#in France you can't believe you are going to have a place as a teacher in uni

[tessenpai]

Kono Oto Tomare! Chapter 131 Scans and Rough TL

Disclaimer: Please DO NOT use this translation to make your own TL of the chapter!! The KOT TL group works very hard to give you the most accurate translation, that does as much justice to the original script as possible. This is a ROUGH translation. That means is faulty and there must be mistakes in certain places. This is just for impatient people like myself to get a grasp on what is going on in the chapter! You can REFERENCE my TL if you want to discuss the chapter but never USE it as it was your own.

Scans: https://klz9.com/jxsh-kono-oto-tomare-raw-chapter-131.html

Page 1

Side text: Ichiei's performance, begins with silence

Chapter Title: #131 My Story

Page 2

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Page 6

Hiro & Takezou [thoughts]: ----...Ah

Satowa[thoughts]: This...

Page 7

Collective thought: Damn

Page 8

Kifune-sensei: Miran-chan!

Miran: !

Miran: Kifune-sensei!

Kifune-sensei: Welcome to Ichiei. Is your luggage in the dorm already?

Miran: Yes

Kifune-sensei: Then let me show you around the school.

Miran: Thank you very much.

Kifune: The entry exams were difficult, weren't they? You did a great job.

[Memory starts]

Miran: Eh? Ichiei High School?

Kifune-sensei: Yeah. If you'd like, why don't you give it a chance? To the Japanese Music Department, I mean.

Miran: Ichiei, he said... Even I know about it... It's a music school.

Miran's mom: Ahh, but...

Page 9

Miran's mom: In the Japanese Music Department, all the children play koto, isn't that right? And they are all extremely good at it, aren't they..?

Kifune-sensei: Not only the koto. How to put it-

Kifune-sensei: The most proficient children from all over the country converge there.

Miran's mom: And you believe that Miran...

Kifune-sensei: --And so.

Kifune-sensei: I believe that Miran's abilities are now on par to that level.

Page 10

Kifune-sensei: Miran-chan has avoided playing in ensembles and listening to kids her own age play until now, hasn't she?

Kifune-sensei: Of course, it's not like that is a bad thing.

Kifune-sensei: --However.

Kifune-sensei: Here's a path that I believe will expand your world, is what I'm trying to say.

Kifune-sensei: And I'd like to guide you through it while I'm at it.

Miran [thoughts]: The path that Sensei has thought so hard about, for my sake...

Miran [thoughts]: It's scary, but...

Miran [thoughts]: If it's the current me, then----...!!

Miran: I... Mom...!

Miran's mom: !

Page 11

Miran's mom: ...

Miran's mom: ---Yes. You can go if you want, Miran.

Kifune-sensei: Fu. I'm glad.

Kifune-sensei: Ah, but the fact that you are my particular student makes it that I can't give you any special treatment. From now on you will have to study very hard!

Miran: Yes!

[Memory ends]

Kifune-sensei: From here on, there are the practice rooms.

Kifune-sensei: If you ask for permission, you can use them whenever you want.

Page 12

Miran [thoughts]: Amazing... I get to play koto in such a wonderful place.

Miran [thoughts]: This is the place where I belonged all along.

Page 13

Miran[thoughts]: Eh...?

Kifune-sensei: Oh my, this sound...

Miran [thoughts]: Wo- woaah.

Miran [thoughts]: Incredible. What a beautiful sound...

Miran [thoughts]: The clarity and sound are by far the best I've ever heard.

Miran [thoughts]: Is it a teacher? A Senpai? Could I get to produce this kind of sound myself?

Kifune-sensei: Aah, as I thought.

Page 14

*No text*

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*No text*

Page 16

Luka: Kifune-sensei!

Kifune-sensei: Luka-kun, you've gotten to use the practice room right away, I see. And well? How do you like it?

Luka: I love it!

Miran [thoughts]: Wha-

Miran[thoughts]: What is this guy...? An angel...? No, maybe a prince...?

Kifune-sensei: Ah, Miran-chan. This is Luka Chevalier-kun.

Kifune-sensei: He is a scholarship student from France.

Kifune-sensei: Like you, he is also a new student and a first year in the Japanese Music Department.

Page 17

Miran [thoughts]: Scholarship... First-year...?

Luka: Nice to meet you! I'm Luka Chevalier. Umm... And you are---

Miran: Eh- ah... I'm... Sa- Saotome Miran.

Luka: Miran! That's such a beautiful name.

Miki [memory]: Miran!

Miran: ...Your- your Japanese is really good...

Miran [thoughts]: What am I even saying..?

Luka: Really!? Thank you!

Luka: The sound of Japanese is so beautiful, that after listening to it every day I was able to speak it.

Page 18

Miran: ...

Miran: ...That's amazing...

Miran [thoughts]: ...this is

Miran [thoughts]: Someone the same age as me...?

Imari: Hanahata Imari. I placed 2nd in the Koto National Contest in the Middle School category.

Tougo: Takamura Tougo. I won that same contest and came in 2nd the next year.

Kio: Houshou Kio. I am the seventh generation of the Akane Association Yamada Style Koto School. *

*If Satowa comes from the Hozuki Clan, Kio comes from the Akane Association. These families own Koto Schools.

Luka: I'm Luka Chevalier! When I was 10 I went on a trip to Japan. I met with the Koto for the first time, and fell in love with it!

Miran [thoughts]: When he was 10... same as me...

Luka: I am very happy I get to learn the koto in Japan!

Page 19

Imari: Didn't you win the Grand Prize at the International Music Competition last year?

Luka: You know about that? I'm so happy! Thank you!

Miran [thoughts]: International... Music Competition...

Miran [thoughts]: Grand Prize...

Luka: Is Miran's turn next.

Miran: Eh? Ah-

Miran: I- I'm Saotome Miran.

Miran: ...

Miran: ...

Miran [thoughts]: --Ah... What do I do?

Miran [thoughts]: I've done nothing.

Page 20

Kio: Could it be that Kifune-sensei's apprentice that I've been hearing about... Is it you?

Miran: Eh- ah- Yes.

