#i play five string and tenor

[chronically-chaotic-cryptid]

My dad is trying out the banjo lads this is not a joke with any luck in no time at all we will get to be a three banjo household

[roseband]

noodled around... know like 90% of alive on bass

need to know NAOOOOW if jaehyeong got a five string or is playing it dropped d

[bandnerdlevel43]

Day Three- Reunion (Modern)

Lu Legend x Ravio (Ravioli) 

Summary: Ravio has been off on a business trip with Hilda for a month now, and Legend has been getting lonely. Now he's coming back- right on the day of the chain��s jazz band performance.

Word Count: 6,911 (This is a long one)

Warnings: If you read my first fic, you know I don’t swear but it’s there for the vibe; Legend has anxiety, Legend has a flashback in a flashback involving non graphic stab wounds and a reference to his dead uncle, improper use of a trumpet spit valve, Fable is a menace, Four has to deal with her, author has several agendas and she is pushing ALL of them today, fluff at the end, super über long fic

A/N (Please read this, it's important): I'm back! I procrastinated this one for way too long, but I finally finished it! I somehow also managed to finish day four and five before this one, so those will also be posted with this. Go check them out here and here!

…Anyways, it's time for me to come clean. I'm a band kid. And a proud one, too. I saw this post and went absolutely nuts, so of course I had to write about a jazz band au. Give the post some love (since op is inactive) because most of it was the basis for this au.

Important part: The last song they play in this fic is “Want You Gone” by the 8-Bit Big Band, feat. Benny Benack III, and I suggest you listen to it! The lyrics are hilarious but if you don’t listen to it before the fic itself you’ll get lost very easily. If you see any music words you’re unfamiliar with, either throw me an ask or you can look it up on your browser. Sorry for the long note; I hope you enjoy!

----

Good news: We’re on our way back! We’ll be home by the twenty-third.

We have a performance that day.

I won’t see you.

I can drop in. Don’t worry! We’ll make it, I promise.

Alright. Love you.

I love you too, Link.

“Texting your boyfriend?” Fable chirped.

Legend jumped, shielding his phone and glaring at his sister. “None of your business,” he spat.

Fable grinned, toying with the reed in her fingers. “You sure you don’t have that message memorized?”

“Shut up,” he hissed.

Wind blew into his trombone, imitating a wolf-whistle while wiggling his eyebrows. Legend snorted. “Real mature, Sailor.”

Sky paused the plucking of his bass’s strings, his eyes flicking from his tuner to Legend as his brows furrowed. “Isn’t he coming back today?”

“Yep,” Fable trilled gleefully. “And Legend is beside himself with lovesickness!”

“Fable!” Legend growled. Great goddesses, could she be any more insufferable?

Well, apparently she could. “His lonely heart, separated from his lover for what seemed like years,” she sighed, swooning dramatically. “Tonight they'll reunite in a passionate embrace, proclaiming their love to-”

Twilight appeared from behind her and swatted her upside the head. “Leave ‘im alone,” he chided. While Fable scampered away, giggling, he tossed a tiny bottle to Wind, who snatched it out of the air. “Slide grease.”

“Thanks, Rancher.” Wind saluted. 

“Anything you two need?” Twilight asked, looking at Sky and Legend. Both shook their heads. 

“Hey, Twilight!” Four sauntered up to the small gathering, tenor sax slung over his shoulder by the strap. “We need cork grease over here.” He blinked at Legend and pointed out needlessly, “Your face is red. You okay?”

Legend didn't think his face could heat any further. He was wrong. “I'm fine,” he muttered.

“He's just madly in love,” Wind said mischievously. Both Fable and Sky snickered. He glared at them, Sky in particular. I thought better of you, bird boy.

Four's lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “Ah. This is about Ravio.”

Legend dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Fable, for some bizarre reason that Legend couldn't place, thought this was hilarious, and cackled.

“Reign it in, loverboy.” Four leaned against the wall. “You still need to warm up, and no one likes to hold a cold hand.”

Legend kicked at his knee. “Watch it,” he threatened, “Or I'll make your lifespan as short as you are.”

A chorus of “oohs” sounded around the room. Four chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. “Cheer up. You'll get your kisses soon.”

Fable howled hysterically, slapping her thigh. Legend could feel how red his face was as Four ran through the smuggest scale he had ever heard. It wasn't even that witty, but Wind was still squeaking like a chipmunk, and of course Sky snorted. Twilight at least was trying his hardest to appear indifferent, but Legend knew how hard it was to keep one's composure when Fable leans on you for support while wheezing directly in your ear.

“Ledge!” Wars hollered from backstage. “Get your sorry backside over here; I want to run through this song with you.”

Legend aimed one last petty kick at Four before standing. He hefted his case and stomped off, pointedly ignoring the way Fable pretended to faint into a scandalized Twilight's arms, crying, “Save me, Mister Hero!”

That shook him more than he'd have liked to admit. He bit his tongue to keep from throttling Fable for making fun of Ravio. Well, even if she hadn't mocked him, he still would've done it. And she still would've deserved it.

Wars watched him approach, his expression neutral. Legend thrust open his case aggressively and jammed the various pieces together. His jaw was tense and he avoided Wars’ gaze.

“Careful,” his brother commented. “You'll scratch her.”

Legend exhaled a controlled breath and quelled the ache in his gut that shouldn't exist in the first place. He suffocated it with thoughts of flats and sharps, of staccatos and tenudos, of the cool metal on his lips and fingertips, and of the notes both painted on the page and burned into his very soul. It was a familiar ritual that helped ease a bit of himself into the music, breathing color into the diverse melodies, rhythms, and even his brothers. It never failed, even when Fable did it with him.

Until today.

Somehow, his thoughts still circled back to his blasted boyfriend. His cheery grin had that same brightness as the sheen on his trumpet. His eyes danced with the same mischief that Sky eased from his bass. His arms would envelop him, soothing in a way that reminded him of playing with his brothers and sister. His tears spoke the same words as an instrument in need of care: always frustrated with himself and never anyone else. His hands- they shook before adversity. Just how Legend's own trembled right then, his mind's eye suddenly brimming with images of hundreds of people, Ravio in the midst of them, staring unsympathetically as his fingers stuttered. 

Legend cursed, his hands dropping to his sides. He flattened himself against the wall, sinking to the floor. Hylia, he could already tell he was going to mess up badly.  He had practiced these songs with the others for weeks, and it was about to mean nothing. To make matters worse, he had a solo. Not any old solo, either, but an improvised solo. Improvising solos was nothing new to him. This stabbing pain was new. It twisted at his heart like a common school bully to a poor victim's shirt. Loneliness (And yes, Farore strike him down, but Fable was right. He was lonely.) had him at its mercy. And now, Ravio was so close. Legend was going to fumble the solo in front of him, and that fear alone blurred his thoughts until he couldn't discern one tangled bundle of nerves from another.

Wars sat down next to him. He laid a hand on Legend's shoulder and asked softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Legend shook his head hopelessly. There was nothing he could say that Fable hadn't said already. Besides, with how Wars fixed him with those knowing eyes, he understood better than Legend himself did.

“Breathe with me, alright?” Wars let go of his shoulder, hand gesturing to his chest. Legend didn't have much pride to lose, so he complied. When Wars' chest rose, he breathed in. When it sank, he breathed out. In, two, three, four. Hold… Out, two, three, four. It didn't take much time before Legend grew irritated, thinking that this was taking too long. His time would be better spent practicing! He should be tuning, warming up, looking over his music again, anything! Not some barely effective breathing exercise that his brother only did when Wind was having stage fright, or when Sky struggled through an asthma attack. Or when Wild had a particularly bad flashback. Or when Rulie awoke, screaming, from a nightmare. Did… Did he really look that bad? That distressed?

Wars lifted his trumpet to his lips. “Tune me.”

With that, the sound of the instrument filled the room. Wild’s snare hidden in the corner rattled in complaint. He forced himself to block it out and focus on the note as it wavered in his ears, settling on something just a little off. “Pull it out,” Legend said, nodding to the tuning slide.

Wars adjusted the slide, and the pitch dropped. Well, now it's flat, Legend thought irritably. He pointed upwards. This time, Wars shifted the position of his lips on the mouthpiece, which finally sharpened the tone enough to satisfy the two of them.

“Keep playing.” Legend lifted his own trumpet to his face. He played the same note until they matched, then tested a handful of notes that harmonized with his brother's. There was not a single sign of dissention between the two. What he would give to simplify his emotions like that. 

“Ready?” asked the man beside him. 

“As I'll ever be,” Legend mumbled.

Wars patted him on the back and helped him up. “Remember, it's just like any other performance,” he assured him. “Just keep playing, and you'll do great “

“Thanks,” Legend grunted. 

“Don't worry about it.” Wars smiled. “Let's run through the program. Start on my mark: one, two, ready…”

Wild, Flora, Time and Hyrule returned with dinner. Those who remained behind joined them to eat. The meal was quick, consisting of a tray of sandwiches and a bowl of salad. Legend didn't feel like eating. Everyone, including him, was eager to get back to practice, now as a full band, and they wasted no time in getting to it.

Rehearsal flew by uncomfortably fast. Everything went smoothly, if by smoothly, one meant “absolute disaster”. Oh, everyone else was fine. Legend made too many mistakes. This only gave Fable and Wind more ammo to torment him with, and only after a harsh reprimand from Wars did they stop. He wanted to feel grateful for his intervention, but the seed had already been planted. Now it was performance time, and he couldn't help the sudden panic that attacked him. He hyperventilated. His hands were clammy and they shook uncontrollably. Only Hyrule's calm comfort prevented him from losing control.

“Shhh,” Rulie whispered, rubbing his hands gently. “It'll be okay, Legend, I promise.”

“I can't do it,” he gasped, feeling lightheaded. “I can't go out there.”

“Yes, you can,” Rulie told him forcefully. “You're going out on that stage and you're going to sound amazing.”

“I'm going to mess up,” Legend said, his voice wobbling. “I'm going to ruin the whole performance in front of him-”

“No, you won't,” he interrupted. “And even if you did, his opinion of you won't change. Ravio loves you no matter what.”

Legend didn't respond. Rulie squeezed him in a quick hug and guided him to where the rest of the band waited. “Breathe,” he reminded him.

Time nodded at the two of them. He handed Rulie his bass guitar, who accepted it graciously. “Are you two boys ready?”

“Yup,” Rulie responded confidently.

Wild bared his teeth in a grin, twirling a drumstick in his fingers. “Let's light ‘em up, boys.”

Fable and Wind both whooped, each bodychecking Four. Legend swallowed hard.

With that, they walked onto the stage. Applause immediately assaulted his ears, causing him to wince. He squinted into the spotlights, their dazzling beams glaring daggers into his eyes.  He searched the crowd anxiously, his heart thumping when he couldn't find Ravio. He wanted to slap himself for that. His head yelled at him to just focus. 

Instinctively, he glanced at Rulie. The freckle-dotted face smiled encouragingly, mouthing, “You got this!”

He had to admit, that lifted his spirits, just a little. He took his place at his designated music stand and stared it down, scowling at each note.

“You better not ruin this,” Legend whispered menacingly.

Wars, who had just joined him at the stand, shot him a funny look. “What?”

“Not you,” Legend muttered.

Time stepped up to the microphone. He started his usual introduction, and the crowd quieted to hear his words. Legend hardly listened. His mind was on his sweaty palms. He wiped them on his pants with a soft curse. Did his own body think wringing itself dry of any liquid was going to help him? Brushing his hair out of his eyes also resulted in damp droplets on his fingertips.

“Ledge,” Wars said in a hushed tone, “stop chewing your lip.”

Legend wanted to punch him. He was only trying to help, though, which of course made him want to punch him more. Still, he restrained himself, both from hitting Wars and from giving into his anxious habits.

Cheering announced the end of Time's speech. The old man dipped his head and swept his arm, gesturing at Wild. Wild smiled broadly, raised his drumsticks, and hollered with his typical unhinged energy the usual countdown: “ONE, TWO! ONE, TWO, READY, GO!”

A snap of wood on snare and a plethora of clicks on the hi-hat cracked through the air. Sky plucked an upbeat rhythm on his bass. Hyrule and Wind joined next, hopping from high to low, up and down, badum, badum. Fable’s entrance infused the band with her bright, energetic spirit. She swung and leaped from note to note while the bass drum thrummed in Legend's chest. Fable climbed a scale and Four came in to support her. She hit the top, held it, and cued the rest of the band. Legend was unwillingly swept away by the current of music that was too fast, too quick.

And, of course, thoughts of Ravio came unbidden into his head.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Ravio murmured. “That day in the alley…”

Legend snorted. How could he forget? “Of course I remember.”

He let himself be twirled beneath his partner's arm before once again taking the lead. The two swayed in time with the music amidst the crowd of people, their movements not quite in sync compared to the others. Frankly, he was surprised how natural Ravio made it seem, considering how stiff Legend was. They'd made progress since their first time dancing, and although Legend kept tripping over himself in self-consciousness, they were doing fairly well. 

“All those cultists. You took them out so quickly!” Ravio chuckled. “I wasn't sure if I should've been more scared of you than them.”

“I was sloppy,” Legend muttered. “Too preoccupied with finally looking like the ‘good guy'.”

“Link, I thought I was going to die,” Ravio said seriously. “You were my practical knight in shining armor!”

“A lot of good that did me,” Legend grumbled.

“Hey!” Ravio laughed. “I'm not that bad, am I?”

“I-I didn't mean you,” he said awkwardly. 

“Oh.” Ravio deflated, hesitating. “...Yuga?”

Yuga. Yuga with a knife in his back, pinning him to the wall and tugging at his hair so his ear was to his mouth. He whispered threats while Link strained to breathe through the agony.

“You're not making it out of here alive, little hero,” he hissed. “Say hello to your uncle for me.”

Legend kicked and screamed against the memories. They were choking him, like Yuga all those years ago. The result? He only managed to squeeze out a pathetic handful of right notes. He hid behind Wars’ far more confident sound. Wars sensed what was wrong and covered for his sudden inability to read music.

The only note he really hit right was the last one. No style or soul went into it. He was having enough trouble staying within the key signature.

The audience applauded. Time acknowledged them with a hand.

Legend tugged at his suit. Had it always been this hot? He was overheating. And lightheaded. Was that normal?

“Ledge,” Wars hissed, shoving something cold into his hands. Legend blinked, dazed, at the object- a water bottle. “Water. Drink.”

He didn't have much else to do, so he obeyed. The freezing water was like ice down his throat, shocking him back to reality. He shook away the dizziness and drank more. It burned but was real.

“Breathe,” Wars reminded him for what must've been the fiftieth time that night. “Just hold on. Only two songs. You can do this. Just breathe.”

Why was everyone telling him to breathe? “I have to breathe to play my instrument,” he snarked. 

Wars raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Just like that.”

Before he could come up with a snappy retort, his eyes caught Fable slipping past. She avoided his eyes. Wild handed her his drumsticks and she sat at the drumset. Wild stood by the marimba, casually twirling the mallets in his fingers while Four set aside his tenor for a bari.

Legend paled. Oh. This one, he had forgotten.

This song relied heavily on trumpet to start the band. Fable had no sax to carry the melody.

“Relax,” Wars said sternly. “I'll be here, playing with you.”

Legend pursed his lips and shoved the water bottle back into his brother's hands.

Time finished stalling. It took Legend a moment to realize that Time was not, in fact, waiting for him. He watched for Wild’s, Fable's and Four's signals that they were ready. There was no screaming countdown to start them off this time.

Legend was alone.

He regretted giving Wars his water back. His mouth was dry again. He couldn't seem to swallow. He tried asking for it but the words died on his tongue.

All he had to do was put his lips to the mouthpiece and blow. Din! It shouldn't be this hard!

