#he references ‘how do you feel’ by jefferson airplane

[aemiron-main]

also i need to finish more posts about it but i would love to know whats going on with the specific, anachronistic song references during tfs. first chuck e’s in love and now “father and son” by cat stevens???”

[spellboundmayfield]

May 2 & 3 Stranger Things rewatch: The Vanishing of Will Byers & The Weirdo on Maple Street

- I totally forgot how incredibly awesome the opening scene is, the endless hallway disorienting lights so sick

- Fast thinking victim Will Byers thinking about that subverted tropes gifset

- The Demogorgon could very well have been Vecna just saying

- I noticed Hopper’s RV looks out onto a lake, could be the lake Steve dives in. Especially since stuff is happening at the RV park.

- The Wheeler’s morning, whole family sitting at the dining room table eating breakfast that Karen probably made as Mike and Nancy bickering juxtaposition to the Byers running around the house late for work, looking for lost keys.

- Stancy bathroom scene and all I can think about is Joe and Natalie’s sock puppets

- Ah yes Joyce and Hopper, there was definitely a falling out after their high school fling. Thinking about Jancy’s “I waited” and Hopper understandably having little tolerance for Lonnie tryna think how old Hopper would’ve been when he was drafted into the Vietnam war and if Joyce and Lonnie could’ve gotten engaged during that time.

- Will ‘I don’t get scared anymore’ Byers you are so brave

- The Upside Down is literally breathing like it’s alive it’s one big monster in and of itself

- David Harbour strangled Chester the dog i think

- Sara being interested in the universe but Hopper being more concerned on what’s on the ground, yeah Sara had connections to the Upside Down and things beyond Hawkins comprehension

- White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane playing in the diner, El falling down the rabbit hole, mutilated Creel rabbit I dunno what I’m talking about it’s just a groovy song

- Disaster couple Steve ‘the idiot’ Harrington and the beautiful Nancy Wheeler they’re fascinating in the worst way possible

- Jonathan breaking down with his cooped up guilt we need more Joyce and Jonathan scenes like this especially with the change to California

- Joyce insisting she can feel that Will is close only for him to call the exact moment El emerges from the woods what is going on I need answers pronto

- El not wanting Mike to close the bathroom door and s3 El keeping it closed she’s grow so much

- And when the track ‘Eleven’ plays during El’s first night back at the lab paralleling her first night at in the basement what then

- Dustin’s drama club shirt he and Robin should do the Hawkins high musical together

- I lose years off of my life every time someone refers to Will as Lonnie’s kid

[piratewithvigor]

My first thought in regard to every band that gets played on my radio station

ACDC: Every dad’s favourite band

Adams, Bryan: Every mom’s favourite singer until Michael Buble came along

Aerosmith: haha they thought Vince Neil was a lady

Alice Cooper: he’s a Game Of Thrones fanboy and I have proof

Alice In Chains: my sister doesn’t like them because she decided AC were Alice Cooper’s initials ONLY

Allman Brothers Band: good music for dropping acid to

Allman, Gregg: That’s too many Gs for one name

Animals: House Of The Rising Sun, or who even cares

Argent: Sometimes Hold Your Head Up is really catchy

Asia: Tuesdays

Autograph: one of the members went on to be a pharmacist

Bachman-Turner Overdrive: There are just so many pop culture jokes about Taking Care Of Business that whatever I say won’t be as funny

Bad Company: with their song; Bad Company, off their album; Bad Company

Benatar, Pat: Always getting her confused with Patti Smith

Black Crowes: I like them for Lickin, but it doesn’t seem to exist outside of one shoddy video on youtube and my old CD

Blackfoot: this band name feels kind of racy

Black Sabbath: Dio was not better or worse than Ozzy; just different

Blondie: I like Call Me, but Blondie confuses me stylistically

Blue Oyster Cult: MORE COWBELL

Bon Jovi: Hello, childhood trauma, I missed you

Boston: ONE GUY. ONE GUY DID IT ALL AND NO ONE KNOWS

Bowie, David: Don’t let your children watch The Man Who Fell To Earth, or David Bowie’s will end up being the third penis they see in life

Browne, Jackson: Another musician ruined by Supernatural

Buffalo Springfield: Jack Nicholson was at the riot they sing about

Burdon, Eric: no ideas, brain empty

Bush: ditto

Candlebox: ditto once more. Who are these people?

Cars: This band feels so gay and so straight at the same time, I can only assume they’re the poster children of bisexual panic

Cheap Trick: I played Dream Police on Guitar Hero so fucking much because it was the only song anyone who played with me could keep up with

Chicago: Chicago 30 exists, but they do not have 30 albums. Fucking riddle me that

Clapton, Eric: 6 discs in one Greatest Hits is too many. That’s called “re releasing your discography”

Cochrane, Tom: For some reason, everyone thinks Rascal Flats did it better

Cocker, Joe: Belushi did it right

Collective Soul: who?

Collins, Phil: If his biggest hits were done by MCR, they would be emo anthems, but because he’s 5′6″ and from the 80s, they’re not

Cream: *Vietnam flashbacks on the hippie side*

CCR: *Vietnam flashbacks on the war side*

CSNY: David Crosby; meh

Deep Purple: THEY’RE SO MUCH MORE THAN SMOKE ON THE WATER

Def Leppard: the only music for when you’re a heartbroken bitch but also a sexy one

Derek And The Dominos: Clapton and ‘Layla’ broke up

Derringer, Rick: Tom Petty if he was from the midwest

Dio: You thought it was an anime reference, but it was me, Dio

Dire Straits: You can tell how bigoted a radio station is based on how much of Money For Nothing they censor

Doobie Brothers: I have yet to smoke weed, but I listen to the Doobies, and I think that’s pretty close

Dylan, Bob: I take back everything I said about him in my youth

Eagles: Hotel California isn’t their best song, but the memes that come from it are second to none

Edgar Winter Group: @the--blackdahlia

Electric Light Orchestra: Actually an orchestra and sound a fuckton like George Harrison

ELO: I really hesitate to ask what happens with the 7 virgins and a mule

Essex, David: no prominent memories of him

Fabulous Thunderbirds: cannot spell

Faces: Who on earth thought that was a good album name?

Faith No More: I got nothing

Fixx: One Thing Leads To Another is a damn bop

Fleetwood Mac: I ain’t straight, but I’m simply not enough of a witch to enjoy them to full potential

Fogerty, John: He got sued cause he sounded like himself

Foghat: Slow Ride slowly becoming less coherent feels like a drug trip

Foo Fighters: He was just excited to buy a grill

Ford, Lita: deserved better

Foreigner: dramatically overplayed

Frampton, Peter: a masterful user of the talk box

Free: dramatically underplayed

Gabriel, Peter: leaving Genesis changed him a lot

Genesis: if someone likes Genesis, clarify the era, because yes, it does matter

Georgia Satellites: sing like you have a cactus in your ass

Golden Earring: Twilight Zone slaps, but it doesn’t slap as hard as this station thinks it does

Grand Funk Railroad: Funk

Grateful Dead: I like their aesthetic more than their music

Great White: there are so many fucking shark jokes

Greenbaum, Norman: makes me think of Subway for some reason

Green Day: the first of the emo revolution

Greg Kihn Band: RocKihnRoll is literally the most clever album name I’ve ever seen

Guns N Roses: They have more than three good songs, but radio stations never recognize that

Hagar, Sammy: I’m still trying to figure out where he lived to take 16 hours to get to LA driving 55 and how fucking fast was he driving beforehand?

Harrison, George: He went from religious to rock, and if he had continued rocking, he would have gotten too cool 

Head East: I respect people who use breakfast foods as album names

Heart: Magic Man and Barracuda are played at least once every goddamn day. They’re not even the best songs!

Hendrix, Jimi: I have both a cousin and a sibling named after Hendrix references

Henley, Don: Dirty Laundry gives me too much inspiration

Hollies: Somehow sound like they’re both from the 60s and the 80s at the same time

Idol, Billy: he’s doing well for himself

INXS: Terminator vibes

Iris, Donnie: knockoff Roy Orbison

James Gang: too many funks

Jane’s Addiction: if TMNT had a grunge band representative

Jefferson Airplane: *assorted cheers*

Jefferson Starship: *assorted boos*

Jethro Tull: The only band to make you feel not cool enough to play the flute

Jett, Joan: icon

J. Geils Band: I requested them on the radio once and it got played

Joel, Billy: he really did just air everybody’s business like that

John Cafferty And The Beaver Brown Band: literally wtf is that name

John, Elton: yarn Elton sits in my basement, unstaring. Please someone take him from me

Joplin, Janis: Queen

Journey: Stop overplaying Don’t Stop Believing. It takes away from the rest of the repetoire

Judas Priest: literally started the gay leather aesthetic

Kansas: another fucking band Supernatural stole

Kenny Wayne Shepherd: the man confuses me to the point where he isn’t in the right place alphabetically

Kiss: Mick Mars and I will simply have to disagree on the subject

Kravitz, Lenny: runaway vibes

Led Zeppelin: Fucking fight me if you don’t think they’re the most talented band (maybe not the most talented individually, but collectively, no one comes close)

Lennon, John: My least favourite Beatle for reasons

Live: I got nothin

Living Colour: slap a decent amount

Loverboy: do you not get TURNT the fuck up to the big Loverboy hits? Who hurt you??

Lynyrd Skynyrd: Sweet Home Alabama is a Neil Young diss track

Marshall Tucker Band: no opinion

Manfred Mann’s Earth Band: VERY STRONG OPINIONS THAT THEY AREN’T GOOD

McCartney, Paul/Wings: Power couple

Meatloaf: I have nothing but respect for a man who willingly named himself Meatloaf

Mellencamp, John: voted cutest lesbian of 1987

Metallica: I liked their appearance on Jimmy Fallon

Midnight Oil: I get them confused for Talking Heads a lot

Modern English: who?

Molly Hatchet: Hollies vibes, but also Georgia Satellites vibes

Money, Eddie: DAN AVIDAN, IF YOU SEE THIS, COVER TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT

Motley Crue: Stan Mick Mars and John Corabi. They’re the only ones who deserve it

Mott The Hoople: no one loves them except for David Bowie

Mountain: props for naming an album ‘Climbing’

Nazareth: I want to make a John Mulaney joke here, but I can never come up with one

Nicks, Stevie: witch queen

Night Ranger: I get them confused with Urge Overkill

Nirvana: Kurt Cobain was the ally grunge needed

Nova, Aldo: he’s Canadian, at least

Nugent, Ted: *serves a ghost as jerky*

Offspring: nothing here

Osbourne, Ozzy: this bitch crazy

Outfield: Your Love is kind of a sketchy song, but it slaps hard

Palmer, Robert: low quality Eddie Money

Pearl Jam: *grunts in Eddie Vedder*

Petty, Tom: I have so many feelings about Tom Petty and they are all good

Pink Floyd: which one is Pink?

Plant, Robert: solo career is a crapshoot, but his voice is unparalleled

Poison: I want them to write a song called ‘Alice Cooper’

Pretenders: I want to say good things, but I have nothing to say

Queen: A doctor of astrophysics, a screaming girl, a disco queen and a diva walk into a bar. It’s Queen; they’re there to play a gig

Queensryche: neutral opinion

Quiet Riot: they got big because of a song they hated. I love that

Rafferty, Gerry: the second-sexiest sax opening in all of music

Rainbow: Ritchie Blackmore created something very magnificent

Ram Jam: one good song and they didn’t even write it

Ratt: I’m sure they have more than Round And Round, but I don’t know it

RHCP: funky, but if you have paid money to hear them, you’re going to The Bad Place (I don’t make the rules)

Red Rider: basically Golden Earring

Reed, Lou: Walk On The Wild Side would be such a cool song if it wasn’t so dull

REM: American Tragically Hip

REO Speedwagon: Props for having a dad joke as an album title

Rolling Stones: Never in my life could I imagine the drummer being named anything but Charlie

Rush: How to make being uncool the coolest fucking shit

Santana: The world needs more Santana

Scandal: There’s something really funny about The Warrior being my brother’s “song” with his girlfriend

Scorpions: Was Wind Of Change written by the CIA? Only the spotify podcast I got an ad for once could say

Seger, Bob: A different variety of Eric Clapton (frankly a better variety, but that’s just me)

Simple Minds: we ALL forgot about you

Skid Row: Sebastian Bach is prettier than all of us

Soundgarden: music that makes you feel like you dunked your head underwater

Springsteen, Bruce: my arch-nemesis. Maybe someday, he’ll find out about it

Squeeze: according to my friends, the stupidest band name ever, but they’re theatre kids, so you know

Squier, Billy: If he can make it through 1984 alive, you can make it through whatever bad day you’re having

Stealers Wheel: Yet another band who I always mistake for George Harrison

Steely Dan: my house’s nickname for the Robber in Settlers Of Catan

Steppenwolf: Either makes me think of Jay & Silent Bob, Jack Nicholson, or that time I had to cut 6lbs of onions

Steve Miller Band: when you’re in the right mood, they slap hard

Stewart, Rod: my soundtrack to summer 2015

Stills, Stephen: Love The One You’re With Is Catchy, but the lyrics are questionable

Stone Temple Pilots: the only band to write a song about goo you smear on yourself

Stray Cats: an obscene amount of merch is available for them

Styx: Supernatural would have ruined them for me too if I hadn’t been into them previously. 

Supertramp: I hunted for Breakfast In America for two years and it was worth every hunt

Sweet: I will never understand my two-month obsession with Ballroom Blitz when I was 15, but it was legit all I listened to

Talking Heads: you may find yourself in a pizza hut. And you may find yourself in a taco bell. And you may find yourself at the combination pizza hut and taco bell. And you may ask yourself; ‘how did I get here?’

Temple Of The Dog: I keep confusing them for Nazareth

Ten Years After: somehow still relevant

Tesla: not the car or the dude

The Beatles: Evokes a lot of opinions from people. Mine is that I love them

The Clash: I showed my sister the ‘Lock The Taskbar’ vine ONCE and it still kills her

The Doors: evokes teenage terror from deep within my soul

The Guess Who: Canada’s answer to confusing question-themed band names

The Kinks: kinky

The Police: wrote the theme of 2020 and everyone somehow forgot it was about a teacher resisting becoming a pedophile

The Ramones: playing all of their songs in a row wouldn’t take more than 2 hours

The Romantics: you don’t think you know them, but if you’ve seen Shrek 2, you have

The Who: If someone can explain Tommy to me, I’d be glad to hear it

The Zombies: I think they happened because of the 60s

Thin Lizzy: Could the boys maybe leave town?

Thorogood, George: blues, but make it modern

Toto: the most memed song behind All Star

Townshend, Pete: just makes me think of the end of Mr. Deeds

T-Rex: Mark Bolan is an icon

Triumph: The no-name brand of Rush

Tubes: like the yogurt

Twisted Sister: they did a christmas album and my mom does NOT hate it

U2: U2 Movers; we move in mysterious ways

Van Halen: RIP Eddie

Van Morrison: honestly, who’s named Van?

Vaughn, Stevie Ray: Steamy Ray Vaughn

Walsh, Joe: The Smoker You Drink The Player You Get

War: Foghat, but even groovier

Whitesnake: the most successful band to be named after a penis

Wright, Gary: the 90s thanks him for writing the song every movie used for the “guy sees cute girl and it’s love at first sight” scene

Yes: To Be Continued

Young, Neil: The best part of CSNY

Zevon, Warren: the album cover of Excitable Boy makes me deeply uncomfortable for reasons I don’t understand

ZZ Top: has been the same three guys since 1969. Lineup unchanged. 

3 Doors Down: They feel a little modern to be on a classic rock station, but whatever

38 Special: Why 38?

[grapevynerendezvous]

Jefferson Airplane -Surrealistic Pillow

The release of Surrealistic Pillow, Jefferson Airplane’s second album, coincided with so many new things going on in the world of music, and the world in general. It brought national attention to the psychedelic music scene flourishing in a drug-infused counterculture of Summer of Love San Francisco that had its’ roots in the ‘50s beat scene. The record came out two months before the release of the band’s first hit single, Somebody to Love (b/w She Has Funny Cars, and nearly two months before the next one, White Rabbit (b/w Plastic Fantastic Lover. The actual first single RCA chose to issue from the album was My Best Friend written by Skip Spence (b/w How Do You Feel). It failed to  break into the Billboard Hot 100, cresting at No.103. Both Spence and former lead female singer Signe Anderson had departed in 1966 and veteran drummer Spencer Dryden had come aboard along with Grace Slick, formerly of another San Francisco band The Great Society, several months later. Slick brought along the two songs that became huge hits for The Airplane. Somebody To Love, written by her brother-in-law at the time, Darby Slick, had been performed and recorded by The Great Society as Someone To Love. Slick was the composer of White Rabbit early on in the Great Society’s existence. In August 1966, a few months prior to Grace Slick joining Jefferson Airplane, the band fired manager Matthew Katz. A protracted precedent-setting artist-management legal battle ensued over the terms of their contracts, which lasted two decades. Marty Balin’s roommate and friend, Bill Thompson, was their road manager and filled in as band manager for awhile. As Surrealistic Pillow was about to be released, Jefferson Airplane became managed by Bill Graham which lead to their first time on the East Coast. Along with the Grateful Dead and Quicksilver Messenger Service they co-headlined the Human Be-In at Golden Gate Park on January 14, 1967.

The recording of the album took place November 1966 at RCA studios in Los Angeles, not long after Grace had joined the band. The span of dates actually goes from Oct. 31 to Nov. 22, but the band spent less than two weeks in the studio total. There are various takes on how the process went with RCA staff producer Rick Jarrard, but suffice it to say that the band members were not overly happy working with him despite the results or perhaps, in their minds, because of the results. It is noted on the liner notes on the album that Jerry Garcia was the Musical and Spiritual Adviser. There is disparity as to what influence he may have had over the recording. Producer Rick Jarrard denied that Jerry had any presence on any of the tracks. This has been countered by band members, and Jerry himself said in a 1967 interview that he played guitar on three tracks, the high lead on Today, and also Comin’ Back to You and Plastic Fantastic Lover, plus he rearranged Somebody to Love. In his book, Been So Long: My Life and Music, Jorma Kaukonen wrote, "I used to think about him as co-producer, but now that I really know what a producer is, the producer of that record was Rick Jarrard. Jerry was a combination arranger, musician, and sage counsel.” Reportedly Garcia was also the inspiration of the album name with his comment, “as surrealistic as a pillow is soft”, according to two sources, Light into Ashes-Grateful Dead Guide: Jerry Garcia & Surrealistic Pillow, and JGMF-Jerry Garcia’s Middle Finger: Jerry on Jefferson Airplane, Surrealistic Pillow.

Released February 1, 1967, the album went as high as No.3 on the Billboard Top 200 while being on the chart for over a year. It was awarded a Gold Record for over a million sold (eventually certified Platinum) and is ranked 146 on the Rolling Stone list of 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. Somebody to Love hit No..5 and White Rabbit No.8 on the Billboard Hot 100. Both songs are in Rolling Stones list of 500 Greatest Songs of All Time, Somebody to Love at 274 and White Rabbit at 478. The B-side of White Rabbit, Plastic Fantastic Lover, received extensive airplay in the San Francisco Bay Area and perhaps other markets as well. Jorma Kaukonen’s guitar instrumental, Embryonic Journey, also got some airplay in the Bay Area and was performed on at least one network television show. The Airplane also benefited from being on TV shows such as The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson, The Ed Sullivan Show, and The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. Jefferson Airplane became a national and international phenomenon, thanks in part to the influence of music critic Ralph J. Gleason, The Airplane was invited to play at the first major rock festival, Monterey Pop in June 1967, just prior to the White Rabbit release. Surrealistic Pillow was, as Allmusic reviewer Bruce Eder put it, “…a groundbreaking piece of folk-rock-based psychedelia, and it hit like a shot heard round the world”. It was considered original for its; time, and the band’s fusion of folk rock and psychedelia lined up with pioneering musical directions of The Byrds, The Beatles, The Yardbirds, Bob Dylan, and The Mamas and the Papas.

The songwriting for the album was spread out amonst five of the band members, the result of which was, as Bruce Eder puts it, “resplendent in a happy balance of all of these creative elements”. She Has Funny Cars, written by Marty Balin and Jorma Kaukonen, starts with a rhythm and blues based Bo Diddley Beat, and goes on to highlight the new harmony magic of Marty and Grace Slick. The song expresses the materialism in American Society, but the title has been attributed to Spencer Dryden’s girlfriend’s “funny car(s)”. The next two songs on the album were written by other local musicians that the band had been associated with. Somebody To Love was written by Darby Slick, Grace’s brother-in-was at the time, and it was released as a single by their band The Great Society, under the name Someone To Love. With Grace’s decision to join Jefferson Airplane at Jack Casady’s suggestion, The Great Society band came to an end. While Grace’s presentation of Somebody (Someone) To Love with them was more subdued, in the  Jefferson Airplane version “she sounds far more accusatory and menacing”, per SongFacts. My Best Friend was a nod to the Airplane’s folk rock beginnings, and in some ways had the type of harmonies reminiscent of The Mamas and Papas, and before that, Peter, Paul and Mary. It was composed by former drummer Skip Spence, who had left to form Moby Grape. The two tracks that close out side one are ballads written by by Marty Balin with Jack Kantner co-writing the first one, Today. Balin said that he was inspired to write Today while being in a recording studio next to one where Tony Bennett was recording. He had thought to write the song for Tony in hopes that he might meet him and give it to him. This never happened and it ended up being one of the Airplane’s most beautiful songs. Another lovely song, Comin’ Back to Me, which features Grace Slick on recorder, was written by Balin in one sitting, afterwards going right to the studio to record it with any available musicians. It has been included on soundtracks of several American feature films. 3/5 of Mile in Ten Seconds is a psychedelic blues-rocker that sheds light on the vibrant, drug-drenched San Francisco scene of 1966 while “there is a sense of reflection in some of the lines”, per Matthew Greenwald’s Allmusic song review. D.C.B.A.-25. The title is pretty simple, the letters are for chords in the song, and -25 comes from LSD-25. Paul Kantner composed it. A true sign of the times. The next song is the only one on the album written by someone not connected to the band in some way. Tom Mastin is the composer of How Do You Feel, which is similar to My Best Friend in that it is a folk-rock number with shades of The Mamas and The Papas in the vocalization. Like Comin’ Back to You, it also features Grace Slick on recorder in addition to her vocal harmonies. Little is known about Tom Mastin. Grace Slick had merely said that he was a friend of the band according to Barbara Rowes' biography of Slick. There is some light shed on him in a biography on the Brewer and Shipley website. Michael Brewer met Tom Mastin in Kent, Ohio in 1964, playing in a local club together, and they decided to check the scene out in San Francisco. Perhaps this is when he met up with local musicians at a time when bands like Jefferson Airplane and The Great Society were forming. After a brief stay Mastin and Brewer headed for Los Angeles to meet up with some friends. They ended up recording a three-song demo produced by Barry Friedman (later known as Mohawk Frazier), and Columbia Records offered a contract for them to record as Mastin & Brewer. As they, and two other band members added to the group, were preparing to record, Mastin walked away from the band. He is said to have suffered severe bouts of depression and eventually committed suicide in the ‘90s. The single was actually completed when Brewer recruited his brother Keith to perform Mastin’s vocals and Columbia released the Brewer & Brewer record, which attracted little attention. As already noted, Grace Slick had already written White Rabbit, but the first studio recording of it occurred shortly after she joined Jefferson Airplane. The thinly disguised references to psychedelic drugs meant it was banned in some markets, but it still managed a high position on the charts. It was not included on the U.K. version of the album and the released single there only reached No.94 on the UK Singles Chart. Marty Balin wrote the final cut on the album, Plastic Fantastic Lover, after spending time in a Los Angeles hotel watching television. It is his somewhat sarcastic viewpoint about how much people watch the medium, all done in a blues-rock style with the influence of James Brown/funk.