Kio: Haha So you got in through connections.

Miran[thoughts]: ---Eh...? Wha...

Kifune-sensei: Before there are any misunderstandings, let me make something clear.

Kifune-sensei: Miran-kun is indeed my apprentice but she went through the entrance exams and passed them accordingly.

Kifune-sensei: And just because she is my apprentice doesn't mean she will be receiving any special treatment.

Page 21

Kio: I know that. I was just joking, I'm sorry.

Miran [sfx]: Ba-dump...

Luka: Kifune-sensei rarely takes apprentices. That's incredible, Miran!

Luka: I'm very much looking forward to hearing your sound!!

Miran: Kuh...

Miran [thoughts]: ---...What is this

Miran[thoughts]: What

Page 22

Miran [thoughts]: This place is not different from where I was before---

Kifune-sensei: Miran-kun!

Kifune-sensei: Are you alright?

Miran[sfx]: ba-dump ba-dump

Miran[thoughts]: I- I'm fine, sorry.

Miran: That's right. I'm ok.

Miran[thoughts]: I'm ok.

Miran[thoughts]: Sensei recognized my ability. The school recognized it. I'm ok.

Miran[thoughts]: I didn't get in through connections. I'll prove it to them.

Page 23

Miran[thoughts]: Woah, everyone is so good.

Miran[thoughts]: That should be obvious. Only people of the highest level play here.

Miran[thoughts]: Ensembles are difficult. I feel like I'm always one step behind.

Miran[thoughts]: I have to practice more. More. More.

Kifune-sensei: The solo part will be played by Luka-kun.

Luka: Yes!

Miran[thoughts]: Once again, I got the easiest part...

Miran[thoughts]: It's as if

Page 24

Miran[thoughts]: It's as if this is what it would be like if big sis had encountered the koto instead of me

Miran[thoughts]: Stop. Don't think that.

Miran[thoughts]: It's ok. I just have to prove it. I just have to practice more than anyone else and become the best.

Miran[thoughts]: I definitely won't lose. For sure. Without a doubt.

Miran[thoughts]: He is the solo once again. Damn it. Next time, then.

Miran[thoughts]: I lost again. Next time. Next time. Next time.

Miran[thoughts]: I did it! Finally, I won the solo part.

Miran[thoughts]: He's got a cool face, and he doesn't even look like he's frustrated at all.

Miran[thoughts]: Is like he doesn't notice me at all.

Miran[thoughts]: And still, he plays brightly during the performance.

Miran[thoughts]: He wants to overtake the leading role. Don't make fun of me.

Luka: I can't believe it!! The real one!! My Goddess!! Satowa!!

Page 25

Miran[thoughts]: And then the person he admires showed up.

Miran[thoughts]: And that person who has the Prince's admiration seems to be someone who is preciously protected.

Miran: Again

Miran[thoughts]: A woman who seems to be blessed with everything

Miran[thoughts]: Why?

Miran[thoughts]: Why do you get to have everything?

Page 26

Miran[thoughts]: Why did it have to be the koto?

Miran[thoughts]: There are so many other paths.

Miran[thoughts]: And yet

Kifune-sensei[memory]: The solo part won't be played by Miran-kun, but by Luka-kun.

Miran[thoughts]: For me, there's only the koto.

Miran: That's right... For me, there's nothing but the koto...

Page 27

Miran[thoughts]: I have to get it back.

Kio: Is Miran-san still shutted-in?

Tougo: It has been a week already.

Kio: Isn't this really bad? If things continue like this, she won't be able to participat-

Luka: !!

Kio(?): Miran-san!

Luka: Phew... Miran...!

Page 28

Luka: I'm so glad you came back! Everyone was worried about you---

Imari: Hey, hold on.

Imari: That's the tuning for the solo part. You are playing the 3rd koto part...

Miran: I will play the solo.

Imari: ---What...?

Miran: I've come up with a new way to play it. Even Kifune-sensei will approve when he--

Imari: Are you messing with me? Just for how long are you not going to look around you?

Imari: They take the solo away from you one time, and you start cursing and throwing insults at Luka.

Miran: Shut up!! It's not only "one time"---

Imari: I haven't gotten to play a solo. Not even once!!

Page 29

Imari: And it's not only me, it's the same for Tougo and Kio!

Imari: You didn't even realize that, did you? You are always thinking "If I compare myself to Luka", so you aren't even interested in the rest of us, huh!?

Imari: The three of us have been playing the koto from as far as we can remember. Playing every single day, participating in tournaments and earning achievements.

Imari: And yet, you and Luka, who started playing later, get to play the solo parts?

Imari: Do you think we don't care about that!? Just what did you take us for!!??

Page 30

Imari: It's so freaking frustrating, isn't that obvious!!

Imari: On top of that, you just treat us like we are just some background characters and don't care about us at all! And still!

Page 31

Imari: And still, an ensemble is not only one person!

Imari: You and Luka are good. It frustrates me, but I get it. We are trying to do our best with the parts given to us!!

Imari: Luka was assigned the solo part in your place. Did you think I was just going to be happy for him like a moron?

Imari: As if!!

Imari: Everyone has their own thoughts and feelings about all of this!

Imari: You are not the only one suffering and in distress!!

Imari: Did that not even occur to you!?

Page 32

Imari[sfx]: Pant pant

Imari: Ugh...

Miran: Ah...

Luka: Imari.

Kio: Imari-san...

Miran: Um... I...

Imari: ...What you are missing

Imari: Is not skill, is not talent, and is not practice!

Page 33

Imari: It's imagination!

Side text: The weight of those important words.... resounds within Miran.