Twilight waited for him. He was relying on him to cue his part.

Rulie waited for him. His note was essential to harmonize with his counter melody.

Wars waited for him. He only expected him to endure through what little they had left.

“Fight it,” Wars murmured. “Don't let the fear win. You hear me, Link? Fight back.”

“Link? Link, fight it. Wake up!”

Legend gasped for air, greeted by the sight of Ravio's worried eyes fixed on his. Hands were cupping his face, steady and sure. Legend grasped their wrists by instinct, breathing heavily.

“Link, are you alright?” Ravio repeated anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

Legend's eyes darted across the crowded room with the urgency of a frightened prey animal, but when his eyes locked with Ravio's again, his heartbeat slowed. He nodded.

“Do you need some fresh air?” asked the Lolian.

“I- No, I'll be fine,” he said shakily. “Just a flashback.”

“Are you sure? Because we can leave if-”

“No, it's over,” Legend interrupted. “We're not leaving unless you want to.” He inhaled deeply, ignoring his trembling hands.

Suddenly, Ravio's arms were wrapped around him. Legend's breath hitched, his internal screams needlessly reminding him that they were in public!

Legend laughed nervously. “Is there, uh… a specific reason why we're so sentimental all of a sudden?” he coughed awkwardly.

Ravio didn't respond, at first. He buried his face in Legend's shoulder and hummed, “I'm just glad you're here.”

Oh. Well, that was no reason for his face to get so red, was it? So why was his heart beating so quickly? And why did he feel so unreasonably giddy?

Ravio gave him another squeeze before pulling away and continuing the dance. Legend somehow managed to stumble even more than before, but Ravio's bright laugh lightened his mood every time. He supposed this whole dancing thing wasn't too bad.

He was happy to be with Ravio, too.

“Fight it…”

Legend clenched and unclenched his hands. He placed his fingers on the buttons and lips to the mouthpiece. He took one shuddering breath, pouring all he had into his trumpet- all his terror and loneliness and inadequacy. 

What rang out over the stage was a soft, mellow E flat. A single-toned lament. It resonated within his bell before slipping away, eluding his grasp like a hushed whisper of wind.

I miss you, Rav.

It was only when he released the note that he realized that no one else came in. His gaze flitted to Wars. The zeal he found startled him.

“Yes!” Wars’ eyes shimmered with enthusiasm and pride. “Again- C'mon, Legend, you can do it!”

Legend didn't give himself time to think. He hurled himself down the metaphorical leap of faith and howled into the trumpet. 

His brothers answered his call. 

Twilight hummed back, achingly familiar in its mournful cry. Hyrule took on the same tone, grasping it effortlessly but gently, like one would handle an injured animal. Wind's response was frustrated, like him. It was as much of a duet of music as it was a duet of feeling.

Legend released the note, and breathed. He sunk into the hopeful interlude led by Wild and Four. It felt much more real than himself. The sound wound its way into his ears and eased out a puff of air he hadn't realized he had been holding. 

It was startling, realizing that they were all mimicking what he had put into that note. Could it be that he was that obvious that he was pining? Four was the one who had made fun of him earlier. Yet here he was, weaving soft arpeggios of warmth and comfort. What was going on?

Wars poked him, jarring him from his reverie. “The Sailor’s trying to talk to you.”

Legend raised his eyebrows and shot a flat look the trombonist’s way. Really? the look said. In the middle of a performance?

There was a mischievous glint in Wind's eyes. “Solo battle?” he signed.

Legend almost laughed. Keyword: almost. “You mean a call-and-response duet?” he signed back.

“Whatever.” Wind rolled his eyes. “Are you in or not?”

Legend's eyebrows probably joined with his hairline then. “Isn't that in, like, three measures? Are you stupid?”

Wind flipped him off and stuck out his tongue. 

Oh, this twerp was going down. 

Fable jumped into action. Suddenly, the beat was moving at a relentless pace. The marimba perfectly channeled the devious smirk Wind carried. Legend found himself relishing the music again, tapping his foot along with Four's raw power. He bobbed his head in time with the vibrations he felt in his feet, most of which blasted from Time's guitar. He tossed the theme to Wars, who passed it to Four, who handed it to Wind, who promptly threw it to the floor and ground it into dust, laughing exhiliratedly. Normally, the rest of the band had to reel the dynamic in so the soloist could be heard, but most soloists weren't attention hogs like Wind. He would be heard, whether the audience liked it or not.

The Sailor moved with his solo. He tilted left and right, he stuck his slide into the air, and he bounced with each boom of the bass drum. Frankly, the drama of it all was rather obnoxious. It only charged Legend's eagerness to challenge him. There may be no winner in a solo battle, but he was determined to thoroughly beat Wind's ego into the dirt.

Legend waited for the perfect moment. He lifted his trumpet. He eyed the smug sailor out of the corner of his vision, a hint of warning in his posture. Secretly, though, he was excited to see the looks on the band's faces when he came in.

Now!

A visceral growl emitted from his instrument. Wind's head whipped around to face Legend, looking mildly offended. He barely restrained himself from snickering as the boy put a hand on his hip with an expression that looked hilariously reminiscent of Tetra's own pout.

As for the rest of the band… they were surprised, to say the least. Flabbergasted, as Ravio might've put it. Wind was given a fixed number of measures for his solos, and Legend cutting him off most definitely shook them. Four, the ever-reliable musician he was, was the first to regain his senses and improvise a good “backing track” for the others. Wars was ecstatic, and only Legend's lingering self-consciousness kept him from turning around and blasting in his ear. 

“I was just about- You interrupted me!” Wind pretended to look outraged, but frankly, he looked more like an indignant gerbil than anything else.

Legend shrugged. Wind puffed out his cheeks. It only encouraged the rodent illusion, which just added to the growing list of infinitely hilarious things that shouldn't be funny; what was he thinking? Goddesses, what was he doing? He shouldn't be stealing Wind's solo, he was going to make it worse, he was going to ruin it for the kid-

He stumbled. 

His blood had never drained so quickly from his face before. He scrambled to find a note that sounded right. Nothing sounded right! Why couldn't he do anything right? Why-

…Wind was covering for him. He covered up his mistakes by one-upping him, because that's how their solo battles went. Constantly improving on the last turn. Disguising his slip-ups by being better than him, all while pretending that was the plan all along.

Wars leaned over. He chuckled in amusement. “Are you going to just take that, Ledge? Gonna let him win?”

Legend snorted. “You wish this was your solo, pretty boy.”

He let the sailor have his little moment. Let him have his sly smirk and the roaring crowd, because while he practically owed the kid his kidney for saving him like that, it didn't mean he got to keep the spotlight. Even if it meant he had to strangle the butterflies in his stomach to keep them quiet, he would play.

Legend drew in a breath and blasted out the next note. Wind scoffed out a single “Dude!” but Legend overpowered that as well. He pouted again, and, to Legend's surprise, tried to play over him. Though, not really- he was harmonizing with him, forcing the dynamic up or down, and mixing his own energy in, one that Legend could not hope to synthesize. Not that he wanted to. It was a brattish energy, anyway. 

Four was getting louder. He was adding tension, and sending a message to the two of them: their time was coming to a close.

Wind heard it, loud and clear. He pushed against Legend’s melody. Part of him screamed at him to let him have control, to give him the finale, but his pride refused. He stood like a wall before Wind’s grabs at the spotlight. He had glissandos, grace notes, and pitch bends, but so did any half-decent trombone player. Not only could Legend do the same, he also knew exactly how to prod him where it hurt.

Let’s see how high you can go, sailor.

He blocked out the smithy’s warnings and began baiting Wind into a climb. He fell for it, hook line and sinker. B flat? Easy! C sharp? What a joke! He didn’t suspect a thing.

It was when they started to reach the higher portions of the scale that Legend detected some strain in Wind’s tone. He pushed higher. E. Running out of time, said Four. F, A flat. Wind didn’t follow. With a soaring sense of exhilaration, Legend landed the final high B flat. It was an easy victory, but a victory nonetheless.

At least, it was, until Wind hit an entire note higher.

Legend gawked at the cackling sailor. It was too late to make a comeback, the rest of the band had already moved on. Legend rolled his eyes. Just like him to get the last word. He had to laugh, though. Wind looked so proud of himself.

“Bet you aren’t thinking about your boyfriend now, huh?” he gloated.

Legend blinked. Had- Had that all been some grand scheme to get his confidence back? That rat! “I’ll think about wringing your neck!” he retorted angrily.

Unfortunately, he was right. Legend hardly felt any anxiety. Mental note: strangle him when we finish here.

It didn’t take long before the song was over and Wind was bowing theatrically. Legend was out of breath, dehydrated, and on the border of passing out, but he loved it. He felt alive again. He accepted Wars’ water bottle again. He practically emptied it, for how parched his lips were.

“Chapstick?” Wars offered, holding out a stick of his favorite brand.

Legend wrinkled his nose at it. “I’m not touching anything that has been anywhere near your lips.”

“What, like my water bottle?” Wars challenged lightly, waving the chapstick in his face.

“Fine. Gimme that,” he muttered, snatching the small tube from his brother’s fingers. He applied it as quickly as possible before shoving it back in its owner’s hands. He would never admit how useful it was, especially after so long arguing that it was for girls.

He only wished there was such a simple remedy for the ache that was beginning to form around his cheeks. That solo had really taken a toll on his embourchure.

Legend rubbed his face while Four walked by. The smith paused by him, his reddish-brown irises tinged by… guilt? Legend narrowed his eyes.

“That was a good solo back there,” he murmured. “You think you’ll be all right for this one?”

“I’m fine. Why do you care?” Legend responded tightly.

“Hey, look, I’m… I’m sorry. For teasing you.” Four winced. “I should’ve seen how badly it was affecting you. You’ll do great, okay? I mean, if I were Ravio, I’d be impressed regardless, but I know that’s not the reassurance you’re looking for.” 

Legend raised his eyebrows. An apology from the smithy? He knew it was bad, but not that bad.

…No, he shouldn’t make light of it, especially with how seriously Four was taking it. Or how seriously he took it, before the performance. That wasn’t fair.

“It’s not important,” Legend sighed. “I should be the one wishing you good luck. You’re singing.”

“Ha. So I take it we’re even now?” He held out his hand to shake. Legend took it, suppressing a smile.

“Thanks. Now, get lost, Sinatra,” Legend said.

Four chuckled and shook his head. He made his way to the piano just as Time finished up. Fable back on the sax and Wild on the drums, he raised his hand to cue the song.

He dropped it for the last time.

Wild tapped a smooth, bouncy beat on his hi-hat. Fable followed along, surprisingly mild for someone of her disposition. He’d never heard her handle the melody so… gently, before. Usually only Four had that kind of grace with the saxophone. Speaking of Four, the twinkling, playful piano notes complimented that laid-back style very nicely. Legend inserted his cup mute into his bell with a sort of contentment he hadn’t felt since Ravio left.

He had forgotten what it was like to actually enjoy music.

Four’s voice was glad to show him how much he had missed. If Wild and Fable were smooth, the smithy’s voice was like the outside of a fresh apple, ripe and shiny with morning dew. Warm, too, like pie crust.

Legend couldn’t wait to share another apple pie with Ravio.

“Well, here we are again

It’s always such a pleasure…”

Of course, this song wasn’t exactly meant to be cozy and reassuring. Legend was just getting restless.

Wind and Twilight, crescendo with a forte-piano.

An ebb and flow in Fable’s dynamic. Grow, pull back.

Wars counting rests under his breath. Legend felt an itch on the back of his neck. He was impatient, and his constant counting didn’t help.

“Oh, how we laughed and laughed!

Except I wasn't laughing…”

Legend could hear Four's smile. He loved this song. 

Soft falls muted by the cups in their trumpets. Mischievous, like a cat leaping nimbly from one bookshelf to the next. Or like the sailor, sneaking sweets from Legend's stash.

“You want your freedom, take it!

That's what I'm counting on!”

Wind crept into the lead, swaying from one note to the next gracefully. He treated the song like a waltz, but exaggerated comedically in its romance. Ravio swooning dramatically came to mind.

“I used to want you dead, but now I only want you gone!”

The whole band swung into action. Wild slammed on the snares, Fable sang into her sax with a dramatic volume worthy of Wind’s pride while the brass accented the offbeats, finishing with a flourishing trill.

The dynamic dropped. Four retained his eagerness, sounding just as smugly joyful as ever. The sax followed his lead.

“She was a lot like you-”

He chuckled. “Well, maybe not quite as heavy!”

That was Wind's favorite part. It took a considerable amount of effort not to snicker at the combined force of the lyric and the smithy's delivery.

Another band-wide crescendo, led by trumpets. Glittering piano notes followed, dancing daintily in Legend's ears. 

“One day they woke me up

So I could live forever

It's such a shame the same could never happen to you!”

Four's voice swelled brightly, leading the band from a mezzo-piano to a forte. Fable acted like this was her solo, announcing her counter melody to the whole audience. Wild mimicked the accents Wars and Legend made with a crash on the cymbals. He was having just as much fun as Four was. 

“I'll let you get right to it-

Now I only want you gone!”

The rest of the band dropped away, allowing the piano and the drums to lead as Four began his monologue. Legend bit his lip. His solo was just around the corner. He grabbed Wars’ water bottle again and stole a quick sip. 

At Four's “Take it away!”, his brothers took the lead. 

Legend hardly paid attention to the rise in energy. This was it. He promised Ravio a good show. After that trick Wind played on him back in the last song, he intended to follow through. 

Here!

He climbed into his solo. He imitated Four's languid ease with Wind's cocky eagerness to show off in the little slurs and tremolos he slipped into the solo. His heart pounded viciously against his chest. He went from note to note with little flourishes that were subtle but painted with just enough color to give it life. Thank Farore for Sky's bass, keeping him in time while his fingers itched to go faster than he had the ability to. But he kept it smooth and lilting as he repeated the melody of the chorus-

And just like that, it was over. His solo, finished. Audience clapping excitedly at the performance. Fable easing the band into a soft dynamic before dropping away completely. Before he knew it, Sky was playing his own solo while Four sang along:

“Goodbye my only friend…

Oh, ha, did you think I meant you?

This song really fit Four, Legend thought vaguely. Quick-witted, mischievous, and laid-back. Maybe  even a little arrogant. 

Had he really just done that? Had he really just pulled off that solo like it was just an everyday warm up scale, after all his anxiety just put him through? He snorted softly with incredulous indignance. 

It shouldn't have been that easy. But it was.

Wild's cue! Legend snapped dizzily back to attention. Neither he nor Wars were coming in any time soon, but he had to be ready. He listened in on Wars’ counting and quickly found his spot in the rest.

“Well, you have been replaced

I don't need anyone now…”

Again, Fable’s time to shine. Crescendo. Getting bigger, louder louder louder, play, support Fable, louder louder, howl out your part until you're faint from using too much air. Legend's lungs felt ready to burst, his lips burned. 

“Go make some new disaster!

That's what I'm countin’ on!”

He could do it. He could reach the end of the song. The light was at the end of the tunnel. The light was in his eyes, he had shifted too far to the left and now a spotlight was beaming directly into them, he kept playing.

“You're someone else's problem; now I only want you gone!”

Keep playing, it's almost done, just two more lines and he could see Ravio-

“Now I only want you gone!”

Ravio, had he seen the solo? Was he even here yet?

“Now I only want you gone!”

Focus, finish off strong.

“Now I only want you gone-!”

Four sustaining the note, steady, swing into the accent, hold hold hold, drop down low-

“I want you gone!”

With that, the band pulled back, Wars finished the song with a flaunting swing and grace note, Wild thumped his bass.

Done. Finished. Over. No more. He finished the song, and he hadn't messed up.

And the crowd went wild. 