This one finally hit close to home for me. It was my first San Francisco "sound", Summer of Love record. It is also one of my all-time favorite records, as I’m sure it is with many other folks. It wasn't too hard to be attracted to The Airplane's music, what with first one big hit, and then another, riding the airwaves. They weren't new songs to the SF music scene, but soon the whole world was paying attention. Somebody To Love and White Rabbit were and still are catchy tunes that spoke to a generation. New generations are still tuning in. A young singer songwriter I know, Lisa Azzolino, covers White Rabbit. It is undoubtedly the most remarkable version I've heard since Grace Slick held forth with it back in the day. I remember being struck by some of the song titles and the band’s appearance. It was pretty foreign to me and quite fascinating. The album itself was likely something I might have bought even if I hadn’t heard  Somebody To Love. I even went so far as to buy the 45rpm of White Rabbit and Plastic Fantastic Lover. I’m pretty sure I got it because it was played so early in the Bay Area and hadn’t risen to hit status as yet. As time went by, Bay Area Top 40 stations were playing not only the two huge hits, but Plastic Fantastic Lover (which was on the single), Today, and even Embryonic Journey as well. The one song on the album that didn’t do much for me was My Best Friend. Perhaps it was too “folksy” for me, or seemed a bit “country”, but as time went on it started sticking in my head more and more. I even realized that it would just pop into my personal play list and I would be singing it to myself, probably as much or more as Somebody To Love, or Today. I never heard the single version on the radio though.

As I was researching information for this the name Matthew Katz stood out to me immediately. I’ve been familiar with it for a long time. primarily because of his likewise unscrupulous management associations with Moby Grape and It’s A Beautiful Day. I have friends involved in both bands and have heard some horror stories directly from them which include, among other things, “legal” control of publishing, and even the names of the bands. He refused to let go of these things and took advantage of them as much as he could without ever considering renegotiation. The fact that his legal wranglings with Jefferson Airplane has had a major impact on how artist-management arrangements are being handled since those days is gratifying to say the least.

I never got to see Jefferson Airplane in person, but I have seen Starship and a later version of Jefferson Starship. I saw the latter at Marin County Center one night. I recall that Paul Kantner was there on rhythm guitar, and Marty Balin sang a handful of his great songs, including some Jefferson Airplane favorites. It was special that Signe Anderson came out and sang a few songs which included her joining with Marty on Its No Secret. I had an opportunity to go to Monterey Pop because I had just spent a week in Pacific Grove that year and a friend who lived there invited me down for this festival that was happening a week or two after I was there. The problem was I didn’t have a way down and I didn’t really know how to approach such a thing with my parents. Ah well, nothing too much happened there, right?  And the Bay Area connection was special in more ways than one. Grace Slick nee Wing attended my alma mater Palo Alto High School, but switched to the private all-girls Castilleja High School, also in Palo Alto. I estimate she started Paly 14 or 15 years before I did, which meant I hadn’t arrived in town yet. Paul Kantner, born in San Francisco, was sent to a catholic military boarding school by his father after his mother died when he was eight years old. He graduated from St. Mary’s College High School in Berkeley in 1959, also before I moved to California, but ten years before I graduated from Paly High. To think, a religious military school. Paul puts it best in regard to his experience of being forced to be at St. Joseph’s Military Academy in Belmont CA: “I was an abandoned little child. The school was out of necessity, (his 61-year old salesman father couldn’t raise him on his own)  but still rather drastic. Nuns and guns. As a result, I now fear nothing.”

https://www.allmusic.com/artist/jefferson-airplane-mn0000840102/biography

https://www.allmusic.com/album/surrealistic-pillow-mw0000591676

https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-album-reviews/surrealistic-pillow-251704/

https://books.google.com/books?id=TKyYNB0pGIoC&pg=PA15&lpg=PA15&dq=paul+kantner+saint+mary%27s+college+high+school+graduate&source=bl&ots=qa5ymlMsuE&sig=ACfU3U2fe1iOMB1NLVQgq0h-HTapXX4Ukw&hl=en&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwizipu0yqrpAhUHKKwKHZPdAYwQ6AEwAnoECAoQAQ#v=onepage&q=paul%20kantner%20saint%20mary's%20college%20high%20school%20graduate&f=false

Somebody to Love http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=1251

https://www.amazon.com/best-friend-how-feel-single/dp/B007A6SAGI

https://www.allmusic.com/song/3-5-of-a-mile-in-10-seconds-mt0056876477

How Do You Feel composer https://www.allmusic.com/artist/tom-mastin-mn0001774142 http://www.brewerandshipley.com/Bios&Liners/Mastin&Brewer.htm

Surrealistic Pillow https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLzEG2f9QAl8OaEk6_Mz2gG3DXBImWofzm

LP18

[ch-dld-bft-brit-omm]

Bob Dylan - The Ginsberg Tapes (Live Recordings From 1965 - San Francisco / San Jose)

CHAPTER SELECTION & INFO BELOW: Here are the complete recordings that Allen Ginsberg took of Dylan's concerts in the Bay Area in December of 1965. Everything, including the interviews, is in chronological order. I highly recommend allocating some time to listen to the entire video, maybe splitting into four parts. It’s certainly a worthy listen; the conversations with Dylan are very insightful, and so are the fan interviews. When I listen to this, I feel like a fly on the wall (or in this case, Ginsberg’s shoulder).

CHAPTER SELECTION: 

  0:00 - INTRODUCTION - Includes 35mm film footage of Dylan's infamous San Francisco KQED press conference. 

 DAY I: SAN FRANCISCO (Masonic Memorial Auditorium, Dec. 11) [could be one of the best shows of his career] 

  1:14 - BACKSTAGE CONVERSATION - Ginsberg sits with Dylan backstage before the concert. The Band can be heard rehearsing in the distance. Dylan's first words on this tape are, "Your eggs are boiling to crisps," which I thought was funny. Highlights of the conversation: The $500 tape recorder Ginsberg is using (2:05); a fan comes to give Dylan some sort of gift (4:05); Dylan's visit to Hollywood and meeting Marlon Brando and Phil Spector (4:55); Bonnie Beacher, an old friend of Dylan's, shows up and Dylan tells his manager, Albert Grossman, to tell her that he can't find Dylan. Grossman clearly does not want to deal with this. At 10:30, Ginsberg plays for Dylan a recording of Jefferson Airplane performing "Go To Her" from one day prior at the Fillmore Auditorium. 

ACOUSTIC SET: 18:50 - To Ramona 24:17 - Gates of Eden 31:55 - It's All Over Now, Baby Blue 37:44 - Desolation Row [one of the best live versions I've ever heard. The audience is on the edge of their seats] 48:23 - Love Minus Zero / No Limit [hilarious audience interaction: Dylan starts strumming, someone claps, and he goes, "How do you know what this is?"] 53:20 - Visions of Johanna [first recorded live performance and in the conversation for the definitive live version, epic, introduced as "Freeze Out" and "Alcatraz to the 9th Power Revisited"] 1:03:15 - Mr. Tambourine Man (rivals Sheffield as the definitive live version. Harp solos are angelic] 

 ELECTRIC SET: 1:11:00 - Tombstone Blues [cuts in at first chorus] 1:15:18 - I Don't Believe You 1:20:28 - Baby, Let me Follow You Down 1:24:19 - Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues 1:29:34 - Long Distance Operator [badass performance] 1:33:15 - It Ain't Me, Babe 1:38:45 - Ballad of a Thin Man [swinging tempo and singing] 1:44:35 - Positively 4th Street [best version I've heard, just incredible singing] 1:49:05 - Like a Rolling Stone [epic version, tremendous finish] 

 DAY II: SAN JOSE (San Jos Civic Auditorium, Dec. 12) 

  1:54:49 - FAN INTERVIEWS BEFORE CONCERT - 

 ACOUSTIC SET: 2:43:49 - She Belongs to Me 2:48:01 - To Ramona 2:53:56 - Gates of Eden [incredible phrasing & enunciation] 3:01:51 - It's All Over Now, Baby Blue 3:07:26 - Desolation Row 3:18:36 - Love Minus Zero / No Limit [spends two minutes tuning his guitar and then uses that famous line, "This never happens with my electric guitar!"] 3:24:11 - Mr. Tambourine Man 

  3:31:52 - BACKSTAGE CONVERSATION DURING INTERMISSION - This section of the tape is a little hard to understand, but some parts are pretty clear. At 3:33:52, he tells Ginsberg, "What you see now is a typical concert, last night was wild, I sort of felt who they were out there." Bob is referring to the extraordinary San Francisco concert. He then goes on a rant about audience members coming up close to the stage to take pictures. 

 ELECTRIC SET: 3:48:00 - Tombstone Blues 3:53:06 - I Don't Believe You 3:58:26 - Baby, Let me Follow You Down 4:02:33 - Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues 4:08:16 - Long Distance Operator 4:12:16 - It Ain't Me Babe 4:17:56 - Ballad of a Thin Man 4:23:56 - Positively 4th Street 4:29:10 - Like a Rolling Stone [fun to hear Ginsberg or his partner yell, "BEAUTIFUL! BRAVO!"] 

  4:35:27 - FAN INTERVIEWS AFTER CONCERT - Ginsberg finds some college students to speak with. The reactions to the show are positive overall, though some kids express that they prefer Dylan's earlier "rambling bum" persona. The sound quality in some sections is sub-par, but it all clears up pretty well at 4:54:56 when they start talking about Dylan press conference, Woodie Guthrie, the meaning of Dylan's work, and his appearance on the Les Crane Show a year prior (the audio of this appearance still exists and I will be uploading it soon). At 4:57:30, Ginsberg seems very impressed with a student's knowledge of poet William Blake, who draws fascinating comparisons between his work and Dylan's "It's Alright Ma." Interesting comparisons between John Lennon's poetry and Dylan's poetry come up at 5:02:20. 

 END

[secretradiobrooklyn]

SECRET RADIO | 9.26.20

Secret Radio | 9.26.20 |  Hear it here.

“We don’t know where you are but we’re glad you’re here”

Liner notes by Evan, except * means Paige

1. Ayalew Mesfin - “Hasabe (My Worries)”

This track comes to us via Marc Hawthorne in San Francisco and is some hot Ethiopian stomp. Marc has been turning me on to crucial music for years, but I feel like both of our palates have expanded in unexpected directions lately. I love how foreign and how relatable this song sounds at once — “hasabe” really does sound like a guy singing about his worries, which makes it feel like he’s speaking the same language. 

2. Witch - “Introduction”

Such a commandingly hip voice announcing the band and getting us all in the groove. Witch is Zambian rock in a pretty unhinged style — apparently WITCH stands for “We Intend To Create Havoc,” which if true is basically the greatest band name ever. 

3. Erkin Koray - “Cemelim”

Every time I hear this track I think of Jefferson Airplane’s foreboding sense of dark anticipation. The added frills of shifting into Turkish bent-note vocals takes it up another level. This track is from 1974 but carries the whole psychedelic ‘60s wave forward in an unbroken wave. As we mentioned, the video is worth checking out not just because the singer/guitarist is mesmerizing or because the bassist is inherently hilarious but because their outfits are legendary. Our thanks to Brian and Mona for the heads up.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-k_Fr67bPQ

4. The Velvet Underground - “Coney Island Steeplechase”

“Lies and betrayals / fruit-covered nails” — naw, just kiddin, this song happens long before Pavement, or the Strokes for that matter. I never really understood what people meant when they said that the Strokes sound like VU, but listening to this song in headphones it kinda feels like the Julian Casablancas built an entire career off Lou’s vocal delivery on this song. And who could blame him? Lou wasn’t usin it anymore.

Hailu Mergia - “Sintayehu”

We got this record during the pandemic and it has been like a stress dissolver. There’s a tape that we got in Manhattan Kansas at a house show we played, a band called Casino Gardens, that I think of every time we hear this album. Not the same in particulars, but very much the same in spirit.

5. Divino Niño - “Melty Caramelo”

One of Sleepy Kitty’s first tours was with Divino Niño (thanks, Brandon!) just as they were assembling, and they have always been a band of fellows we enjoy as much as the music that they write. I did this set of dates with a broken bone in my swole-up, purple right hand, which I wouldn’t recommend to any drummers out there. I will say though that every single drummer in the bar that night told me that they had broken the same exact bone the same way. Not by drumming but by punching an inanimate object. 

6. Moodoïd - “Je suis la montagne”

I think this song is a benefit of Paige learning French for the last couple of years. Found it on a 3.5 hour French mix on Spotify.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCuthCn8zxs

7. Sleepy Kitty - “Dreaming of Waterfalls” demo *

There are like, 7 people who have heard this song until now. This song came pretty mysteriously to me after a completely transformative trip to Kauaʻi for the wedding of ace folks and dear friends Stewart and Trenton. People who have gone to Hawaiʻi have always told me how amazing Hawaiʻi is and how it’ll change your life and it’s the best place in the entire world, and I was always like, “ok, sure whatever” until we went and now I am forever changed. I won’t get too into it here, but it’s all totally true and as amazing as they say. I can’t remember if this song was literally in the dream I had in San Diego the night we returned to the contiguous 48, or if it somehow emerged out of thinking of that dream, but it basically just appeared and I thought about it and thought about it and kept it in my head the whole plane ride back to St. Louis and recorded it pretty much immediately when we got back. I played 2 songs at our friends’ wedding on uke (where I was relieved to get approval from the Hawaiian family, ha ha) and it’s still a very unfamiliar instrument to me but it was the only answer for this song.

This is also one of a few recordings I made shortly before the first of 2 vocal surgeries around that time. It was kind of a stressful time musically; I was still figuring out what was going on, knowing something was wrong, getting hoarse all the time but not knowing what was going on yet.  Learning the songs for the wedding, and this song and this recording are positive memories in what was a very uncertain period in Sleepy Kitty life. I can definitely remember the challenges and limitations of that time, but it’s great to have this beautiful little moment that came out of that time too. When I hear this now, I like it and I’m glad to have it. It transports me back to that magical place and I’m thankful to Stewart and Trenton for having us there to celebrate with them.

8. The Fall - “Arms Control Poseur” (Bonus Version) (whatever that means)

“What do you fear?”

“Being found out.”

“The why do you always give yourself away?”

After initially being repulsed by The Fall, I eventually had what felt like essentially a religious experience after falling asleep listening to them on repeat in the tour bus — somehow their perverse aesthetic had become grafted into my DNA. I became an avid proselytizer for the band, with few takers, for years. Eventually I kind of gave up, baffled both by how intensely I felt their music and how immune everyone else apparently was to it. 

Cut to years later in an apartment on North Ave in Chicago, watching Paige bike up the street towards the window where I stood. She apologized as she walked her bike up the stairs. Sorry I’m late, she said, I just got caught up in the Fall. I don’t know how to explain it. You don’t understand, The Fall is not like other bands.

I literally thought that she was teasing me, and that I must have talked her ear off about the band at some point. But NO — she’d had the exact sort of conversion experience as me. In her case it was to “Extricate,” which was one of my very favorite albums, being the second one I personally owned. 

Still, this record’s aesthetic is completely dominant in my life. I couldn’t even guess how many times I’ve listened to it, and it still fascinates me every time.

“I quite very very much enjoyed 

his jovial lies

lying”

9. T.P. Orchestre Poly-Rythmo - “Wodeka Kpoe”

The day I found this track I was completely distracted by it. It’s so muscular and lean and intense. I love everything about the almost metallic drum sound, the dry vocals, the guitar telling its own narrative, the sharp little shaker going the whole time. It’s the closest thing to punk in Beninese music that I’ve heard. I read recently that this was on a 1983 Albarika Records comp LP (the person referred to the as “legendary,” but I don’t know to whom, or when), and when I looked it up a lot of other tracks that we love from the Soundway comp were there. But as far as I know, it’s not on any of those 21st century collections. So good!

10. Orchestre Abass - “Haka Dunia”

The cover of this 6-song burner shows a guy with a guitar behind a keyboard called TIGER 61, with his foot up on… what? the keys bench? There’s a single pedal on the floor that leads up into the keyboard. The sounds that come from that board though! This is a tone I think of as completely desirable. I guess this is also punk, this one from Togo. I mean, I have no idea what he/they think they’re doing, but to me it feels like it has all the stuff that I love in punk music.

Hailu Mergia

11. T.P. Orchestre de Cotonou Benin - “Moulon Devia”

I just realized this track can be found elsewhere, but I found it on a record credited to T.P. Orchestre Poly-Rythmo de Cotonou Benin, with a great photo of Yehouessi Leopold and Zoundegnon Papillon Bernard on the cover looking like the coolest dudes in the world cos they are. There are some great stereo panning effects, no doubt done live, on the horns at the beginning and the keys solo in the middle, which really enriches the headphone experience. This keys solo uses a suite of sounds that I absolutely love from them — and which are apparently the work of Papillon himself! I knew he was the guitarist who builds sand castles in the air of T.P. songs, but I only just realized that he’s also the guy throwing down those supper trippy Farfisa sounds! Holy smokes, that’s just ridiculous. He and Yehouessi are probably my favorite rhythm combo ever. PLUS they’ve got Bentho Gustave on bass, whose T.P. album was the first one we bought abroad. I mean, this track is so epic.

12. Patrick Juvet - “Où sont les femmes”*

I have a new awesome French teacher, who sends me cabaret songs to check out and says things like “I’m an old queen! What am I to do!” He played this song over Zoom for some live hold music while I was printing something for a recent lesson. I’m excited to hopefully hear more French music from him and also to hear more of his stories of discotheques in the 80s.

Evan adds: The video is well worth your attention as well, especially if you like red sequins glinting disco diamonds beneath deeply feathered hair. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zqc7mVZQNFo

13. Le Tigre - “Deceptacon”

This is one of the all-time top art school party songs as far as I know. And why the hell not? It’s pure Olympia, and all the hooks line up all the way down.

I video that someone made for school has essentially become the official video of the song because it’s totally awesome and fits like a pure expression of the song.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-SyBR-M2YvU

14. Themne Song Track 1  

I don’t know who performed this track or what it’s called — it’s just identified as “Themne Song Track 1,” Themne being the name of a tribe in Sierra Leone. I think it might be a “comedian story teller” called Miranda T Denkenneh, but can’t tell.

I’ve been into Janka Nabay and the Bubu Gang for a couple of years now. Nabay is a Sierra Leonan musician who came to NYC and put together a band of hip NY musicians who make this rhythmically complex yet somehow austere dance music that I find totally fascinating. Reading up on them, he was described as translating the music he came from into a more electric style. Well, it turns out that is indeed the case, based on this track from Sierra Leone. This sounds like Janka Nabay but warm and large where his music is focused and tight. I totally see both how damn danceable this Themne 

One of my favorite things about discovering this song is: the notes on the YouTube track are exclusively from ex-pats loving music from home and the old days, calling out their tribe and checking in from wherever they are. One guy, Ibrahim Noah Koroma, writes from Senegal:

tears fall down in my eyes when I listing dis song missing u SL 🇸🇱🇸🇱💪💪💪 I'm proud of my tribe temne 💯💪💪💪

15. The Sugarcubes - “Regina”

The setup of this song is such an angular, proggy spiky comic thing, definitely cool in its own way, but man, when it hits the chorus, it’s absolutely the most gorgeous thing. The lyrics are truly bizarre, and they’re making me appreciate how this band impacted Bjork’s later work. One thing I don’t understand: does she pronounce “Regina” with a hard G because that’s how that word is pronounced in Icelandic? Or is that just something she does?

16. Gétatchèw Mèkurya - “Ambassèl”

The more we learn about Ethiopian jazz and popular music before and after their political strife, the more there is to learn. In fact, one thing I learned about Mèkurya is that he played with Dutch socialist punks The Ex, a band I have admired for a couple of decades now, though mostly because I’m stuck on their album “Scrabbling at the Lock.” They apparently toured together in the aughties… and all of a sudden I can hear how their very different sounds actually relate very aptly. Man. That’s enough to fall in love with music all over again.

Also, one fact that must be acknowledged: Gétatchèw is maybe the best first name ever.

17. Jacques Dutronc - “Et moi, et moi, et moi”

I just dropped these lyrics into Google translate and it turns out he’s got a very identifiable brand of humor — wry, confident, diffident. He always makes me think of Dylan with his delivery.

18. Meas Samon - “Jol Dondeung Kone Key (Going to Get Engaged)”

So much feel! Those key dives just to open the song, man, I don’t even know. And the vocals are spilling over with character — it’s like watching a movie unfold. This is Cambodian, from the late sixties or early seventies. Every time it gets to the keys solos I think about how much I want Dave Grelle to hear this track, like, right now. It’s between this and Abass for sickest keys distortion to be found.

19. T.P. Orchestre - “Senamin” *

What is up with this song? We came across it and kind of set it aside, and then it was just in my head all. the. time. At first I wasn’t sure about the 1996 movie version “I’d Be Surprisingly Good For You” style sax (my LEAST favorite song in Evita) But, even so this song is so...majestic! And mysterious! The haunting melodies dancing around together at the end really got me.  

20. Hallelujah Chicken Run Band - “Alikilula”

The constant interaction of 3s and 4s in Chicken Run songs never fails to delight me. The shapes of the songs are almost like Guided By Voices tracks — one good idea perfectly expressed, and then they’re outta there. 

21. Antoine Dougbé - “Nou Akuenon Hwlin Me Sin Koussio”

If I could pick one album for all of my friends to spin a few times in a row… that would not be easy. But lately, that record would be “Legends of Benin,” the totally headspinning comp put out by Analog Africa. Every track is a deep insight into what rock music can be. In the liner notes, Samy Ben Redjeb takes the listener on a whole record-buying expedition through the southern coast of west Africa, describing where he picked up particular LPs, falling into conversations with some of the musicians, and generally providing insights both romantic and invaluable. (His notes on Dougbé are worth the price of admission.) In one note he mentions talking to a friend about how Africa doesn’t seem to deal well in reggae, and he considers “Nou Akuenon” one of the best attempts on the continent. It hadn’t occurred to me to think of this as reggae… and I still don’t hear it that way. But I like thinking of the band reaching for reggae and making this instead. 

22. Francoise Hardy - “Les temps de l’amour”

23. Ros Sereysothea - Chnam oun Dop-Pram Muy “I’m 16”

I love how fully developed these Cambodian songs are. They’re not aping a particular song or building replicas of songs in English or French: they’re working in pop music just like anyone else. The arrangements are so tight and well structured, and everybody is adding in more than their share on their instruments. Though Ros’s voice steals the show, the backing vocals on this song are especially good as well.

24. Aerovons - “Say Georgia”

Man, one of the pleasures of living in St. Louis was learning the story of The Aerovons, a group of high school kids who got flown across the Atlantic to record at Abbey Road with all of the same gear and technicians who were busy putting together records for The Beatles… only to have the album go unreleased for decades. It’s truly a reminder to appreciate the experience itself and not just the results. These guys experienced the absolute pinnacle of the studio recording dream — there is none higher — but that’s it. None of the fame or the attendant glory, just the knowledge of what they’d been able to do together.

“Texas Thunder Soul 1968-1974”

25. Ravi Shankar - Jazzmine - “Mishrank (Finale)”

The whole “Jazzmine” album is a mindblower, and it’s almost a shame to cut right to the finale of an album that builds its case song by song, illustrating the paths that Shankar’s raga and jazz take toward each other, from “Melodic Moods” to the amazing tabla solos of “Taalank” to “Deshank (Folk Patterns)” to crest with “Mishrank,” where Zep meets jazz club meets Somalian backroom in an Indian realm. Every solo brings a ton of new information about whose voices are adding to this total experience. And more than anything, it sounds like fun.

One thing I dig about this recording is that, as far as I can tell, more than one performance of this song is spliced together into this single track. That seems like a big no-no among jazz folks, but I really don’t mind it one bit — if anything, that helps me hear the song relative to more jarring experimental tape manipulation bands. 

[melanieoberle-blog]

Music and drugs

(Okay, I know that my post is long, sorry!) 

What does Brian Jones, Kurt Cobain, Louis Armstrong, The Beatles, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Hilel Slovak, Eminem and Jimi Hendrix have in common ? Well, they all took drugs at one point and some died of this. That will be my subject for this week: drugs and especially the relationship between drugs and creativity.  I focused only on three aspects (otherwise there’s too much to say about it) which appears as questions below. In the past four decades there have been almost 300 drug-related celebrity’s deaths of whom 125 were musicians (about 38.6%). I thought it was interesting to focus a little on that, the questions it raised and how people have answered it. 