---Kono Oto Tomare! will continue in the next issue---

[7r0773r]

The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolaño, translated by Natasha Wimmer

Mrs. Nodier said all poets were bums but they weren't bad in bed. Especially if they don't have any money, she went on. (p. 91)

***

And it did me no good to think of my father shut up in the asylum, suicidally depressed, or my mother brandishing the threat or refrain of the police like a UNAM cheerleader (which she actually had been in her student days, poor Mom), because suddenly I began to wither too, to fall apart, to think (or rather repeat to myself, like a tom-tom) that nothing had any meaning, that I could sit at that table at Café Quito until the end of the world (when I was in high school we had a teacher who claimed to know exactly what he would do if World War III broke out: go back to his hometown, because nothing ever happened there, probably a joke, I don't know, but in a way he was right, when the whole civilized world disappears Mexico will keep existing, when the planet vaporizes or disintegrates, Mexico will still be Mexico) or until Ulises, Arturo, and the stranger in white got up and left. (pp. 171-72)

***

He was a strange person. He wrote in the margins of books. I'm glad I never lent him any of mine. Why? Because I don't like people to write in my books. You won't believe this, but he used to shower with a book. I swear. He read in the shower. How do I know? Easy. Almost all his books were wet. At first I thought it was the rain. Ulises was a big walker. He hardly ever took the metro. He walked back and forth across Paris and when it rained he got soaked because he never stopped to wait for it to clear up. So his books, at least the ones he read most often, were always a little warped, sort of stiff, and I thought it was from the rain. But one day I noticed that he went into the bathroom with a dry book and when he came out the book was wet. That day my curiosity got the better of me. I went up to him and pulled the book away from him. Not only was the cover wet, some of the pages were too, and so were the notes in the margins, some maybe even written under the spray, the water making the ink run, and then I said, for God's sake, I can't believe it, you read in the shower! have you gone crazy? and he said he couldn't help it but at least he only read poetry (and I didn't understand why he said he only read poetry, not at the time, but now I do: he meant that he only read two or three pages, not a whole book), and then I started to laugh, I threw myself on the sofa, writhing in laughter, and he started to laugh too, both of us laughed for I don't know how long. (pp. 218-19)

***

They're poets, I argued. The math teacher looked me in the eyes and repeated the word poet several times. Lazy slobs is what they are, he said, and bad parents. Who goes out to eat and leaves their child alone at home? (p. 297)

***

Then, humbled and confused and in a burst of utter Mexicanness, I knew that we were ruled by fate and that we would all drown in the storm, and I knew that only the cleverest, myself certainly not included, would stay afloat much longer. (p. 360)

***

Then Norman laughed again and said: Ulises was crying because he knew that nothing was over, because he knew he would have to come back to Israel again. The eternal return? Fuck the eternal return! Here and now! But Claudia doesn't live in Israel anymore, I said. Wherever Claudia lives is Israel, said Norman, no matter what fucking place it is, call it whatever you want, Mexico, Israel, France, the United States, planet Earth. Let me see if I understand you, I said, Ulises knew that things were going to end between you and Claudia? And then he could try again? You haven't understood anything! said Norman. I have nothing to do with any of this. Claudia has nothing to do with it. Sometimes even that bastard Ulises has nothing to do with it. The tears are all that count. I guess you're right, I don't understand you, I said. (pp. 428-29)

[phytine]

The results are here, one day late of course (thanks french administration you never disappoint) and I'm accepted. 198th for 598th accepted.

I'm a french teacher.

Goodbye unemployment after the PHD. I'm not a teacher in my speciality but that's all that matters.

[a-froger-epic]

Interview with a Queen “groupie”

Cross-posted to AO3. I encourage you to leave any comments you have there.

---

I compiled this interview following a long email exchange with J, a very sweet lady who went to Ealing Art School between 1972 and 1974. She knew all four members of Queen personally and was part of their larger circle of friends.

First off, you may find this hard to believe. I don’t blame you. But I assure you I’m not pulling your leg. As well as the pictures I share in this post, I have seen current pictures of J (which I will not share to protect her privacy). There is no indication as far as I am aware that she isn’t who she says she is.

Nastally, hold up. How exactly did you find this lady?

She found me. It turns out that she has been following my story Dawn of Aquarius for quite some time. The story is set in 1969. A lot of research about the era went into it, because I wanted to portray that time period - and Freddie’s and Roger’s surroundings - as accurately and realistically as I possibly could. That was what drew J in. She tells me it brought back a lot of memories for her. One of the reasons I love DoA so much is the nostalgia, she says, which genuinely means the world to me. Eventually, she talked to me in the comment section. Of course, I freaked out!

And then, I asked her for an interview, to which she replied: I will give it a go, but you must remember that I am 65 and there were great drugs in the 70s, and at 16, away from home, I had a lot!

And so...

Here’s what is IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND when you read this interview.

These are one woman’s 50-year-old memories and subjective impressions. J has been incredibly kind to let me pick her brain, trying to recall everything as best as she can. In her own words:

Just remember that when I answer the questions, it is from a 16-year-old who is 9 years younger than Freddie and a little girl with no family and friends in a strange country trying to fit in. The only reason I was there, was because some hippie thought I had a unique art style.

---

J as a teenager.

[I have edited the interview together from our long, and somewhat messy at times, email exchange. Typos have been fixed and some punctuation added for clarity, but I have not changed anything J has written to me. Again, bear in mind these are personal opinions and impressions.]

So, J, how did you end up at Ealing Art School in 1972 and what was it like?

This was the painting done for the Australian school-leaving certificate.

It placed first and gave me a scholarship. I could pick France, the USA or England. As a dual citizen of the UK, the choice was easy. The scholarship paid for board and fees, so had to be and sell whatever for spending money.

This picture is from the dorm. We all had a 10pm curfew and a very thick rule book that, I am proud to say, I broke every one of them, one by one. The rooms were on the 1st and 2nd floor. We were on the first floor, rooms one side and admin staff the other end. We had two bathrooms for 18 girls. One of them had two baths. The walls were your standard half wall, so it was a given that if you had a bath you run the risk of having a bucket of cold water dropped on you. Downstairs was the kitchen and lounge room.

I want to ask you a few things about life in London in the early 70s, to get a picture of what it was really like. For example, was there alcohol at the music gigs you went to?

If it was a school, church or community hall, no. If it was a pub, yes.

Did you and your friends drink as much then as young people tend to drink now when you all went out?

No, we didn't. I think it had a lot to do with money. We didn't have the disposable income, and it was unheard of to still be living at home with the parents after the age of 20.