Time bowed. He gestured to the soloists- him and Sky and Four. They dipped their heads, Four with significantly less humility. Legend licked his lips as he stared at his feet. He felt like he had just run a marathon.

A poke on his shoulder. Legend straightened his back. He followed Wars' outstretched finger, past Time's hand showing him off as a soloist, and- oh.

There he was. Standing in the middle of the audience, clapping his hands eagerly. His adoptive sister was beside him, but Legend's eyes never left the man for a second.

“Ravio,” he whispered.

He moved without thinking. He pushed his trumpet into his brother's hands. Wars gawked as he leaped off the stage and into the rows of chairs. Heart racing so quickly he feared it might escape, he ran up the aisle. 

There he was. Right there, grinning from ear to ear, calling out his name with a voice too soft to be heard over the crowd. Goddess d— him. That insufferable smile. It had no right to make him feel this way. So unfairly happy.

The rest was a blur. Ravio wrestled his way to the aisle, Legend only increased his breakneck pace; Ravio beamed, laughing his name, and they collided.

Ravio's arms squeezed him tight, twirling him around like the couples in those cheesy romance movies. Even as his feet planted on the ground, Legend didn't want to let go. He wanted to make sure this stupid rabbit never left his sight again.

Ravio pulled away, holding his face with the gentlest hands, grinning through teary eyes. “I take it you missed me, Mister Hero?” he chuckled.

By the Three, now he was crying. “Of course I missed you, you idiot!” he choked out.

“I missed you too,” Ravio breathed. 

He leaned forward and the last bit of Legend's restraint crumbled. His lips crashed against Ravio's before he could draw out the moment any longer, his hand reaching to tangle with his partner's smooth, inky locks. Ravio let out a tiny squeak of surprise before leaning into the kiss.

Legend's lips buzzed; he couldn't tell if the sensation came from his trumpet or Ravio. He couldn't care less. His mind was on Ravio's soft hands, on his tender touch, on the ghost of a smile he could feel through the kiss. 

Legend's heart had climbed up his throat by the time it was over. He noted vaguely that the audience was roaring and clapping, and that Fable's voice boomed over the speakers, hollering, “That's my brother!” Meanwhile, he couldn't decide whether to punch Ravio or let the tears flow. He swallowed hard, his eyes locking on Ravio's rupee-green ones.

“You kiss like you've been playing trumpet for an hour,” he teased.

Legend's face flushed red. “Shut up,” he grumbled.

“Aw, I didn't mean it,” he giggled, squishing him in another hug. “I just missed seeing your grumpy face.”

“You're the worst.”

“Don't get too sappy, you two.” Legend whipped around, greeted by Ravio's boss herself. Hilda, with a cocked eyebrow and folded arms, dressed in a blazer and skirt not unlike Fable's slightly more masculine suit. Her violet-painted lips twitched upwards in amusement. “You'll make the audience gag on their lunches.”

“I think I'm gagging on my lunch,” Legend complained.

Ravio gasped in mock offense, but Hilda shrugged. “Your sister does seem to be enjoying this…”

Legend glanced over at the stage and groaned. Of course she was. Of course she was hopping up and down in ecstasy, shaking poor, helpless Four back and forth while screaming with Wind. Of course she had to rope Sky and Wars into it- and was that Rulie cheering with them? Well, now Legend felt extra betrayed.

Warm fingers lacing with his drew his attention back to his partner. Ravio squeezed his hand and smiled. Legend had to wrestle his own into a disapproving scowl before he could see it.

“What do you say we put your trumpet away and go out for dinner?” he proposed. “That way we could get some time alone to relax and catch up some way other than over text?”

Legend folded his arms. “So, you expect me to forgive you, just like that? After being gone so long?”

Ravio laughed nervously. “If you wouldn't mind?”

“I suppose I can give you another chance,” he muttered. “And I'm paying. Yes, Hilda, I know you paid for everything back there.” He waved dismissively, then eyed Ravio out of the corner of his eye. “I'll let him hold on to his rupees just this once. Now excuse me while I go murder my sister.”

He dipped his head politely to the businesswoman before dashing off to the stage. He leaped up, much to Wind's delight and Time's resigned disappointment, and jabbed a finger at Fable. She squealed and hid behind Four, who sighed and stepped aside. 

“You!” Legend barked. “Get over here before I break your reeds!”

Fable gaped dramatically. “You wouldn't!”

“I will!”

“Whoa there, Ledge,” Wars said lightly. “Save the death threats for when the instruments are away, hm?”

Legend sniffed, swiping his trumpet from his hands and not-so-subtly emptying his spit valve on his foot. Wars yelped and jumped hilariously. “Legend!” he swore. “That's disgusting!”

“I bet it tastes like your lipstick,” he snarked.

Fable snickered. Legend brandished his trumpet threateningly and said, “What, you want some too?”

His sister screeched and ran off backstage. Legend made to pursue her, but Twilight gave him a look. He wrinkled his nose and dusted off his suit. She wasn't worth the trouble, anyway. 

He decided to make his way offstage to delicately take apart his instrument. He had a date to prepare for! Fable could wait.

Besides, he had plenty of time to daydream of revenge on the way out.

Legend grinned devilishly. She won't know what hit her.

He left the building whistling cheerfully.

----

A/N: Thank you for reading, but I do have to add a disclaimer. Please, please, please do not jump off a stage like Legend did. The last time someone did that at my school, they broke their ankle. I repeat, do not jump off a stage. 

Take care, all of you! ❤️

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Tuesday, 12-03-24, 7pm Pacific

'Evenin', all...Mr. Baggins here, back with a set of music to soothe your achin' nerves and help ease us all into a good night. Let's begin this evening's program with a wonderful album by the Camerata Bariloche, called "¡Tango!", the music of Astor Piazzolla. I got this album after a chance hearing over the air on KMFA. We start with the Suite Punta del Este for Bandoneon Solo, Instrumental Ensemble and String Orchestra, a wonderful Suite for Oboe and String Orchestra, Two Tangos for string orchestra, and "Graicala y Buenos Aires" Tango for Cello Solo and String Orchestra, and finally a Passacaglia, Op. 14. This is a great album I've had for a long, long, time and it stays fresh. I do hope you enjoy.

Another album that I bought after hearing a selection from it over the air on KMFA, called "The North Carolinians", features composers from that state. There are several great pieces on this disc, and I was glad I found it in its entirety on the youtubes. We hear the St. Stevens Orchestra in Ward's Concertino for Strings, Ross' Mosaics Piano Concerto, Johnson's Letter To The World, Suite for Orchestra, And Rendleman's Concertino for Tenor Sax and Orchestra.

Let's have our next installment in our Beethoven Symphony survey, we hear Lenny and The Vienna from a live recording from 1979 of The Symphony No. 3 in E-flat Major, Op. 55, The "Eroica" or Heroic Symphony.

I thought we might hear our Brazilian Pianista Extraordinaire, Guiomar Novaes, in her definitive performance of the Concerto in A minor of Edvard Grieg with Hans Swarowsky, conductor and the Pro Musica Symphony of Vienna, Recorded in Vienna, 1954. This was also issued by Book of the Month Club as a Music Appreciation disc. Still no finer recording or performance to be heard!

Now we hear Sergei Rachmaninoff himself at the piano for five selections recorded between 1929 and 1943. We hear Handel: Keyboard Suite in E "The Harmonious Blacksmith" Hwv 430, J.S. Bach: Keyboard Partita No. 4 in D, BWV 828 "Sarabande", Mozart: Piano Sonata No. 11 in A, K. 331 3- "Rondo Alla Turca", Liszt: Chants Polonais, S 330 "Return home", Liszt: Chants Polonais, S 330 "The Maiden's Wish". Amazing historical documents of this amazing pianist-composer!

Now here is an incredibly rare recording, from February 27, 1922, of the great Ferruccio Busoni playing Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 13. This is an acoustic recording! The sound was picked up by a horn and direct cutting of the disc! This recording is about to be 103 years old! Impressive mastering to digital here, and excellent notes in the video description about Busoni. Prepare to be amazed.

Now let's hear Fritz and The Band in another spectacular RCA Living Stereo recording, this time we hear the Bartok Concerto for Orchestra from 1955, and then The Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta from 1958, and the Hungarian Sketches

And that wraps up our program for this evening. I do hope you've enjoyed the selections and possibly heard something new to your ear. This is Mr. Baggins signing off for the evening. I'll return at 8am Pacific with our Morning Coffee Music.

Until then, dream sweet dreams, babies, dreams sweet dreams.

Baggins out.

[gwenthebard]

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED

So normal banjos come in one of two varieties, four stringed and five stringed. For these purposes, a four string banjos also called tenor banjo (avoid confusion with othee versions) and a five string one is sometimes called bluegrass banjo

Its a bit confusing, because bluegrass is a style of play and you can play other genres on a 5 string, but you know what keep in mind when I say "banjo" here on I mean this

Four main strings and a fifth drone string on the fifth fret. Its called the drone string because you very rarely fret it or fuck with it, and its something that gives banjo music its unique melody because its a constant sound in the music (exceptions withstanding)

As well, the body of a banjos relatively unique among modern instruments. Its a circular body, either open back or with a resonator that makes it louder and clearer. Its a sides are wood, tops a plastic or animal hide, overall it just sounds unique because its body is different; some even made out of literal gourds

While there are multiple ways to tune a banjo, the most common tuning is open G tuning, or GDGBD

This is where we get to this thing

As you see it has 6 equal length strings. Does it have a unique tuning or anything?

No, its tuned EADGBE like a normal guitar

Why does it exist then?

So guitar players can have an instrument that has the unique sound and tone of a banjo, without actually having to even learn a different tuning

"I think acting like any sort of instrument or art form is invalid and dumb is harmful if there's genuine talent involved in it, and just ends up putting genuine artists down for putting skill and time into their craft. Even something like the spoons having a deep history and talent behind it"

"Even banjo guitars?"

"*snapping chair arm in my grip as I speak through gritted teeth* Even the banjo guitar is valid"

[astriiformes]

Hello Owl House fans!

Are you a fic and/or meta writer? Do you love Raine Whispers? So do I! And as a semi-professional musician who’s been playing strings for almost 15 years, I thought it would be fun to put together a handy info post on orchestral stringed instruments for people to use when writing fic, meta, or anything else about Raine, with a specific focus on things that I could see being useful to writers, including questions like:

What instrument does Raine play? (Surprise! It probably isn’t a violin!)

How do you take care of a stringed instrument?

What are some useful words to describe the different parts of an instrument or the act of playing one?

Is it possible to injure yourself while playing strings?

Wait, hang on, what was that about it not being a violin? (No, really!)

And more!

(Also, if there’s anything I don’t go over in this post but you’re curious about -- or something that I do, but you find confusing -- please feel free to send me an ask. I love talking about playing strings, and would love to be a point of reference for other TOH writers!)

So, without further ado:

Q1: Hey Nate. Back up please. Why did you say Raine’s instrument might not be a violin?

So, there are actually two different modern orchestral stringed instruments that are a similar size and shape to Raine’s. The violin has a slightly bigger, much less-famous cousin called the viola. People like to make fun of it -- and viola players, called “violists” -- for being a little weird and awkward, but almost any famous piece of orchestra music you can name has parts for violas in it too!

I have some stake in pointing this out because I’m a violist myself, but I also bring it up because I noticed something pretty cool in “Follies at the Coven Day Parade” that actually suggests Raine might be a violist, too -- not a violinist!

It’s in the sheet music in Eda’s file on them:

While the music itself is fairly nonsensical, it’s clearly written for the viola. How do I know? That fancy, curly symbol at the start of the line! It’s a symbol called an “alto clef,” and you almost exclusively see it in viola music.

Clefs are sort of like “languages” that music is written in. If the notes are the words, the clef tells you what they mean.

These are the most common clefs:

(Really, I should say that treble and bass are the most common -- alto is extremely uncommon, and you don’t see tenor too often either.)

The quick, basic reason that different clefs exist is because some instruments obviously make higher or lower sounds than others. If you were going to try to write music for, say, all the high notes a violin plays in the same notation as all the really low notes a bass plays, you’d have to use lots of “extra” lines above or below the staff (what musicians call the set of five lines you write music on) to reflect them accurately. By writing music for high instruments in treble clef and music for low instruments in bass clef, musicians can stick to much simpler, easier-to-read notation.

So why does this suggest Raine is a violist? Well, like I said, violas are seen as kind of weird by a lot of musicians, and one reason (among others) is because while most instruments fit comfortably into either bass or treble clef, violas play in a sort of awkward, in-between zone that isn’t quite low enough to write in bass clef, but isn’t quite high enough to write in treble. This means that viola music is usually written in alto clef, which is in the middle of the two. Not a lot of instruments play in alto clef -- and the rest of the ones that do are much rarer than the viola. And while viola music is sometimes written in other clefs if it’s high or low enough (and most violists are usually able to read in multiple clefs), violin music is never written in alto clef, because violins don’t play low enough to need it. Hence, if Raine plays sheet music written in alto clef, their instrument is probably a viola, and they might primarily be a violist!

Q2: So, if Raine is a violist -- what makes a viola different than a violin?

Well, like I mentioned with the clefs, violas sound lower. This is both because they’re a little bit bigger (which means there’s more space inside the instrument for the string vibrations to bounce around and resonate) and because they have slightly different strings than a violin. Each string on both instruments is tuned to a specific note. On violins, the four strings are tuned to G, D, A, and E. Violas also have G, D, and A strings, but instead of having an E string, their fourth string goes below G, and is tuned to the note C -- which actually makes them more like mini cellos than big violins! Having the bigger size means that violas also tend to sound somewhat richer and more resonant (think a “deeper” sound) instead of the really bright, high notes violins play.

This video is a really nice illustration (and you can see even from the thumbnail how much bigger the viola is than the violin, too!)

There’s also a lot that’s different about them culturally. Historically, in our world (although I can’t speak for the Boiling Isles), violas have often been looked-down on and made fun of, because they’re a little weird and awkward to play (being bigger makes it harder to hold, and mean you have to stretch your fingers a lot more to hit the right notes), and composers tend to write the big, showy, fancy pieces for violins instead. People in orchestras like to tell “viola jokes,” teasing violists for being less talented players or for playing what’s considered a “weird” instrument. It’s often still in good fun, but speaking as a violist it does get a little tiring sometimes, as does having to constantly correct people when they compliment my “violin playing.” You could decide the history of the instrument is totally different in the Boiling Isles -- or maybe you could work some of these ideas into a story about Raine! Personally I think the idea of someone playing sort of an “underdog” instrument becoming head of the Bard Coven is super cool and compelling, especially considering Raine’s stage fright and anxiety. But maybe I’m biased as a violist.

(Another fun fact that could work its way into your characterization of Raine, but violists tend to be very defensive of the instrument -- often comically, but we love the viola, and we’re so used to correcting people and putting up with jokes all the time that we tend to get pretty snappy about joking right back.)

In fairness (SIGH) since I have mentioned them a bunch, here are some examples of “viola jokes”

(All taken from “Viola Jokes: A Study of Second-String Humor” in the journal Midwestern Folklore)

Anyways, now you can all join me in imagining Eda decking someone in the face if anyone tried making too many -- or even any -- of these around Raine.

--Seriously though, I think there really is something very charming about  interpreting Raine as a violist exactly because it’s an instrument with a reputation for being a little weird, and out of place, and awkward, which seems like a very compelling fit for a character with bad social anxiety who’s also a bit of a rebel. Famous violist Lionel Tertis liked to call the viola the “Ugly Duckling” or the “Cinderella” of the orchestra, and while I may be biased as a violist who loves Raine, there are a lot of things about it that really thematically suit them, and I’d love to see more people embrace the fact that it seems like it’s canonically the instrument they play anyways!