I read many articles and I tried to sum it up but I put all the links so you can check for yourself if you like. 

https://www.bhpalmbeach.com/the-myth-of-drugs-and-creativity-mental-illness-role-in-the-using-artist/

https://www.psypost.org/2018/01/drugs-make-people-creative-50524

https://addictionresource.com/guides/substance-abuse-among-artists/

https://www.newbeginningsdrugrehab.org/resources/opiates-and-musicians-a-cruel-trend-of-drug-abuse-and-musicians/

http://theconversation.com/the-link-between-drugs-and-music-explained-by-science-89132

First of all, Why does musicians take drugs? 

The answer seems pretty obvious (and it is), there are many reasons some of which are: 

-The environnement (you are most likely to take drugs if you are surrounded by people taking drugs. It is the idea that the moment, the place and the people you are with determines if you are going to take drugs or not. It reported that musicians are more exposed to drug abuse.)

-Wealth, Fame and image  (drugs are expensive and famous musicians are rich so the more money you have, the more you will consume = more chances to become an addict.) 

-Youth

-Peer Pressure 

-Because drugs becomes an addiction 

-Diminish the stress 

-Helps coping with performances and concerts 

-For some, it helped composing songs, many artists composed and wrote songs under drugs

There is a myth about it, drugs are supposed to help creativity, but is it true?

There is controversy about this myth. Some says that drugs cannot help creativity and other disagree, I guess we will never have a fixed answer. In an interview, Stephen King said that he thinks it is more a way for addicts to justify their use of drugs rather than a real tool for creativity (he has nothing to do with music but his point is interesting.) Some scientists said that it does not really help creativity even tough it seems to help some to master their art. For the neuroscientist David Linden « there is a link between addiction and factors that promote creativity. »  however Eminem tends to disagree because to him it wasn’t the case, he preferred « watching TV rather than making tracks » while he was high. However, « There was some evidence that those with higher creativity are more likely to use drugs. And there was some evidence that drugs could significantly alter a person’s stylistic approach, without necessarily increasing creative production. ». In fact, it’s creativity that leads some people to take drugs but not really the lack of creativity. Drugs are supposed to make the quality of music better, it might change the experience of listening to music: « that the drug enhances music-evoked emotion, with volunteers more likely to report feelings of wonder, transcendence, power and tenderness. Brain imaging studies also suggest that taking LSD while listening to music, affects a part of the brain leading to an increase in musically inspired complex visual imagery. »

But actually, would some musical « genre » exist without drugs? 

The answer is no, and some songs would not too. For instance, psychedelic rock (popular in the 60s, famous among the hippie movement) was inspired by hallucinogens or expanding drugs such as marijuana and LSD. It was characterized by the use of feedback, long solos (and longer songs), an intense volume and the use of electronics (the use of phasers -to give an electronic sound effect- and flangers - also an effect created by a superposition of 2 audio signals one of which is a little delayed so the volume of some frequencies are reduced whereas others are increased.) For instance, The Doors and The Jefferson Airplane are psychedelic rock bands.

https://www.addictions.com/explore/drugs-in-music-analyzing-drug-references-in-musical-genres/ Have a look at the statistics in this article, you might be surprised (or not)…

…And actually, the « genre » mentioning the most drugs is Country, no surprise. I mean,  just look at those titles….:

« alcohol and pills » Fred Eaglesmith (1997)

« Whiskey, Weed and Women » Hank Williams III (2002) 

« In the arms of cocaine » (1983) Hank Williams Jr.

« cocaine Carolina » Johnny cash (1975)

To conclude, there is no ‘real’ answer for this link between creativity and drugs because it depends on many things, starting with the person that takes it. Taking too much drugs is not an important tool for creativity and yet many artist have fallen for it. However, drugs participates a little in the creation process in the way that it alters the perception of music and was proven efficient for some musicians who were well-inspired, wrote many songs thanks to it and created new « subgenres » of music. 

[justanoutlawfic]

I Belong With You (You Belong With Me): Go Ask Alice

Summary: Lacey & James get to know more about each other. Turns out they're both nerds, just for different things.

Also on AO3

Storybrooke, Maine (October 28th, 2011)

 James attempted to peek through the newspaper that covered the windows but could only see the stories splashed across the pages, rather than the contents inside. He didn’t quite understand why the library had been locked up for so many years, but it bothered him to no end. He loved books. He could spend his lunch break, his evenings alone and the weekends getting lost in numerous adventures. From Jane Austen to George Orwell to Mary Shelley, he was never far from a novel. However, he was limited to the ones he had in his personal collection and what he could order off the internet. The mail system worked strangely in their little hamlet and it took forever to get anything in. If there was a library, at the very least it would be easier to borrow a huge stack and return them for more.

 The last time he asked Regina Mills about it, she said that there wasn’t anyone interested in running the place. According to her, the last librarian had died long before he was born and no one else had been interested in the job. It was such a shame too. He knew he wasn’t the only one that longed for a library. His eyes glanced towards Henry, the mayor’s son. The young boy was looking longingly at the building as well. A large leather-bound book was tucked under his right arm and he had a frown on his face. His head tilted up towards the clock expectantly. James looked up towards it as well, but couldn’t tell what was wrong. Everyone had been abuzz about the clock being fixed, but it didn’t seem like Henry was happy about it.

 Before James could move to say anything to Henry, the latter took off in the direction of a yellow Volkswagen bug. James shook his head. He had heard all about their town’s newcomer and the trouble she had been causing the mayor. On the one hand, he understood the appeal of wanting to get the child you gave up. On the other, Regina never lost. Even his own father was careful around her. Emma Swan had no clue what she was up against.

 Then again, if she was this determined, maybe Regina didn’t know what she had coming either.

 James turned to head back home; he had a long walk ahead of him. As he was doing so, he found himself face to face with Lacey. She was out of her waitress uniform and wearing a black sports bra along with matching leggings. Her auburn hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, showing off her sharp facial features. God, she was so beautiful. James had been in relationships before, but they never lasted very long. Albert made sure of that. No one was ever good enough or even if they were, Albert found something wrong with James. Sometimes he’d pick women for his son, only to say that he had changed his mind. As a result, James found himself a stuttering mess most of the time. He knew that there was no way Albert would ever approve of Lacey French. Yet, he also didn’t care.

 “We just seem to be running into each other everywhere,” he managed to give her a nervous smile.

Lacey shrugged, jogging in place. Her ponytail bounced along with the rest of her body. “I guess so.”

James stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You headed to work?”

“No…just on a run.”

He could’ve smacked himself. Why would she go to work like that? “Of course, right…”

“Look…I’m sorry about the other day. Just please don’t tell your dad, the last thing I need is Albert Spencer up my ass again.”

James’ brows furrowed. “Why are you sorry? And why would I tell my dad?”

Lacey frowned as the jogging slowly came to a halt. “I was a jerk to you. And I mean, your dad is one of the biggest assholes in Storybrooke…”

“So, you thought I’d just rat you out.” James bit his lip. “Not that I actually wanted to talk to you or anything.”

“Well, I mean…yeah.”

 James ducked his head. Of course. A pretty girl like Lacey and all she could think about was his scary father. God, why did Albert have to ruin everything for him?

 “I didn’t plan on saying anything to my dad. I didn’t even care how you talked to me, I thought it was funny. I thought…” He trailed off, not wanting to embarrass himself further. “You know what? Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

 He started to walk away, ignoring the burning embarrassment in his stomach. James only made it halfway down the block when he heard Lacey calling for him. When he turned around, she was jogging his way.

 “I guess I’m an idiot. I tend to see myself and not much else,” she admitted. “It’s not a great flaw.”

“You’re not the only one in the world with it.”

“Still something I should probably work on.” She rubbed her forearm. “Look, I feel like I owe you a drink.”

“Oh, you don’t have to…”

“James.” Lacey gave him a Look. “A girl like me is offering to take you to the Rabbit Hole and buy you alcohol. Think about if you wanna turn that down.”

 James didn’t have to think twice. He offered her his sweatshirt since they were going to be heading into an establishment which made her do the cute head tilt. Ultimately, she accepted it, though she left it unzipped.

 “It is just the Rabbit Hole, after all,” she said.

 James had never been inside the bar in question. The last time he even had a drop of alcohol was to celebrate getting his undergrad and that was just a bit of champagne. The minute he stepped into the place; he knew it was different. It reeked of sweat, beer and nuts. AC/DC blared over the jukebox. The place was crowded with people. Some were around the tables, most settled by the pool tables. James was definitely the most overdressed of the bunch. The girls wore mini-skirts and tank tops, while the guys were in jeans. He had been walking home from work and was still in a burgundy sweater, corduroy pants and his dockers. As a waiter bumped into him, he worried about his glasses breaking.

 God, you are such a dweeb.

 There was that voice again. Where did it come from?

 Lacey lead him over to the bar. “What do you drink?” She asked, finding them two stools.

“I um, I don’t.”

She gave him a weird look. “You’re kidding.”

The tips of his ears turned pink. “I mean…I’m just not a bar guy. My brother and I had a six pack on our 21st?”

Lacey let out an intoxicating, adorable, vibrant laugh that absorbed James’ soul. “That is precious,” she said. “We’ll start you off easy.”

A guy dressed in a leather jacket with messy brown hair approached them from the other side of the bar. “Lacey,” he smirked at her. “The usual?”

“You know me so well, Keith,” she said. “And for my new friend, a rum and coke.”

Keith glanced in James’ direction and frowned. “Alrighty then,” he mumbled, before walking away.

 James felt even more out of place. Keith was clearly Lacey’s type. What was he doing here? Was this some kind of sick joke? Maybe he should think up an excuse and leave…

 “So, you were stalking the library,” Lacey interrupted his thoughts. “You like books or something?”

James blinked a few times. “Oh, um…yeah. I love them a lot actually. My minor was English Literature.”

“A college man.” Lacey let out a low whistle. “Very nice. Who’s your favorite author?”

“Probably Mary Shelley. Frankenstein is just one of the best books of that era. The responsibility of the doctor, the monster attempting to fight his nature but ultimately failing, the romances in the book too and the parental dynamics…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Sorry, I probably sound like a nerd right now.”

Lacey shook her head. “Nah, I think it’s cool you’re so passionate about it. I used to love reading when I was younger. My mother and I had a book club for a bit. Well, I don’t even know if you could call it that. We’d give each other book recommendations and then talk about them.”

 James watched as a haunting look overtook Lacey’s eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but he had never seen her so serious. Keith placed the drinks down and she quickly took a sip of her Jack Daniels.

 “Anyway, I don’t have much time for reading now but I probably get like you do about books, when music is involved.”

James tilted his head. “Oh really?” He picked up his own drink and took a big sip. The rum burned his throat and he nearly choked on it. Lacey smirked a bit.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he set the drink back down and plucked out the cherry instead. “Guess I’m just not as good as you are with the liquor.”

“Takes years of practice and an alcoholic father, trust me.”

“Your dad is…”

“Moe French. He owns the flower shop.”

“Game of Thorns, I always loved the name.”

“I picked it. He wanted to call it “Rosie’s” or something stupid like that. We don’t even know a Rose” She rolled her eyes. “Told him people would be more attracted to a pop culture reference.”

“It was definitely the better choice.”

“Anyway, yeah, music. I have actual vinyls. My mom left me her record player.”

James grinned. “Seriously? I haven’t seen one of those in ages.”

“You know there’s this great record shop on Third, Dante’s. I’d probably spend all my check from Granny’s there if I could.” She took another swig of her drink. “I found a signed copy of Surrealistic Pillow that I’ve been saving up for, for months.”

“That’s…”

Lacey’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “White Rabbit.” He must have still looked confused, because she grabbed hold of his hands and shook them. “Jefferson Airplane, they pioneered psychedelic rock.”

“Oh…”

“You don’t know what that means, do you?”

“Do you know what iambic petameter is?” Lacey’s mouth formed a thin line. “Then we both have something to teach the other.”

Lacey giggled. “I guess we do.”

 James felt something buzzing in his pocket and reluctantly pulled his hand away from Lacey. He fumbled around for a bit before finding his phone. His father’s name lit up the screen, causing a lump to build. He slid the green bar across and held it to his ear.

 “Hey Dad,” he tried to be heard above the noise of the bar without shouting. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Albert repeated incredulously. “Where are you?”

“Just uh…with a friend.” Lacey gave him a puzzled look. “I’m gonna be home a bit late tonight…”

“You need to get to the hospital. Something’s happened.”

James could feel his heart beat faster. “Is David okay? Did he have another scare?”

“No, he’s awake.”

James blinked several times before the news registered. “I…I’ll be right there.”

 He hung up the phone before his dad could say anything else and then stared at the lock screen. It was a picture of him and David before everything went wrong. They had dinner after the latter left Kathryn. He was happy. Everything was going well. Who would’ve guessed days later, his brother would be found unconscious in the woods?

 “Is everything okay?” Lacey asked.

James looked up, catching her appearance of genuine concern. “That was my um…my dad. My twin…he woke up from his coma.”

“Holy shit.”

“I…I have to call a taxi to get to the hospital…I um…I don’t have a car.”

Lacey tilted her head. “Your dad is Albert Spencer and you don’t have a car?”

“He doesn’t want me to have one.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Okay, I’d say we’d take mine but I jogged here. We can just borrow Ruby’s Camaro.”

“Lacey…”

“I only had half of one drink. I’m fine to drive, and Ruby and I borrow each other’s stuff all the time.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know I don’t. I’m still going to.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James and Lacey raced into the coma ward, both nearly out of breath. He lead her into David’s room and came to a pause in the doorway. His brother sat up in bed, the tubes still in his nose. David’s blue eyes were open wide and he was looking around at everyone. Albert stood off to one side, looking disappointed. Mary Margaret, the schoolteacher, was still in the corner. Emma was with her. He didn’t quite understand that either.

 “David,” he said, softly.

David looked in his direction and a small smile came over his face. “Hi,” he whispered.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Albert said, gruffly. He stormed over to his son. “What took you so long?”

James immediately ducked his head. “I’m sorry, there was a lot of traffic on Main Street…”

“It’s not as if it matters,” Emma cut in. “It took us time to get him back.”

“Get him back?”

“Your idiot brother woke up from his coma and decided that was the perfect time to take an evening stroll.” Albert threw his hands in the air. “I got really lucky with my sons; I tell you that much.”

“Oh yes, they were far blessed to be given you,” Lacey mumbled.

 Everyone in the room turned to the woman who wore James’ sweatshirt. Albert looked between her and his son, his eyes narrowing.

 “And you are?”

“Lacey French.” She took a step forward. Her chin jutted outwards. “Your son and I were hanging out when he got the call, and I gave him a ride.”

“Right, Miss French.” Albert looked her up and down. “I thank you for getting James here, but this really is a family matter.” He looked back at Mary Margaret and Emma too, as if to communicate the same message. “Surely, the three of you understand.”

 Mary Margaret looked hesitant but nodded. She walked out of the room with Emma following behind her. Sheriff Hubert was waiting not far out the door to ask them a few questions, in no doubt about David’s disappearance. Lacey stood firm, her eyes on Albert for a few moments. Finally, she turned to James and began to shrug off his sweatshirt. He held up a hand to stop her.

 “You can keep it,” he whispered. “It’s chilly out.”

Lacey nodded. “I’ll see you at the diner tomorrow. We’ll make sure to have your order ready.”

 Sparing Albert one last glare, she left the ward. David and James were left with their disapproving father who stared at the eldest twin. James simply moved closer to his brother and ran his fingers through his hair, mumbling questions to him about him waking up, where he had gone, etc. Even so, he wasn’t stupid.

 Albert wasn’t done with the topic of Lacey French.

[antho-logy]

Hi Miles,

I understand that you moved around a bit in your younger years; being born in South Australia before heading north-east to Ballina and Brisbane. Did the consistent moving around allow you to pick up new musical influences on the road or did your musical taste and style grow in a more insular way? I’ve never been to Brisbane - but I imagine as a young lad with budding interests in punk and alternative rock that it would have been hard not to be impacted by bands like The Saints and The Go-Betweens, especially if one was living in the place where both bands (and other contemporaries) first cut their teeth.

Miles: My family brought me up on a good mix of music. My grandparents were always playing classical music, real dramatic stuff. Then my mum and dad listened to heaps of 60's and 70’s bands like the Beatles, Bowie, Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane etc. Mum ran away from home when she wasn’t allowed to go see the Beatles in 64’. My brother also introduced me to loads of interesting stuff ranging from Britpop to Sebadoh to Dr Octagon. We both were into skateboarding BIGTIME and skate videos were always a rich source for music too. I’d say my time in Brisbane introduced me to more of the lesser known punk type stuff and going to see live local bands. Like you say, Brisbane has a good history with punk music and it was for sure evident in the music scene there. Go-Betweens records were always spinning at mates’ houses. I lived on Petrie Terrace in Paddington real close to the “Saints house” and every time I'd pass I would stare at it like it had magic powers or something.

Turning now to your lyrics, in particular those of a satirical nature found in songs like 'Photo Op', 'Work/Life, Gym Etc', and a newish one - that (as far I know) hasn't been released - which mentions Clive Palmer in some capacity (I've only ever seen it live and whilst pissed so my memory of what the lyrics specifically entail is hazy to say the least), do you feel you have a responsibility to include your take on sociopolitical issues in your songs? Especially in a world that is seemingly so fucked? Or is this something that just comes naturally to you - perhaps subconsciously informed by the music you listen to? (there are definitely some clear similarities between your words and that of The Fall's Mark E Smith).

Miles: I'm not sure I feel a responsibility to do so. I think it’s more of an outlet to life's frustrations and oddities. I think that with all of the world's current skullfuckery comes a certain amount of hopelessness and feeling powerless. I’ve tried writing love songs or more positive stuff but I'm not very good at it. I’m more interested in creating tension in music not good vibes. There are admittedly similarities and it's no secret I’m a huge fan of the Fall. I think I was initially drawn to MES because he was singing about stuff I was interested in, like history and taking the piss. I've been an avid reader of history books since I was a kid and have watched every bloody war film and doco out there and have always been a fan of taking the piss. I write about what I know over the top of odd sounding guitar music, which at times can be pretty Fall-esque.

Now, this question is one from a place of curiosity based on my observations, as opposed to criticism (as you know I am a big fan of The Shifters), but I have noticed that your sound and that of The Shifters has remained pretty consistent throughout your discography. Do you have any aspirations of taking the sound of The Shifters in a different direction whilst still maintaining the band's musical identity? Or have you considered taking part in the prevailing trend of Melbourne musos seemingly needing to play in a dozen bands at once? Are there other creative avenues that you think you could be expressing yourself through that are limited by The Shifters' already established sound? Again, I love the band's sound as it is, so if it never changes I think myself and fellow punters will cope.

Miles: Well I doubt we will be doing any classical rap/jazz or metal fusion records anytime soon. I think the next album will be weirder. All the new demos for it sound like they could be used in a sneaky spy film or something, which I’m diggin’. SPYTONES. It’s a hot new Melbourne genre. HA! I don’t feel the need to be in other bands really. The Shifters scratches my musical itch. We write a lot more music than what's on the records. I’m always recording music at home that only some friends and the band hear. I even did a Cher rendition a while ago! One day I might make a cassette or something of some it. Sometimes I like my home versions of songs more than when the band do them.

This is a bit of a cop out, but I remember that in our chat outside the Curtin you were saying something about the Melbourne music scene, and that it made more money for the city than the footy? Or was it all sports combined? Or have I made this up? If you remember what I'm talking about, please elaborate - 'cause while I can't really remember the conversation, I do recall it being very interesting.

Miles: I was reciting some stats to you that I read somewhere (I think it was the ABC) about the AFL grand final weekend and how live music for that weekend generated more money for Melbourne than the football did. I'm not totally sure how valid the source was though but it's pretty interesting if true.

Is the album title a reference to Tony Robinson's character in Blackadder?

Miles: It sure is. We were recording with Al Montford at his place discussing titles. We were enjoying throwing around ones similar to it like The Shifters are Bored Stiff, or The Shifters aren't Home as we just did that 7” called The Shifters Just Sat Down, then Al suggested Have a Cunning Plan, and I thought it was hilarious and we rolled with it. I LOVE Blackadder.  

As I mentioned, there are quite a few songs in your live set that are yet to be released. Naturally, I must ask when will we receive the gift of new music from The Shifters?

Miles: We have a new 7” coming out in the new year. I don’t think I can say by who yet but it’s being announced really soon. There’s also a live in France cassette coming out at some stage and we are busy writing stuff for a new LP next year!  

Also, please speak to whoever you gotta speak to about putting the 2018 demo tape on Spotify. It slaps!

Miles: Hahaha. Yes, will do. That’s another job on the to-do list. To put all the records on Spotify and generally try a bit harder in the admin department as I'm sure we are the laziest band in town when it comes to self-promotion and general organisation. We’ve a manager/minder type kind soul taking over all that side of things really soon as I'm hopeless at it all.

Cheers Miles and I look forward to whatever’s next for The Shifters.

Miles: Thanks for having me Anthony.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 21 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: Moved several things to Part 22 to make this chapter more concise (table fucking included, but you get fucking in the beginning, so don’t complain!). The album they’re listening to after Thai food is obviously Jefferson Airplane’s absolutely iconic SURREALISTIC PILLOW; the songs are two of my favorites, which indeed play adjacent to each other on the record: TODAY (one of the most beautiful love songs of all time) and COMIN’ BACK TO ME. Please note how careful Duncan is about waking Kenzie up before they fuck; autonomy, people, consent is hot! Their Exalted Selves (which is what I’m gonna refer to their angelic divine other selves as now) are based very vaguely on the Princess Serenity and Prince Endymion versions of Usagi and Mamoru in Sailor Moon, which I’ve loved since I was a child, but they’re far more ethereal and obtuse--it would be impossible for a human artist to draw Kenzie and Duncan’s Exalted Selves, for instance, as their beauty is too incredible and intense for human eyes. Kenzie’s makeup look for the photoshoot is based on Billie’s look here. A reminder that this is her red dress. The Cartier LOVE bracelets Duncan orders are here (for him) and here (for her, with diamonds). Duncan’s Givenchy star shirt. Duncan’s watch. This is his silver Cartier he’s wearing in Part 1. Here’s ANNIE’S SONG (another absolutely iconic love song I’ve loved forever). I found multiple meanings for the name Mackenzie, but in Gaelic it apparently means “comely”, which I used the synonym “lovely” in place of. The Rose Garden at the Botanical Gardens is real, but there’s no gate akin to the one I created, and I added a lot more roses than I think there usually are (there is a fountain)--MY STORY, MY STUFF. Annette’s dress. I’m seeing Fleetwood Mac tomorrow (it’s been two years since the last time I saw Stevie and I’ve missed her more than I can describe), I work on Saturday mornings, and it’s one of my best friends’ birthday party on Saturday evening, so Part 22 is going to take a bit; it’s also going to be the chapter where my!Duncan finds out from Claire Underwood that he was adopted, though the way I navigate that scene is going to be slightly different than the way Beau Willimon’s Season 6 did it; a reminder that my fic is a House of Cards AU in addition to being a Millory AU, and I’m throwing out canon HoC stuff that doesn’t fit into my narrative (such as @montenegro-style noticing I threw out Duncan’s super-Modernist apartment from the show and replaced it with a Romantic one), so don’t expect things to unfold the same way--I said this before too, but Duncan’s definitely not going to jail in my story, so forget about that. I may be borrowing characters and some vague plot elements from Ryan and Beau, but this story is mine. Love to the Millorys, as ever, and especially my Duckenzies.