Was weed and LSD as big and easily accessible as depictions of the 60s and 70s would have us believe?

The drugs! Got to have drugs. Pot (weed) was easy to grow, very cheap. Used to smoke it in bongs rather than joints, more bang for your buck. Trips [LSD] were cheap, I think. About 2 pounds and you were on the high for over 24 hours with no sleep. My drug of choice was hash. Either the oil or the block. It was a nice high, but you could not function well. But if you listen to the music of the time it really does reflect what it was like, to have a group of friends over for a session. Having said all that the most outlandish and shocking drug I ever saw anyone use was the birth control pill. Didn't you have to hide that stuff away?!

Can you tell us some 70s slang that isn’t really in use anymore? What in the world does “ultra-blagging” mean? (As written in a letter penned by Freddie to his friend Celine in 1969.)

Abso-bloody-lootely!

Man, I thought I was the bees knees to be on a scholarship in London. But that didn't stop me from jigging or having a skive day. They were the days that I blagged my way into a pub, had too many lagers and ended up chundering in the gutter. That was how you knew your night was ace. I would get a right bollocking if anyone found out. It would be a bugger when all that you could find at a car boot sale was chavtastic, but sometimes you could be Jammy Dodger and tickety-boo you find something brilliant. Bob's your uncle. Anyways, I need to see a man about a dog.

[It seems to me that J uses a bit of Australian slang here, like chundering, which makes sense because she is, after all, Australian. She also provided the translation:]

Cheers

J

It would be my honour.

I felt very privileged to be given a scholarship that let me study in England. But being so young and having no family to guide me, it was often tempting to not turn up or give a false excuse for being sick. (I had a lot of food poisoning). These would often happen if the night before I had been drinking beer and ended up vomiting outside the pub. But in my young mind that was a good night. If any of the teachers found me drinking I would be in a lot of trouble. Often I would have to say I was holding it for someone else. Not having much clothes with me, I would buy them second hand from church jumble sales or other students and, yes, Kensington market (the market). Some of the stuff would not be very tasteful or in good condition. But sometimes you would find something that was cheap and in good condition. I will stop this text now as I must go to the toilet.

PS: Ultrablagging sounds very Freddie. Blagging was used, but not ultra, meaning to persuade someone to do something or act better than you are. They were always rock stars.

Sincerely

J

[It was at this point that I realised I was talking to an absolute legend. She also told me then that the majority of her old photographs had sadly been lost when her house was flooded in 1988, including most of the photographs from her stay in London. Noooo! :(]

When you went out to dance, did you have only live music? Were there DJs yet?

You know, that is hard. We did not have a DJ. Sometimes there would be a band. Often we looked for places with a band or the jukebox. I think pubs closed at 10pm and some stayed open to 12 or 1, but public transport stopped at 9. So if you had not arranged a lift then you had to make the last bus. Most of the time we would be heading back to someone's place to get stoned and then crash there. In the morning you would have to work out where you were. When I got back to Australia, the discos were all the rage. They could have been in London too but it was not cool to like disco.

How many people would show up to Queen’s gigs when they played in pubs or at, for example, the Imperial College?

Depending on the location and the night: 10 to 1000!

So how did you first meet the Queen boys?

I was at the pub talking about a band we saw last week when Brian stuck his head into our booth telling us he knew a better one. Thinking about seeing them at the stall... Roger not often, Freddie quite a lot. Often on different stalls, I think that is why I can't remember the name. [The name of the stall. Other sources confirm that Freddie also worked at Alan Muir’s stall, for example, selling shoes.]

How well did you know them?

Just looking at your tumblr account. [she has had a look at my blog, where somebody asked if ‘groupie’ meant she had slept with the band] No, I never slept with the boys. I would not say I was a close friend, but I started at Ealing Art College in ‘72 and moved in the same circles. I loved the music and could be called one of the first groupies. I had to sneak into the pubs because I was 16. Roger always teased me for being so young. They all did seem to be one very large family, not just the band. It was a group of about twenty regulars, both male and female. Everyone knew that Fred was too gay to function. We were all at the gay rights march in London in 1972, had to run after the march. Lots of sharpies [Australian slang: youth gang, thugs] wanting to bash us. Back then I was in every protest that was going, student union rights, even the secretary protest. Just part of the times, stick it to Man or Woman. I left London in ‘74 for Australia, been here ever since and lost track of the boys but have never stopped being a fan.

What do you remember about them? How would you describe their personalities?

Don’t let the trolls hate me, but I did not like Brian. I found him to be rather full of himself. Space was a subject you never brought up around Brian or you would die of old age before he stopped talking. He was always the first to speak and start a conversation and then quickly passed you off to John, who was always tired and shy. Roger was also quite shy at times. He was very self-conscious of his looks, as he felt being pretty, nobody would take him seriously. Fred, well, he was not yet the big star, so I think he was working on his stage persona. When talking to groups at parties, he had the best stories of things that had happened to him or close friends. They were very funny and very descriptive. He was the life of the party. When he had a few to drink or was the centre of attention, he would take a cigarette out of the closest person’s hand and start smoking. Now remember this is the point of view of a 16-year-old girl that was a fish out of water, trying to fit in and not having much worldly experience.

It is said that Freddie and Roger were very stylish. How did they dress in everyday life?

Fred would do his hair and makeup to check the mail. Yes, he was always turned out, but so were a lot of people. Freddie did go over the top with hats, scarfs and jewellery. With Roger, it is a surprise he was able to have kids his jeans were that tight. And his shirts were always open unless he was in a jumper. I think it could have been so that you knew he was male, as it was the start of the unisex clothing. When I travelled out of London I realised it was a London thing. When I got back to Australia everyone thought I was a show-off.

There are some disagreements about how tall especially Freddie was. I know this is a difficult thing to try and remember accurately. But do you remember?