And yes, maybe I’d love for us violists to get our day in the sun for a bit :)

Q3: What are the different parts of a stringed instrument?

Starting from the top, the thin, curled end with pegs in it (although the top of Raine’s instrument, unlike most modern strings, is actually shaped like a little animal of some kind, which I love) is called the scroll. On the side of the scroll are four pegs, called tuning pegs, because they’re attached to the strings and can be used to tune the instrument. There is also another set of four smaller fine-tuning pegs at the other end of the strings, for fiddlier (pun intended) adjustments. The skinny part of the instrument is called the neck, on top of which is the fingerboard, the dark wooden part (although on Raine’s, again, it’s actually lighter in color) where the player’s fingers press on the strings. In the middle of the instrument, the strings go over a small piece of wood called the bridge that keeps them raised up. To either side of the bridge are the f-holes, where the vibrations we hear as sound “escape” the instrument. 

Also, the bow has fewer parts, but the primary ones to know are the hair (the part that touches the strings) and the frog (the base of the bow, where the musician holds it).

Q4: How do you take care of a violin or viola?

Very carefully! The thing about orchestral stringed instruments is that they are basically held together by tension (specifically, the tightness of the strings). Some of the parts -- like the bridge, or the wooden peg on the inside of the instrument that helps with keeping it in place -- aren’t even attached in place. They stay where they are because of the strings. While Raine’s magical viola might be tougher than a real-world one, all strings players know the terror of dropping or even roughly jostling their instrument, and we’d definitely give you points for authenticity for working that in somewhere. 😅

The importance of the tension of the strings can come up in other ways, too. One is if you break a string! It’s most common for this to happen while tuning, because turning the tuning or fine-tuning pegs increases the tension of the strings (in order to change the sound they make when you play them), so if you tighten one too much or it’s gotten worn enough that it can’t take the tension, it can snap. But it IS also possible for strings to break when you’re playing! It’s honestly a little scary -- especially with big instruments, like cellos and basses, where there’s a lot more force stored in the strings; the one time I had a string snap while I was playing my viola, it was mostly just startling -- but it usually happens if they’re particularly worn out and/or somewhat over-tightened.

The other time string tension is important is when replacing your strings, which musicians might do for a variety of reasons -- when a string has broken, replacing old, worn-out strings with new ones or ones that offer a different sound, etc. When you replace strings, you have to do so one at a time, because otherwise, if you tried to replace them all at once, there wouldn’t be any tension left to keep the instrument together! I find this makes replacing strings a little nerve-wracking, but it’s not too difficult to do properly.

Being made of wood, stringed instruments are also sensitive to changes in humidity and temperature. If you bring one from a cool, dry place to a wet, warm one, or vice versa, it’s very likely that you’re going to need to adjust the tuning a lot more than normal, because the tension on the strings is so different. Winter is an especially precarious time for the care and keeping of instruments because it’s so cold and dry many places, and you never want to leave an instrument outside for too long when temperatures are extreme (although the low humidity is actually the bigger danger).

Tension is important for the care and keeping your bow as well, but in a somewhat different way. There’s a little peg at the bottom of the bow that you can use to tighten or loosen the hair, and when not using their bows, musicians keep them loose so as not to put too much strain on the bow. Raine’s bow is actually really interesting -- you may have noticed that instead of being a relatively straight line, it curves more like a bow-and-arrow. Standard modern bows actually do have a very subtle concave curve to them, but Raine’s much more dramatically convex-curved bow is more evocative of the bows used during the Baroque era, which some musicians -- particularly those who play a lot of Baroque music -- still use today. (This is incredibly ironic to me because most Baroque era viola parts are either incredibly boring or non-existent, but I’m pretty sure Raine’s is for Bard Rule Of Cool, and maybe a bit of a nod to the very Early Modern aesthetic influences in TOH). But even Baroque bows, while constructed a bit differently, still operate on this same principle.

One of the last “care and keeping” of points I want to touch on has to do with something called rosin. Rosin is a small, hard “cake” of, essentially, treated sap from pine trees that you rub on you bow so that the hair has a better grip on the instrument’s strings (which is what draws noise from them). Invariably, rosin will then come off the bow as you play, in the form of a fine dust. You don’t want to let this dust build up on your strings or the body of the instrument, so strings players will often keep a soft cleaning cloth in their cases, to clean off the rosin dust after playing.

(Another note about rosin -- while some violists prefer rosin similar to the kind violinists to, others prefer somewhat softer, darker rosin closer to the type used by cellists, since it can be better for gripping larger strings.)

Q5: How do you take care of yourself while playing a stringed instrument? Is it possible to get hurt if you aren’t careful?

Yes, it’s definitely possible to get hurt! Being a professional musician has some risks in common with being a professional athlete, like needing good technique to make sure you’re using the proper muscles to avoid straining them, injuries from repetition or overuse, and playing demanding some unusual positions that aren’t particularly natural for the human (or, presumably, witch) body.

Violists actually have to be extra careful with some of this stuff, because the larger size of the instrument forces you to stretch your fingers further to hit the right notes, as well as to adopt a somewhat more awkward playing position overall. If you watch the video above comparing the sounds of the two instruments, you can see the slight difference in posture pretty clearly. This awkwardness is yet another reason people sometimes have a lower opinion of the viola and violists -- the instrument is, objectively, a bit more difficult to play, which in turn contributes to the perception of violists as “less talented” when they get compared to violin players whose instruments are more natural to hold!

One way to prevent injuries is to make sure you play an instrument that’s the right size for you. This is especially important for violists. While violins, cellos, and string basses all have what’s called a standard “full size” -- the size played by adult musicians, as opposed to smaller ones for kids -- violas don’t. Without going into extensive detail, this is due to another weird quirk of the viola -- while other stringed instruments have a standard size that best complements the tone and resonance of their strings, a true “full size” viola would be too large to play properly. As a result, violas are made in different sizes, measured in inches, and adult violists play the largest instruments they can comfortably and safely play. For most people that’s a 15.5″ or a 16″ (which isn’t the full length of the viola -- it’s the length of the body, minus the neck and scroll). What size you can play depends mostly on the length of your arms and the size of your hands. For example, I’m short, but I play a 16″ because I have pretty large hands. Raine seems to be pretty short as well, so I would guess they either play a 15.5″ or, if they play a 16″, it's because they have longer arms and/or fingers that make it the right choice.

Aside from using correct posture and making sure your instrument is the correct size, the other best ways to prevent injuries as a strings player are doing quick warm-ups (like scales) and taking appropriate breaks, much like with any physical activity. As far as the most common consequences go, musculoskeletal overuse injuries like tendonitis and nerve issues like carpal or cubital tunnel syndrome are among the things musicians watch out for in the elbows, wrist, and fingers, and often a mild case will be cared for with careful stretching and maybe a heat pack, depending on what’s going on. Violinists and violists are also at risk for hurting their shoulders, neck, and jaw, given the position of their instruments between their chin and shoulder. Lots of modern musicians use clip-on shoulder rests to help hold their instrument in the proper position (although Raine doesn’t).

Even if you take proper care of yourself and manage to avoid any injuries that are too serious (though any serious musician that plays as much as Raine does almost certainly gets some aches and pains from time to time), playing an instrument is a physically demanding activity, and your body responds accordingly. Strings players usually develop significant callouses on the pads of the fingers that are used to hold the strings down (the first four, minus the thumb, on your non-dominant hand; from their playing, Raine definitely appears to be right-handed). We also try keep our fingernails very short, to keep that same part of the pad hitting the string (which helps with quality of sound and also some other fancy little tricks). Strings players also tend to build pretty significant strength in their arms, fingers, and even core from playing regularly.

Q6: Can you give some advice on how to describe someone playing a stringed instrument in writing?

Yes! This is one of the biggest reasons I wanted to make this post! I love that so many people are writing about Raine, and since I know it can be a challenge to describe something with as much specific, technical vocabulary as playing strings as a layman, I am so into the idea of helping folks do it more confidently. I won’t throw a ton of words at you here, but I will try to give a very basic rundown.

Before playing, a musician tunes their instrument. These days, this is often done with the help of artificial tuners that produce the right note, so you can match your strings to the notes they’re supposed to be set to (I can think of MANY funny Boiling Isles equivalents to this, including someone just screaming it out). But a professional musician like Raine probably also has a pretty decent ear for the proper notes and some ability to match them even without prompting. Often then you’ll play a couple strings at the same time, too, to listen to the harmonics and make sure they sound right together. Tuning is done, like I mentioned earlier, mostly with the fine-tuning pegs, although if an instrument has just been restrung, has experienced significant changes in temperature or humidity, or has been knocked around some, the big tuning pegs at the top may need to be used.

If a strings player is using their bow, it’s fairly safe to describe them as bowing. When bowing, they are probably playing just one note at a time, although it is possible to play a couple notes on adjacent strings (doing this is called playing double stops) at once. Bowing is actually really significant to playing -- whether you’re moving your bow up and down, or playing a phrase of a couple notes before switching (called a slur -- I know, I know) vs switching the direction of your bow on every note can significantly change the sound and character of a piece. Not the actual notes, but the vibes, if you will. Musicians actually use different symbols to mark slurs, up-bows, and down-bows in their sheet music because of this. Other symbols mark different kinds of bowings -- for example, a dot above or below a note means you play it really quick and short, giving it a more abrupt sound, called staccato. A line over a bunch of notes means you play the notes smoothly and elegantly without breaks, or legato.

There are other things you can do to change the character of a note, too. Pressing harder or softer changes the volume of the note (called its dynamics). Wiggling your finger extremely fast on a string as you play a note gives it a beautiful rich, layered sound, called vibrato. A note being marked with three thick lines means you do a similar wiggling/trembling movement with your bow hand instead, to produce an effect called a tremolo. Touching a string extremely lightly instead of pressing down all the way can produce unusually high-pitched, eerie-sounding notes called harmonics. And placing a little rubber mute on the bridge of the instrument can give your playing a dampened, muffled sound.

You can even play without your bow -- plucking the notes out with the fingers of your bow hand when instructed to play pizzicato (although you also keep holding your bow, since most pieces that have you do this switch between bowing and plucking) -- or, hilariously enough, with the back of your bow, in a technique called col legno, bouncing it on the back of the strings to produce a really weird sound that’s honestly hard to describe. I will instead link to my favorite piece that features it, Gustav Holt’s “Mars, The Bringer of War” -- that ominous sound at the beginning that sounds like drums, or marching footsteps? That’s all the strings players in the orchestra bouncing the backs of their bows on their strings!

Hopefully that gives you a place to start when thinking about describing strings playing! There are a lot of technical musical terms that you could employ in your writing, but honestly, having just a couple in your writer’s toolbox, maybe pairing it with some of the other info found here, and watching a video or two of someone playing to get a good picture in your mind will go a long way.

To finish, I’ve pulled a couple quotes from a fic of my own (called “What Resembles the Grave But Isn’t”) which features Raine giving a short music lesson that might give you some idea of how to put all this information together. If you’ve read through even a couple chunks of this post, there are probably more than a few things that will jump out at you here. Hopefully it can offer you some parting ideas about how you might put all this information together in your own stories!

Raine lifted their viola to their shoulder and began playing a few long, open notes, occasionally frowning slightly and adjusting one of the pegs near the bridge of the instrument.

“Sorry,” they apologized. “Just want to make sure everything is in tune.”

Hunter shrugged and started picking at his hands slightly, too uncomfortable in his own skin at the moment to really care about the hold-up. Raine’s tuning shifted to testing dual strings, in harmony, and eventually they seemed satisfied.

“I’m going to play a scale,” they said. “Just a simple one. That’s eight notes, in a pattern you probably recognize – in this case, D-E-F#-G-A-B-C#-D.”

Stiffening their posture, Raine closed their eyes and set their bow to the viola once more. Sure enough, the simple pattern the other witch bowed out on their instrument did sound kind of familiar, even without Hunter having much of an ear for music. Natural. Like all the notes fit together the way they were supposed to.

And, a tiny bit later:

Shakily, he put the bow to the string, trying to imitate the way Raine always held the instrument. When he moved it experimentally, there was barely any sound.

“You have to press on the bow a little more,” they explained. “Don’t worry, I know you’ll be careful with it. Put some force behind the strokes.”

Frowning, Hunter tried again. A clearer – but much scratchier than any of Raine’s playing – note rang out. Hopping up and down at his side, his palisman cheerfully sang the same note.

Sing! Sing together! the bird chirped.

“There you go!” Raine encouraged. “Now try the others. Just a simple scale.”

Hunter took a deep breath, then tried playing the same eight notes Raine had. He’d watched their hands enough to know that they’d switched to another string halfway through, but other than that he had no clue where his fingers were supposed to go. The first note, without any of them pressed to the fingerboard, came out okay enough. Just scratchy. But the rest were a disaster. He wasn’t even sure if he’d even switched strings at the right point.

“Happy?” he snapped at them, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He shoved the bow and instrument back their direction.

If you’ve enjoyed this post and have any other questions, I would love to hear from you, and would love to talk more about music, strings, violas in particular, and of course, Raine. Happy fic and meta writing, and thank you for letting me ramble on like this on a topic I’m so passionate about!

[dustedmagazine]

Brent Cordero & Peter Kerlin — A Sublime Madness (Astral Spirits)

A Sublime Madness by Brent Cordero & Peter Kerlin

The partnership of Brent Cordero and Peter Kerlin precedes the pandemic, but the 2020 shutdown set the stage for them to make something lasting out of it. At any rate, it cleared their schedules. Furthermore, the tenor of the times created a milieu that the album acknowledges and responds to. 

Cordero, who has played keyboards for Psychic Ills and Mike Wexler, provides organ, piano and synthesizer. Kerlin, of Sunwatchers and the Solar Motel Band, plays upright and electric basses. They first recorded as an improvising duo on Kerlin’s album Glaring Omission, which documents his efforts to come to terms with the eight-string bass. But, with time on their hands and the state of the nation on their minds, they set about organizing their music into a cohesive statement. While improvisation still figures in their methods and sonic orientation, the album was assembled in stages, with guest players adding drums, horns, viola and synthesizer to the duo’s original recordings. In essence, the solos function to provide focus and emotional impact to music that takes note of examples that are jazz-adjacent, but not jazz-confined.

“Movement To Protect The People” opens with a churchy organ melody. It sets the stage for an intricate countermelody articulated by an upright bass, which is then overtaken by spare piano notes, which drift in time with Ryan Sawyer’s stately, swinging backbeat. With each change, I found myself waiting for a voice that never arrives — Robert Wyatt’s. The tunes, textures and vibe all sound deeply inspired by his work, and the title suggests that their hearts beat in time with that of music’s most compassionate communist. However, the title of the propulsive waltz that follows, “Decolonize This Place,” articulates a consciousness that is very tuned into the trials of the present; Kerlin and Cordero aren’t just playing out their Soft Machine dreams. And the music is equally tuned into newer information. The effects on Cordero’s organ during the first solo show an engagement with malleable, distorted sound shaped more by pedal-hopping guitarists than post-bebop keyboardists. And a rippling performance by tenor saxophonist James Brandon Lewis adds to Kerlin and Cordero’s virtual community. 

Over the next five tracks a steady stream of musicians, including Jessica Pavone, Ryan Jewell and Daniel Carter, add their distinguishing voices to music that sounds like it is trying to transcend the realities alluded to by titles such as “White Supremacy In Black Face” and “Affordable For Who?” You can’t change the facts on the ground by slapping stirring names on instrumental compositions. But in a time when the American political discourse has morphed into a naked donnybrook over the means by which dissenting voices will be told how to shut up, it feels as necessary to say where one stands as it does to give comfort to those who are standing up. 

Bill Meyer

[dyingforbadmusic]

Rusty York and Jewel Records, OH

Just an article about Rusty York, pulled from the internet archive.

