumor.  This year marked my tenth go-round with them.  It really is a wonderful event. Honored to get to continue to be part of it.

Rick: What’s your schedule like this year and do you set aside time to take a breather or are you hard charging all the way?

David Cook:  This year has been a little different.  I just finished my Broadway debut, in Kinky Boots.  I also released a new EP in February, called Chromance.  At the moment, the plan is to head home, spend some time with the wife and our pups, play some shows, and write some more.  So resting, but not resting, if that makes sense?

Rick: Many of our readers are still working locally, trying to build their chops, their confidence and their bank accounts in order to make their first albums. What kinds of advice would you offer them?

David Cook:  If they’re doing that, then they’re on the right track.  It’s a craft.  Take every opportunity you can to hone it.  When I started really working at it, I tried to write a song a day.  Most of it was trash, and thank goodness no one else heard it, but you get a little better, and a little better, and a little better.  Great songs find a way to get heard, you know?

Rick: What projects do you have going for the moment; tell us a bit about your new album Chromance and are you already working on something new in the studio?

David Cook:  Right now, I’m in idea collection mode.  My notes and voice memos on my phone are damn near full.  So now it’s about going through all that and figuring out what’s there.  Hopefully, I can start putting that stuff together into cohesive ideas, and get to recording. 

Rick: Many artists end up with pretty lousy management teams, bad labels and overall disheartening experiences in the music world.  Do you have any particular approach to hiring people or working with people to keep life sane and maybe to protect your own self-interests?

David Cook:  Gut instinct matters.  It’s important to know what you want out of it, before anything else, and then finding people that meet that ideal.  It’s also important to know that no one else is going to have your interests at heart more than you.  “No” can be a powerful tool, when used properly.

Rick: You’re back home, you’re hanging out or chilling….are you more meditative or energized? What other kinds of things do you like to do other than make music?

David Cook:  A bit of both.  I like to relax a little, but I get stir crazy really easily if I don’t have something coming up.  I like to try to stay active.  Occasionally, I like throwing on a Camelbak and doing some urban hiking.

Rick: Any thanks you’d like to pass along to friends, family or colleagues who’ve made your life easier , better, more humane, on this ride you’re on?

David Cook: I think your question kinda checks all the boxes.  Thank you to all those people who help make my life easier, better, and more humane.  Lucky to have you all!  And thanks to you, Rick, for making the time to chat today!

[pardontheglueman]

Houdini Dax / Naughty Nation

Houdini Dax  - Dave Newington, Jack Butler, and Owen Richards

Although Houdini Dax is no more (having surprisingly morphed into Monico Blonde in the summer of 2016), their classic sophomore album Naughty Nation still gets plenty of airplay in these parts. A fine excuse, then, to revisit my album review from August 2015 and to throw in a few videos to celebrate a fab album. Newington, by the way, is currently making waves with the super cool outfit Boy Azooga.

Houdini Dax’s debut album, the irresistible You Belong to Dax Darling, was a thrilling kaleidoscope of harmonious sixties pop, semi-skimmed psychedelica and art-school rock that should, all things being equal, have made the teenagers household names in the Principality. Even though the album failed to make its mark, stalling the group’s career in the process, the power-pop trio still seemed a safe bet to fully realise their ‘band most likely to’ ambitions. No-one, back then, could have envisaged the trials and tribulations the group would have to overcome just to set foot in the recording studio again!

After four years of endless gigging, imaginative fund-raising (playing Christmas Eve concerts in fans homes) and, more latterly, emergency busking (the lads had £10,000 worth of gear stolen from the back of their van in March) the band have, at long last, completed their Herculean task. The £64,000 dollar question, though, has to be asked; was it worth all the back-breaking work, all the heartache, and disappointment, all the tilting at windmills along the way?

The opening track “Apple Tree”, one of the summer’s stand-out singles is evidence aplenty that Houdini Dax remains a very special band indeed!  A giddy, effervescent number, as slick and superficial as a Preston Sturges screenplay, it would have gone triple platinum in the hands of Marc Bolan or XTC. Sometimes, timing is everything! Next up is “Legs” a big-boned pop song that showcases the band’s classy rhythm section - Owen Richards (Bass) and David Newington (drums) as well as singer Jack Butler’s acerbic wordsmithery,  

‘She’s my purple power ranger, she’s my Lara Croft /  She’s my Cameron Diaz before the Botox /  She’s my little Easter bunny, she’s my Christmas elf /  She’s the worst magazine upon the top shelf’.

Butler’s grim kitchen sink vignettes are usually leavened with a dollop of black humour, placing him somewhere between Chris Difford and Alex Turner on the British songwriting spectrum. Indeed, “Found Love at the Dole Office” (based on a young couple witnessed getting a little too close for comfort down at the labour exchange) is as comically touching as anything that Squeeze or the Arctic Monkeys ever recorded,

‘I went down to the Old Arcade / to break up a coin and sip a lemonade /  I saw a girl who misunderstood  /  She was too good looking for her own good / Found love at the Dole Office / I couldn’t get a job, but I got a kiss’.

It’s a neat observational piece, a trick Butler repeats on the colourful character study “Good Old-Fashioned Maniac” about a drug damaged go-getter losing his grip on life  

“Got more get up and go than the Antiques Roadshow  /  Travelling from Tiger Bay down to South Bordeaux /  Takes five steps forward and five steps back  / ’coz he’s a good old-fashioned maniac”.

The harmony-drenched “Let’s Stick Together” is monstrously catchy, as is the guttural “Get Your Goo On”. Long the centrepiece of the band’s live show, thanks to its sledgehammer Mickey Spillane riff, it loses nothing in transition to a studio setting. Any momentum lost with the somewhat laborious “All These Days”, is quickly regained with the groovy instrumental “Crack Dance”. If ever ‘International Man of Mystery’ Austin Powers’ checks himself out of his retirement home for overdressed secret agents this could well be his new theme tune! The rip-roaring “Roll on Up” has the compulsorily addictive chorus we’ve come to expect from the band, however, the title track proves to be something of a slow-burner, meaning the album does end on rather a low key.

As mentioned above, the Dax transitioned into Monico Blonde 

Spot the extra face?  Theo Frangoulis joined Houdini Dax just before the band called it a day.

Newington’s new project Boy Azooga has just one release to its name thus far, but what a track it is!