Freddie was taller than me but everyone was. Roger was shorter than Fred, but I never saw Roger in platform shoes. I did meet up with the band by chance at Sydney airport in 1984, said ‘hello’ but they did not remember me, or if they did then they did not say anything and I did not want to be a dork. At that time Fred was the same height as me (5ft 8in/1.72m), Roger was taller than me. It made me think at the time that he had a growth spurt! John was shorter than me and Brian has always been tall. [I have a feeling the platform shoes - or lack thereof - played a vital role here! Although 172cm for Freddie seems likely.]

You said everyone knew Freddie was “too gay to function”. Attitudes towards homosexuality have changed so much that it can be hard for us, now, to fathom what exactly people must have thought of him. Was it more of a joke that he was so camp? Was it something he would have been teased for? Also, he had a girlfriend. Did you ever meet Mary or the other girlfriends?

In 1972 a whole group of us - and I am pretty sure that Fred, Roger, Brian and Tim were there - were in a gay pride march. [Since then, J has found and showed me a picture of a boy she thought was Tim Staffel, and it wasn't, so Tim was most definitely not there. Whether Freddie, Roger and Brian really were there or if J is misremembering, who knows?] Us youth believed you could not choose who you fell in love with and if it was same sex, so what? However, if it was two girls then it was every guy’s duty to change her!

It was also a time that the gayer the guy was, the more the girls were interested. Also, if a guy was gay then you did not have to worry about him and he was a good person to take with you if you were going out drinking. However, the police, parents, teachers and anyone of authority were horrified and treated them badly. I did meet Mary a couple of times at pubs and once after a gig. This is just my opinion, but I found her a bitch. It could be that I was so young. It could be that I was very Australian. It could be that she felt threatened as my accent was a magnet to people around. And the boys (Queen) were no exception. Brian had a cousin in OZ and was always asking questions. I remember that my close group of friends thought that Mary made the perfect girlfriend for Fred as they were as fake as each other. Having said that about them, I often wonder if I would think the same now and if my perceptions were just because she would not give me the time of Day. Chrissy and Jo were a lot of fun.

This was before your time, but I read that Freddie's nickname at Ealing Art School was ‘Freddie Baby’. Any ideas how this came about? His showmanship or maybe personality traits?

I don't think so. There were an older crowd that would talk like that. I think the slang ‘baby’ was a 60’s thing, like groovy baby.

How long, roughly, did Roger and Freddie have their stall? I can't find anywhere when it closed down. What did it actually look like? Was it a sort of wooden stall type of thing? Or an actual room? What were some of the other things people sold at Kensington Market? Mostly clothes or all sorts?

The markets were little divided shops. The back was brick and the walls wood. I have been trying all day to remember the name. [Of the stall.] I think it was something hard to say. More often than not it would be Freddie's dad in the store. It was still open when I left. Roger and Freddie were both in the store on Saturdays and some Sundays. There was a girl, I think Jill, who was in the store more. And during the week it could be anyone. You name it and you could get it at the markets. Second hand or designer clothes, shoes, jewellery, pot and assortments. Hair cuts, food, bric-a-brac.

Wait, wait. What? Freddie’s dad? Really now?

Yeah, it was an older Indian man. so we just assumed it was his father. It was my understanding that he started the stall then the boys would work it as the whole markets were set up for younger people, but if needed he would work there. I don't think the boys would be able to pay the rent on their own. [I have since found out that the stall closed in late 1971, and Freddie continued to work at the Market until '74, for Alan Mair and possibly others. So the stall J witnessed wasn't their original stall - explaining all the different people she saw there - but she had no way of knowing that it wasn't.] They always had incense burning that was very big in the 70s. I still occasionally bring out the sticks, but it does not last like the candles and diffusers of today. If you could get in touch with Robert Daniels, he ran ChaChaDumDum it was the stall across from Freddie. He would know the dates.

[J says it’s this look, in a picture she happened across while looking at my tumblr] Yep, that is the one. It usually means that he does not believe or agree with something that was said and is working out how to respond, or he has lost the plot.

You mentioned Roger seemed shy to you at times. Was he also quite charming? We read a lot about what a chick magnet he was. Was this the impression you had?

My favorite subject! I had a thing for Roger. Everyone has a type and mine is the blue-eyed blond. Now, before you ask, was he brunet? No, he was a mouse/dirty blond. If it was summer he would have blond streaks mostly at the ends. He knew he was pretty and was always dressed in the latest fashion and had the current hairstyle. So, being my type I was constantly watching him. Everyone slept around during that time. I did not notice Roger doing it more or less. 80% of the time he was with Jo. Yes, he was a chick magnet, but he did not do the chasing. He was always very polite to everyone. If it ever looked like there would be any conflict he would be the first to leave it. It was not that he was a coward, just not into conflict. If he saw anyone that needed help he was right there, and often had to have Freddie's back. I never saw him in a fight. He could always talk his way out of things. He was also very patient and would listen for hours to other people talk. However, he would get this vacant look in his eyes at times.

And Freddie would either click his fingers, change the subject or just give up. I don’t think that Brian noticed, and it would be fair game for John, he would see how far he could push it. Roger liked to drink a fair bit and when drunk he would be hanging all over Jo. If she was not there then he missed Jo. If, however, he thought that he or his friends were not being respected, then look out! It was a verbal volcano heading your way. That is what happened to me one time. I was trying to talk with my friends close to where a drunken Roger was and I yelled at him to shut the hell up, you wannabe blond. We/I coped a mouthful back, all in the same sentence, that finished with: Sorry, I didn't realise you were on your rags (period)! I have to have the last word, so I told him the truth: I don’t get them yet! (I was a late starter.) He went so red in the face and called me JB [jail bait] from then.

You also mentioned Roger’s cat Ziggy having kittens. I read about this but never when exactly it was. Do you remember?

I think it was winter ‘73. I remember being cold when he was asking around the pub. [To find homes for the kittens, I gather.]

Is it quite strange reading fictional interpretations of real people you knew? When did you first find out there was Queen fanfic?

No, we used to make up stories about people all the time, a verbal fanfic. Was looking up Adam Lambert and came across the fanfics. Some had me in stitches! Others, like DoA, had me hooked.

Please, allow me to be a little self-indulgent at the end. What's one thing I got totally RIGHT in DoA?