York seems to me a little bit like the Conny Plank of Bluegrass. Always in his studio, helping out bands to sound good.

Charles Edward York was born in the rugged hills of Harlan County, Ky., on May 24, 1935. The elder York worked in the coal mines and moved around to various coal camps as he had trouble holding a job because of his erratic habits. However, he did buy his boy a guitar and taught him the one chord he knew; but for the most part young York was self-taught. He listened to the Grand Ole Opry on Saturday nights and to the Mid-Day Merry-Go-Round and Cas Walker programs from Knoxville radio. Eventually, the York family moved to Perry County and the youth started high school in Viper. Rusty recalls singing songs on the school bus such as "Hillbilly Fever" and "I Couldn't Believe It Was True." When the Yorks moved to Breathitt County, the school in Jackson actually had a string band. Also about 1951, both Homer Harris, and Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs played shows locally. Charles York was especially taken by Earl and his blue grass banjo styling. He soon got a tenor banjo and remade it into a five-string. A little later, he obtained a conventional five-string banjo and began to learn the Scruggs style.

At a place called Larry's cafe, York encountered some country musicians and began to sit in with them. As he recalls, some time elapsed before he learned that the others were getting paid. Meanwhile he met a fine banjo picker named Wilson Spivey who played on WZIP radio in Covington, Ky., and WPFB at Middletown on Saturdays and took a few lessons from him. Soon he met a guitar picker-vocalist named Willard Hale who had migrated from Somerset, Ky. The two soon went on their own and were making five dollars each night in the clubs plus tips. Charles' sister had bought him a good used guitar that had the name "Rusty" on it. Club patrons began calling him "Rusty" and he found it easier to keep the new nickname than change it. Thus, did Charles York become Rusty York.

Willard and Rusty worked quite some time in clubs like the Old Hickory as a guitar-bango duet and sometimes playing two guitars. Then rock-and-roll began to make an impact, or as Rusty related to Neil Rosenberg "even country boys started liking Elvis." Willard and Rusty didn't much care for the new styling. Rusty recalls club patrons would say "Do you know 'Hound Dog'" and he would respond with "how about 'Little Cabin Home On The Hill.'" One he did "Mystery Train" more as a joke and the fans loved it. Soon they were doing mostly rock-and-roll songs, but would still perform about 15 minutes of bluegrass nightly.

Meanwhile, Rusty and Willard made the acquaintance of Jimmie Skinner when he played at a nearby park. Having become a Skinner fan before he left Kentucky, Rusty hit it off well and they soon became more or less regulars on his live shows and did some radio work with him as well. Eventually, Rusty left the stockbroker's office and helped Skinner in a variety of ways. Jimmie did a live broadcast from the Jimmie Skinner Music Center on weekday mornings that Rusty would help engineer, cue up discs, and play some music. Then he hight help package records for the mail order business for the remainder of the day. By evenings, he would work in the clubs, sometimes going out with Jimmie Skinner, and doing at least one tour with Hylo Brown in his early days with Capitol records.

York also continued to cut rock-and-roll material in 1958 and 1959. On January 9, 1958, Syd Nathan paired Rusty with the Midwestern Hayride's favorite songstress Bonnie Lou to do a cover recording of the Billy and Lillie hit "La Dee Dah" and a Henry Glover original titled "Let The School Bell Ring, Ding A Ling." In 1959, he did a single for Fraternity called "Cajun Blues" and "Just Another Lie," the former title of which provided his rock-and-roll trio with a name: the Cajuns. A few weeks later a friend named Pat Nelson rented the king studio for an independent session intended for his PJ label. One side consisted of an up-tempo version of "Comin' Round The Mountain" retitled "Red Rooster." They filled out the other side with a Marty Robbins number titled "Sugaree." The other two sides featured Rusty and Cajuns backing an aspiring teenager named Jackie De Shannon who would later have two major pop hits including a certified million seller. Surprisingly, "Sugaree" caught on. Nelson leased the master to Note and then to Chess, an R&B; label that had turned out a string of hits for Chuck Berry and many others. Soon Rusty York Found himself on tour with Dick Clark of American Bandstand fame. That tour included a sellout appearance at the Hollywood Bowl. Others on the package show included Frankie Avalon, Duane Eddy, and teen sweetheart Annette Funicello, who Rusty recalls as being really as sweet and beautiful as she looked, and closely chaperoned by her mother. As Rusty and the Cajuns opened the show, they had the honor of being the first rock act to play the Hollywood Bowl. "Sugaree" made both the Billboard (#77) and Cash Box (#69 on pop and #29 on R&B;) charts, but as York had no follow-up hit, he soon found himself back in the clubs of his adopted Queen City.

In the summer of 1964, Rusty went on the road again, this time as a frontman and bandleader for Bobby Bare who was ascending the ladder of country success. He stayed with Bobby off and on for about five years working quite a bit in Las Vegas where he met numerous musical celebrities including Liberace. The famed pianist found the finger work of bluegrass banjo pickers truly amazing, recalls Rusty. During the Bare era, York recorded some country material including a pair of Harlan Howard songs "That's What I Need"/"Just Like You" that were picked by Capitol. They never went anywhere, but Rusty was glad to be on a major label, if only briefly. Most of the material appeared on either the New Star label, or Jewel which was York's own company, started in a garage-type studio near his home in suburban Mt. Healthy, Ohio.

Although Rusty York continued to work for Cincinnati clubs throughout the '60s and into the '70s he spent less time there and devoted more efforts to Jewel Records. One of his first major customers was bluegrass gospel stalwart J.D. Jarvis. Not only did Jarvis do several custom albums released on Jewel but Uncle Jim O'Neal paid Rusty to produce those released on Rural rhythm. Rusty played on some of these releases in addition to producing and engineering them. One side of the second album featured his vocal work while Fred Spencer and Jarvis played rhythm guitars; Harley Gabbard played resonator guitar and Jackie Sanderson bass. Rusty says that the Jarvis albums were of key significance in helping to get Jewel Records off the ground in those early days.

In addition to material released on the Jewel label, other companies including Vetco made use of his studio. Over the years several bluegrass luminaries have made recordings there. Rusty is especially proud of two albums that Mac Wiseman made there with the help of the Shenandoah Cutups, plus Buddy Griffin, and Jeff Terflinger. Katie Laur, Hylo Brown, Jimmie Skinner, the Boys from Indiana, Joe Isaacs, the Russell Brothers, Larry Sparks, and Ralph Stanley have all used the Jewel Studio for sessions. Several lesser known but quality gospel artists have cut there, including George Brock (with Neil Rosenburg on banjo), and the VanWinkle Brothers. Esco Hankins did his "Working God's Fields" and other albums as well for Rusty. Brother Claude Ely did some of his last recordings for Jewel. Jean Shepard cut a country album there when she was between contracts. The Grateful Dead and Lonnie Mack have made use of the facilities. A great deal of black gospel, soul, and rap music has also been recorded there in the studio on Kinney Avenue.

A visit to Rusty York and Jewel Studios is a nostalgic trip through 45 years of Cincinnati music history. Side junkets into other aspects of Queen City music and excursions into the national bluegrass and country scene adorn his conversations. His stories about an all-night recording session with Don Reno and Red Smiley when they all eventually sacked out on the floor, or the backseat jam session with himself on resonator guitar and Merle Haggard singing Jimmie Rodgers tunes all the way across Arizona are well worth hearing. The folks who plan the "Bluegrass Stories" segment at the IBMA convention are missing the boat if they don't work Rusty in soon. (For a sidelight, he can also throw in a few experiences with Frankie Avalon, Annette Funicello, and Dick Clark.) His adventures in bluegrass and other forms of music are not only fascinating, they are significant in their own right.

[mamusiq]

5 Minutes That Will Make You Love Mezzo-Sopranos January 5, 2022 In the past we’ve chosen the five minutes or so we would play to make our friends fall in love with classical music, piano, opera, cello, Mozart, 21st-century composers, violin, Baroque music, sopranos, Beethoven, flute, string quartets, tenors, Brahms, choral music, percussion, symphonies, Stravinsky, trumpet, Maria Callas, Bach and the organ.

Now we want to convince those curious friends to love mezzo-sopranos, the warm-toned bringers of humanity to opera. We hope you find lots here to discover and enjoy; leave your favorites in the comments. In the past we’ve chosen the five minutes or so we would play to make our friends fall in love with classical music, piano, opera, cello, Mozart, 21st-century composers, violin, Baroque music, sopranos, Beethoven, flute, string quartets, tenors, Brahms, choral music, percussion, symphonies, Stravinsky, trumpet, Maria Callas, Bach and the organ.Now we want to convince those curious friends to love mezzo-sopranos, the warm-toned bringers of humanity to opera. We hope you find lots here to discover and enjoy; leave your favorites in the comments.

◆ ◆ ◆Susan Graham, mezzo-soprano

Why should you love mezzos? We’re the opera world’s salt of the earth. We’re the mother, the boyfriend, the impish page. We’re the sister, the princess, sometimes the goddess. OK, we’re also occasionally the witch!

With apologies to my soprano sisters, our lower tessitura offers a warmer tone, as well as words that are more discernible in a range closer to speech. We’re slightly more relatable, if you will. We’re the viola, sometimes the cello, and we often strive for that richness and comfort. The following is an example of glorious vocalism by one of my idols and mentors: Christa Ludwig. She taught me Octavian, and her recordings taught me Mahler, Strauss, Schubert and Wagner. Here she is spinning out Brahms, accompanied by Leonard Bernstein.

◆ ◆ ◆J’Nai Bridges, mezzo-soprano

I would play an aria almost everyone has heard many times: “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” — the “Habanera” from “Carmen.” The clarity and beauty of Grace Bumbry’s tone and the playfulness of her expression made me instantly fall in love, and I can imagine it would at the very least pique the interest of a newcomer. (The music is more than enough, but watching her sing it on film would truly leave anyone hooked.)

◆ ◆ ◆Kayleigh Butcher, mezzo-soprano

When I was in high school, my choir teacher played a Grace Bumbry CD. I loved it so much that I took it home with me. This piece was one of the few arias I had heard at that point that just sounded fun to sing. Her voice is so buoyant and light, yet also strong and fervent. And her breathing technique is so skilled at handling Handel’s long, melismatic lines. Her expression sounded so easy and free. It all spoke to me, so intensely, at a young age.

◆ ◆ ◆Zachary Woolfe, Times classical music editor

These five minutes changed my life. When I was about 10, I somehow got my hands on a CD of songs and arias featuring Marian Anderson. I played her “Ave Maria” again and again, with its halo of static hovering around her mellow tone, an emissary of beauty from long ago. It was how I fell in love with classical vocalism, and with opera. As always with Anderson, the singing is dignified, even decorous. But in her steady, intense swells of volume, you can’t help but feel the power of belief, breath, body. Sensuality is not absent from her artistry.

◆ ◆ ◆Marilyn Horne, mezzo-soprano

There were many singers who influenced me and whom I tried to emulate: Risë Stevens, Janet Baker, Renata Tebaldi, Rosa Ponselle, Victoria de los Ángeles, Conchita Supervía. But I think the one I really paid the most attention to when I was 18, 19, 20, was Ebe Stignani. I did a lot of research on her, and I played her records constantly. I adored her particular legato, which was just extraordinary in “Orfeo,” and the “Samson et Dalila” arias.

◆ ◆ ◆Cecilia Bartoli, mezzo-soprano

When I was a student, I used to listen to and admire a lot one of the very great Rossini specialists, Marilyn Horne. I especially appreciated and studied her legendary interpretations of male characters, such as Malcolm in “La Donna del Lago” and Arsace in “Semiramide.” In 1988 she recorded something different: Vivaldi’s “Orlando Furioso.” I was spellbound by the vocal fireworks, and Horne’s interpretation was the initial inspiration for my later Vivaldi projects. Thank you, dear Marilyn!

◆ ◆ ◆Matthew Epstein, vocal coach and impresario

I can hear this performance in my head: It was the first cut on the album “Presenting Marilyn Horne,” which came out in 1965. And if there was a part that fully suited her, it was Isabella in “L’Italiana in Algeri.” She was still called a soprano in those days, and there was the combination of that very strong lower register, even from the start, with a lightness, especially in this early recording. She goes way up in the cadenza to the high C. There’s lightness and flexibility to the sound, and dynamic variation — her amazing use of soft dynamics. She sings with such sweetness but also so much strength.

◆ ◆ ◆Jamie Barton, mezzo-soprano

When I think mezzo, the first name that comes to mind is Marilyn Horne. Her recordings of florid arias by Rossini, Vivaldi and Handel are widely known, but this gorgeous aria from Ambrose Thomas’s “Mignon” is well worth a trip off the beaten path. In under five minutes, you have a scena that is chock-full of beautiful long lines and gargantuan leaps that challenge the extremes of her seemingly limitless voice.

◆ ◆ ◆Amirtha Kidambi, composer and vocalist

A classical mezzo-soprano who later defected to free jazz, I was a contrarian who avoided the most beloved repertoire. I gravitated to what was then considered niche, digging into zarzuela and Spanish and Latin American art song, which brought me into contact with the rich voice of Teresa Berganza. She is known for interpretations of Rossini and Mozart, but when I was knee-deep in Manuel de Falla’s “Siete Canciones Populares Españolas,” I studied Berganza’s recordings closely, mesmerized by her delicacy and sensitivity to the folkloric ornamentation. In this live performance from 1960, “Polo” showcases her brilliant coloratura, moving seamlessly in and out of brute-force chest voice.

Back to free jazz, when I met my musical hero Cecil Taylor, the virtuosic improvising pianist, I told him I was a vocalist. He took my hands in his and spoke low and close. Though I couldn’t grasp every word, he clearly repeated “Teresa Berganza” in a raspy whisper. I felt a cosmic vibration in our hands and shook my head vigorously, grinning in agreement.

◆ ◆ ◆Denyce Graves, mezzo-soprano

It may be partly because I’m a huge Cecilia Bartoli fan, partly because it is just so heartbreakingly glorious, and partly because it’s a challenge to sing well. But I love this aria. It challenges your stamina in terms of breath control, line, trill and the ability to convey deep emotional sentiment. You need fire in your belly and a core of steel and calm to be successful.

◆ ◆ ◆Javier C. Hernández, Times classical music and dance reporter

Some mezzos specialize in so-called trouser roles, assuming the identity of young male characters. One of the best known trouser parts is Cherubino, the mischievous teenage page in Mozart’s “Le Nozze di Figaro.” In this recording, Frederica von Stade, a classic Cherubino, sings with luster and comedic flair.

◆ ◆ ◆Anthony Tommasini, former Times chief classical music critic

Many mezzos can sound a little forced trying to bring chesty power to their low range. Not the great Shirley Verrett, as in this thrilling account of “O don fatale” from Verdi’s “Don Carlo.” Her deep, rich lower voice has smoldering natural power and textured beauty. Yet during soaring flights, she tosses off top notes that any soprano would covet. (It’s no surprise that she also took on major soprano roles.) Combining vocal magnificence with dramatic intensity, Verrett’s Princess Eboli sounds impassioned and remorseful in cursing the allure of her own beauty.

◆ ◆ ◆David Allen, Times writer

“I am lost to the world,” this song begins, even though the music can be relied upon to pull me back into it — consoling on the darkest of nights, or in the deepest of griefs. With its winding English horn and ethereal mezzo line, never more magically sung than by Janet Baker in 1967, Mahler’s shortest masterpiece is a love song, though a forlorn one. Our singer is lost to the world, and she insists that she is content with that, as her voice takes flight. But there are few simple joys here — rather a profound ambivalence. Suspensions linger everywhere, their exquisite agonies taking time to resolve. Is this the bliss of solitude? Heaven? Love? No, the final words reveal: It is the rapture of song.