Duncan stared up at the ceiling far above them, his fingers in Kenzie’s hair, his own hair tossed against the black pillow as music pumped quietly from the hidden stereo in the bedroom wall. To be living for you, is all that I want to do, to be loving you, it’ll all be there when my dreams come true...Kenzie was tucked under his arm, her head against his shoulder, the softness of her breasts and stomach pressing into his side, her body naked now--they’d ordered a mountain of Thai food, and she’d kept the tulle lingerie on while they ate, a linen spread on the floor in front of the picture window in the penthouse living room as the night fell, Dike, Nike and Athena gazing down on them on either side, Kenzie facing the Bouguereau prints, her little legs stretched out in the silky sheer stockings, bowl in her lap. The picture of her eating so hungrily in the delicate attire would forever be seared on his brain from this day on--my Kenzie, her essence, her goodness, her sweetness, her staggering beauty, not just her body, but her soul. Her wide-eyed gaze skirted up now and then to admire the prints (Duncan noticed she looked at Evening Mood the most), then fell back into his to give him coy looks, languidly licking curry from her spoon.

“I think they all look like you,” he’d murmured to her, the sincerity in his heart making him dizzy. “I can only see your face in them now, you in the evening, you at night, you waking up in the morning…” He reached for a spring roll but forgot about it halfway to his mouth as Kenzie had come up on her knees, her breasts pressing together in the elegant criss-crossing design of the black bra, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder in the fading light, her (sweet budding leaves and chocolate and the saffron light of autumn mornings) eyes laying him bare. Her beauty in this moment struck him dumb--Kenzie set her bowl down and crawled over to him on the linen, languid, knowing. Duncan had put on a pair of black gym shorts and a fitted black tee shirt to retrieve their takeout from downstairs a few minutes before, and as she reached him Kenzie tugged the hem of the shirt up, little hand soothing over his bare skin underneath.

“Call me your moonlight again,” she whispered against him, her eyes trembling open and closed, her little pink lips shining with the residue of spice and saliva. Her hair brushed against his neck and cheek, the sweet smell of rose and vetiver and jasmine, and Duncan had set the spring roll down uneaten, brushing his hand against the napkin in front of him, then bringing it up to press the cascade of her hair into his nose. She is my favorite smell. I’m at peace inside the scent of her.

“Moonlight. My moon princess. My moonbeam.” He kissed her hair--let his lips slip down its waves, intoxicated. “You know the full moon is on the night of the Gala, baby? A full moon just for you. It’ll shine down on you and everyone will be struck with longing for you. But you’re my baby, aren’t you? You’re my moonlight. They’ll pine for you because you’re mine.” He blushed at his need, his desire to have her all to himself--but as he said it, Duncan knew it was true. We belong to each other.

“Yes, Dunny, I’m your moonlight, I’m yours, my love. I belong to you.” Kenzie climbed into his lap, sliding against him in the achingly soft tulle, her ass settling down on his calves crossed together, and she was so small and felt so delicate and she smelled so lovely, he could feel himself growing hard again--her little arms came around his neck and he lifted her up into his mouth to kiss her, his mind awash in a cloud of gold. He was struck with a vision of her as Artemis, naked and white in the reflection of the moon, bathing in a midnight pool, her bow and arrow made of the gossamer strands of stars sitting on the bank of the water, singing moon hymns in her sweet voice to the owls and the deer and the foxes flitting through the undergrowth. Too beautiful for any ordinary man’s eyes. How am I so blessed. Their kisses extended for a long while--Kenzie went to lift away but Duncan needily brought her back against him and she let him, she fell into him again, she arched into him and he could feel the way she was giving herself to him, coaxing him back into arousal to do what she asked him for later tonight--his nerves were alight at the prospect of bringing her body out of achingly lovely sleep with insistence, enticing her under his continuous touch to give herself over to him in the dark with only the moon to see their desirous tangle.

Now they lay in bed (our bed, the bed of our adoration, our love, my favorite place now that she lays beside me in it), sleepy and full and naked and ready for bed, the duvet pushed down to their feet, speech seeming a very dull and faraway impulse. I can hear you this way, can feel you better this way, he thought into her, and she nodded against his skin, her cheek against his nipple as the music drifted around them. Please, please, listen to me, it’s taken so long to come true, it’s all for you, all for you...Duncan gazed down at her--her eyes had fallen closed and she had begun to breathe slow against him, her leg crooked over his thigh, her little mouth open just a touch. He could see there were still lingering red marks at her neck from his ardency, a tattoo that told the story of their nights. He thought of how she’d looked that morning, still stuck inside her sleep, stuck in her nightmare--her face had been creased with fear, and it had clenched an icy hand around his heart, rattling a panic into his lungs--he’d run to the bed and gripped her and shook her, his desperation strange and immediate. Wake her up, his mind had urged. Don’t let her see it, don’t let her suffer it. What it was still didn’t seem clear, but Duncan remembered what she’d said upon waking, that in her dream there had been a man with his face, a man who was like a black hole in the void.

It was like he had eaten you.

Duncan shivered against her and slid his arm out from underneath her head--Kenzie stirred, her head turning, her body shifting with aching loveliness--Duncan’s heart and the heat in the pit of him clenched as he watched the incline of her ribs shift, the refracted light on her breasts, heard the a tiny sigh fall from her mouth--but her eyes remained closed. He carefully moved from the bed and pulled the switch on the nightstand, his eyes still lingering on her (exalted), and the room plunged into blue-and-white darkness, Jefferson Airplane still quietly drifting into the room: you came to stay and live my way, scatter my love like leaves in the wind, you always say you won't go away, but I know what it always has been, it always has been...Duncan moved through the living room, stepping to the reading lamps to switch them off, bathing himself in darkness, his eyes falling over the expanse of the city through the picture window that encompassed the entire west end of the room. The night was very clear and the sun was gone--the only indication it had been there was a line of mauve and dahlia color lingering at the horizon before the sky bled into darkness pinpricked with stars, hazy in the reflection of the city.

Strolling the hills overlooking the shore, I realized I've been there before...the shadow in the mist could have been anyone...I saw you…

What do the dreams mean? At first Duncan had been sure they’d been brought on by the mad mix of emotion inside both of them lately--just dopamine, seratonin, oxytocin and endorphins, just our brains in a mad rush of ecstatic happiness, and the residue is our minds going haywire at night. He moved on to his study, the carefully controlled temperature of the penthouse cool on his bare skin, an oasis in the hot June night. This one seems to have been the clearest for her, and the most frightening. Is it fear that I’ll betray her that would make her dream of an evil version of me? His heart ached at that. I never will, baby. I never fucking will. I’d die first.

I saw you, I saw you, comin' back to me

Duncan glanced at the huge expanse of The Youth of Bacchus as he moved towards his turntable, the song’s final longing guitar and melancholy hum bleeding out into silence. The woman in the center, her arms thrown back ecstatically, her head tilted towards the consort at her feet, collapsed in revelry--Duncan had studied her many long nights, studied her abandon and her achingly white, almost translucent beauty, but now, like the prints in the room beside this one, he could see only Kenzie in her form--Kenzie dancing in the living room, singing in drunken joy (I’ll never live to match the beauty again), Kenzie running away from him into the ocean waves, Kenzie’s glittering eyes on him as he tied her to the chain. The whole of the world turned around her; she was the sun, and also the moon, and also every other star, and everything that encompassed the universe was because of and according to her--for me, that’s the end of it.

Duncan pressed the button at the side of the record player and the needle lifted away, settling back into its resting place. He turned to look at the painting again--the painting Annette had gotten him as a moving gift, and over time the painting that had begun to feel as though it were an irrevocable part of him, an extension of him, a friend to him as he stared at it long on lonely nights. He thought of the mesmerized way Kenzie stared at it, as she had since that first night when he pressed his mouth to her clit as she hovered on the edge of his desk, her head thrown back; as if she sees me in it, when now I see her in it. It’s almost too much to look at it for too long now; because it reminds me of the one I love most in all the world and she is blinding in her loveliness. It was always beautiful. But now it’s exalted to me because she loves it, and anything she loves is beloved to me.

He thought again of Ariadne, the painting he knew would be for her now, too; the auction was in a few weeks’ time, just before the beginning of July when their birthdays would be coming, and he smiled, his hand coming up to his jaw, his thumb pressing against his bottom lip, though he didn’t realize it, eager to have it hanging on the wall beside their bed, eager to see her face when she saw it and knew it was for her. When she died Dionysus took a crown he had given her and placed it among the stars. The idea of her dying someday was one he couldn’t begin to fathom; the despair of it was beyond words in its agony. But Duncan felt a drifting calm fall over him after the stab of pain--we found each other in this life, didn’t we. We finally found each other. I think we would find each other again. I think we’ll always find each other. I really fucking do. I think that’s what the Fates wrote for us. That we’re meant to be together--really, truly fated to be together. Like two stars in a constellation that endures until time no longer has any meaning. And there can’t be one of us without the other--not for long.

Duncan switched off the Tiffany lamp--now the penthouse was truly in darkness but for the light that came from the night outside. O Fates, I wish you could tell me what the dreams mean. They don’t feel like they’re just dreams. I know I said that to Kenzie--but I said it because I wanted to believe it myself. Lately, everything seems to mean something. Everything seems to have a hidden clockwork of purpose behind it. When we met I think we kicked something into motion, something ground out of a long sleep into a great predetermination. Now everything is vibrating with destiny--our destiny. Our love. Whatever she and I are meant to do with our lives, we are meant to do it together. Whatever I’m meant to do, I can’t do it without her. And I wouldn’t want to. I ache for her every moment--she has pierced the deepest part of my soul.

He carefully moved back to the bedroom in the dark--his eyes glanced up at Pallas Athena as he passed her, and he couldn’t help but send a prayer out to her (gray-eyed maiden, in whose wise gaze all truths are laid bare--give us wisdom, my sweet lover and I, to give to those who need it most, to move the pathways toward the greatest good--I’ve wasted time, Athena, I know it, but I swear I won’t again, I swear I’ll cherish every moment with her); he’d had the goddess statues for over five years now (they’d come from Stapleton’s, Frederick had found them for Duncan carefully when he’d asked for Greek goddess motifs), but never had he so often had the impulse to pray to them--I never prayed to anyone before, he remembered, and now I’d pray to anyone if it meant she would always be safe and happy. He thought of the Fates again (Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos), spinning the threads of their two destinies together many ages ago--most deep and unfathomable love, a love for all of time, he thought, and did not question where the certainty had come from, only felt acutely that it was not misplaced.

Duncan saw that moonlight now fell on the bed as he re-entered--the moon was waxing strongly now, and his breath felt caught in his throat as he looked at Kenzie in the throes of sleep, turned towards the door, the duvet still pushed down around her feet, so her body was bare to him. The silvery wave of the low light fell over her cheek and the tawny-gold of her hair, making it seem almost white, giving it a sheen that seemed otherworldly. But she is, he thought, emotion clouding into his mind, stunning him with her again (and again and again) as he watched her sleeping form, her silvery nakedness, the dip of her waist and one arm crooked around her hip, hand dipping down in front of her sex, the other pressed against her mouth, sweetly--she was more profound to him than anything, more breathtaking than any art of any age. It’s like she is from another world--it’s like she was snatched from heaven and fell down into my arms, into my bed, fell down onto that balcony where I beheld her, trapped here on earth, for the first time. I felt that I knew she was more than what she might have seemed to an untrained eye. And I still feel that I know it. She has an effect on other people that they don’t seem to really recognize or understand. But I see it. And I think I understand. My Kenzie isn’t just lovely and kind; she has real power to heal, to alter the pain others feel and alleviate their suffering. Kenzie has a healing touch, one that can knit together and remedy a distressed soul. It’s almost like she really could bring something back from the dead. It’s like she could sew back together, using only her hands, her energy, something that had been ripped apart, reverse fucking time--it’s like she somehow willed me onto that balcony, so I could find her, so I could touch her and in that touch know her immediately as I always have, and know she was the half of me that had been lost, but no longer. Because she had willed us back together. She had willed us to find each other again, and so we did--she attached a golden string to me long ago when time began, whispered to me that it would help me find her if we got lost, if we got separated from each other--and I finally saw it glimmering between us, and followed it to where she was. Saint Mackenzie, goddess of lost things, goddess of binding, of rebirth, of transcendent healing, of perfect love. My moonlight, my sunlight, my starry sky, beloved.

He could feel himself growing hard again, thinking of her sliding onto his lap in the tulle lingerie, the demanding croon of her voice (call me your moonlight again, I want you to wake me up with kisses and fuck me in the dark with your lips pressed into my shadows, I want you to kiss my shadows, and touch them with aching hands), and Duncan knew it was the right time--that it was time to press his mouth into the soft space of her in the darkness. His eyes had begun to adjust to the dark now and he eased down onto the bed, its cool sheets shivering up his thighs, urging him toward her--Duncan reached down to where her arm crooked over her hip and slid his fingers up her torso to the sweet roundness of her breasts, achingly slow, willing himself into tenuous control, overwhelmed with the relief of touching her without any constraints, without his hands tied or the lingerie covering her or anything in the way of her, Kenzie, my solace, the home of my heart. He eased his body down next to hers, his hands still cosseting around her, fingers drifting back and forth on her nipples, and he felt a surge of blood into his cock as he felt them grow hard under his touch, though she didn’t stir yet (wake me up with kisses) and Duncan leaned his face to her across the pillow and pressed a soft, aching kiss into her forehead, her temple, each eyelid, shivering in sleep, the dip of each cheek, over her nose and the incline of her jaw, and then he pressed down, sliding against the coolness of the sheet again, to bury his face against her neck, his kisses becoming more insistent, more exacting of her--wake up my love, Duncan pressed into her mind, feeling her head lift as she stirred, slowly beginning to register him, wake up baby, and he felt strange for a moment, caught up in her unconscious mind, as if he was brushing up against another self, another Kenzie--then the feeling cleared, and he could feel her golden waves of energy. And he said again, into her: wake up my love, wake up baby love, wake up so I can fuck you, wake up so I can press my kisses into your shadows, wake up so we can be together.

Then--Duncan was stunned with the feeling that surged into him in that moment. It was almost painful, the brilliancy and power of her energy as he lingered inside her in that in-between place that wasn’t waking and wasn’t sleep for her, and he felt minute inside it, wildly small to behold her this way; fucking goddess. Oh fuck, Kenzie. You really are a goddess. You have all of this inside you and I am staggered by you. I can’t begin to fathom this. Is this where you go when you sleep? Back to the secret expanse of everything you keep hidden, this place of resplendent power that has colors I’ve never seen, colors I could never describe? Is this where you came from? And even more unbelievably, he heard her voice inside that in-between place, calling out to him, and her voice was full of so much joy it immediately made him want to sob against her, and she said yes baby, Duncan, exalted, beloved, this is where I came from, and where you came from, and you come here too in your dreams, but you never remember, but you will. Soon, you’ll start to remember. What we were before, what we are, and what we will be again. Soon we’ll both start to remember, for our destinies were written when the stars were just dreams themselves, and our destinies will live on when they’ve burned out.

Duncan’s mind felt like it was on fire with the feeling of her, the words she spoke that made no sense to him, and yet made every sense, a deeper sense, their hidden meaning touching against the shadowed hidden heart of him, and he lifted his mouth up to the space under her ear, one hand cradling up under the back of her head to pull her more firmly against him and the other sliding down the intoxicating softness of her rib cage and her belly to hover at her abdomen, hover above the mouth of her sex, waiting for her eyes to open to him, to give him the yes he longed for, and he felt the intensity of the in-between place begin to fade--felt reality seep back in, like milk stirred into dark coffee, and Kenzie was stirring more strongly against him, leaning into his mouth tasting at her skin, and a moan escaped from her that stirred the building heat in his groin and he spoke into her skin, his own words bleeding into a moan, a reply of need for her--”wake up baby, wake up all the way for me, wake up and tell me to touch you, tell me to fuck you, Kenzie, uhh--” and despite the darkness, he felt her eyes open, their golden depth unnerving him for a moment (how can they be glowing like that, like a ripe harvest moon), focusing on him as though he were the one pinprick of light in a long darkness, and then they seemed to fade back, fade to the forest-and-burnt-acorn he recognized--he had leaned back to look at her, his lips lifting away from her skin, and he gasped as her little hand came down, exacting, and slid from the dusting of hair at the top of his groin, closing around the length of his stiffening cock and dragging her achingly soft grip to the head of him.

“I’m here, baby,” she whispered, and he felt his need kindle up like someone had thrown gas onto a bonfire, felt his cock jump inside her grip, and then she said “touch me,” and he slid his fingers, middle first, down between the lips of her cunt and pressed, harshly, into her clit, so warm and so wet and sending a spasm of want through his body--Kenzie lifted up, almost involuntarily, and her moan was longer now, focusing on him, inside the sensation of his touch, beseeching him for more. “Yes, baby, fuck yes,” Kenzie moaned, “more, more,” and Duncan pressed the lips of her sex outward with his other fingers, his long middle finger still working down into her clit, strictly, then finally, he kissed her, open-mouthed, and her sweet little tongue laved out against his, her slender hand still gripping his cock with a strength that addled his senses. In the shadows, with only the moon to light their bed, Duncan felt he could feel the way she was sending little pinpricks her power, that terrible gold energy, too beautiful to behold in this world, into his body through her grip, as if she were sending it into his spirit, giving him strength, kindling his desire to a high place he had never imagined, residue from that in-between place, residue from another world where such things were commonplace, so much power was the natural order.

But Duncan knew what she wanted then, and he broke their aching kisses apart, moving his hand up from his attentions at her sex, pushing her little body down forcefully so she was on her back, pressing her legs wide apart and coming up between them on his knees, and Kenzie lifted her hips so she was poised against the head of his cock, her hair falling down in the moonlight, her hands coming up to his arms and then sliding down to his wrists to clutch him against her. Duncan gripped her carefully at the small of her back, his thumbs pressing across her hip bones (god I want to kiss them)--then he thrust into her with an ecstatic groan, marveling at how wet she was, how perfect it felt to be inside her in the dark this way. Kenzie shuddered into him, a little cry falling from her lips, and in the dark he could see her mouth lingering open, her eyes rolling back for him, “that’s it, baby,” he couldn’t stop himself, needed to speak his desire aloud to her, in the dark, where no one else belonged but the two of them in this moment, “give yourself to me, everything, the shadows too, I’ll kiss them, I love you--” and he felt her nails dig into the skin of his arms as he pounded into her, wondering at the intensity of his hardness, the lightness of her body against him--god baby, I don’t want to crush you and she said “fuck, keep going, do not fucking stop, god you feel so fucking good, fucking fuck me Duncan--”

Her little hand reached up to him, lifting from his arm and he leaned down to her, pressed down into her, easing her back down onto the bed and fucking her achingly close now, their stomachs pressing against each other, her hand coming under his jaw to pull his mouth into her, tasting him breathlessly as he drove his length into her again and again, and her scent was rose and vetiver and her sweet, heady sex, and her yielding mouth was almost too wonderful, too much to bear, and his hands came around to cup her breast and against her neck to press there softly and she wrapped her little feet around his back and her fingers twined into his hair at the nape and Kenzie whispered “my sweet baby, my beautiful Prince, fuck me--” between their kisses and Duncan felt faint with her realness again, faint with the feeling of her cunt clenching around him, faint in her arms, her loveliness, her silken skin, the slight, achingly sublime sounds she was making overwhelming his senses.

His hand came down between her legs again and his fingers pressed ardent circles against her and he said “baby, do you want me to suck on you, do you want me to kiss your clit--” and Kenzie shook her head against his lips and said “no, baby, no, don’t stop fucking me, just touch me like that, touch me in the dark, I love you, Duncan, I love you with every part of me--” and he was nodding against her--”I love you too baby, Kenzie, I love you, oh god I love you, I can’t describe--”, his memory drifting against the power he’d felt from her as she floated out of sleep, absolutely in awe of her again, absolutely at her mercy, inside her grace, and she shushed him as his fingers flicked back down to the wetness that coated her cunt and his cock as he thrust his whole length into her, then out, then back again, and redoubled his effort with his fingers at her clit as their mouths came together again and she began to shake in his arms, a shaking that began at her shoulders and cascaded down her body into where his cock was buried inside her and she moaned into his mouth, a moan that became a prolonged wail into him, her words muddling into incomprehensible murmurs that Duncan could almost see, like colors, floating around them--”Dunny, oh, fuck--oh fucking fuck baby oh ohhhhh beloved baby my sweet fucking babyfuck love you I love you--” and Duncan breathed in carefully, deeply, keeping the rhythm of his movement into her steady and concentrated as she came, her little hands clutching his head down to her, twisting into his hair and pulling it harshly as she cried out, and he thought oh Kenzie, you’re bathed in moonlight, you look like an angel, you’re too beautiful for words--

Suddenly, inexplicably, inside her release, Duncan’s mind was jerked back into wherever it had been before Kenzie woke up--into where he’d hovered inside her psyche, in that in-between place, and he remembered her words again, still locked against her, inside her, the rhythm he’d built unceasing, words that she seemed to speak from another self floating back into his mind, a version of her that had immense power, an energy that seemed too great for reality, too beautiful for human eyes--soon, you’ll start to remember, what we were before, what we are, and what we will be again--and Duncan saw a version of them in his mind, as though in a memory, where they were both in that place that seemed to be made of those inexplicable colors that he’d felt inside Kenzie, colors that felt like emotions, like the love he felt for her, like the love he could feel coming into him from her. Kenzie’s hair was longer than it was now, it was so long it fell to her knees, and it sheen was indescribably lovely, paler than the tawny-gold he had begun to know so well, a white-gold that was almost silvery, in magnificent waves, and he saw tiny flowers woven through the strands, their color indescribable to him, their shape unlike any flower he could think of--each one seemed to have a hundred tiny petals. Around her forehead was a circlet of gold so thin and fine it seemed an impossible thing to exist at all. Her dress was unlike anything he’d ever seen, either--it seemed to be made of the gossamer strands of a thousand spider webs, a hundred intricate honeycombs of some vast, beautifully geometric design that was simply too complex to ever create, and yet she wore it, and it fit her as though it were her second skin--intricately woven, rose-golden embroidery fell over the dress--its pattern was like a language he could not comprehend. And her eyes--inside her eyes in that place he felt he really could see a universe turning, so magnificent and so golden that they threatened to rend his heart into a thousand fragments. He realized he was inside some other self in this moment--he couldn’t see his own face, but could see his own clothing, the intricately woven sleeves over his arms, in a similar incomprehensible gold embroidery and geometry that made him dizzy to even attempt to contemplate--he wore a kind of thin, woven gold breastplate that was akin to the aegis on likenesses of Athena, but its quality also seemed incomprehensible to him, a weave that seemed to shift and change under his gaze, and he could feel weight at his shoulders--a strange weight that felt familiar, but also heavy beyond all understanding.

And in the memory, or the imagining, or whatever the vision was that he had tumbled into, he noticed with a wild, fierce surprise that Kenzie, this other Kenzie, this Kenzie wrapped in intricate golden lovely things that were not of earth, with shimmering hair twined with tiny universe flowers, had wings extending from her back--wings that were gold and silver and iridescent rose and other colors that he didn’t know the names for, wings that were unlike any wings he’d ever seen on a bird or a bat or any earth-bound winged creature, but he knew they were wings just the same, knew they were wings for a certain kind of being--a divine being.

And then he resurfaced back into the dark of the bedroom, their bedroom, and he was still moving with an intense rhythm against her and he was coming deep inside her now and Kenzie was clutching at his torso between his hips, her cries quiet but her mouth hovering open, and her eyes had that strange glow again, intensely focused on him, the one he’d seen when he woke her from her sleep, and then it faded as he emptied himself into her, his moans extending into deep silence, and he pulled out of her and collapsed beside her, his head falling into the pillow, and clutched her desperately against him and felt her mouth come against his chest and her little hands clasp against his ribs, and Duncan remembered nothing else until he woke the next morning at sunrise in the same position, with her still clutched in his arms, her little breath having left a damp pool against his skin, her face cherubic and far away in her sleep in the dim morning light, and he wondered upon his waking if it had all been a dream. And then he fell back into sleep, his hand coming up to bury in her hair.

-------

“Babyyyy, Dunny…” Duncan felt her little mouth pressed into his ear and his eyes opened--full sunlight was streaming into the room now and Kenzie was leaning down to him, kneeling on the bed, wearing her satin kimono, her eyes (your earthly eyes, baby, not your divine eyes, you keep those hidden most of the time but sometimes I can see a little bit of them, that gold whirling around, and last night I saw all of them and they were beyond words, they were ethereal as the first dawn--) open and awake to him, a little smile playing around her mouth.