All the Ibex stuff.

What's one thing I got totally WRONG in DoA?

Roger did not have a temper, and I don’t know what the go with his father was, but he would talk about him quite a bit and was always visiting his mum. [Absolutely fair, not only did I change the timeline of Roger’s parents divorce in DoA - for lack of information at the time - but also created a completely fictional narrative around it for the sake of storytelling.]

J, thank you so much for all this, sincerely. Can you tell me a little more about yourself? Are you still an artist?

I don't paint or draw any more. At the age of a 50 the doctors operated on an aneurysm or three, and now my eyesight is very bad, I have no fine motor skills and a tremor. I was married in January 1984 and have just celebrated our 37 year anniversary. I have one daughter who is 30 and two great, although tiring grandkids. A girl, 11, and one boy, 5. I have lived my life as the average middle class Australian with great memories. Talking with you has helped me a lot to remember a time when the world was mine for the taking. When I returned to OZ I started nursing, met my best friend, and we planned that once we graduated we would go back to London to study midwifery. But I fell in love instead.

J's wedding in 1984. As you can see, she found her own blue-eyed blond.

---

Upon request, J has shared some of her past and present artwork with me.

These are from her time at Ealing Art School:

These were done later, back in Australia:

J: Did this just before Christmas as you had inspired me. It did not require fine motor skills!

So there you have it! I hope you found this little glimpse through a 16-year-old girl’s eyes as much of a fascinating read as I did. I urge everybody one more time to remember that J did not have to share any of this, and I think we all owe her a big thank you for delving into her memories. She is likely to see the responses on AO3, so I have comment moderation enabled there as I will not let anybody harass this lovely lady. The tumblr she created is @since72, but she isn’t really an active user and also very new to it all. Again, I can only urge everybody to be respectful.

If you have other burning question for J, feel free to leave them in the comments on AO3. I will either pass them on, or she may want to reply to them herself directly.

[dog-day-morning]

THE TRUTH AND SHAKA ZULU WILL KILL YOU

In a once-popular commercial for Calgon detergent in the 1970s, a curious housewife probes the Chinese owner of the local laundry for the answer to one of the world’s eternal mysteries: “How do you get shirts so clean, Mr. Lee?” After peering over his shoulder (so as to be sure that his not-so-discreet wife isn’t standing near) the man turns back around, raises a finger to his lips and says through a smile, “Ancient Chinese secret!”

While the answer to the question posed to the laundry owner by the woman was a closely guarded secret — one that his sweet, no-nonsense wife happily ruined — it was neither ancient nor even Chinese in origin. But the TV spot famously tapped into one of the most enduring legends about the country whose Ming Dynasty rulers had a 16-to-26 foot wall built around it: the age-old traditions of secrecy.

And, like Vegas, what happened in China very often stayed in China, just get the hell out of Alkebulan!!! But if you insist on staying, you and your barbarian invader horde of Ghengis Khan, wannabe warlords can take that beatdown like Hirihito of Japan. You can indulge in Alkebulan's rich resources for a season or get on a junk boat and go back to China and rebuild your own country. If you stay in the Motherland you'll perish🖕🏿🖕🏿🖕🏿🖕🏿. As the saying goes, s**t happens. Wash ya ass. Please, continue reading… my screwed up mind !!!

Take the Black Chinese [Moabites] who once made up the entire population of China prior to Esau's attempt at reclaiming the birthright God decreed would be Jacob's while in the womb through forced miscegenation "Raping of indigenous women." Do not be confused or mislead by this post. My research was sketchy to say the least. The portion of the population before China’s modern era does not register any indigenous Moabites, for example. The fact that you’ve never heard of them proves the point. Here comes the BS. But don’t worry. You’re not alone. China has some 1.3 billion people and nearly all are just as in the dark about them. Well, either that or a billion people all swore to never-ever-never air any [ahem] ‘clean laundry’ about black folks formerly having a place in China’s allegedly homogeneous society. That's a bunch of made up monkey s**t. Frankly, even an ancient culture with the bragging rights to the longest continually recorded history, another myth, is bound to miss a few things like a heart, and some effing genomes. The former presence — up until sometime in the 20th century — of Black people in pre-modern China is one of them. Fortunately, though, old photos taken throughout China around the advent of photography can help us to fill in today some of what the historians missed on purpose. I can't believe I'm posting this. 👎🏿👎🏿👎🏿👎🏿 China’s Qing Dynasty, established by the Manchu people who ruled from 1644–1912, is described as having been a vast multicultural empire. But it appears multicultural could also be a more pleasant euphemism for multiracial. You people are like dogs, stop eating them?! Nothing illustrates this better than the Black and white photos taken by visitors from Europe in the mid-to-late 1800s. Really?!! John Thomson, an Irish photographer was one of the first to capture images that reveal a surprisingly more diverse makeup of then-contemporary China. In one of the most stunning photos taken by Thomson displayed above, six women dine together in a courtyard. Captioned “Manchu ladies at a meal,” the picture was taken in 1869 in the city of Peking (now Beijing). Seated at the center of the photo are two women: on the right sits a typical high class Manchu and on the left sits a smiling Black woman — who could easily pass as the mother of the RZA, the GZA, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, or any other member of the Wu-Tang Clan.

Apart from the physical differences in the women (including the two who were likely seated, but stood for the picture), what’s also remarkable is that when Thomson writes about them, he makes no distinctions — though there were both racial and class differences; some of them were most assuredly attendants or maids. But in the view of Thomson, they were all simply Manchu ladies sharing a meal on a day when he sought interesting subjects to photograph. I saw the photographs. The darker ones were inherently claimed to be lower case workers or servants, while the ones who looked like Lucy Liu were considered affluent, and well off. These racial disparities that evolved from hell are a sad reminder to a wound that won't stop bleeding because of man's inability to stop giving in to his base emotions. I plead cray cray, and insanity. Jacob, they would rather burn in hell for an eternity than let us live in peace for a day. God is coming back for Israel not the Christian Church that has been corrupted by the Evangelical, right wing, nut jobs.