◆ ◆ ◆Kamala Sankaram, composer

For me, the beauty of the mezzo voice is synonymous with Mahler. And while I do have a soft spot for the “Rückert-Lieder” (“Um Mitternacht,” in particular), the piece that first moved me, introducing me to the warmth of mezzos, is his “Kindertotenlieder.” In “Nun will die Sonn’ so hell aufgeh’n,” the first song in the cycle, the sparseness of the orchestration allows the simplicity and purity of the voice to really shine. The beautiful legato of Janet Baker’s sound is colored by the emotion she wrings out of the text. It gets me every time.

◆ ◆ ◆Seth Colter Walls, Times writer

Emmerich Kalman’s operetta “The Duchess of Chicago” was a hot ticket in Vienna in 1928. Kalman drew from his intimate knowledge of Hungarian dances and what he was able to learn of cutting-edge American styles like the Charleston. Among the numbers is this tune, which introduces Mary, the duchess of the title, who buys and sells European potentates at will. While the part was originally written for a soprano, a mezzo like Julia Bentley can emphasize the ironies of the libretto. Mary already seems to know that money isn’t everything — even as the dollar-fueled flexing of Americana is heard in the rhythm.

◆ ◆ ◆Jennifer Higdon, composer

One of the joys of being a composer is exploring performers’ gifts before writing for them. Occasionally, I encounter a beauty and skill that takes my breath away, making me pause with wonder and admiration. Such performances become springboards of inspiration. I recently experienced this while listening to the mezzo-soprano Sasha Cooke, heard here in a lullaby and conveying the sound of effortless beauty and calm from a most artful voice.

◆ ◆ ◆Joshua Barone, Times editor

In opera, the spotlight tends to gravitate toward sopranos. But there have been exceptions, mostly in France, of leading female roles for mezzo-sopranos: the Carmens and Dalilas of the repertory. Among my favorites are those written by Berlioz, like Didon of “Les Troyens” and Marguerite of “La Damnation de Faust.” His song cycle “Les Nuits d’Été,” which has been adapted for different voice types, also sounds best in the mezzo tessitura. Hear how the deeper, rich-bodied lyricism in “Le spectre de la rose” complements the orchestration — at its most delicate, with pattering winds and pizzicato strings — then blossoms into a beaming high note with a mezzo-soprano’s trademark versatility.

◆ ◆ ◆Michael Cooper, Times editor

Some of the most intoxicating music in Wagner’s “Tristan und Isolde” is given not to the doomed lovers, but to Brangäne, Isolde’s hapless maid. Listen to Christa Ludwig sing her song of warning in the second act: standing watch over a tryst, her rich, otherworldly mezzo floats above the ethereal colors of the orchestra. Its spell is all the more powerful because of how it unfolds. The audience, which has just listened to an ecstatic, frenzied love duet, suddenly hears Brangäne’s distant warning as she tries in vain to pierce the rapturously beautiful music of their passion.

◆ ◆ ◆Joyce DiDonato, mezzo-soprano

One of the great mysteries of classical music is how composers can craft the most achingly beautiful music from the most tragic of emotions, simultaneously evoking pure sadness and astonished tranquillity, and perhaps even inviting acceptance. It takes a special artist to channel music in such a mystical way, and there have been few better marriages than that of Franz Schubert and Janet Baker. In this song, written in 1816, a mother sings a simple lullaby to her baby son, who has just died. Listen as Janet’s voice comforts, cries, calms and loves.

◆ ◆ ◆

The post 5 Minutes That Will Make You Love Mezzo-Sopranos appeared first on New York Times.

[tammie-brown]

So...Hetalia? Instruments?? Tell me more pls

ohohohohohoho!!! i have been waiting for this one!!!

ok so i wont go into every single one bc that would make for like, /such/ a long post bUT

a couple of days earlier i posted about how latvia gives me strong viola vibes and i think i've figured out why. the viola has always felt like a very inbetween instrument to me; it’s like a larger violin but with cello strings (and an octave lower), it uses the alto clef (which is between the tenor and bass), and ye. it gives me the same vibes as october, orange, and autumn. to be honest, all of the baltics could be viola players lmao. they don’t really fit in with any of the other country groups (c’mon estonia, it’s time to give up on joining the nordic five) and the viola doesn’t really either. i feel like i’ve been shit talking the viola lmao but it’s really a beautiful instrument! i have one and can play it poorly! ok!

england plays the french horn idgaf what anyone thinks it’s fucking hilarious to me. conversely, france plays the cor anglais.

ok this one shouldn’t be very controversial i think but america is definitely a trumpet player. it’s so loud and grand and annoying. it’s perfect for him. perhaps if he’d thought more about it he’d have picked the trombone bc the trombone is truly the loudest instrument in the orchestra but it doesn’t quite have the same ~*pizzaz*~ as the trumpet, so trumpet it is.

north italy is a flute and piccolo player. i don’t really have any justifications for this except idk, they’ve got such a clear and peppy sound that i think suits him a lot. 

y’know, i think it’d be normal to hc germany as a brass player but i think of him more as a cellist. he’s such a stoic character, but he does have a lot of emotions that can overwhelm him greatly (i mean, look at buon san valentino). the cello is such a rich and soulful instrument, i feel like it’d be the perfect vessel for him to express the deepest emotions he holds in his heart without having to stumble over his words.

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 674: Allen Karpinski VDSQ - Solo Acoustic Volume Six

Glenn Jones’ Fleeting album captured a vibe I loved---the unaccompanied guitarist just doing his thing---but demonstrated an ability I could never hope to replicate. This one-off solo LP by Allen Karpinski, guitarist for indie outfit The Six Parts Seven, conjures a similar atmosphere but works within a framework that actually sounds attainable to my ears. 

The VDSQ LP series invites esteemed guitarists to record an album with nothing more than the sound of their acoustic instrument. Other participants in the project include Bill Orcutt, Sir Richard Bishop, Chris Brokaw, and Thurston Moore. I knew Allen from his tenure at Suicide Squeeze Records, and I think I helped out with a bio for the album, but honestly it was so long ago that it’s entirely possible that he hooked me up with a copy of this LP just out of the kindness of his heart. 

Anyhow, Allen’s five songs here capture his first forays into the world of the four-stringed tenor guitar. The songs have an air of structured improvisation, as if Allen had established very specific boundaries in terms of melodic tone, but left the direction open. It floats and wanders along its path, but it never hits anything that feels like an unnecessary or errant note. Everything falls in line with a general sense of bittersweet rumination, yet it feels totally free and of-the-moment. 

Basically, it all goes back to that sound of a guy just playing his instrument for the pure joy of it, and that sense of inspired spontaneity thoroughly ropes me in every time I listen to it.

[unforth]

So I have no idea what The Untamed is, but I keep seeing it show up on my dash. So I kinda want to check it out. Can you tell me if there's actual queer representation in it? Or is it more of a destiel kind of situation right now? (Love your fanfic btw)

ALRIGHT ANON I hope you’re ready to listen to me go the fuck off cause I’m so gonna because I fucking love this show!

Right off the bat, to answer the “is it more of a destiel kind of situation” the answer is absolutely fucking not, nor will it ever be, because The Untamed is 50 episodes long and complete, so where it is now is where it will always be. And where it is now...okay, so The Untamed is based on a novel called Modao Zushi (variously translated but the most commonly accepted is “Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation”). MDZS exists in five different versions - the original novel (complete), an animation (in progress), a comic (in progress), a radio drama (...actually I have no idea if it’s done...) and The Untamed (the live action TV show). 

What it is...it’s originally a Chinese BL danmei (a novel, in this case published serially on a subscription website) by an author who writes under the pseudonym Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. It’s xianxia, which is a genre of Chinese fantasy inspired by Chinese mythology, religion, martial arts, and all kinds of other stuff...as a Westerner coming in with no experience, it’s been a LOT to learn the genre tropes and I’m still getting the hang of it, but you don’t need to know anything to appreciate the show - I didn’t, and nor did many of my friends, and we’ve all loved it. It has a wonderful ensemble cast (...okay, well, full disclosure, it has a wonderful male ensemble cast, the women in the novel leave something to be desired, they’re much better fleshed out in The Untamed but I could still wish for more in that regard...) with tons of side shipping potential...like, my favorite character isn’t even one of the two in the main ship, and I’d honestly be hard pressed to even name a top five because I love them all so much, and there’s a side ship I love almost as much as the main ship, and is also so close to canon as makes no difference, at least imo. The plot is pretty well fleshed out (or at least the points that are nonsensical are surprisingly easy to ignore...if you’ve seen Jupiter Ascending it had some of the same feel in that regard, like “parts of this writing are a trash fire but I’m enjoying the overall effect so much that I don’t even care any more”). The sets and the costumes are absolutely fucking gorgeous and if the CGI for some of the monsters made me want to weep it was so bad...well, I was a fan of Hercules the Legendary Journeys in the 90s so I’m prepared to forgive a lot to watch hot guys kick some ass, and speaking of the hot guys...

The main ship is composed of this guy, Wei Wuxian...

He is a quintessential disaster bi and I love him and would die for him. The novel is told primarily from his PoV and even The Untamed tends to focus more on his angle than others.

His other half is this guy, Lan Wangji...

(okay the glasses are NOT canon but how am I supposed to resist that line??). He is rule-following, law-abiding, and I totally didn’t get him at first and now I adore him.

This is full enemies to lovers in the best possible way.

From a Destiel PoV, I basically write Wei Wuxian the same way I write Dean, and I basically write Lan Wangji the same way I write Castiel, and people tell me pretty often that they love my characterizations so...the personality parallels, they are strong.

Their ship is most commonly called WangXian. Are they canon? In the novel, yes. They are canon. They are literally married. They have actual explicit sex that you can read in all its glorious detail (actually I shouldn’t talk it up that much I didn’t personally enjoy the canon sex all that much but that’s a totally different topic). They are the most canon of canon, no holds barred, mano-a-mano, god I wish they’d use lube, I can tell you who canonically tops and bottoms and what their main kinks are, and they are so in love and there are ridiculous declarations at the worst possible moments and there’s a wedding...it’s canon. 

Now, China has some pretty crazy censorship laws that include making it an arrestable, punishable offense to make the queer explicit in the TV show. Thus, there is no explicit moment where, in The Untamed, they say, “yes we are a couple and we are in love.” However, the following things are canon:

-they are soulmates (link to gif set by @ohsesuns - the source for these two gifs, I hope you can forgive me just embedding them but someone asked me for a guide and I think just linking might not get the point across/require too much expectation of people clicking through...)

-they have their own theme song...which is called the portmanteau of their ship name (link to gif set by @wangxiians, with two used for demonstration purposes...again, my apologies for embedding them like this, I’ll pull them if you’d prefer) And mind you, in this scene, Lan Wangji just sang their song out loud while a montage played of important moments in their relationship with each other it is the gayest most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.

-THIS IS LITERALLY HOW THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER

-neither has a female love interest or any other romantic subplot or any kind of “fake out” and this is the way Lan Wangji looks every time Wei Wuxian is like, “you’re never gonna get a girlfriend with that attitude” (labeled as by someone named mabomanji on a website called tenor that I’ve never used before...)

-DID I MENTION THIS IS HOW THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER

-oh and they have a son...sort of...close enough...okay it’s way more complicated than that but whatevs I don’t want to spoil all the fun...

-OH MY GOD I ALMOST FORGOT TO MENTION THE HANDFASTING? Lan Wangji constantly lets Wei Wuxian touch the “sacred headband that only family members and loved ones can touch” and at one point to protect Wei Wuxian he wraps it around each of their wrists (source for this screen cap is a set on twitter by krayziewes)

I’m sure at least three people will look at this and be like HOW DID YOU LEAVE OUT THIS OTHER THING and all three things they name will be DIFFERENT because the show is just that fucking gay.

So you ask me, is it like Destiel?

With Supernatural, with Destiel, the show writers, producers, everyone, strings us along, giving us just enough to think we’ve got a chance. The only risk they face in making it canon would be a drop in rating and alienation of some of the fanbase and yet they refuse to do it. I do not believe and have never believed that Destiel will be canon, and my reaction is constant disappointment, because seriously, what would it cost them to show it? Absolutely fucking nothing, especially now that it’s ending now, but they won’t. (okay, that’s just my opinion, I guess the last few episodes will show...but I at least have zero hope.)

With The Untamed...with Wangxian...literally everyone involved in The Untamed risked being disappeared by the Chinese government and actual imprisonment to make the show as gay as humanly possible without quiiiiiiiiiiite crossing the line into explicit queerness. Behind the scenes footage makes it clear that the entire cast and production crew have read the novel. The crew jokingly refers to Wei Wuxian as Lan Wangji’s wife (yeah, sorry, there’s some splashes of misogyny especially in the novel) and the looks on any of the actors’ faces when they’re interviewed and asked about (female) love interests are honestly fucking priceless...but no one can say it out loud, no one can make it explicit in the purest sense, because they risk their livelihoods, their families, their futures, their lives, if they say in reply to that interviewer, “um are you a fucking moron didn’t you realize there WAS a romance in the show and it was between two men?” But everyone with a half a brain knows. It’s not subtle. It’s not a secret. My straight cis male friend who is watching keeps screaming at me about how gay it is and he’s only on like episode 10.

Would I kill for a canon kiss or an actual traditional love declaration?

Yes, of course, I’d love that. 

But do I think WangXian isn’t canon in The Untamed just because it isn’t shown in those most simplistic terms?

Oh my god it is so canon WangXian are husbands and they are in love and they live for each other and it’s amazing and I adore theeeeeeeeeeeem. 

Wangxian. Are. Canon.

[thatbanjobusiness]

Bluegrass Basics #1

WHAT IS BLUEGRASS?

I realize that, what with this being a bluegrass blog and all, I should probably start by explaining... this.

If you’ve hung out with me in the last year and a half, then you’ve been subjected (probably against your will, kicking and screaming) to a Haddock Talks About Bluegrass conversation. Within seconds, you may be bombarded to an inescapable wall of sound as I shriek about G runs, five-strings, and dudes wearing hats named weird stuff like Lester, Burkett, Arthel, Dorris, Junebug, Haskel, and Chi Chi. Understandably, to cope and survive, your mind might have blocked out the worst of the memories... leaving you now with the question, “Well, what is bluegrass? And why does Haddock find it so cool?”

At its simplest, bluegrass is a folk-inspired genre of music originating from the Southern United States that utilizes a core group of acoustic string instruments: guitar, banjo, string bass, mandolin, fiddle, and dobro. However, bluegrass is not a direct preservation of old folk music. Its biggest influences are Scots-Irish fiddle tunes, African-American blues, and gospel music, and in that you can hear a lot of "old" sounds. But bluegrass also began within a commercial setting. Most people date it to the mid-1940s—yes, it's that new!—and it not only integrated new compositions and contemporary songs, but it brought about innovative instrumental techniques that most audiences had never heard before. Since its inception, bluegrass has been a music of unique juxtaposition; it's simultaneously homespun and commercial, simple and technically complex, straddling tradition with truly progressive innovation.

Also. Unlike almost every other genre that exist out there ever, bluegrass can be traced back to and centralized around a *SINGLE* human being. Yeah. That’s right. ONE dude essentially started his own motherfucking genre.

Enter: the Father of Bluegrass. Mr. Bill Monroe (1911-1996). 

This guy.

1. HOW THIS SHIT GOT STARTED

Bill Monroe’s music at the time was considered hillbilly music. (“Hillbilly” was the name of the genre before we changed it to “country”). He was a radio star starting in the 1930s, and by the late 1930s, Bill and his band had become members of a popular, wide-reaching hillbilly music program, the Grand Ole Opry, whose radio signal stretched across the American South. Bill’s music wove together several influences: in particular, he combined the sound of old Scots-Irish fiddle tunes with the pitch bends, syncopation, and blue notes of African-American blues. For good measure, he chucked in four-part gospel songs, threw his singing into the high tenor stratosphere, and pushed the music forward with an urgent drive.