“I brought you coffee, baby,” and Kenzie’s hair fell against his collarbone as she dipped down to kiss him, and Duncan’s hand immediately came up, needy, to the space under her ear.

“Kenzie, baby, do you remember that? Last night?” His eyes searched hers--please tell me if that was real, beloved angel. Please tell me that wasn’t a dream. Did you see the vision? Kenzie stared at him, and her mouth dipped open, and Duncan was suddenly hazy with her loveliness again, hazy with longing. I love you more than the morning sunlight, wondrous Kenzie. “You said something to me--that I’d start to remember something, about who we were, who we’re going to be--”

Kenzie eyes lost some of their clarity, and she handed him one of his glass coffee mugs, carefully. He sat up, leaning into the shape of her hand--she dipped her head down and her hair fell over her shoulder again, the strap of her top falling down onto her arm. Duncan wanted to press his lips to the bare skin there--wanted to press his mouth against her heart, the delicate space between her breasts. There is never a moment where I wouldn’t rather be kissing you. He knew she heard him--her face became even more radiant in the daylight, her hand coming up to brush shyly against her cheek at his thoughts.

“I...I don’t know...sort of, baby,” she said finally, eyes flitting up into his and then away, towards the great mirror, towards the window, its curtains partially drawn but the sliver of day visible beyond. “It was like a dream, wasn’t it? Like we both slipped into a dream.”

“Yes, baby, it was, but I don’t think it was a dream.” Duncan brought the coffee to his lips and drank, the hot, bitter liquid coursing down his throat, immediately stirring his senses more sharply. “I think it was like...a memory.”

“How can that be,” Kenzie laughed a little, inside her words. “Dunny, baby, the way you looked to me--you were so radiant, so beautiful, it was too much to bear. You were...you were a real angel, you had wings, but they were--” Duncan was putting the coffee down on the nightstand, his heart suddenly rattling inside him, and he reached out and grasped her hands tightly, pulling her closer. “--they were not like any wings I’ve ever imagined, they were in colors I’ve never seen--” “Kenzie, baby, I saw you that way too--” “And your clothing, it was like, gold and had this design to it, but I couldn’t figure out the--the design, it was like, it was made of something that doesn’t exist in this world--” “Fuck, Kenzie, you looked that way too, baby, your hair had a hundred tiny flowers in it and each flower was made of its own universe, and your eyes were like a gold galaxy spinning--” “Fuck, Dunny, that’s lovely, how can you say that to me, that’s too lovely--but--but you looked so amazing too, your hair was longer and more golden and your eyes were like a blue nebula, but the blue was not any blue I’ve ever seen before, it was--”

Their lips were rushing together again, and he was pulling her against him, sliding towards her, and her little hands came up to twine inside his where they clutched her face tenderly and he thought I love you Kenzie I love you fuck I love you I’m yours I’m yours and when I die my spirit will call out to you through time I’ll still be yours forever never doubt that I am yours my beloved my exalted beloved most hallowed of all most unearthly and divine love and he knew the dream had not been a dream, knew they’d seen something that seemed impossible but was not, something that was hidden deep in time that somehow they had glimpsed, that their love had uncovered the great secret of it, that finding each other here had opened the door on that other place, and he was overwhelmed inside the knowledge, and it was all he could do to hold her against him and taste her, her little face lifted up to him, her eyes closed, her face ecstatic (saintly, her pleasure in this moment sacred), the feeling of her under his hands so intensely real he wanted to cry.

“I--Kenzie, I want--”

Her eyes opened to him--hazel, depth of green--his hands still clutched her and their mouths hovered over each other, pulled back for a moment. I want to marry you. I want to be tied to you in the eyes of all, your most loyal, most faithful, most devoted husband.

He knew she’d heard, despite the words un-escaped from his lips. She looked down, suddenly shy again--her cheeks dusted with color immediately, and she felt achingly warm under his fingers. She was so lovely here, in reality, in his arms, to try to contemplate her in that other place was like trying to contemplate the mathematics of the universe in the face of the glory of one star; there was too much, and she was too great, and her multitudes were staggering, and he felt his breath hitch--felt the tears come against his eyelids. Neither of them said anything, but he could see the emotion gathering in her face towards him; he knew Kenzie could see how close to tears he was, and saw that it was moving her to tears, too.

“After the Gala, when we go to the cabin,” she whispered to him. “We’ll have time and space--to, to think about all of this. To figure it out. To figure out what all of this means. Okay? Duncan. I love you. I love you so much. You are beloved to me. You are the only one for me. Just be patient, okay? Be patient with me, baby. I’m here and we’re together. We just have to get through this first. We’ll be alone so soon. Alone to--alone to--to see each other. To really see.”

Duncan dipped his head away from her--he felt utterly overcome, and tried to gather the many threads of himself that had scattered and dispersed, as if in a gust of wind. He nodded--he knew she was right, knew that his patience was required, knew the rush he felt wasn’t a true need, rather his own deep desires. But he couldn’t help it--he wanted their life to begin so much. I want everything to fall into place, I want us to move the company forward to help others and the wheel of fate to grind toward the greatest good, I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed about, Kenzie, angel, I want the sweetness of you in the quietness of the woods, under the starry night sky where there is no one but us.

Baby, she thought into him. Dunny. I love you so much I can’t speak it. I can’t tell you. You have to feel it from me, just feel me, feel that I love you more than life, more than every flower, every living breathing thing, know that you’re the angel of my heart, the light of my body and my soul. And he did--he could. He could feel the golden wave she pushed down into him, the inexplicable touch of her so fine that it felt as though she were wrapping a second skin around him, this one radiant and impenetrable, this one the skin that would protect him from the outside world, invisible but inviolable, his hidden armor, woven by her little slender hands, all her love whispered into each strand, all her divinity blessing him. And my love shall protect thee, guide thee, and keep thee always, for thou art exalted in the light of my adoration, my divinity I give to thee, my sanctity I have divided unto thee, my soul I have split with the aid of the three-headed goddess, my golden thread I have tied to thee, and so thou and I art the same. And Duncan knew these words weren’t really Kenzie’s words--they were the words of the other Kenzie, the one with the silvery hair and the eyes like planets made of gold, the words that winged, ethereal creature had spoken to the other Duncan he had hovered inside last night, the one who wore the golden aegis, the other him with the colossal weight of his own wings.

Then the spell seemed to break, and he felt the tears drift away from him--he gently let go of her, and she slid away from him off the bed, and he felt the peaceful gold she’d borne down on him wafting inside his chest and his belly, in the core of his body. Duncan reached for his coffee again, watching her step into the walk-in, glancing at him over her shoulder with a peaceful, knowing smile. “Time to go see your mother, Duncan.” He groaned a little, smiling back at her--reality seeped back in strongly, and he reached for his phone on the nightstand, turning it over.

There was a text from Annette, confirming that the Vanity Fair interview and photoshoot would be at the Botanic Gardens in a few hours, the one for Forbes at The Lafayette after that, a restaurant inside the Hays-Adams hotel that he’d been to for several interviews in the past, most of them for Gardner Analytics. He had ignored her text from yesterday, wherein she’d called him ludicrously naive, their moving in together preposterous and claimed Kenzie was a greedy little social climber, a phrase that had made him want to hurl his phone across the room despite the heights of his mood with Kenzie in the kitchen only moments before--he looked them over again, scrolling up, fighting the anger seething back into his mind, urging himself to calm. I refuse to let her get a rise out of me today, he thought, and answered his mother today with nothing more than a clipped “Okay.” You can’t make me turn on her, Mom. It’s not going to happen. Never in a million years. You might as well try to make the sky fall down or stop the tides or keep the sun from rising and setting. You will never break us apart. Not only do I love her more than I love my own life--I know, I feel like I know that we’re actual fucking Soulmates, we can hear each other’s fucking thoughts, and I think these dreams and visions we’ve been having are the future, the past, or some strange parallel present. You really don’t fucking get it, but I think eventually you will, because you won’t have any other choice. Eventually everyone will get it. We’re together and I think...I think we always will be, if there are other lives after this one. I think...we always have been.

“I can’t believe we have a fan club now, baby.” He heard Kenzie’s voice drift towards him from where she was hidden from view in the closet, and he came out of the soft gold of the thoughts he’d begun to delve down into.

“You were so sweet to those girls, Kenz. The paps noticed right away. You handled that like a pro, I was so proud of you. I bet Claire’s texted you a BPF post about it already.”

“Check my phone, baby, it’s on my side. My password’s 0717.” Her birthday.

Duncan reached for Kenzie’s white iPhone in its iridescent gold case--he smiled down at the black inverted moon sticker, beginning to rub away into white, running his finger over it, then turned the phone over. Clairebear had indeed texted her (how did I know), a telltale BPF link visible in it, and behind the text Duncan could see her lock screen was ones of the Esquire shots of him--the one where he had a thin circlet of silver around his forehead, his eyes skirting to the left of the camera, their blue emphasized to striking brilliancy by the filter used on the shot, his hand adjusting his cuff facetiously. He thought of his own lock screen, with the shot of her smiling down at the breakfast he’d made her, sunlight on her cheek, grapefruit juice and Adelaide’s silver spoon in her hands--wait until we do a photoshoot together, baby, he thought. God, you’re going to look so beautiful. You always do. I should commission someone to paint you. Fuck, I should fucking do that. I’d die to have a painting of you. A huge one, colossal as The Youth of Bacchus, of you with flowers in your hair, you in wild moonlight, you as the goddess you are, you--

Duncan got up from the bed, glancing up at his naked reflection in the mirror (no wings, no aegis, no long gold hair, that’s for damn sure), then back down at the phone, slowly moving towards the closet doorway with her phone still clutched in his hand, thumbing her password into the surface, reading Claire’s text.

Clairebear: Kenzie Lou, look at this. They LOVE you. You knew exactly what you were doing with this. You wily little lady! I can’t believe you have a fan club now. You have to look at the website these girls have created. I’m just screaming over it, it’s insanely cute. They have like 15,000 members already. It’s insane!!! Also, is Harris single? He’s so hot, oh my FUCKING GOD.

He grinned at her message--I love how Claire texts Kenzie, he thought, and clicked on the BPF link. DUCKENZIE GREET FANS WARMLY OUTSIDE ONE FRANKLIN SQUARE, POSE FOR PHOTOS--the first shot was Lindy passing the roses to Duncan in his sunglasses, the second was a lovely shot of Kenzie smiling at Gabby (god look at her, an angel), then one of her leaning over the newspaper, writing, one of her tucking her hair behind her ear, face still dipped down, Duncan’s hand pressed against her back, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses (I was worried as fuck), her smile still apparent--how could anyone look at these and not fall in love with her, Duncan thought, his hand coming up against his jaw, trailing there, lost in the photos. There were a few more: side-angles of them posing with each of the girls, then Duncan pulling Kenzie away from them, Harris close behind, glancing darkly into the camera. Duncan turned into the closet, his eyes still on the phone--he tapped one of the photos of her looking up at the girls over the newspaper, the sharpie poised in her hand, enlarging it.

“Baby, look at this--” Duncan held her phone up to where he knew she would be standing, eyes rising to look at her, and then he stopped dead--Kenzie had slipped on the red dress, the lacy red bodice hugging her tiny waist and her round breasts (I fucking love them, I love her), the full lace of the skirt fanning out beautifully down her hips, and she was throwing her chestnut hair over her shoulder, her head still tilted to the side, away from him--she turned and met his eyes, and she smiled at him, her eyes roving up and down his nakedness. “Hey baby,” she murmured, her voice husky.

“God, I love that fucking dress.” His thoughts immediately drifted to when she’d been wearing it as she eased onto his lap in that makeshift dressing room, his fingers coming between her legs and coaxing her into a secret euphoria, the way he’d wiped his fingers after on a tissue and brought it to his nose, the heady scent of her sex making him wildly dizzy. “My mother’s going to flip her shit, baby, and I honestly can’t wait to see it.”

Kenzie stepped toward him, hands coming out to take her phone, her fingers brushing along his as she did, making the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up--she stared up at him for a moment longer, the depth of green hovering behind her corneas--and I love looking at you naked, baby, was the thought she pushed into him, and Duncan bit into his lip, goosebumps breaking out on his skin--then she looked down at her phone and he was staggered again by the loveliness of the smile that fell over her face as she saw the photo.

“I look nice, don’t I?” She said, looking up at him again. “I mean...I look kind, I mean.” She blushed--Duncan melted at the sight of her shyness.

“Baby. You are kind. You’re kind to everyone. And you look fucking beautiful in these. Everyone is in love with you now. I have to admit…” Duncan stepped closer to reach her, his hands falling down her bare arms and the sides of the lacy red dress--Kenzie wore no makeup yet, but her eyes were so wide and so beautifully colored they seemed illuminated somehow--”It makes me a little jealous. I selfishly want you all to myself sometimes. I don’t want to share you.” Kenzie’s eyes fell into his again, and her little hand was falling down his bare torso to trail over his hip bones, needling with her thumbs and forefingers, her mouth opening to him.

“I was thinking, later...” and Kenzie was reaching up to him, tiptoed, her mouth pressing into his jaw as he leaned his head down to her, his hands at her shoulder blades, pressed into her hair. “You could throw me down onto that big, beautiful cherrywood table--” and her mouth was edging along to his chin and to the other side of his jaw, and Duncan couldn’t stop himself from leaning into her, moaning against her, his cock stiffening--”and fuck me on it, baby, fuck me standing while I wear this dress--” and Duncan was nodding against her, his eyes closing with the sensation of her, her little hand flicking down to play over his length, then teasingly away. “--I was thinking I’d really love it if you’d do that…”

“Yes, Princess. Yes, I will--” Duncan’s mind thrilled, imagining her body prostrate against the beautiful antique table, her golden hair tossed onto it, the sound of its creaking as he thrust into her, his mouth on her body. We can finally use that table regularly, he thought. We have to fuck on every surface of this penthouse, baby, every square inch, I need to fuck you as often as you’ll permit me, as often as you’ll desire my attentions--

“Good.” Kenzie moved back from him, eyes intense in his, her mouth and hands sliding away from him, and Duncan groaned desperately at the loss of her touch. “Now, get dressed, baby. Do as I say.” Her eyes skirted down to his cock and Duncan shivered at her eyes--look longer, baby, look at me, I’m yours, my aching sex is all for you, my body, my desires, all for you. But her eyes lingered for only a moment, as if to tease him, then she moved past him on her fast little feet, towards the kitchen. Later, baby. You know later I’ll be yours. Later I’m gonna tell you to fuck me good and you’re going to do it, aren’t you, baby.

Yes, Kenzie. Duncan had half a mind to go after her, to grab her wrists and press his mouth against her, but he knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t--Kenzie told me to obey. Her desires come first. He let out a long, shuddering breath, then turned to where his shirts hung in their quiet, pressed, dark row. He pulled down a black cotton Givenchy shirt with stars embroidered along the collar--all the stars in the sky are for her, he thought, drifting inside his desires as he began to dress, thinking of tiny flowers with a thousand petals, each one containing a universe.

---------

“Kenz, Samuel and Harris are downstairs,” Duncan looked up from the text on his phone to where Kenzie was sitting across from him at the island, about an hour later. She clutched a little bottle of Pellegrino in her hand, a piece of half-eaten sprouted grain toast with unsalted peanut butter in front of her (Duncan had made it for her alongside a sliced, skinned kiwi and a carefully squared mango, which she’d already devoured), hair falling over her shoulder, the Tiffany moon necklace at her throat, glinting at him--she’d applied a little makeup now, though he knew undoubtedly the stylists would want to put more on her for the photos they’d be forced to take today (not that I mind sitting around staring at you, baby, that’s all I ever want to do now)--and she’d been looking at her phone too, grinning at something unseen to him, some secret pleasure on the little screen.

“Baby, look. Look at this. I can’t believe it.”

She pushed her phone across to him--with a little jolt of nerves Duncan realized Kenzie had gone to DUCKENZIEFANS.COM. Holy fuck.

Duncan was used to fans--that is, a certain type of fan. They tended to be women, many of them middle-aged and as questionably-mannered as the two women in the coffee shop who’d taken photos of him and Kenzie without asking, or DC socialites with a desire to climb (that is, fuck) their way up the social ladder of the capital city. Duncan couldn’t deny he’d slept with several such socialites, but they all seemed to be part of a distant past he could barely see now--part of another life, another Duncan, a man who hadn’t understood himself at all, hadn’t bothered to pay closer attention to his real desires, his hopes, or the sources of real happiness he had encountered. Kenzie has awakened my senses to the world that is always hovering just outside our eyesight--the hidden world that is seeped in delicate beauty, the world that comes out when one looks at art, or hears beautiful music, or is present in nature. Love is, I think, all of these things--and all of these things remind me of love. Of the one I love. Of her.

The website had clearly been made by someone with graphic design experience--the interface was lovely and easy to follow, and the aesthetics were pleasing. The home page was tasteful and minimal, gold and soft cream with black lettering--he thought of the two teenage girls who had greeted them--those girls made this website? The headings were in Lobster script, and the text in soft Playfair Display. WEBSITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION, thanks for your patience, read a header near the top. Above it was the photo of the two of them at Le Diplomate taken by some random iPhone camera, but sharpened and filtered to be maximally flattering. A bar down the side had directives neatly listed: DUCKENZIE FAQ, HOW TO JOIN THE FANCLUB, DUNCAN SHEPHERD PRESS RELEASES, MACKENZIE STONE PRESS RELEASES, DUCKENZIE PRESS RELEASES, DUCKENZIE MERCH & FAN CLUB EXCLUSIVES, COMBINED GALLERY, CONTACT INFO, FAN MAIL INFO, MEMBER FORUM. He marveled at the page for a moment, lost in it--Duncan knew he had had fan sites before now, but he’d never looked at any of them beyond Instagram, the site he tended to frequent the most when he had bothered with social media at all in the past. But this website was exceptionally ordered, clearly by someone who was interested in design and who also had developed a serious fascination with the two of them. He clicked on the link titled DUCKENZIE PRESS RELEASES--sure enough, the topmost result was the series of photos from the article posted today on BPF, with Kenzie smiling at Gabby and Lindy, the camera facing her. Under it was a link to the gossip site and a long series of paragraphs, clearly written by the two girls, about how friendly and warm Kenzie had been to them. Duckenzies, you wouldn’t believe how lovely she is in person! It’s like she’s surrounded by a warm ring of sunlight and being near her makes your whole body tingle. She smelled like roses and flowers, like a goddess of spring. Just being close to her was so incredible. Below a few paragraphs was another photo, this one a close-up of Kenzie’s signature and the message she’d written out on the newspaper. A special message to us and all of you from Kenzie herself. Below that was the iPhone shots of the girls posing with them. They were so kind and gracious to us! Everything we hoped and knew they would be!

“That’s just insane to me,” Kenzie said as Duncan continued to click through the site. “‘Duckenzie Merch’,” and she lifted her fingers up on either side of her head, feigning quotations. “Stickers with my face on them for everyone!”

“I want stickers with your face on them, too, they better send me some.”

Kenzie made a face at him and Duncan grinned. I mean it, though. I’ll put them on everything I own, I don’t care. I’ll buy every fucking sticker they’ve made. He glanced away from Kenzie’s phone reluctantly, at the face of the black Ballon Bleu Cartier he’d chosen for the inevitable photos that would be taken of him today--different from the silver one he’d worn the night he met Kenzie on the balcony. This one was framed in rose-gold (and the gold reminds me of her). He noted it was a quarter till noon. “We gotta go, baby. They’re expecting us at 12:30. In the Rose Garden, can you believe that?” He smiled at her; roses for my Kenzie. He looked at his Cartier again, thoughtfully, as Kenzie finished her toast and stood to put her plate in the long steel sink, washing her hands, staring at her succulents along the windowsill. He admired her tawny blonde hair, falling down her back from the crown of her head in soft waves. I’m going to get her something to adorn her lovely little wrists. I want to give her more tokens of my love, one for each part of her body. He thought of the rose choker, coiled in one of the drawers in their closet--I’ll strap it to your soft little throat tonight, baby love, I’ll kiss you all along its smooth leather as I plunge into your sweet rosy cunt. He looked up to see she’d turned and was staring at him, and knew she’d heard the thought--the color of her gaze shivered with hidden arousal, that hidden, golden power he knew she had over him. “Anything in my teeth, baby,” was all she said, though, baring them at him. He laughed, delighted at the feigned ferocity in her gaze. “Just your sweet smile.” Kenzie rolled her eyes at him, coming around the side of the island, languidly leaning down on its smooth surface to dip her face towards him, the red lace dress hugging her waist and floating around her beautifully, sending warm waves of tingling longing down his spine. “Mr. Shepherd, you’re infatuated.”

“I love you.” And Duncan pulled her arms insistently into him, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her smell in deeply. How I feel, baby. How I feel with you. Like I can’t help but be sincere. My heart is so full of you there’s no room for anything else.

“Can’t wait for your mother’s head to spin when she sees my dress,” Kenzie’s tone was playful and her hand fell down the side of his hair, her cheek at his temple. He closed his eyes, still pressed against her neck, lost for a moment in the feeling of her little fingers, the pressure of her skin under his eyelashes.

“It’s a Kenzie dress,” he murmured against her. “Not like the other one. This one has you all over it. I love it so much. I think it’s perfect. And whoever’s doing the shoot is going to love it too, I bet.” He leaned up to look at her and her face was suddenly hovering very close to his, her lips whispering over his, her eyes half-lidded, looking down into him.

“I love you, Duncan Shepherd.”

“What did I do to deserve the love of an angel?” He couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his mouth, falling against her lips, hovering so close to him. Her leg was crooked into his thigh, her little stomach breathing against his, his hands pressed insistently into her hair along her back--you fit so sweet and small into my arms, my beloved. I could hold you this way all day, drunk on the scent of you, drunk with your softness. She was wearing the golden-strap heels again, and his hand came around to her foot, trailing over the laces.

“Oh stoppit.”

“I won’t.”

“It’s time for us to go, baby,” Kenzie tried to extract herself from his arms, but Duncan held fast to her, pressing his lips, then the tip of his tongue to the bare skin under her ear. She softened in the tenderness of his mouth; he heard her moans against him and wished the day would fade back into night for them, wished they were in the woods, under a night sky in a hidden forest, wished the world would just leave them be, let him kiss her, turn the sun away from them and bathe them in the shadows of their bed. But no, the world was waiting (Duckenzie, here they come, quick, take a picture), and so was Annette Shepherd. When Kenzie tried to pull away this time, Duncan let go of her, heart bruising at the sudden coldness of his lap. Kenzie slipped her convertible bag over her shoulder from where she’d left it by the penthouse door. “Pass me my phone, baby,” she said, her eyes bright on him. “Let’s go. The sooner we leave the sooner it’s over with.”

Duncan clutched her little gold iPhone, sighing deeply. “Don’t let Annette give you any shit today, baby,” he said, standing and handing it to her, fingers brushing down her wrist, her little face looking up at him, her expression one of aching trust, as he leaned protectively over her. “You’re a Shepherd now too, as far as I’m concerned. If she wants to insist you belong there, we’ll show her that you really do.”

Kenzie’s eyes flashed at him, and she lifted her chin in that defiant way--his throat clenched, head suddenly hazy with adoration. You got it, baby. Duncan barely had time to slip his wallet into the tailored pocket of his slacks before Kenzie clasped his hand in an iron grip, pulling him out the door and down the hallway. You got it, baby.

---------

Duncan remembered his meeting with Claire Underwood tomorrow as Samuel drove them towards the Botanical Gardens--a meeting he had no real idea of how to navigate, considering Annette’s insistence that the President was, in fact, her enemy, therefore the enemy of the company. What can I say to convince her I’m not, he wondered. Especially being unable to disclose that I’m gaining majority share once BIll dies? Nervously, he wondered if it was indeed possible without making her suspicious of him. Maybe meeting with her before Bill’s death wasn’t such a good idea after all. Too late now, Duncan. You’ll have to play like the old Duncan. The one who was ruthlessly loyal to Annette, and Claire Underwood knew it.