1 Maccabees 3:48

And laid open the book of the law, wherein the heathen had sought to paint the likeness of their images.

If you study history, and read the Bible, you'll see how religion has been used to divide God's people which they're not. Some gentiles will walk into New Jerusalem, the vast majority of them won't. The Bible has been tampered with by people who are shepherds for the Devil. The Catholic Church is Satanic no matter how you cut it. The cathedral of Notre Dame had gargoyles mounted atop the edifice looking over the city of Paris, France. Do you find this to be a bit of a double minded mentality or a slap of defiance in God's face. What god do you worship? We want to know the truth from God. This world can't be trusted with an anorexic T-Rex. You'd call it a crackhead and dump him in the Labrea tar pits unless it was a female, at that point you would attempt to crossbreed it with a Chihuahua, and hope to domesticate this new animal which has disaster written all over his I'm shaking cause I need a fix quick, petrified ass. When Vatican City is destroyed let that be a warning from God to those who still have a sliver of faith in God, get a relationship with Him. Jacob, this writing piece reveals their unwillingness, and froward hearted, lack of sensibility by not telling the whole truth. Instead they give us a revised version of history that wasn't. They have been our teachers for the last 500yrs when we were there's previous. Either you learn from your mistakes or continue to repeat them.

Zechariah 8:23

Thus saith the Lord of hosts; In those days it shall come to pass, that ten men shall take hold out of all languages of the nations, even shall take hold of the skirt of him that is a Jew, saying, We will go with you: for we have heard that God is with you.

If you hate being rebuked by a Black professor with a tenure ship, you'll hate being corrected by a Black child who has 5 degrees including a specialist in biochemical, ecological science, and psychology. You're ashamed because you're proud. There were great African kingdoms that educated the anglo European that's been shrouded in history. The book of Maccabees says the people who have mislead, and lied to us are as knowledgeable as a 13yr old using crib notes. I'm nuttier than a can of Planters, the truth is in you Jacob. Utilize the authority given to you. You will have to teach them as it was in the past. Everything from Bible scriptures, to aerospace, science engineering. The educational system is designed to hold back Black children, but the 3 people with the highest IQs in the world at the time was a 10yr old Black male, an 2 Black females under the age of 8. They were the youngest members of Mensa ever. This was about 4yrs ago. You can't stop God's anointing from glowing and glorifying Him and His people. Read the rest of this article and lose your mind. Its a nauseating and frustrating read. The truth will set you free. It ain't in these hood boogers

Written accounts by early Chinese historians tell us that the Tonkin region and its adjacent areas were once a hotbed of various non-Han Chinese peoples, including those from whom the Lao Cai girl descends. But with the southward advance of the Han Chinese, such groups were pushed even further south, or gradually assimilated into the dominant population. Historian Thant Myint-U writes in “Where China Meets India” that during the 9th century, the Chinese ethnographer Fan Cho compiled the Man Shu, or “Book of the Southern Barbarians.” Fan Cho describes there the varied peoples living in and around Yunnan. Included among them were the Wu-man or ‘Black southern barbarians,’ so-called for their dark complexions. And ironically, the French author of the Lao Cai photo had the image annotated with the Chinese word “Man,” and — sadly — with the Vietnamese “Xa” (or Kha), signifying servant or slave.

With this photo of a mother and her two children by John Thomson, taken on the streets of Peking (now Beijing), something finally clicked. For reasons that won’t be detailed here (as it would take far too long to explain) more than a decade of research into the peopling of Asia seemed to suggest that any black Chinese still living in the age of photography would likely all be found in southernmost China. Black Moabites still coexist in China to this day. This is a class study in you must be dumber than an incubator.

In his 1902 book The Boxer Uprising, American photographer James Ricalton includes this photo of several dozen men, many of them likely to be executed the next day for their part in the Boxer Rebellion. The latter was a bloody, anti-foreign and anti-Christian uprising that took place between 1899 and 1901; the 2006 Jet Li film Fearless was inspired by events that took place in the aftermath of the rebellion. The same is also true of the 1971 Bruce Lee film Fist of Fury. No actors in the aforementioned films — nor any other martial arts films set in pre-modern China — ever had actors resembling the non-Han Chinese mixed in above. About them, the racist Ricalton writes:

“This is truly a dusky and unattractive brood. One would scarcely expect to find natives of Borneo or the Fiji Islands more barbarous in appearance; and it is well known that a great proportion of the Boxer organization is of this sort; indeed, how dark-skinned, how ill-clad, how lacking in intelligence, how dull, morose, miserable and vicious they appear!” I'm willing to bet you 5 million in Bitcoin that I don't have, a lifetime supply of opium, and 2 happy ending massages daily that this bougie French bastard is rotting in hell praying to white Jesus that Rumiel won't screw him up the wahoo tonight. Tickle his sack!!! Like Thomas Cromwell the powers that be went to great lengths to cover this history in ChinaTown. You can't hide the truth from a people that's tired of being dictated to, oppressed, lied on, abused and persecuted by everybody, and discredited for the contributions they've made to this damnable planet. As previously stated we don't want crumbs [reparations] we want the whole planet Black before you, and the I hate n**gers brigade showed up, that includes Moo Goo Gai Pan. As soon as his Chicken fried, Bat Man eating, pancaked backside came along, and gained some freedoms, he started emulating his zaddy, he became drunk with xenophobia like the rest. If you hate my commentary tell ya boy Biden or his Amerikkka is not a racist country VP, Kamala Harris. She's next in line to preside as Pontius Pilate over this damnation unless Biden loses his dementia. Its a joke, think or buy a vowel. If that doesn't work, swap some Budha, and kiss Mr. Nasty bye bye.

[talesofthemindscape-moved]

✂, ✖and the paranormal one I can't find the emoji for for spy or snippy pls

Why not both! :)

WARNING, these are a little more angsty than the other memories I've written, and do mention death, torture and abuse. Reader discretion is advised!