And the name of his act? Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys.

Hmhm... something sounds familiar here... something to do with “blue” and “grass,” maybe.

Bill’s music underwent changes, different personnel, different instruments. Every musician’s contribution is important and worth noting, but regrettably my post would be too long if I talked about them here. I will, however, mention what’s often considered the last piece of the puzzle. On December 8, 1945, Bill introduced a new musician he had just hired, a twenty-one year old banjo picker whose style of playing was so unexpected to audiences that you could barely hear the music above the amazed cheers and shouts from the live crowd. People who heard it on the radio talked about the banjo picker all week; some blokes debated about whether one person was playing or several, or if it was even a banjo at all. I know peeps today don’t tend to think of banjos as “cool” and all, but he was shredding up the instrument like some banjo Jimi Hendrix, as far as they were concerned. It was so exciting. Bill was already a popular performer; under this ensemble he had between then and 1948, he was launched to even more popularity.

I’m not trying to focus just on the banjo, but my point here is to emphasize how bluegrass did invoke monumentally new ideas.

That 1946-1948 group is what we usually consider the first-ever bluegrass band. They created the initial blueprint by which a unique band style emerged. Now, some standard musical features of the genre got locked in during the 1950s after several seminal Blue Grass Boys bandmates left and formed their own band. But this original group’s sound started A Movement™ that trickled down over the decades. New-budding musicians began imitating Bill’s sound in their bands. And also, Bill’s band had constant turnover, meaning that a ton of people went into the Blue Grass Boys, got influenced by Bill, then left to form their own ensembles, carrying with them the musical ideas they’d learned from Monroe.

(And by “constant turnover,” I mean—no joke—Bill had something like 200 official band members over the course of his career.)

^^^ The “Classic Band” of Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, c. 1947. From left to right: Bill Monroe (mandolin), Chubby Wise (fiddle), Birch Monroe (bass), Lester Flatt (guitar), and Earl Scruggs (banjo). When talking about the classic band, the bassist usually listed is Cedric Rainwater, but here (and legitimately part of the band at the time) is Bill’s older brother Birch.

In the late 1950s and 1960s, mainstream country music had to find a way to compete with the new and oh-so-frustratingly-popular rock-and-roll. Mainstream country music strayed away from scratchy fiddles and banjers and moved to smooth, pop-inspired, electric guitars and background orchestration. And if you didn’t sound like that, you probably weren’t going to be played on mainstream country radio. But there was a notable cluster of acoustic string band musicians who had been left behind... those people and groups who had branched straight off Bill Monroe. By this point, they were distinct enough that their music began to be regularly referred to as... yeah, you guessed it... bluegrass music.

Having been ignored by radio, bluegrass continued through other means, such as festivals that began in the late 60s and 70s. Many musicians brought their own instruments to jam, and to this day, bluegrass is a genre in which it’s common to both pick tunes with friends and family as a social event and go out to see professional performers.

As new generations have entered bluegrass, new ideas and sounds have funneled into it. However, I feel like the theme of combining tradition with innovation remains. For instance, in the 1960s with the Folk Revival, second generation bluegrass musicians simultaneously inserted more several-centuries-old folk songs into the bluegrass repertoire (ex: Fox on the Run), and brought in contemporary rock and pop elements to their bands’s sounds. And while today you may meet bluegrass purists who want to stick with what they heard in the 40s and 50s, you’ll see just as many if not more musicians continue to innovate and expand the genre.

And expand it they will.

2. WHAT MAKES BLUEGRASS MUSIC BLUEGRASS?

As I’ve said before, bluegrass is a somewhat progressive amalgamation and reformulation of older music styles combined with contemporary music. Bluegrass might have been based in part on ideas from British Isles fiddle tunes and African-American blues, but it’s certainly not regurgitating how people played in decades past. Familiar, old elements combine with new, creative, and original concepts. You keep a healthy dose of both old and new.

It’s because of bluegrass that the banjo was completely reformulated as an instrument: changed from a comedic prop that was strummed into an intensely-picked solo instrument. Within bluegrass, banjo performance technique has continued to evolve, new ideas and styles building on top of one another. And let’s not forget the other instruments! The first dobro in a bluegrass band went in extremely unique directions compared to what was heard at the time, taking influences from everything down to banjo technique. At the same time, bluegrass has provided the space for styles like the old-time hoedown fiddle in periods of music where fiddle was ignored.

But....... as you’ve probably been wondering this entire post.... what does this genre sound like?

^^^ The typical instrument set-up for a bluegrass band. In the back is a string bass. In front, left to right, is a banjo, mandolin, fiddle, guitar, and dobro. If you’re not familiar with how to distinguish instruments: basses are plucked and low pitch; banjos sound twangy and play short note values; mandolins are a high-pitched instrument with a mellower sound that often employ tremolo (quickly undulating notes by strumming the strings up and down rapidly); fiddle is... I mean, it’s a violin; guitar is a mellower acoustic instrument that blends sonically with everything; and the dobro (maybe you’ve heard it referred to as a “steel guitar” or “Hawaiian guitar”) has a... uhhh... it’s a unique hound dog tone I have difficulties describing but is very distinct to hear.

A typical ensemble consists of mandolin, guitar, banjo, fiddle, string bass, and sometimes dobro. On rarer occasions, you may see other instruments like autoharp or harmonica (drums are usually considered horrible, forbidden things, even though... for the record... some high-profile bluegrass bands have used them). You’ll notice bluegrass is a distinctly acoustic string band sound.

There are also, of course, vocals, and in bluegrass, there is notable emphasis on tight two-, three-, and four-part harmony. However, what’s interesting about bluegrass as versus, say, other strains of country, is that for bluegrass, it’s about the full band and not just the lead singer. It’s as important to pay attention to the technically-driven solos (“breaks”) that the instruments play between sung verses. Many bluegrass pieces are straight out instrumentals, too.

Every instrument has a role or roles it fulfills in a bluegrass band. In the background, instruments may play rhythm or fills. Rhythm keeps the basic beat. Fills are unobtrusive melodic-sounding fragments that hide behind the vocalist(s) singing the main melody. And when there’s no singing, instruments take turns in the spotlight playing breaks. You can hear any instrument play a break. It’s to note that breaks are often improvised or semi-improvised, which is half of the fun and skill of watching the musicians perform. Ergo, even if the song itself may or may not have simple chord structures and lyrics, it’s also technically advanced with an expectation that every musician can perform fast-paced solos they improvise on the fly.

There’s different types of guitar styles I’ve seen in bluegrass. I’m not a guitarist, so I don’t want to elaborate too far and share incorrect information. However, it’s fair to say that guitar can be anything from a backup rhythm chord strummer to a flat-picked, fast-paced, melodic soloist. There is a VERY distinct guitar fill that happens at the end of lines, phrases, or sections called the G run you’ll hear everywhere. Fiddle I’ve also heard a wide variety of styles. On the dobro side, the dobro tends not to be the “Hawaiian” sound you may be familiar with on a steel guitar, but more geared toward quick, technical, bluesy stuff. Bluegrass banjo has several styles, but the most prototypical is the Scruggs style, where the banjo does rapid-fire, ornamented, three-fingered picking in which a melody line is pulled out at the same time you’re also picking background chord notes.

To describe bluegrass vocals, you’ll sometimes hear the phrase “high lonesome” thrown around. I don’t hear anywhere as much high lonesome sound in contemporary bands as I do first generation, but the high lonesome sound is a description of piercing, high-range vocals. Bill Monroe would even take songs that were usually played in the key of G and pitch them higher into A or B, pushing his and the ensemble’s vocals into a higher range. I remember listening to Monroe and thinking to myself, “Even though it’s male vocals, why is it so easy for me to sing to?” Because I’m a fucking mezzosoprano, and there’s times Monroe hits and holds notes that are at the top of my range. Hot damn.

Rhythmically, bluegrass tends to be a driving genre of music. A term that gets thrown around a bit is “drive.” Even on the slow songs, you may hear the instruments push or strain forward. Beat-wise, bluegrass tends to emphasize both a strong downbeat and hit heavy offbeats in a boom-chick style. That last sentence might not have made sense to non-musicians, so I’ll explain...

When we listen to music, we can clap to it. We can also count along to any song as we clap. Music has an innate structure where, when we count, the sound seems organized in groups of two, three, or four. So, when we count to music, we’ll count repetitively. One song may be groups of two (you’ll count “One two, one two, one two”), groups of three (“One two three, one two three”), or groups of four. Every time you hit the “one,” it sounds bigger. It’s more emphasized. It’s restarting the pattern or unit of counting that’s inherent to the rhythmic structure of music. 

Now, you can subdivide those numbers between your claps. That means you’d count “One (and) two (and), one (and) two (and),” where the “ands” tend to feel smaller and less-emphasized. Those “ands” are called offbeats. In bluegrass, you’ll hear both the numbers and the “ands” clearly hit. The string bass will play the one’s and two’s, while perhaps the mandolin and banjo are emphatically hitting the “ands” in the background.

There are subgenres within bluegrass. You may hear people refer to newgrass, progressive bluegrass, jamgrass, punkgrass, etc. Put a word in front of it, add the word “grass,” and it probably exists. Jewgrass exists and it’s awesome. There’s fusions, too. The Native Howl is a band that combines thrash metal and bluegrass. Gangstagrass is a band that combines bluegrass with hip hop. It’s also to note that bluegrass has long since become international, and there are notable communities and bands of bluegrass from everywhere to Japan to the Czech Republic.

3. RECOMMENDATIONS FOR GETTING STARTED? 

Ummhmhmhm I honestly need a separate post to begin sharing videos, bands, periods of bluegrass, and more. It’s diverse and I love everything from the music coming out in 2020 to the stuff heard in 1947.

I realize that this post skews more toward first generation bluegrass and the starting bands in Ye Olde Days. Because of that, I’ll say this much: the Big Three bands of the early years were Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys, Flatt & Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys, and the Stanley Brothers and the Clinch Mountain Boys. Bill Monroe’s music is “the original” and is based, at least in his mind, the most on the fiddle tunes he grew up with. Flatt & Scruggs skew somewhat more toward a popular culture sound with smoother vocals and instruments like the dobro that other early bluegrass bands did not use. The Stanley Brothers lean the most to mountain old-time music. Every band is wonderful in their own way and I love listening to all.

I’ll leave this post with what was my gateway song into bluegrass. This was the first song I listened to with the intent of experiencing bluegrass, not expecting to like it, but being pleasantly surprised. I fell in love with the song and... well... as you’ve seen... I’m a year and a half into the genre and still charging strong. 

I look forward to continuing to learn about bluegrass, refine my understanding of it, and share those discoveries with y’all in my future posts.

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of T-Bone Walker who Died: March 16, 1975 at Vernon Healthcare Center in Los Angeles, California

Aaron Thibeaux "T-Bone" Walker was an American blues guitarist, singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, who was a pioneer and innovator of the jump blues and electric blues sound. In 2018 Rolling Stone magazine ranked him number 37 on its list of "The 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time".

Aaron Thibeaux Walker was born in Linden, Texas, of African-American and Cherokee descent. His parents, Movelia Jimerson and Rance Walker, were both musicians. His stepfather, Marco Washington, taught him to play the guitar, ukulele, banjo, violin, mandolin, and piano.

Walker began his career as a teenager in Dallas in the 1920s. His mother and stepfather (a member of the Dallas String Band) were musicians, and Blind Lemon Jefferson, a family friend, sometimes came over for dinner. Walker left school at the age of 10, and by 15 he was a professional performer on the blues circuit. Initially, he was Jefferson's protégé and would guide him around town for his gigs. In 1929, Walker made his recording debut with Columbia Records, billed as Oak Cliff T-Bone, releasing the single "Wichita Falls Blues" backed with "Trinity River Blues". Oak Cliff is the community in which he lived at the time, and T-Bone is a corruption of his middle name. The pianist Douglas Fernell played accompaniment on the record.

Walker married Vida Lee in 1935; the couple had three children.

By the age of 25, Walker was working in clubs on Central Avenue, in Los Angeles, sometimes as the featured singer and as guitarist with Les Hite's orchestra. In 1940 he recorded with Hite for the Varsity label, but he was featured only as a singer.

In 1942, Charlie Glenn, the owner of the Rhumboogie Café, brought T-Bone Walker to Chicago for long-time stints in his club. In 1944 and 1945, Walker recorded for the Rhumboogie label, which was tied to the club, backed up by Marl Young's orchestra.

T-Bone Walker performed at the second famed Cavalcade of Jazz concert held at Wrigley Field in Los Angeles produced by Leon Hefflin Sr. on October 12, 1946. Jack McVea, Slim Gaillard, The Honeydrippers, Lionel Hampton and his Orchestra, and Louis Armstrong were all on the same program. He also performed for the third Cavalcade of Jazz concert held in the same location on September 7, 1947 along with Woody Herman as Emcee, The Valdez Orchestra, The Blenders, The Honeydrippers, Slim Gaillard, Johnny Otis and his Orchestra, Toni Harper, The 3 Blazers and Sarah Vaughn.

Much of his output was recorded from 1946 to 1948 for Black & White Records, including his most famous song, "Call It Stormy Monday (But Tuesday Is Just as Bad)" (1947). Other notable songs he recorded during this period were "Bobby Sox Blues" (a number 3 R&B hit in 1947) and "West Side Baby" (number 8 on the R&B singles chart in 1948).

Throughout his career Walker worked with top-notch musicians, including the trumpeter Teddy Buckner, the pianist Lloyd Glenn, the bassist Billy Hadnott, and the tenor saxophonist Jack McVea.

He recorded from 1950 to 1954 for Imperial Records (backed by Dave Bartholomew). Walker's only record in the next five years was T-Bone Blues, recorded during three widely separated sessions in 1955, 1956 and 1959 and released by Atlantic Records in 1959.

By the early 1960s, Walker's career had slowed down, in spite of an energetic performance at the American Folk Blues Festival in 1962 with the pianist Memphis Slim and the prolific writer and musician Willie Dixon, among others. However, several critically acclaimed albums followed, such as I Want a Little Girl (recorded for Delmark Records in 1968). Walker recorded in his last years, from 1968 to 1975, for Robin Hemingway's music publishing company, Jitney Jane Songs. He won a Grammy Award for Best Ethnic or Traditional Folk Recording in 1971 for Good Feelin', while signed with Polydor Records, produced by Hemingway, followed by another album produced by Hemingway, Fly Walker Airlines, released in 1973.

Walker's career began to wind down after he suffered a stroke in 1974. He died of bronchial pneumonia following another stroke in March 1975, at the age of 64.

Walker was posthumously inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame in 1980 and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1987.

Chuck Berry named Walker and Louis Jordan as his main influences. B.B. King cited hearing Walker's recording of "Stormy Monday" as his inspiration for getting an electric guitar. Walker was admired by Jimi Hendrix, who imitated Walker's trick of playing the guitar with his teeth. Steve Miller stated that in 1952, when he was eight, Walker taught him how to play his guitar behind his back and also with his teeth. He was a family friend and a frequent visitor to Miller's family home and Miller considers him a major influence on his career. "Stormy Monday" was a favorite live number of the Allman Brothers Band. The British rock band Jethro Tull covered Walker's "Stormy Monday" in 1968 for John Peel's "Top Gear". Eva Cassidy performed "Stormy Monday" on her 1996 Live at Blues Alley recording.

According to Cleveland.com, Walker may have been the best R&B guitarist. He "pioneered electric blues by becoming the first artist to make the electric guitar a solo instrument and a true centerpiece of his stunning live shows".