Kenzie’s hand was tucked under his thigh, and he glanced at her; she was staring out the window, seemingly admiring the historic Georgetown colonials they drifted past, her little lips mouthing the words to the John Denver Samuel had playing low--you fill up my senses, like a night in a forest, like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain--the lovely dip of her collarbones lifting in her quiet breath against the fitted lace bodice and her diamond moon necklace, the lacy folds of the crimson skirt fanning out around her legs. Her phone was in her lap and he could see the outline of her Instagram profile open on it--2 million followers now. He could see she’d made a new post, featuring the photos of them posing with the two girls from DUCKENZIEFANS. My sweet Kenzie. Duncan made sure she was still distracted by the music and the scene outside her window, then angled his phone up to snap a discreet photo of her--her hair fell beautifully across her shoulder in the sunlight, and her mouth was open a little, mouthing the song, her cheek turned to the side and her eyes lifted away from the shot. On our way to talk to @vanityfair, did you know my @kenzielouwho has a beautiful singing voice? #comeletmeloveyou #letmegivemylifetoyou

Kenzie still hadn’t noticed anything--he could feel the drifting cascade of her thoughts falling against him every few moments, and knew; you really love this song, baby. It’s making you think of me. It’s making me think of you, too. Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms. He opened the browser app and typed cartier.com, highlighting Jewelry, then under COLLECTIONS, he double-tapped LOVE. He chose two bracelets--one band of 18k yellow gold, and another band, also yellow gold, smaller, with 4 brilliant diamonds. He tried to keep his mind quiet as he did, tried to think of his mother and his meeting with Claire Underwood. He finished the order and closed out of the Cartier website--there. All done.

“All done with what, baby?” Kenzie turned to him, blinking. Annie’s Song had ended, and she seemed to resurface from a dream. Duncan noticed that they were a few yards back from pulling up to the Botanical Gardens; he lifted his thigh a little to grasp her hand. “Nothing, baby, just something I had to take care of for work.”

“Hmmmmmm,” Kenzie replied, giving him a suspicious look. “It doesn’t seem like that’s quite right.”

“It’s a surprise, baby.” Get out of my head, let me surprise you, my love.

“Stop buying me things.” He could see she was trying to hide the smile that wanted to fall over her mouth--she pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him.

“I won’t.”

“Duncan Shepherd.” She crossed her arms.

“I want to, baby. Please let me.”

She gave him another long look, pouting her lips a little.

“Please, Miss Stone. Let me bring you tribute for your altar.”

Kenzie blushed deeply at that, turning away from him. Duncan leaned down to her little cheek, bringing the hand that wasn’t holding hers tightly up to the dip under her chin, turning her jaw towards him.

“It’s a way I can worship you,” he spoke down to her ear. “Let me worship you, Kenzie.” He felt her shiver under his touch; he dipped his lips down to her skin and let them linger there, closing his eyes, savoring her softness and the sweet scent of her perfume (rose, vetiver, geranium, no, I’ll never tire of it).

“What’s your middle name, baby?” He heard her ask softly. “So I can use it when I’m annoyed with you.” He laughed into her cheek at that and felt it rise as she smiled under his fingers.

“It’s Malcolm. Follower of the Saint. Mom told me it was going to be my first name for awhile, but she decided she wanted it to be Duncan after all. The Warrior. Fearless.”

Kenzie gazed at him for a long moment as the BMW drifted to a stop on the curb. Then she mouthed his name, quietly. “Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. Warrior, follower of the Saint.”

“And what does Mackenzie mean?”

She smiled at him, winsome, charming him, teasing.

“Guess.”

“Fast as a falling star.”

She grinned. “No.”

“Lover of horses.”

She laughed at that. “No.”

“Beautiful as a rose kissed by spring dew at dawn.” He dipped his head to her, breathing along the delicate space between of her neck.

Kenzie looked away from him at that; he saw the shyness fall into her, felt it; the gossamer wave of her affection, the demure tinge of her longing for him.

“Kenzie.”

“It means lovely.” Harris was coming out of the front passenger door, buttoning his jacket, wearing dark sunglasses, stepping to open Kenzie’s door. The partition was floating down. Duncan could see several people walking on the sidewalk outside; some of them were turning, curious, to look at the BMW. He turned back to her, and he and Kenzie stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment; hers with gold discs floating behind the hazel--Duncan thought for an instant he could see his own eyes in her mind, you pierce my spirit with them, she thought, blue like the sky after a storm, the storm you’ve stirred in my soul, the wild love you’ve given me, every kiss and every touch too beautiful for words, every instance of your love a miracle.

“Of course it does,” he breathed.

Kenzie smiled at him. In time I’ll memorize every tiny detail of your face--I’ll remember everything, he thought. Beloved.

Harris opened the door and she slipped away from him, her little golden iPhone clutched in her hand, her hair falling back, the red lace of her skirt sliding off the leather seat. Duncan followed her out, squinting into the summer sunlight. He glanced to where several pedestrians had stopped to watch the car (two middle-aged companions, a man and a woman in professional attire; a younger woman in jogging clothes with a German Shepherd on a leash); there was dawning recognition in their eyes and the jogging girl immediately lifted her phone up. Duncan turned away, annoyed, certain she’d snapped the picture anyway. He reached for Kenzie’s hand as she slipped her round sunglasses over her eyes, and Harris moved in front of her, blocking her from view from the people watching. There were a few more people inside the front gardens to the southwest, and they stared after Duncan and Kenzie with obvious interest, but Duncan was relieved to see that the Rose Garden had a sign on the gate saying it would be closed for maintenance for the day--the “maintenance” in this case being their interview and photocall with Vanity Fair. As they approached they saw a tall Asian woman with very long, straight black hair and razor-cut bangs, in a smart short-sleeved navy blazer, a black v-neck blouse and a pencil skirt, standing at the gate from the other side. She waved to them a little, giving them a small smile, using a key to unlock it; she pulled the gate open and Kenzie and Duncan stepped through, Harris tight on their heels, and the woman locked it securely behind they moved further in, shielded by tall arborvitae bushes.

“River Tsukamoto, staff writer for Vanity Fair.” She reached out a hand first to Duncan, then to Kenzie, who grinned at her. She had a coy, small smile, and very dark eyeshadow and lipstick, almost black, and no accent. “So wonderful to meet you both. Annette arrived a few minutes ago--she’s in hair and makeup. We don’t always do it this way, but she said you have another interview later today--is it okay if we conduct this one as we shoot?”

“That’s fine,” Duncan replied. “Whatever’s easiest for you.”

He gave her a small, close-mouthed smile, and still saw the telltale sag in her features that his smile tended to cause with people. River’s eyes flicked back and forth between him and Kenzie; down the length of Kenzie’s lacy red summer dress, the fall of her tawny hair, up his tall form and the smart cut of his clothing, lingering in his blue eyes and flitting over to Kenzie’s, their depth of green and gold making the other woman blink rapidly. River’s eyes fell to Kenzie’s moon diamond necklace--she seemed to recognize it. We must have an Instagram follower here.

“God, I have to say, you’re both just stunning in person.” The woman’s cheeks turned a deep crimson almost instantly, and she crooked an arm around her stomach. “I have to admit I started following both of your Instas since your relationship became public, they’re just--ugh, I love them.”

Duncan hesitated and Kenzie immediately stepped towards the woman--”What’s yours? I’ll follow you back.” Kenzie was holding her phone up, opening the app.

“Oh, oh my god, yes. It’s just @rivertsukamoto. Ugh, that would be so great.” River smiled again, this time dipping her body down and clenching her fists a little, bouncing in the black open-toed boots she wore--her toes were painted black. “I just loved those photos of you guys at the beach, so gorgeous.” Kenzie grinned up at her. “Thank you, that was a really wonderful day. There, now we’re Insta friends.”

“Right this way--” and River extended her arm, the blush still on her pale cheeks, leading them towards the center of the rose garden, where several stone benches surrounded a fountain, with dozens of rose bushes in different colors and varieties circling all around the courtyard, deep damask red, rosy-white bourbon, burgundy-colored hybrids, creamy york, sunny yellow--a tall sandy-stone building rose ahead of them with pointed turrets and art-deco glass windows. Duncan’s eyes skirted to where there were two trailers set up along one side of the bushes--River ushered them towards the one at the right, opening the door and beckoning them inside, wherein a very large, hairy man in suspenders and combat boots with a very curly mustache, long hair tied in a messy bun, and very glittery eyeshadow greeted them with a screech of delight.

“Alister at your behest, dumplings,” he said, gasping in a high voice. “Duncan Shepherd and Mackenzie Stone, sit down. God, you two are like sweet pastries, Duncan, you’re a chocolate eclair, Miss Kenzie, you’re a little pink macaron. You’re first, prince of the piercing blue eyes. Sit.”

Duncan settled down into the nearest styling chair, and Kenzie settled into one beside him, two circular mirrors mounted against the trailer’s back wall wherein Duncan could see her nervous expression across from him. Alister was washing his hands at a basin sink in the corner, and Duncan saw Kenzie take her phone out, snapping a picture of their two reflections, him side-eyeing her with a bemused expression, the phone angled over her mouth, her eyes skirting back to him. Then Alister was gripping his jaw carefully and pressing a pencil onto his eyelid.

“God, you don’t even really need anything, do you,” the big man spoke down to him in his high, lilting voice. “Your skin is gorgeous. This jaw could cut someone in half. Your eyes are out of control. Your lips are like fucking pillows. Just kill me, honey.” Kenzie was laughing into her hand, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Honey, you don’t even get to laugh, you’re fucking him, that’s not even fair,” Alister pointed the brush in his hand at her in mock-severity, rolling his eyes, turning back to Duncan--this just made Kenzie laugh harder. “God, you smell like a fucking Tom Ford runway, too. And what are you wearing, it fits you like a second skin, oh my fucking god, who does your tailoring?”

“A gentleman never reveals his tailor,” Duncan was trying not to laugh himself; Kenzie’s wild amusement was making him want to jump out of the chair and tackle her with kisses.

“Is he a gentleman?” Alister glanced over at Kenzie, using the brush to swish powder across Duncan’s cheekbone. “I bet he is to you, honey, you little sugar plum.”

Kenzie was coming down from her laughter, brushing tears from the corners of her eyes.

“He is. He’s an angel.”

“Oh shut up. You’re both stupidly beautiful and wildly in love. Sickening. Your Instas are the hottest thing online right now, I saw you taking that photo honey, make sure you tag me, @alisterrichardsstyle.” “I promise I will, thank you, Alister.” Kenzie snorted into her hand again. Seeing her laugh this way made Duncan feel absolutely dazzled. I’m your biggest fan, baby love.

“There.” Alister hadn’t done more than add some dark eyeliner and very light contour to Duncan’s face; Duncan had had this reaction from stylists before, and was used to light “touch-ups” versus any kind of lengthy makeup for shoots. “You honestly didn’t even need that, but keeping up appearances and all that. You might be the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen, baby. And I’ve seen some boys.” Alister moved over to where Kenzie sat, glancing up at him nervously.

“Now, you, little baby angel. Let’s give you some lips to go with that dress, mama.” As Alister worked on Kenzie’s face Duncan couldn’t help but stare--her eyelashes darkened and became longer under his hands, her eyelids painted a iridescent pink, her cheek rosied, her lips dark crimson red to match the lacy dress. Duncan was struck by the romanticism of her hair over her shoulder, the glance she gave him as Alister finished on her--suddenly, my dark fiery goddess of blood-red wine.

“I guess you’re more like a little red box of Valentine’s Day chocolate now, baby,” Alister said to her as he moved the lipstain wand from her mouth. “Stay still while I document.” Alister pulled his phone out of his large pocket and took several snaps of her face from all angles, then moved over to Duncan and did the same thing to him. “Gonna pretend like I created all this beauty myself,” Alister smirked. “You are free to go, my angelic darlings. I shall wave to you from your place in the heavens.” Alister gave them a little bow just as River pulled the door open. “Alister, are you done on them?” Duncan was going over to Kenzie and grasping her hand--they thanked Alister, Kenzie still giggling into her palm.

“Oooooo, gorgeous,” River cooed, staring at them openly. “Annette’s over here.” Duncan’s heart rammed up into his mouth as he saw his mother, her beauty clouded with annoyance (as was her usual with him lately--Duncan remembered how he’d brushed her off the last time he saw her, and her angry texts regarding their living together), staring down at the large screen of her phone, typing quickly. She looked up at them and Duncan saw her clouded gaze darken further at Kenzie’s appearance.

“Mackenzie, what are you wearing.” It wasn’t a question as much as a demand--an angry demand for a satisfying answer.

“Mom, please, lay off her.”

“Duncan, don’t take that fucking condescending tone with me. And you’re living together now, what a fucking joke. Absolutely thoughtless.” Annette stood and her eyes flashed--she wore an asymmetrical black crepe dress with a draped neck, and pointed black stilettos. Today she also wore a gold necklace with three round diamond stones in addition to her customary diamond earrings--more jewelry than Duncan had seen on her since the last photoshoot they’d had, which was several months ago. Her look was undoubtedly, undeviatingly Annette. But what you don’t seem to understand is Kenzie is not going to dress like you. She’s going to dress like her.

“Annette, the paparazzi swarmed my apartment building--” Duncan looked down at Kenzie to see her face creased with anxiety, her little voice distraught, floating up to his ear towards Annette. He could see how much she was trying to keep her temper, and it made him want to shield her from Annette’s cruelly dark eyes.

“Then you find another fucking apartment, sweetie,” Annette snapped at her, and he felt Kenzie flinch in his hand, as if she wanted to run away from the scene. No, baby, no, remember what I said. Show her who’s boss. You’re the boss now, Kenzie. You’re in charge. You belong here. Show her.

Annette was openly sneering at Kenzie now, her eyes taking on that unnerving, deeply dark sheen they’d had over dinner at Plume. River was standing by nervously, not speaking, seemingly afraid to butt into the sudden vehemency of Annette’s manner--a photographer, camera in hand, a woman with boxy glasses and salt-and-pepper hair, had come up to her and whispered in her ear, and she was hurriedly whispering back, head turned towards the encounter. Clouds had drifted over the sun while they were in the trailer, and it suddenly seemed as though it might rain--yeah, really fucking rain, Duncan thought. Kenzie suddenly gripped his hand so hard it hurt, and he flinched, looking down at her--her eyes were staring into Annette’s, and they were swirling with the gold sheen usually saved for him alone--a sheen so bright it almost hurt him to look into them. Her other hand had come around to grip at the diamond moon around her neck, tightly, so tight he could see her fingers turning red. His head snapped up to his mother’s face; she seemed caught inside Kenzie’s whirling gaze, and her own took on a dazed expression, as though she were trying to remember something she’d forgotten.

“Duncan and I are together now. You can’t tear us apart.” Kenzie’s voice was trembling at first--then, it evened and soothed, and became very clear. “Please accept my presence in his life, Annette. He’s told you this before: your disapproval will not end our attachment. But it will bring him sadness. And it will bring you sadness, too.” Kenzie’s voice was mesmerizing in this moment; Duncan remembered flashes of the vision of her last night, a vision that seemed to be slowly fading from his understanding in the fabric of reality; the Kenzie with white hair that had flowers like little universes, eyes like whirling cosmic vistas, a gown made of the intricate geometries of some unknown intergalactic fiber, wings of some unfathomable divinity. This voice is like the voice of that Kenzie. That Kenzie is afraid of no earthly being. The air suddenly felt very heavy, as though a thunderstorm were about to begin.

“Please, don’t direct your anger on us anymore.” Duncan felt Kenzie’s hand grow strangely cold for a moment--cold, then surge back into warmth, like hot water dumped over ice. Her grip on him relaxed--the heavy feeling in the air seemed to dissipate, and he took a deep breath.

The clouds moved a little from their place over the sun, slowly allowing it to peek out again. Annette was strangely quiet--her expression had changed from one of anger to the dazed expression of confusion to one that now seemed to have forgotten her anger entirely; her annoyance remained, but it was less pointed towards Kenzie, now directed at River and the photographer standing to the sidelines. They didn’t seem to really understand or recall what had just happened--River was blinking rapidly, as though disoriented from a loud sound.

“What are we all standing around for?” Annette barked at her. “Are we doing this or not? I have a full schedule today, Ms. Tsukamoto.”

“Kenzie,” Duncan leaned down to her, his lips to her ear. “What did you do?”

“I--I don’t know,” she whispered, looking at Annette. Duncan’s mother was moving away from them, talking to River with a clipped voice. The photographer was interjecting, pointing to the fountain and gesturing. “I think...I just told her to stop. Stop being the way she’s being to us, to me and you, to us being together. I think it was like...a kind of command. Baby, I don’t know.” Kenzie was pressing a hand against her forehead, breathing slowly through her nose, out through her mouth, her red lips shining in the afternoon sun.

“Okay, baby. Okay. Let’s get through this, okay? We can do this.” He soothed his thumb over her hand. Kenzie nodded, weakly. He led her over to where Annette was now sitting by the fountain.

“Hey, I’m Anna Peterson.” The photographer approached them, peering at them over her glasses, pushing a hand through her hair. She seemed either unfazed by what had just happened, or seemed to have forgotten it entirely. Kenzie was still pressing her hand on her forehead, but Duncan nodded to her. 

“You two are...really something. I have to get some shots of the two of you alone, I think. We’ll do something with Annette while River’s conducting the interview, but I’d love for you to pose for me a few times together without her. If that’s alright with you.”

“Is that okay, Kenz?” Duncan looked down at her. She nodded a little. He turned to Anna. “Do you have any water bottles?” Anna trotted over to one of the trailers and emerged a few moments later with an unopened plastic water bottle, handing it out to Kenzie. Kenzie reached for it with shaking hands; Duncan grasped it, opening it for her. “Thanks baby,” she whispered, sipping at it carefully. River was already asking Annette questions--Duncan felt weary at the prospect of trying to lie about his intentions for the company, and the longer he could put it off today, probably for the better. Anna eyed them both again--Duncan noted how impatient she seemed to start with the camera on them, fiddling her fingers over its black-and-silver surface, hopping from side to side--and said “How about we do a couple shots right now? Just some warm-up stuff. How about over here?” She gestured with one hand to where groups of blushing bourbon roses were clustered in two adjacent bushes, about a yard away from where River and Annette were going back and forth, Annette’s clipped voice carrying over to them.

Duncan nodded, gently pulling Kenzie in front of one of the bushes, to a spot of partial shade under an oak tree that grew beside them--she still clutched the water bottle in one hand, and Duncan could see the moisture gathering along the outside trembling as the bottle shook in her unsteady grip. Anna was already snapping away, having started as soon as he and Kenzie began to move; Duncan kept his hand threaded through hers, thinking soft waves of love towards her. I don’t know what you did to Mom, Kenz, but it worked. It’s like she forgot we’re even here. It was like the power we pushed over her at dinner, but even stronger. I think the powers we can use, whatever the fuck they are, whatever they mean--I think they’re getting stronger. I think we can direct them better, control them better. Kenzie set the water bottle down in the crook of the oak tree’s roots, and came close to him, her hands reaching out for him. Duncan couldn’t stop himself; he pressed his palm against her jaw, heard the furious clicking of Anna’s camera.

I still don’t really know what I did though, baby. Kenzie was looking up at him, her hazel eyes drifting into different colors as the clouds partially obscured the sun again--Anna paused for a moment, and said “God, that’s lovely, just keep doing that, the way you’re looking at each other, Duncan, keep touching her that way,” towards them. Their bodies were leaning close; the roses framed behind them. Gladly, he thought. I’ll gaze at you and hold you all day, angel baby. Kenzie seemed to be calming, the trembling running down from her limbs. Duncan moved his hands down to hold Kenzie at the waist--she pressed into him, sighing, her chin angling up. Gaze away, her gold thought drifted against him. I love you so. In your eyes I am content. They’re home.

“Mackenzie, look over here.” The camera was snapping rapidly, repeatedly. Kenzie glanced to Anna--almost involuntarily, it seemed, she laid her temple against Duncan’s chest, and his hand came up against her hair--he gazed down at the aureate crown of her golden-chestnut hair and pressed his lips against it as she glanced over at Anna, her little red lips parted just slightly, her eyes shining with the damp residue of her emotions. Duncan savored the warmth of her despite the hotness of the day, the feeling of the lace of her dress under his fingers, the dip of her waist, the cascade of her hair, the heady scent of her. You’re my home too, baby. You’re the resting place of my soul.

“Wow,” Anna said. She seemed to have forgot about them, in a sense; seemed to be thinking about the photos rather than their physical presence. “That’s going to be a final shot for absolute certain.” Kenzie turned her face into him now, her eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed; Duncan looked to Anna’s camera now, and couldn’t stop the protective wave that fell over him, his resentment towards the world around them that didn’t seem to grasp how extraordinary Kenzie was, how luminously beautiful within, brighter than a hundred other souls combined, how desperately she had to be protected from anyone who would wish her harm, how divine it was that her spirit was on earth at all. “Gorgeous, gorgeous, fuck, perfect,” Anna was murmuring, coming around their right side. “Like a fairy tale. Your eyes, Duncan, they’re like sharp little polished sapphires. Hold that pose for me, please.” Kenzie looked up at him; they really are, she thought to him. They are like sapphires. I love your eyes, baby.

And your eyes are like autumn leaves dusted with golden evening lights. She pulled away from him, grinning in embarrassment--Duncan clutched at her arms, pulling her back to him, pressing his lips into the bottom of her jaw as he lifted her little body up to him, Anna clicking her camera all the while. No baby, let me. Let me tell you how beautiful you are, Kenzie. Let me tell you and know how sincerely I mean it, my body and soul aching for you, hungry for you every minute. Please know how much I love you.

I know baby, I know. And I love you--so much. So fucking much. So much it’s almost hard to look at you, to feel all that love from you, because I feel like the love I feel for you and the love I feel coming from you is so great--together, it’s like they’re going to burst my heart into a thousand pieces.

Let it burst, then. Mine will too. The fragments of both of us will still find each other again. I’d find you if you were at the opposite end of the universe, baby. I’d search for you until I found you. I swear on everything. On my life, on my death, on every star. I promise. I would fucking find you. His hands were threading through her hair, their lips not quite touching but their mouths hovering near each other; Duncan resurfaced from the intoxicating nexus of her, glancing over at Anna again; the older woman was gaping openly at them, her camera hovering in her hands, forgotten. Then she shook her head as if to clear it, and nodded at him, mouthing the word again. Perfect.

------

The interview, so far as it concerned him and Kenzie, went surprisingly smoothly--whatever influence Kenzie had had on Annette seemed to extend through the remainder of their time with River and Anna; the photographer took several shots of them around the fountain, Duncan standing behind his mother in one with Kenzie sitting in the opposite direction, and another with Kenzie and Duncan sitting together and Annette standing, her gaze off to the side. Duncan wondered with mounting impatience what the photos would look like when the article was released; wondered if by the time it was published it wouldn’t already be obsolete in context. Annette had already given answers to several questions from River regarding the company that Duncan knew were not entirely accurate or truthful--and answers he knew would not coincide with the new model for the company when he gained majority share. Duncan knew Kenzie was getting glimpses of his inner frustration as the afternoon wore on; she would glance at him with concern deep in her eyes, and reach for his hand, her lips pressing together. Better not to talk much anyway, baby, she said to him, secretly; that way you won’t be branded a liar later. And Annette can’t pretend like you went along with all of this just to turn on her. I’m with you, baby. We should talk to Momby soon about the board of directors. I’m sure she’ll say yes. We’re going to make it through all of this--and then we’ll have our whole lives ahead of us.

Her voice inside his head had soothed him as the afternoon wore on, and by the time River was turning off her recorder and closing her notes, Annette seemed to be in a mood that could almost approach good for once. She was glancing down at her phone with a neutral expression; then, it seemed to cloud again as she received a text. Kenzie had been whispering into his ear, giggling over Claire asking if Harris was single, trailing kisses along his skin there. Annette looked up at him, and he knew something was wrong.

“Your uncle’s been taken to the hospital again.” She was standing, her lips pressing in a thin line, the clouds having returned strongly overhead--this time they seemed to be here to stay, having multiplied and extended over the sky, so the day was no longer bright or as hot. Annette’s hand was coming up to brush her hair off her shoulder, and her expression became unreadable, dark, hidden. “I have to meet him there. We’ll have to postpone the Forbes interview.”

“Mom, I could do it without you--”

“No. I don’t think so.” She seemed to falter for a moment, her eyes skirting over to Kenzie beside him, who was staring back at her solemnly, sympathy in her hazel eyes. Kenzie forgives you for everything, I know she does. She always does. She wants to be your friend. She wants to be a daughter to you. I know that, even if she won’t say it, won’t really say it, not yet, not even to me. Annette’s tone wasn’t angry and incredulous, as it had been--now, it was tinged with a sort of weary resignation, and a hidden sadness that she refused to show outwardly. “I think perhaps it’s better to cancel it entirely. There’s too much happening in the company right now to give a business-forward interview, anyway. With the company itself soon to be in such flux--it seems unwise. This one is done, besides.” Annette suddenly looked very tired. Duncan reached out to his mother--she gripped under his arms, and he knew in a rush how badly she had wanted to touch him, then. Knew that she was mourning his uncle already, in her heart of hearts, a heart she never showed to anyone but him, and then only in rare flashes that seemed to disappear right after the instant they emerged.

“Mom. I love you.”

“My sweet Duncan.” River and Anna had gone away, back to one of the trailers, and Harris stood with his mother’s bodyguard, Becket, a huge, menacing man who rarely spoke, at the far edge of the garden by the gate, too far away to hear any conversation from the distance; the Rose Garden had grown oddly quiet, the only sounds the drift of the summer wind and the trickle of the water, and Kenzie was sitting on the fountain beside where he and his mother stood, staring at the ground, her hair falling down her shoulders, her hand clutching at the moon pendant at her throat. As he glanced at her he could see that she had tears gathered in the corners of her eyes--he glanced back at his mother, caught between their emotions.

“You were always such a perceptive, sensitive child.” Annette was loosening her grip on his arms, stepping back from him. “I fought to steel your nerves for the world outside. It’s cruel and unkind and ruthlessly hard, and I knew it would crush you if I didn’t prepare you for it. I’m sorry if I...I’m sorry if I have sometimes been cold to you. I tried to...I tried to protect you. I have tried to. You had to be fearless to survive this world, and I knew it, and I became obsessed with my need to prepare you. I wonder if I--” she turned her face to look over his shoulder, into Kenzie’s eyes--seemed to notice the tears there. “I wonder if I’ve been too stubborn regarding certain...things. As your uncle worsens, I...”

Annette’s eyes grew misty--she smiled, but the smile was achingly sad to him.

“I wonder if I haven’t confused the things that truly matter with what seemed to for so long.”

Duncan watched, his body going stiff with shock, as Annette went around him and reached down to Kenzie with one shaking hand. I’ve never seen Mom shake like that. It’s my uncle. Bill’s dying. He’s really dying. And I think she just realized that. Really realized it, and began to accept it. He’s going to die very soon.

Kenzie reached up to her--as their fingers grasped each other, Duncan watched (felt) the golden wave of Kenzie’s energy (her attention, her kindness, her goodness, her love) fall down over his mother in its quiet, cascading swell. Annette sighed--the sigh seemed to be tinged with surprise, as though whatever she was receiving from Kenzie was moving beyond words, tinged with too much feeling to resist. Duncan couldn’t quite glimpse it in its entirety--it seemed to be a secret of some kind that Kenzie passed into his mother, something for her and her alone. Duncan felt another sharp wave of shock as he watched Annette lean down to Kenzie’s little cheek and kiss it, a tiny, short peck of her lips to the soft skin of his beloved’s sweet face. The kiss, he knew instantly, was sincere.

And then the moment passed, and Annette walked away from them, towards Becket and the gate, slipping her dark sunglasses over her eyes, shielding him and Kenzie from her emotions entirely. The big man ushered her through the gate, and they were lost from view.

“Dunny,” Duncan heard Kenzie’s little voice before he turned to her, heard the tears in it, and they weren’t tears of sadness, not really--they’d become tears of relief, he saw as he looked into her eyes, their whirling gold telling him clearly, and he rushed to her and gathered her up in his arms, and she was so small and her body shook against him, and Duncan touched her cheek where his mother had kissed her, and it seemed to burn under his fingers, burn like it had been held close to a flame, and he held her among the quiet roses, the sweet-scented summer wind falling against them, and the moment soothed and dissolved, and they lingered in it for a long while.

[thebibliosphere]

An entirely random question: in a modern au, what sort of music would Vlad, Nathan, and Ursula like, respectively?

Oh boy I love asks like these cause it means I get to pull up my obscure character notes.

In the modern human AU, Vlad’s mother was a classical pianist and taught him how to play, as well as the violin. Ursula once remarked that he plays with a beautiful kind of heavy sorrow. His taste in music is predictably, somewhat moody and more than a little bit eclectic. He went through an emo goth phase in high school and never really left and still listens to things like JJ72 and Staind when he’s working, but draws the line at “The Sound of Silence” because he’s actively trying to stay sober these days and he still remembers the way his mother’s voice would crack on certain notes while listening to the original. He still can’t really listen to Joni Mitchell because of this, and God help anyone who tries to play Don McLean without warning him first cause you’re going to have to pick him up off the floor afterwards.

When he wants to be angry but upbeat while he works he has things like Muse and Awolnation on a loop. He’s more than a little in love with Hozier and refers to him as “my other boyfriend” in conversation. You’ll also hear a lot of Jefferson Airplane coming from his art studio, something he’s managed to reclaim from his mother’s collection without breaking his heart listening to it, more recently however it’s been this song on a loop, for obvious reasons. It makes him happy despite the gently melancholic tone of it.

If he were a Queen song he’d be Under Pressure.

Nathan is a total mess when it comes to music, it doesn’t matter what is playing, he’s here for it and ready to dance whether it’s Brittany Spears Toxic or Electric Six’s Danger! High Voltage. That said his phone is primarily loaded with theme songs from films and video games. The battle themes from Elder Scrolls makes great running tunes on the treadmill as far as he’s concerned. As does the main theme for Pacific Rim. Ursula got him addicted to Florence and the Machine sometime around the first week they started dating and he apologetically listens to Howl all the time while wearing his “do you even shift bro” werewolf t-shirt. Ursula likes to joke that his love song for Vlad is Jace Everett’s Bad Things. And not just because it was on True Blood and he’s never gotten over his vampire fixation from early adolescence and Vlad is absolutely 100% his Type in that regard, aka romantic sad goth in skinny jeans who looks good in fangs, nope, nope, nope, how very dare. (He feels attacked. This is slander. But yea, actually, no that’s...fair...)

He’s also got about 20 nieces and nephews at this point (or is it twelve, feels like a hundred) so he’s also got a million and one Disney songs stuck in his head at any given moment and can sing them all on command. Right now he’s had Shakira’s Try Everything from Zootopia on a loop in the kitchen for the last six months and the other two are on the verge of forming an intervention. Again. 

If he were a Queen song he’d be Don’t Stop Me Now

Ursula identifies with Florence Welch on a spiritual level because she too is both the aesthetic of Here Comes The Hurricane To Fuck Up Your Life and Ethereal Early Morning Light Glinting On Still Waters.

On the flipside of this she’s pretty certain Hozier is her patronus and also refers to him as “my other, other, boyfriend” in unity with Vlad. Him and Jeff Buckley, who she’s not unconvinced wasn’t a celestial being who decided to grace this world with his voice before he was called back to beyond the ether.

Like the other two she’ll listen to pretty much anything, but tends to avoid the more melancholy choices Vlad makes. She’s more of a “burn the sadness out of your veins with rage” sort of person than a “I need to sit down and have a good cry”. You always know when she’s annoyed at something because she likes to scream along to the opening of Immigrant Song regardless of the time of day or night. It’s best to just let her get on with it. (Their neighbors are mercifully old and deaf.) If the boys hear Martha Wainwright's Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole coming from the crafting room however it’s usually a good idea to go in armed with chocolate and a blanket because she’s probably under the desk not crying. She never cries. Vlad finds it unnerving and wishes she would. He thinks it’d help.

There’s a lot of Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks in there too, as well as  Loreena Mckennitt and the occasional insertion of Bill Hicks (yes the comedian) singing his song, The Moon Is Smiling.

She also likes the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and listens to Sacrilege fairly often. It’s the song she left on her ultra conservative adopted family’s voice mail when they found out about both Nathan and Vlad and called her a sinner. Immediately followed by Millie Jackson’s Fuck You Symphony. They haven’t tried to speak to her since and their voicemail appears to be deactivated. She can’t imagine why.

At the moment her personal anthem is What's Up by 4 Non Blondes and you’ll often find her gently singing it to herself while she works. Vlad tends to join in, not even realizing he’s doing it. It’s easy for them to harmonize together and Nathan enjoys listening to them both.

If she were a Queen song she’d undeniably be Killer Queen.

Regardless of their differing tastes, no matter where they are in the house if The Killers Mister Brightside comes on they’ll all bust into the same room singing it. They’re aware the lyrics are ironic for them but it’s impossible not to sing along. 

If the trio were a Queen Song it’d probably be Bohemian Rhapsody. They take turns singing all the parts. Nathan’s family have banned the song on long car rides for this reason. No. Once is enough. Don’t put it on a loop. Stop. Don’t make us split you up between cars. Again.

[ciceroisthefamilycat]

My Fiery Heart reread response (my Indigo Spell one here, my first-time Fiery Heart one here from 7.5 years ago)

before I get into it, I remembered looking up the Iolanthe coven name Sydney used; that wasn’t something I looked up until after reading it the first time though, so I didn’t realize the fairy court connection to Sydney recommending Zoe do her literature assignment on Midsummer Night’s Dream... I’m very certain it was an intentional reference to that opera now (even though the purple flower meaning was enough on its own)... if they get around to adapting this one, I half want to see Amberwood Prep put on a production of MND where Jill is helping with the costumes and Zoe gets to play Titania or something; I never got around to reading Richard III (Zoe’s original pick) but it’s interesting that free will/fatalism is apparently a major theme, and that Richard contrived to have his brother Clarence sent to the Tower of London...

also, I’m not sure if I cared about “White Rabbit” by Jefferson Airplane all those years ago, but I got a thrill seeing it referenced this go around.

we get the first namedrop for Cicero (though we had heard about his propensity for killing birds and some other mention in the earlier BL books ETA, 7/19: “My family had a cat back in Utah that I was pretty sure was more responsible than Angeline” pg 31 TGL

Anyway, gosh Sydney makes bad decisions in this one. And it’s not because she has too much to do- she has no real outside strenuous challenges to protecting Jill or her group this go around. The friend group actually had to decide “yeah let���s go hunt down a Strigoi in LA” for there to be a major action scene. I realize she’s in her late teens and the burdens put on her are unfair, but she’s a great example of someone who thrives under pressure and falls apart when she’s given too much free time.

The switch to dual narrators was unnecessary. It wasn’t bad, but it was clearly only to set up for the big cliffhanger at the end, and so feels a bit pointless in this one. Btw, Rose didn’t lose her spirit link into Lissa’s mind after Lissa went on antidepressants. Now admittedly, the chemicals in Adrian’s mood stabilizers would have probably worked differently, or maybe Richelle was trying to retroactively make things more consistent (since alcohol could affect the bond), or maybe it was “Adrian and Jill’s bond is less established, so Jill can’t break through like Rose could”... but the sudden decision mid book (with no repercussions- Adrian doesn’t even bring it up to Sydney to be like “hey, one of your main concerns about having sex is taken care of”) is so pointless and really goes to the minimal page-time of the larger ensemble. I said it the first time I read the book, the absence of Kristin and Julia, and Micah, and even more important characters like Angeline or Trey is so frustrating. I realize Richelle couldn’t write a book that was 900 pages long, but I would have gladly taken any of those characters instead of the completely unnecessary Terwilliger/Malachi romance. Especially to see Jill’s reaction to getting to be a more typical high school human, since I think she would have gotten even more attached to Amberwood than Sydney did. I also just... really, the Alchemists decided to have Sydney’s bio sister on campus... pretending to be a cousin... while she was playing sister to Jill? I get they kind of backed themselves into a corner, but weird. That being said, I was happy to have Rowena and Cassie around. (give me Adrian and Rowena being wlw besties excellence to make me really happy)

Sydney’s coven initiation taking place in chapter 2, then she meets Inez (who gives her the books on charms)... and we never see a witch other than Jackie again in this book? Honestly, why bother with writing the initiation at that rate? I still like the cloak they made Sydney though. On reread, there’s the randomest bit where Trey’s like “is Neil even really British” and I wonder if that was a dropped storyline where Neil was faking. Olive and Nina are still pleasant characters, and I liked that they had a “unique” background, but knowing how those stories end was kind of a buzzkill on reread. Olive, especially, deserved better.

This is another one where I forgot quite a few events- Adrian getting drunk and the pawnshop (I think I remembered that obliquely, but not so much on it), or the trip to Texas (which actually came before the pawnshop but oh well). I was happy to finally get some actual Christian content again, although I regret we didn’t get more from Sydney & Rose or more Sydney & Lissa. On Adrian’s mental health storyline... I am less impressed by it than I was the first time (though I didn’t remember being super-impressed, but according to my first review?). I do actually like Adrian being insistent, once he’s started taking meds, that he’s going to continue, but the diagnosis of bipolar disorder doesn’t actually feel like it fits? I will say, I find Adrian’s “chicken or egg” pondering over whether spirit causes mental illness or mental illness means a predisposition to specializing in spirit is fascinating (though it’s probably for the best Richelle never actually answered it).

The way Adrian spoke (or thought) about Zoe really pissed me off. Like, one, you’re an adult, stop antagonizing the sister of the girl you like and just be cordial (which is less suspicious than suddenly acting like you and Sydney don’t get along at all), and two... Adrian’s super protective over Sydney after realizing the emotional abuse Jared heaped on, but somehow doesn’t realize that this fifteen year old has been spending time with said father’s attention solely focused on her for ages now, and he has no sympathy for her? Instead of seeing Zoe being like “Sydney shouldn’t have to provide for you all the time” and being like “aww, that’s a nice protective sister instinct even if she needs an attitude adjustment” he taunts a 15 year old about drinking from her the way he did to 20-something actual-predator Keith. He could have engaged yet another Sage sister in talking about his awesome car on the drive over, or at least made other good faith efforts.

The dabbling stuff made me more uncomfortable this time around (I think). Especially Sydney comparing her getting Keith’s eye ripped out to Adrian’s assault of a human girl... that was some real false equivalency on Richelle’s part. But other parts of it, like “oh here comes Adrian to save the day and at least he’s changed from these guys he used to hang out with (oh, look at that convenient statement that even back in the day Adrian wasn’t on the same level of bad as them)”  was really frustrating, or the fact that Adrian was very deliberately withholding information from her in his own chapters and it made me question his trustworthiness in her chapters. Or the “oh, hey, he made the concession of getting treatment for his mental illness, so all is forgiven” handwaving. Like, Richelle brought this in to be an obstacle to their relationship, but it’s addressed so quickly (with maybe a pittance effort of later being like “oh, at least Adrian didn’t take advantage when Sydney accidentally absorbed some Moroi endorphins- he learned his lessons!) that it doesn’t merit the actual consideration of so important a topic Idk. I do feel like I enjoy the Sydrian relationship more in this book than the others, but I also have some huge issues with it.

Adaptation-wise, I think genderbent Adrian would definitely mean a change to the dabbling storyline (yes, women can be sexual predators, but I don’t think this storyline would be maintained with different social expectations). Honestly, give me an Adrian who, instead of having victimized someone, doesn’t immediately fully grasp how upsetting this idea of vampires preying on her species (and risking exposure) is to Sydney... Adrian being like “it isn’t sexual, those guys would never consider sleeping with a human” but the consent even to give blood still being critical to Sydney. And you know what? Let Lissa “compelled a guy to almost hit himself over the head with a baseball bat for molesting a Feeder” Dragomir have a spirit freak out moment of rage and go off on these subjects of hers the way that was deserved (and then once she cools down, maybe she can’t punish them fully, but she uses it to leverage their royal families’ agreement to the Family Rule amendment). And just finish that law by the end of the season, so that when the Alchemists pull out Sydney and Zoe, they’re actually closing down the whole Palm Springs operation in a rage. (if I remember correctly Alicia kidnapped Jill between books 5 and 6, but that was a stupid plotline imo- let Sydney and her coven take care of Alicia in the downtime of this book instead) Let Rose figure out that Sydney and Adrian are in love- she’s smart and she would pick up on that; let her celebrate them and encourage them to be happy together. Also the “Sydney and Adrian get three days at an inn to sex it all up” was stupid... like I’m happy for them but am I really supposed to buy that they could afford all that time away from Palm Springs?

As bad as I feel for Syd, and Adrian, and Eddie, and Jill, and Jackie at the end of TFH, I do remember that I’m going to feel worst for Hopper. I’m sorry that demon dragon Calistana has my heart and I remember one scene from Silver Shadows featuring the little guy prominently...

[auskultu]

Jefferson Airplane: Paul Kantner on After Bathing At Baxter's

Jim Delehant, Hit Parader, February 1968

OUR NEXT album will be called After Bathing At Baxter's. I wrote about five songs on it. I really can't say which one of our songs is my favorite. They all mean different things to me. 'Ballad Of You & Me & Pooneil' is one of the things I wrote which will be in the album. There's a lot of Winnie The Pooh in that song. We just put music to it and wrote new words.

It also has a little bit of 'Memphis' by Chuck Berry and a little bit of 'Spoonful' by Howlin' Wolf in the music. But I still wouldn't call it blues. To me blues are the classic things like Gary Davis. We sat down and started playing different things, and the ones we liked we put in the song, like Grace doing the hard piano thing. The piano sounds much nicer on the album. The single lost a lot of sound. We're always searching for parts that will fit well. Hopefully, it will all come out together. We don't always succeed, naturally.

The songs are very hard to describe. I can't say if it's a better album than Surrealistic Pillow because I haven't heard the completed masters. It looks as though it will be better, however.

One of the other songs is called 'No Paper Cloud Gives Grass Apples'. The song is also subtitled 'Martha'. It starts off with finger-picking guitar which is the root of the song, then harder things come into it, then it dribbles back to the picking thing. There's also a very far off voice thing against it. I wrote that with a friend of mine called Irving Estus. He wrote part of the words.

There's another song called 'Wild Time', sort of a down-uptempo tune. It's very slow and pulsy rather than what you'd think a wild time is. It has a three-part vocal.

Another song we haven't titled yet might be 'Watch Her Ride'. It's a love song of sorts. It's difficult for me to put the other songs in words because I didn't write them. Jorma wrote two songs and we're going to pick one for the album. Besides Grace's 'Two Heads', she'll have a new one called 'Ulysses', which is sort of a social commentary. She used a lot of the text from James Joyce's Ulysses. That song has to be worked out. Spencer even wrote a song. I'm not sure we'll use it. Marty wrote a thing called 'Young Girl Sunday Blues'.

There's another one that's sort of two songs put together. It's called 'Saturday Afternoon — Won't You Try'. It's a sketch of a song on 'Saturday Afternoon' referring to the San Francisco Be-in back in January. Then it goes into 'Won't You Try', which is uptempo.

We did a lot of live recording on location at the Fillmore quite a few months ago. A couple of tracks on the album will be from that.We might have to overdub some vocals on those tracks. It's nice to get the live quality of a room. Like, the Stones' live album, despite all its discrepancies, had a nice feeling.

We were trying to finish the album in four weeks but we had to boost it to six weeks, and we'll probably need another week to master.

You asked about the fancy out-front bass playing in San Francisco groups.

Our own bassist, Jack Casady, is responsible for a lot of that. Looking back over the groups, I'd say you're right. Most of the bass players use their instrument for more than rhythm. A lot of times we sing with the bass. It's just the bass players. We aren't musically restricted. If someone played bass like that a year or so ago, they'd say it was crummy. It's getting away from accepted rock and roll rhythm. We work everything around each other, so everybody has a chance to speak out rhythmically and lyrically. Moby Grape and the Grateful Dead have excellent bass players, too.

The recording people are having problems working with the new electric bands even though they've been recording rock and roll for years. It's actually a brand new sound for them. Just the bass playing, for instance, is new. It has to be defined. Everybody from San Francisco has had trouble recording — the Grape, Grateful Dead, Big Brother, Quick Silver. Somebody once described it as a "wall of sound" and it is a solid wall. To pick things out of that wall, an engineer must know how to record it, which takes time. We're starting to get a nice sound, though.

In the studio everything is intellectual. You have to think about what you're doing. On stage it's strictly emotional. In the studio you have to do an instrumental track and then put a vocal over it. It's all in pieces and it has to be put together.

We're also having a lot of censorship problems. There's probably less censorship in America than anywhere else, but we still have it. Censorship here, however, isn't very effective anymore. We've learned how to bypass censorship. It might be difficult to understand what the singers are saying but after a while you can understand them.

Then, in the promotion department somebody wanted us to work Carol Doda into our "act" at the Fillmore. The Fillmore audience would have laughed at it. That topless junk is for the short-hair freaks. It's really depressing, those topless clubs.

When we come back off the road, we like to have a few days by ourselves, but when we work on songs, we live together. Like for this album, we rented a house in Hollywood to work on all the material. We have lots of arguments. It's more civil debate rather than armed conflict. It gets pretty wild sometimes with all the ideas. We don't have one person who controls everything. Whoever yells the loudest wins.

Our producer, Al Smith, who is an excellent producer, feeds everything we give him into the board. He takes care of the proper balance of the sounds we feed him. We are in full charge of the music. Smith is in charge of the electronics.

It took us about three records before we caught on, because we were a new group and our first records weren't very good productions. We're very fortunate to have Al Smith now. San Francisco was unheard of at the time and our songs were strange compared to what was in the top 40.

We're interested in the sounds of horns but it's more a philosophical concept. We'd rather do it with voices and guitar sounds. Nobody in the group really plays a horn. Grace sings some nice horn lines and Jorma plays some nice horn lines on his guitar. We're getting more into that now. Most of the horn things I've been hearing are dull imitations of Motown things. They're not using the horns creatively. That's like the sitar which was just used because it had a funny sound. Mike Bloomfield's band does some nice things with horns, however. The Cream is a good example of a group that doesn't need horns.

I'm not into jazz enough to say anything about it. I had a lot of fun jamming with Dizzy Gillespie, and I like John Coltrane and Charles Lloyd. But, for me, jazz as such has been dead for a long time. Only certain elements in jazz get to me. By and large, jazz and a lot of classical music is very dull.

I grew up with Carl Perkins and Fats Domino just like everybody else in our generation. Now, they were great people. We still love that stuff, because Rosemary Clooney, or somebody like that, was singing things that didn't mean anything. That pop music was really irrelevant to anything human. That eventually turned out to be muzak. Restaurant music for people over forty.

Musically we're just expanding, maturing. We're getting more familiar with ourselves.

[inappropriatefangirlneeds]

Gotham s4ep4 “The Demon's Head” Personal Review 

“I hope that satisfies your curiosity” Warning spoilers below  

Not quite back to the old format but I´m not sure if that´s a good or bad thing anyway.

The “What is so important about this knife?!” club, founded by Barbara Kean gets two honourably members, Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon. Ra´s al Ghul still refuses to reveal more than vague ideas and stories.

 * I like Alex Winthrop, I want(ed) to be Alex, I´m jealous, beyond jealous and full of regret * they really got the switch in tone from boy just talking to boy remembering other “boy” in the room is Bruce Wayne really nice * NILES WINTHROP: “My boy people believe in these stories, they kill for them” Stories and ideas still the most dangerous thing in history since the dawn of mankind!  * That what is it a saber tooth tiger? skeleton gives me Hannibal Randall Tier flashbacks  * “The best liar I ever met ran a brothel in Shanghai. Her quite considerable gift was that you knew she was lying but didn´t care, you so badly wanted to believe her” No my dear Ra's al Ghul the best liar you ever met was a plain and simple tailor.  