[pollylynn]

Title: Eurydice WC: 1500

“Did you not understand the conditions of the agreement?”  — Hal Lockwood, Knockout (3 x 24)

He thinks cinematically—or maybe theatrically is closer to the truth, given his pedigree. This was true before her. It seems true in the distant memories he has of Before Her. She crowds all else to the margins—to the wings, to follow his metaphor—but he dimly recalls thinking this way from early on, in stage directions and lighting cues, in bit players and main cast. 

This peculiarity of mind is a mercy when the doorbell buzzes. It renders the moment legible to him—his daughter, exits downstage, a new character appears, and we see the man, older and careworn, will play a small but vital role. Kate’s father. 

There’s the necessary comedic beat on two sides of a threshold. There is the long moment in which our hero stands there gawping, reviewing in his mind all possible exits, staring. There is the same long moment in which the dry-witted supporting player waits him out. This lasts for a count of twelve—not eleven, not thirteen—and the tension breaks. Sir. Yes. Jim, right? Sir. Come in. Please. If you would like. Twelve monosyllables, one for each comedic pulse. 

There is the stage business of coffee. It follows hard on the silent agony the audience sees on our hero’s face as he comes within one breath—one sharply bitten tongue—of offering wine, beer, hard alcohol by names general and specific. But in the end, there is the salvation of stage business coffee. 

The hero crosses upstage to join the supporting player—the father—near what seems to be the the sole point of light in this universe, a table top lamp, softly shaded and touching each man’s face with incongruous autumn gold. The dialogue that follows is banal on the surface—it is the small talk of strangers jostled unexpectedly together, party goers stranded without benefit of finger sandwiches. But the audience sees easily beneath the surface: In the caged bird flutter of the hero’s hands, they see he is eager to know more of her. He is eager to be known by this man—her father. He is eager for countless things, every one of which orbits around her. 

The father, in turn, is dryly amused, He sips his coffee and doles out his answers in tantalizing increments. He understands this planetary arrangement, these gravitational forces, inevitable and eternal. He understands them far better than the hero does, not as well as the hero will. 

The dialogue proceeds, a spiral-armed galaxy that speaks of her. It reminds the audience that everything here speaks of her, players and pauses, lights and curtain drops, the faces of two men, touched with incongruous autumn gold. 

The scene is the hero’s call to action. It is the divine charge laid on him by the benevolent and broken. It is a solemn, unexpected, and daunting task. The hero’s head bends under the weight of it. 

The sole point of light in this universe extinguishes. The scene ends. Fade to black. 

***********************

He thinks cinematically—or maybe theatrically. Maybe epically. This is irrelevant, in context. It’s no blessing or anything else. Any fool with any kind of mind can see the cycle inscribed and where he falls: He is a hero, refusing he call. 

His task is impossible. The audience knows this, though there is no antic soliloquy. His duty is clear, his flaws are countless and fatal, his failure is inevitable.  But failure is still far off as of yet. 

He refuses the call. He thumbs his nose at the prophecy. He draws a blanket around his shoulders and mingles with the men by their several campfires, hoping for deliverance—for someone to clap him on the shoulder and say he has done enough, that they will take up the burden from here, and they will succeed where he surely—surely—would have failed. 

But there is silence, only. There is stage business and fists raised in the general direction of the gods. There is, eventually, and a tip of lamp light shining through paper, a false sun with its circumference described by condensation, sublimation, desperation.

There is a scene change, a chase from wing to wing with the blackness of the background all the same. The temporary light of a conjured sun that dims almost  as soon as it appears. It is a call to stage business, nothing more. The men, all but he, exit, stage left. The hero lingers. He stands at right angles to the tableau already fixed in the mind of the audience with its upstage light, well shaded, seemingly the sole light in this universe.

This scene, in contrast, is all stochastic illumination. The overhead buzz of stark white pours in from nowhere, rendering his face gaunt with shadows, yet his hands, his body swim in and out of overlapping ovals of something kinder and not quite autumn gold from the several desk lamps. 

The scene, well lit, nonetheless suggests a skeleton with its slatted ribs of vinyl blinds. It suggests a hero swallowed whole, and a long-term stay in the belly of the beast is tempting. Stark white slashes across the hero’s face and the audience understands that it is tempting. He is, after all, the hero, refusing the call. 

He is the hero, trying and failing to jerry-rig his own god in the machine. He lingers, one-hundred and twenty degrees away from another character, well-known, a small, but vital role—her mentor. The dialogue here proceeds in shorthand born of long acquaintance, deep respect. The dialogue here is terse, intense, efficient. The mentor offers up ancient history, a blessing because he yearns to know her. A curse because it ushers in  the second inevitable dictum. 

The mentor, benevolent and broken, lays the charge again, like a ghost pointing soundlessly from the ramparts, a ghost taking his closing bows on the last of a three-night engagement. 

The hero is the hero. The call has been refused—pointlessly refused. And scene. 

*********************

He thinks cinematically—maybe theatrically. Operatically in this case. The scale of this, in every sense, demands nothing less. 

There is a second call to action, literal this time. A one-sided phone call. Sir. Yes. Yes. There are monosyllables without benefit of the comedic beat. There are monosyllables, resigned and barely audible, though the audience surely knows their tenor.  There is a journey accomplished off stage—a journey deep into this cavernous underworld, with its hulking metal beasts, blue–black lit and hair raising. 

The hero arrives, unbeknownst to anyone, in medias res. The hero, having refused the first call, the hero having failed, arrives, unbeknownst to anyone, to fail again. 

She is an upright column of black picked out of the blue. She is a sharp-featured face, an elegant pair of hands drawing the blue into her, gathering what light there is to wield as her weapon. She is, for a single instant, a head bowed, a spine bending under the weight of history revealed, disordered allusions to a terrible past by the man, the mentor, the villain, it seems, clothed entirely in shadow. 

These sins weave through the heavy black air to wind around her, to transform her. She shakes the weight of devastating realization from her shoulders. She is an upright column of black, demanding and implacable, terrifying and beautiful in the hair-raising, blue–black light. 

There should be chords striking for this, low brass, heavy and dissonant. There should be thundering, unrelenting percussion that slams into the metal bones of this place, that slams into every useless cell of his body. There should be urgent strings rising to a fevered pitch and melancholy winds crying out in between.  

But there is no such thing. The dialogue here is pointed, traditional. It is a confession in recitative where there should be a villain’s aria, fiery and defiant. Instead, there is only this—a confession in recitative, painfully extracted, painfully made, painfully witnessed. 

He thinks cinematically, theatrically, epically, operatically, but the five-act structure fails him here. This is neither complication nor climax, neither reversal or falling action. This is the hero, watching helplessly from the wings. This is the nightmare of lines unlearned, a role that is nothing but a blank, page after page. 

This Is the fourth wall tumbling as the man, the mentor, the villain invokes him—the hero, now a miserable, ill-equipped god in the machine, stumbling from from the wings. He pleads with her. His vocal line is all but lost in the rising chaos, beneath the hiss of gravel under tires. His vocal line is all but drowned out by her absolution ringing out above all. 

There is an urgent sweep of jaundiced light. There are his arms, banding around her, nothing like a spiral galaxy. There is a flight from the underworld. There is an arrival at the very threshold of life once again. An arrival, but no hero’s victory. 

She looks back. She looks ever back. 

A/N; This is late and hot garbage and certainly not a thing. I am so behind on everything and I will die behind on everything.   

image via homeofthenutty

[thepurplebutterflythings]

Like Real People Do (Damsel in Distress Christmas Special) - Jason Todd

Gif: Dxnninja on Tenor

Word Count: 1.6K

Paring: Jason Todd (Titans) x (f)Reader

Summary: Christmas has come to Gotham, and of course, Jason and Y/N are going to celebrate in their own little way.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: This is a little series I am doing about Jason Todd in Titans. I don’t know Comic!Jason very well so I’m taking all of this from the show, and at the moment he hasn’t been in very often, so please forgive any mischaracterizations.

Tagging: @n-o-e-l-12  @oneshots-dc-marvel  @my-only-friend-is-the-moon​ @perturbacja @calcatss @attackonnat @batferma @seasidecrowbar @gaeck-o  @bella-0104-123 @ninergirl1d @httpfandxms @rosybrock  @reclusive-chicken-nugget   @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @young-psychos @thesleepykaijuu @thescottpack @nightlygiggles @rougestorms @sinon36 @jessica-moon9​

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Christmas had arrived in Gotham. The streets were decorated with strings of light that wrapped themselves on the railings of balconies, and some had made their way up streetlamps. For a city filled with danger and darkness, even Gotham had a strange, festive charm at Christmas. Hell, even some Criminals added a festive touch. Joker used the Bauble Bombs. Penguin had a cane which looked like a Candy Cane. Riddler added a red ribbon and tie to his otherwise green appearance. Even if you hated the criminals in Gotham, one thing you had to reluctantly admit was that they had flare!

Batman, however, didn’t do the festive period. Unsurprisingly. Although anything Christmas-y about his appearance would alert people of his presence, so Y/N didn’t blame him for that, but that didn’t stop Jason from trying to get Bruce to add a little festiveness to his Dark Knight attire. The most Bruce agreed to was a string of tinsel on the monitors in the Batcave, conceding because it was more Alfred’s workspace than anything else.

Y/N was sitting on her bed, adding the finishing touches on Jason’s present, waiting for him to arrive. Christmas had come around very quickly after the two lovers reunited following Y/N’s discovery that Jason and Robin was one and the same. The relationship between them strengthened, and they spent most hours of the day together. During the day, they were attached at the hip, and whenever Jason could drop onto her balcony, he did, wearing the Robin costume, of course. Y/N couldn’t help but like to put her hands on him in that outfit. Tonight was the night that they were to exchange presents. For Jason, Y/N had bought a compass, engraved on the inside was ‘so you can always find your way back to me, - Damsel’, it was a beautiful gold with the engraving painted black. She wrapped it carefully in red paper with a golden ribbon tied into an elegant bow.

Knock, knock, knock

When she heard the knock, Y/N smiled and leapt to her feet, turning to see Jason on her balcony, dressed as Robin with that wicked Jason Todd grin on his lips. In Jason’s hands was a Christmassy looking box which he shifted to under his arm as he waved to Y/N through the glass. Y/N opened the door and let Jason in, who greeted her with a peck on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, Damsel,” he whispered against her lips.

“Merry Christmas, Knight.”

“So,” Jason said as he took his mask off and sat on her bed, Y/N moving to sit next to him. Next, he took his gloves and boots off. “We’ve got five minutes until the clock strikes midnight and it’s officially Christmas Day, do you want to wait till then or open them now?”

“Let’s wait, it’s only five minutes, we can think of something to do while we wait.”

“Mmm, I’ve got a few ideas,” Jason grinned as he leaned over and kissed Y/N, cupping her face and holding her close.

“Five minutes?” Y/N teased, “Take you that long, huh?”

“Fuck off,” Jason laughed, “you and I both know it’s a lot longer than five minutes.”

“I just enjoy winding you up!” Y/N grinned as she kissed him again, and again, and again, and again.

“Have I ever told you how much I love kissing you?” Jason mumbled softly as he stroked her hair. “That your lips taste like strawberries?”

“Once or twice,” Y/N smiled into the kiss, “And have I ever told you that you’re a big ole’ softie for me, Jason Todd?”

“Once or twice,” he mimicked. Jason trailed his hand up and down her side, feeling her underneath his fingers, savouring the touch. Moments like this, when he wasn’t Robin, when they weren’t surrounded by friends or family, or strangers, that he cherished, just the two of them, as though they were in their own little bubble where nothing could hurt them. “You’re incredible!” He told her.

Y/N smiled. Just as she was about to say something her phone make a light tinkling noise, causing her to reach over and grab it.

“It’s officially Christmas Day,” Y/N said softly. “Merry Christmas,” she handed him his present. Jason smiled and took the box, handing Y/N her gift.

“Merry Christmas, Damsel.”

As she took the box in her hands, Y/N smiled. It was clear Jason had asked Alfred to help him wrap it because the present he gave her for her birthday was a total mess of a wrap. At the same time they opened, they’re presents.

Jason had gotten Y/N a framed picture of the two of them at the Police Gala they went to. Y/N in her silk Robin Red dress and Jason in a suit with a matching tie. They were jokingly doing a prom pose together as Alfred had pulled the camera out on them. It was a laugh of a night, where they danced and took pictures and drank. Y/N laughed happily as she took the frame out of the box and hugged it close to her.

“I love it!” She said. Jason smiled and looked at her joy before opening his own present. Upon seeing the compass inside, he looked at Y/N in confusion for a moment before opening it up and seeing the inscription. Jason smiled and met Y/N’s gaze.

“It’s perfect,” Jason said, “although I really don’t need one to find my way back to you, Damsel! My heart always leads the way!”

“God, you’re a sap!” Y/N teased.

“Only for you,” Jason promised, “I will keep it on me at all times!”

“I’ll hold you to that, Knight,” Y/N stroked Jason’s cheek. “I worry about you,” she confessed, “out there with the likes of Joker. It’s dangerous.”

“Hey,” Jason cupped Y/N’s face, “I get that you worry about me,” he said, running his thumb over her cheek, “but I’ve got you to come back to, so I’ll always come back.”

“Good!” Y/N said, getting to her feet and putting her picture on her desk before picking up her phone and loading a song. “You know, one thing I loved about that Gala was when you and I danced.”

“Really?” Jason smiled and got to his feet, walking over to Y/N and wrapped his arms around her waist. Y/N nodded and pressed play. As the music started, Jason slowly moved his right hands to hold Y/N’s. Y/N’s other hand went to Jason’s shoulder, and they started swaying to the music. It was low and quiet, and so no one else in the building could hear them. Jason and Y/N stepped lightly on their feet, stifling soft giggles as no one but them knew what was happening. Two young lovers dancing on Christmas Eve.

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do

“I could do this forever,” Y/N confessed with a sigh, “just stay in your arms and dance.”

“Me too,” Jason kissed her forehead before twirling her in her pyjamas. Y/N’s pyjamas consisted of Tartan printed pyjama trousers with a short-sleeved top that had the Robin symbol on it. Y/N had bought it as a joke and surprised Jason with wearing it one night. It was a good night. They laughed, they kissed, Jason said how nice the top looked on her, but that she would look equally good without it on. Y/N took it off to see if he was right. He was. Jason grabbed her and kissed her passionately, and they stayed in bed until Bruce called Jason, even then they reluctantly parted. Bruce and Alfred had welcomed Y/N into their strange little family with open arms. She was grateful for that but was even more thankful for Jason.

I will not ask you where you came from

I will not ask you and neither would you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We should just kiss like real people do

Jason rested his chin on top of Y/N’s head and smiled. He knew how lucky he was to have Y/N in his life, to have her love him, to have her accept him as both Jason and Robin. The fact that she still trusted him after he kept his identity a secret from her was incredible to him. After that night, he held her close in his arms, much like he was doing now, and promised. He promised her then and there that he would never betray her trust again. He hadn’t either. For Jason, being honest with Y/N was the easiest thing to do. He loved her. He respected her. Of course, it was easy, to be honest with her.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” Jason whispered into her hair. Y/N smile against Jason as they swayed, hearing him.

“I have an idea,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I would do anything for you.”

“I would do anything for you.”

“And I will always come back to you.”

“I will always be here for you to come back to!”

“I promise,” they both said at the same time.

I could not ask you where you came from

I could not ask you, neither could you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips

We could just kiss like real people do.

“Merry Christmas, Damsel.”

“Merry Christmas, Knight.”

Y/N stood on her toes, leaning up to catch Jason’s lips with her own. Jason smiled as their lips met, moving his hand so that he held her face gently in his grasp while Y/N moved her own hands up over his chest, and into his hair, running her fingers through it.