 * “Knocking Victor, we discussed this.” WHEN, WHY, did you discuss this, WHAT happened that you had to discuss this ?! I need to know. Oswald .. spill the beans.

* SOFIA FALCONE claims to be only here to support the charities. Concerns from OSWALD COBBLEPOT are unfounded, she says. VICTOR ZSASZ is leaning the background and distracting me tremendously, the blue suits him. Victor´s “I´mma stab you” sound so lovely, the threat goes totally over my head.  Glad Oswald´s paranoia is confirming my headcanon about the families lying doormat. Sofia is so good, I´m starting to love her. She´s aiming for harmless. It reminds me so much of early Oswald.   

* Some families loyal to Falcone show up at SOFIA FALCONE´s place wanting back old times and their beloved Carmine. She claims to want them gone for their own good, too late. Oswald makes her listen to them being shot. She served them to penguin on an ice cold plate. That was so calculated wasn´t it. “You used me” Sofia lets OSWALD COBBLEPOT believe that he is calling the shots. He seems to buy it. “You´re alive aren’t you” “I would plant roses; they will cover up the smell”  Sofia criticizes Oswald´s methods: “My father wouldn´t have ..”   “My father knew how to build on the strength of others ..”  Send a message that the old order supports him then the now dead men would have pledged him loyalty.  She is weaseling herself into his empire presenting herself as useful. This is “golden goose” part two! Oswald acts like he doesn´t care  “New Times, new methods” but I´m sure this will be going through his mind. He took so much from his old mentors, he knows that himself, he´s even mentioned it this episode.

 * Later: SOFIA FALCONE talking to JIM GORDON pushes emotion buttons again: Recalling her father Carmine Falcone stabbing a man begging for his life just to see everything back to normal as if nothing had happened the next day. One would think she should turn her back on Gotham but nope. “This house, this city is in my veins, I´m home Jim.” Is she mirroring the blood rhetoric from Jim in 4x03? “It´s in my blood” were Jim´s words  “The city is my birth right” was her phrasing, both refer to a birth right in some way but there was more legal/law rhetoric in it.   Jim asks about the missing/dead men. Since when is Jim eager to investigate the murder of criminals. Sofia tells him about Penguin using her as bait and Jim is “And you let him” yeaah right? He´s not taking her seriously previously but now she should have things neat and tidy.  Sofia calls him out that Jim´s coming for help from Carmine would never have been bloodless. Was that her plan, Jim asks, get close to penguin gain his confidence. He needs to know what she is going to do. No he doesn’t! (Makes me think of Jim just being more open to Barbara Kean in S1 would have prevented some stuff and things as well.) Sofia is gonna get the city back from penguin, that´s what Jim wants she´s gonna give him that but he has to trust her! Jim grabs her arm, smashes the glass and kisses her. It´s like in the old movies. They make out on the couch. Damn. But I´m only and only accepting the whole thing if this is actually this time Jim using his sexuality as a weapon. Let this be Jim being the feme fatale seducing someone to gain leverage over them. Please. (Also with all the Sofia & Oswald parallels this (even if just plain actual love or lust) is so good.) 

* JIM GORDON looks so out of place in BARBARA KEAN´s weapon shop I love it. Seeing the spiked punk hair next along to the pristine blue velvet (?) sofas is wonderful. No one so far has been sitting on them right? The guys in the room drink from glasses and a wine bottle. Makes me think of if Barbara confiscated all the beer cans before they entered the place (doesn’t fit the aesthetic) and made them clean their combat boots. Jefferson Airplane “White Rabbit” always gets me. Barbara with the playing cards picks up the Alice in Wonderland theme. Her hair looks nice again. * “You like this me better?”  Barbara is still picking up there history but Jim isn´t even acknowledging it. Despite her new chill attitude it seems those things still matter to her? * RA´S and Barbara´s interaction are still oddly respectful, I wanna know more.

* The upside down EDWARD NYGMA cut was lovely, and I can relate writing is a struggle and you need knifes for it * I regret watching the preview, I think the sudden rap would have had more impact not knowing about it in advance. * “Well that´s exactly what you would say” Victor Zsasz just want´s to torture people he´s ready to find any reason for it. * The riddled invitations are all in vain Edward bursts into the Iceberg Lounge. There is some banter with OSWALD COBBLEPOT who then recognizes Ed is not quite himself. * “Six hours for two bad riddles does that sound like anything like the old you” “Revenge will make me feel better” “You wont have revenge on me” “Yeah I will” “No you won´t” “Only HE can get revenge on me”  This is prime Season 1 Oswald, bargaining for his life with eloquence and wits. He´s talked himself out of being killed, again. This would totally have worked without the reinforcement as well. * Edward gives in, okay freeze me, he says what Oswald´s surely please to here “I´m not the Riddler”. It saves him. “I would only freeze Ed Nygma, who cares about that. Better revenge is having you live, knowing that you are not him, and you never will be again.” I´m crying.  Also, I get the rhetoric’s but that´s just sentiment there. Oswald stabbed people for less, granted he´s had more time to think about things in that scenario but even in not so impulsive situations he´s never been Mr. Sadistic. He´s wallowed in having the upper hand (and consequently someone else suffering because of that) but he´s not into torture he´s not into that prolonged dragged out element of this, if someone suffers from his hand it´s more a straight line thing, clearer and done when done. His cruelty has function, often a message (Feeding Grace her children, the corpses in Sofia´s garden,) but he´s not wallowing in the cruelty per se. (Or am I forgetting something?)  

* What are the flowers in place of the Ice Sculpture. The pink suits the Iceberg Lounge but I need to know if those flowers go a particular meaning. * “Who am I”  Ed is back to the old question.

 * BRUCE WAYNE feels responsible for the Winthrop murder.  Well he should have thought about that earlier. If Alfred indeed advised him not to let the man have the knife overnight Alfred has some serious wisdom points over Bruce this week. I don´t really get why Bruce would be so reckless anyway. It was risky in terms of losing the knife and also in terms of risking other person´s well being. What got into him? Plot convenience?  * “Fear is normal” Poor ALEX WINTHROP. He´s a muffin. There´d be so many characters who would be mad at Bruce even if he truly actually didn´t have a clue about the knife. I find it a bit odd that they would trust each other that quickly and have such a conversation but I´m not questioning it cause it´s just too much of a beautiful scene. “Weirdly cool” 

* They both flee from some hunter and ANUBIS that Ra´s sent after the knife. What´s Egyptian mythology got to do with all this? How does he know how to track down the knife? Wouldn´t he like needed to have smelled it to recognize it? Has he, how old is he? Has he been killed with the knife and brought back to have a connection of what? Just in general what?! * Old me, good me, on track me would be so stressed out by all the mess with the books. * Also later:  Playing fetch with the bone. Are you serious ?! :D * “Hiding it in plain sight” Did I say I love Alex. I never know why people put the stuff in the most secure place. Put it in your hopelessly messy dresser. Let them dig though old and new socks, no pair matching not knowing if they are going to find anything there or somewhere starched between old documents and files, or maybe in an emptied shampoo bottle among (yeah I know the particular knife isn´t going to fit but you get the idea) lotions, soaps and things.   “The man that killed him, he can´t have this.” Could I love him more. Thinking about his Grandfathers words and them maybe being true he takes responsibility, he´s considerate. He´s not dropping it like hot coals that burnt his hand, he´s looking at his injuries wanting them to have some meaning. This guy killed his grandfather that´s reason enough for not doing him any favours of any way.  Alex is so dead, he´s so going to die, right?!

* JIM GORDON got his detective skills back this week. He´s easily deducting Alex´s escape, taking aid in Bruce, and that little story face off with RA´S AL GHUL was just lovely to watch: The boy is hunted because of the knife or because the killer thinks he saw something > Did he? > No. > Phew, well then he is safe.  I´d love to have seen them talk more, but yeah I get it it´s not Garak and Bashir. * ALFRED PENNYWOTH interrupts and promptly punches Ra´s. “Where the bloody hell is Gordon”  “He´s bloody vanished”   Jim is trying to get him stop the riot  “I need you to calm down”. This is a nice contrast to the recent just “set the butler loose” he´ll hurt people but things will be alright. Jim being the one recognizing sudden action and violence might not be the best thing long term is a nice change and it gives me tiny flash backs to the Jim Gordon from S1 who calmed down and defused dangerous situation.

 * BIG THING this week is people not telling Jim stuff. Bruce is not confiding in him until he is persuaded. Sofia is not letting Jim in on her plans, I hope she´ll stay clever and continue that. There is a big confrontation between Jim and Alfred about this. “You do not get to lecture me on a lack of honesty and openness” Alfred and Bruce were up to something for weeks. For once Jim is kind of right in his righteous rage. Alfred, as his guardian can violate privacy if for the sake of safety, Jim claims. Alfred is not having it. “Stick to the point” Having Pennyworth stay back and possibly arrested is petty and not a good call though. It will teach him a lesson is something for bickering lovers not people trying to safe someone. Alfred even picks that dispute up again later when Jim is trying to comfort Bruce and reason he needs to be talked to to be helpful “Ra´s is a psychopath, you are not responsible for his action. I wanna help but everything you´ve said so far ..  give me something I can believe.”  “Perhaps now you understand why we held back.”  Alfred jabs. I hope they get over the pettiness and will work together..

* “You don´t understand he, killed Alfred and then brought him back” Is this the week where they have the BRUCE WAYNE & JIM GORDON parallels reversed?  Usually it´s Bruce Wayne caring first and foremost about saving and protecting the lives of others (”even” if it´s the life of a thief 4x03) now he hesitates to hand over the knife in exchange for Alex´s life. Usually it´s Jim Gordon who risks the well being of others and steps over corpses for the sake of the mission and the grand picture.  Moreover did he really say “he” killed Alfred? While I would absolutely agree that all blame for this solely is to be put on Ra´s and Bruce is the victim in this. I find myself surprised that Bruce would say it that way. So far we´ve seen him feel responsible for what he did under Ra´s influence. I took him as someone who would not want to forget this, a cautionary detail to avoid similar things in the future. Seeing and putting the blame on someone else without keeping an eye on one´s own responsibility in the scenario (subjectively or objectively) is something Jim does. Bruce takes responsibility for his actions, he faces his mistakes. Yet this week he claims to have been unknowing about the dangers of the knife, (Don´t get me wrong in this situation it probably was the better and much more helpful option.) and he keeps risking more Winthrop lives.

* RA´S AL GUHL obviously is pleased with Bruce´s actions.  “Well done Bruce, you finally begin to see things clearly. The question is are you strong enough?”  

* After ALEX got killed (I knew it but argh) Bruce is back to. “This is all my fault” Despite Jim Gordon trying to tell him otherwise he´s confirming:  It doesn´t matter what you say, it´s all my fault, I killed him. Yep sounds more like the Bruce we know. The little trip into Jim Gordon ways did not agree with him.  I wonder what Ra´s would say to this. Probably that he isn´t strong enough. But I´d say admitting and recognizing such a thing needs strength.  Back to the parallel we´ve had Lee and others blame Jim for all the misery around him, while I have to disagree with quite some cases we haven´t seen Jim owning up to it or seriously second guessing his deed. We´ve only got clues that he´s quite miserable at times but he´s never set down being like yep you´re right that was wrong. Bruce´s gonna do that and keep doing that I assume ?

* “Sure but, how do you spell .. “  I feel called out I still look up how to spell Ra's al Ghul.  That and Oswald twice not being in the spot where Edward was waiting for him is adding so much “realism”. Cause that´s exactly how all those great plans would play out if it weren´t the movies.  “Honestly that could be anything” Oswald calls it about the riddles.  I also really loved the so absolutely done he can´t even properly handle his glass nor keep his hands out of is face attitude. There´s so much “I feel this”. Same with the petty bickering in between Oswald and Ed (you´re not smart, yeah well maybe because you froze me, I get revenge, no you wont, yes , no) and Jim and Alfred. There´s still been great statements in there but also some kind of spotonness . If it´s BenMckenzie solely responsible for this: Bless you.

* That tiny penguin pin on Oswald´s suit! * “My other Victor”  “Not you, the other Victor”  Mr. “the other” Victor Freeze. <3

[brav3reviews]

What’s That Sound? by Haley Reinhart

Let’s Start This is taking me all the way back to the 70s! As a first impression, Haley has really grown as an artist. She has learned how to use different parts of her voice and has learned to use her voice in different ways.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

Baby It’s You: Originally by The Shirelles This rendition is gorgeous. Haley’s signature growl really brings out the emotion in the lyrics. I love the rock vibe she’s giving me.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

For What It’s Worth: Originally by Buffalo Springfield Haley starts this song a capella, and it works so well! This song is also perfectly timed for the world today. As far as music and tempo, this one sticks pretty close to the original, but I’m not mad at that. She is definitely changing up the melody and adding in some really cool riffs.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

The Letter: Originally by The Box Tops There is a definite tempo shift in Haley’s cover, and definitely some funk added with that brass section. I’m not sure how I feel about this arrangement, personally. I feel like it ended just as it was really getting into a groove.

Music: 4/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 3/5

Can’t Find My Way Home: Originally by Blind Faith I am not familiar with the original version of this song, but I think that doesn’t matter because I am one hundred percent in love with Haley’s version. I don’t know if I even care to look up what the original sounds like. (I mean, I will, but I don’t want to ruin my experience of Haley’s gorgeous cover.) Edit: Okay, I listened to the original, and I liked it, but I still feel like I’m going to be listening to Haley’s cover more. Her voice brings this authentic quality to the song that isn’t there in the original.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

White Rabbit: Originally by Jefferson Airplane I was just recently introduced to this song, so I am thrilled to hear Haley’s version. This song references Alice in Wonderland so Haley’s dreamy voice works so perfectly on this cover. The original sounds very rigid and dark, and Haley gives a refreshing airy sound to the song. Again, I think I’m going to be listening to Haley’s version so much after this.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

Somewhere In Between by Haley Reinhart This song is, again, very dreamy. It has a very 60s/70s feeling. I like the lyrics. I like her delivery of the song. I like the music. I like everything, but I’m just not sure that I’ll listen to it much after this.

Music: 4/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

Oh! Darling: Originally by The Beatles When I saw this song in the track list, my reaction was, “Holy $#!^! I’m so glad she’s doing this song again.” Her cover of “Oh! Darling” is my favorite. This was the song she audtioned with for American Idol, as well. The cover on this album definitely does not disappoint. It’s incredible. So much emotion. So much talent.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

Sunny Afternoon: Originally by The Kinks This is a really cool version. Her voice is so cute... and agile! I'm getting like sweet tea with lemon on the porch in my rocking chair vibes from this... but then I also get jazz underground club in the 40s vibes.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

You Showed Me: Originally by The Turtles I don't think I know this song, but the melody sounds like something The Turtles would write for sure. I feel like I've been transported to a room with shag carpet and a beaded curtain door, which is a great thing. Man, I feel like I'm tripping, though.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

Words of Love: Originally by The Mamas and The Papas I just love The Mamas and The Papas music so much. (Though, I do not like John Phillips for what he did to Mackenzie.) This song makes me want to dance around my room. Haley's scatting is wonderful! She sings this so well.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

Bring the Love Back Home (feat. Casey Abrams): Originally by Haley Reinhart & Casey Abrams I'm so excited for this song. I love Haley + Casey. Omg. I love this. I love this so much. The phrasing is like... I hate to say perfect again, but it's perfect. The lyrics are amazing. The music is incredible.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

Time of the Season (feat. Casey Abrams): Originally by The Zombies I just love that Casey + Haley have stuck together for so long after American Idol. That makes me really happy. They did a great version of this song. Dang! Casey's voice has improved so much! I didn't think that was possible! I honestly just do not like this song that much, but I don't like the original either so no real surprise there that I'm not feeling this. That's nothing against Haley + Casey, though.

Music: 3/5 Lyrics: 3/5 Delivery: 5/5

These Boots Are Made for Walkin': Originally by Nancy Sinatra My sister was really obsessed with this song for a while, so I had to listen to it forever. Only recently did I start liking it again. I really like Haley's version a lot. I would definitely listen to it again.

Music: 5/5 Lyrics: 5/5 Delivery: 5/5

Favorite Song: Cover: Oh! Darling; Original: Bring the Love Back Home Least Favorite Song: Time of the Season & The Letter

[metalbuzz-net]

The Devil’s Blood: A Quick Chat with Guitarist Selim Lemouchi

While Selim Lemouchi, the guitarist for satanic rockers The Devil’s Blood, who goes by just SL, opted not to answer a handful of questions pertaining to songs on ‘The Thousandfold Epicentre’, and another couple were abruptly answered with “No,” I did briefly engage him on subjects such as his writing process, F’s voice, Satan, the lack of protesting bible thumpers and Guns N’ Roses as rock n’ roll inspiration. Plus, I got a long ass list of music that he’s into. Sweet!

Ken Kopija: Hello SL. It’s Ken over at METALBUZZ in Chicago. We are the Internet’s number one source for real metal news, reviews, interviews and more. First off, I am a huge fan & supporter of The Devil’s Blood, which has graced the digital pages of METALBUZZ off and on now for several years. SL: Thanks for your time and energy so far.

How are you doing today? Today is a good day, the weather is quite downcast and grey which makes for a good walk in the forest.

I spoke with you about a year and a half ago, right around the US release of ‘The Time Of No Time Evermore’. That is the album that introduced me to and got me hooked on The Devil’s Blood. How do you feel the band has progressed musically from ‘The Time Of No Time Evermore’ to ‘The Thousandfold Epicentre’? I feel that, as a band, we have become better at performing and better at recording, perhaps that might not seem like much, but that is the kind of progress that allows a band to stay evolving. When it comes to the creation process of the material, nothing has changed.

‘The Thousandfold Epicentre’ was released on 11-11-11 in Europe. Is there any signifigance to it being released on that date? 11 is our most significant numerological correspondence and we always try to gather as many of them around as possible, in the artwork, in the music, in the lyrics, in the number of minutes and seconds, volume differences etcetera, etcetera. It signifies Chaos, renewal, freedom and at the same time, it signifies the structure of Satan and Death to us.

And the album dropped in the US via Metal Blade on January 17th. Do you have any special rituals that you followed on release day? To be honest, no, I have let this record “go” already. The release date in Europe was for me the ultimate moment and our Ritual at Groningen’s Vera Club was our perfect way of celebrating our Child’s birth into this “world of gravity gone mad.” For the glory of our first official American release, we shall wait with rituals and rites until we are on American soil again.

As I understand it, in addition to being one of the bands guitarists, you are also the primary songwriter. How much of the songwriting were you involved with on ‘The Thousandfold Epicentre?’ All of it. With the exception of the lyrics of “Fire Burning” and the last guitar part of “Everlasting Saturnalia,” which were done respectively by Tommie Eriksson (Saturnalia Temple) and Rob Oorthuis (NOX/Centurian).

That being said, other than topics like Satan and the occult, what other subjects or entities were your inspiration for the new record? All of it can be caught within the three principalities of Adversity; The Death, The Chaos and The Satan. There is nothing more to me.

Which comes first, the music or your words? Usually at the same moment, sometimes months apart, in which case music usually pre-dates the words. I guess this has to do with the fact that my instinctual understanding of music is still stronger than my understanding of language.

Can you elaborate a little on the whole writing process? There is not much to say, you have an idea, you pick up a guitar and a pen, you don’t stop till you are done.

Your sister, ‘F’, the bands lead singer, sounds a little more produced this time around. Was a different approach taken with the recording of her voice? Funny you should say that as she was most certainly less produced. We simply let her sing the song and apart from that nothing, except some choir parts, were doubled or added. This is as close to absolute purity as we could come this time around.

In my opinion, it sounds like The Devil’s Blood have re-invented themselves on ‘The Thousandfold Epicentre’, while at the same time maintaining that definitive sound that is unique to the band. Would you agree with that statement? We simply have done what we could, no more and certainly no less. We ourselves were quite surprised and of course immensely proud with what manifested itself, but to claim any kind of control of what the outcome came to be would be grossly overstating the importance of the musician in the creative process.

As far as I know, The Devil’s Blood have never done a concept video. Is that true? Yes it is.

Are there any plans to do a video(s) for ‘The Thousandfold Epicentre’? We would love to do that of course, it is mostly a financial thing. These things costs money and we have none.

Along with several European dates in the spring, I see that the band is scheduled to play ‘Maryland Deathfest X’ May 24th – 27th. Please tell me that those are not your only US dates this year? They are not.

Is a US tour planned? We will be doing a full North American tour which will be officially announced very soon.

The Devil’s Blood has played with the likes of Watain, Pentagram, Root, Venom and Tryptikon. Are there any bands that you’ve never toured with that you would really like too? Not any that jump to mind immediately.

I have never been to one of your live shows, or “rituals” as they are referred to, but I’ve watched videos online of the band performing live. There seems to be a lot of sweat and blood. Can you describe your live show to someone who has never witnessed it before? Explanation is empty, it is better to withhold all information and allow each individual the chance to experience freely and without priorly enforced parameters of expectation.

I know that there are a lot of bible thumpers out there who would probably jump at the chance to protest one of your shows. Do you every get those types hanging around your gigs? To be honest it has not happened yet, which is a shame of course.

The Devil’s Blood is based out of the Netherlands. What is the metal scene like there these days? I don’t really know, apart from a handful of bands and people I am personally in contact with. I am terribly uninformed about these things. I no longer read magazines and I rarely go to concerts and have no real desire to be on top of things any more.

The Metal Blade website has the following listed for band members: SL/TDB/A-O and F/TDB/MOS. Can you please tell me a little about what this means and who all of the members of the band are? No and no.

Well alrighty then. Have you ever put on headphones and listened to any of your music on vinyl? Of course.

Who or what inspired you to start playing music? If I had to name one person who has that dubious honour it would have to be Slash and Axl Rose of Guns ‘n Roses. That band really showed me the power of rock n’ roll and its insidious flair for rebellion and independence. And Slash’s personal style of playing and his careful ear for sounds and harmony combined with Axl’s uncanny talent for writing anthems is something that has definitely found its way into my music at various levels.

What is your favorite guitar to play? At the moment, it is a Haar Stratocaster, a custom built machine that seems to fill my needs wonderfully. But it does change from time to time.

Assuming you have one, if I got a hold of your iPod, what would I find on there? Danzig, Morbid Angel, Pentagram, The Doors, Merciless, Death, Judas Priest, Jimi Hendrix, Iron Maiden, Entombed, Slayer, Aphrodite’s Child, Slayer, Autopsy, Nick Cave, The Who, Root, Dr Feelgood, Nazareth, Aerosmith, MC5, Iggy and The Stooges, Mercyful Fate, Uriah Heep, The Byrds, The Rolling Stones, Bathory, Type O Negative, Charles Manson, The Beatles, Blue Öyster Cult, Coil, Joy Division, Ministry, Sepultura, Tiamat, Roky Erickson, GG Allin, Carnivore, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Jefferson Airplane, Blood Axis, Hawkwind, Motorhead, Cro-Mags, Mayhem, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Burzum, Kiss, Alice Cooper, Velvet Underground, In Slaughter Natives, Samael, The Pretty Things, The Golden Earring, ZZ Top, Master’s Hammer, Shadows, Thin Lizzy, T. Rex, Guns ‘n Roses, Bobby Beausoleil, King Crimson, Bolt Thrower, Dissection, Wishbone Ash and many, many more.

We have time for one more question, and it’s from a fan… Fred from St. Germain wants to know… “I grew up listening to a lot of Mercyful Fate and King Diamond. Would you consider them/him an influence on your music and are you a fan?” I consider Mercyful Fate to be one of the most important heavy metal bands that ever existed, apart from that I am not sure how much they actually inspired me, it is hard to say how these things work.

Once again, SL, thanks for taking time out of your busy day to chat with METALBUZZ. It has been my pleasure talking to you and I look forward to seeing The Devil’s Blood in Chicago soon. Thanks for you attention.

(с) Ken Kopija