Spy

✂ - a vivid memory

He's not sure what time it is. The room has no windows, and he's certain that he had blacked out for a while. His hands and wrists are raw from pulling and twisting at the ropes binding them behind his back, trying to find some way to break them to escape while the people who caught him weren't in the room. Of course they had to strip him of everything but his underclothes to ensure that he had no hidden tricks, how humiliating. He'd almost resorted to trying to dislocate his hands in some way to pull them free before the door unlocks and opens, the ringleader stepping in with low-tier guards falling in behind. René merely rolls his eyes as the man starts rattling off on a monologue of "how does it feel to be caught" and "you're going to tell us everything you know". Like hell he was going to. He didn't know a lot, but what he did know, he had sworn to secrecy, knowing that the consequences for spilling this sort of information would be far worse than a little torture. He sits back in the chair he had been tied to, a bored expression on his face as the ringleader demands to be answered. "Go fuck yourself", René says in smooth Italian, having placed the man's accent easily. He almost wanting to enjoy the look of rage that fills the ringleader's face. But then he barks at his underlings to bring him his tools, and for two of them to hold their captive's mouth open. "If you're not going to tell us anything, we'll just make sure you can't tell anyone anything," he growls with a dark look in his eyes and a grin stretching across his mouth. It's the last thing René hears before a crude set of tools is brought into his vision and the sound of a drill rings in his ears.

✖ - a repressed memory

His face stings, though he knows better than to cower away and defend himself from further punishment. He glares up at the tall figure of his father, wanting to be defiant and yell back and stand up for himself, and yet he stays silent. He yells and yells, and René's ears ring as he goes on, berating him for things he couldn't hope to control. Eventually, he's released, and he simply dips his head and thanks his father for his criticism before heading straight for his room. As soon as his door is closed, his defensive walls come crashing down, barely making a few steps towards his bed before tears begin to roll down his face. Why can't he do anything right?! He's supposed to be GOOD, he's supposed to be better than this. His frustration swings through into rage, his fists balling as he takes wild swings at the air, wishing that it was his father that he was hitting instead. Not too long into his attempt to dispell his frustrated energy, there's a gentle knock at the door. Turning his rage onto whoever's behind the door, he roughly rubs the tears from his face and throws the door open, a growl of "Who the hell?!" already on his lips — though when he sees who it is, his expression fall and his anget dissolves, taking a slight step away and holding his hand up. "No, w- wait. Annabelle, I'm sorry, please. . . Come in." His voice is immediately gentler upon seeing his disguised sibling. They enter cautiously, and with good reason too, he knows they see just how much he's becoming like their father, and he hates it. He doesn't want to be like him. They ask if he's alright, to which he shakes his head. Tentatively, they open their arms, and he takes the offer, latching his own arms around their middle and burying his face in their shoulder. He doesn't remember the last time he was hugged, the last time they were allowed to be siblings, and for that, he cries. One day, they'll both get out of here, and then they'll be okay.

♚ - a memory of something paranormal

René doesn't enjoy going to funerals. Or cemeteries in general, for that matter. But he had to, just this once. The news had taken it's time to reach him, which he was thankful for of course, and he planned a trip back home for next ceasefire. He never thought he'd hear the day that the old man had kicked it, and to hear that he'd been alive this whole time either. If he'd known, he would've taken matters into his own hands, make him pay for what he did to them. But, it's all in the past now, all he needed was to see is gravestone, and then he'd truly be free. The journey to France was largely uneventful, and it felt good to be on home soil again. Though he couldn't enjoy it yet. He knew where to go and how to get there, taking only a slight detour to a florist to pick up a bouquet that would suit the old man — yellow carnations, orange lilies, petunias, and a single black rose. The poor employee who handed over his order looked so worried, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he left the store. Eventually, his journey came to a close. In all honesty, he would have hoped that the old man would be buried in an unmarked grave, or have no body to bury at all, but he supposes that can't be changed now. Not unless he wanted to get his hands dirty. He entertains the idea of gifting his team's Medic the bones of an international crime lord only in jest as he finds the location of the family grave site. An indescribable emotion comes over him as he stares at the graves, scanning them for the name of his father. There's a pang in his heart as he skips over Rei's - there's no body in there, he knows that, but he can't bear the thought of losing his sibling again, even just for a moment. He shakes his head, finding his resolve and locating the bastard's name. René has no words for him any more, so he says nothing. He simply glares at the engraved stone as he kneels to put the bouquet down, repeating to himself over and over that he's gone, he's really gone, he's free now. Weights are being lifted from his shoulders, but his blood suddenly runs ice cold as he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turns to look, heart beating fast in his chest, expecting to see someone, but. . . there's nothing. No one in sight. He scrambles for an answer, immediately standing and shouting out "Who's there?", knowing his own ability to be completely invisible could be shared by other people, but there's simply nothing. René takes a glance at his father's headstone, feeling sick. No. No! He's dead now, and he is free. Nothing will change that. He refuses to acknowledge what just happened, swallowing past the lump in his throat and walking away as fast as he can, before he can be caught again. As soon as he passes the gates of the cemetery, he believes that he's succeeded at getting away. But that's not necessarily true when all it takes is a mere thought for his mind to be haunted by every little unnatural movement seen out of the corner of his eyes.

Snippy

✂ - a vivid memory

He can hear the monster behind him as he runs, as fast as his feet can carry him. Cancer, the Biomatrix, whatever the hell it called itself, is gaining on him. Red tendrils tangle his feet together, his rifle flying out of his hands as he hits the ground. He doesn't realise it at the time, but it wants his memories, it wants to search them, take them, see how to defeat Captain in them. Good luck with that, he thinks, there's barely any memory left in there. But it wants them anyway. No sooner had a questioning "Huh?" left his lips does a tendril stab through his back and out through his chest, shock overwhelming the pain for only a few seconds. Blood chokes his throat and fills his mouth and mask as he's pulled from the ground, his final thoughts panicked and in disarray. Does he regret nothing? He doesn't know. The fact those were supposed to be his final words haunt him, just like how the memory of that day haunts his nightmares frequently. It's not like the others, he doesn't wake up screaming, but he swears that there's a sharp pain in his sternum right where that circular scar lays. His red scarf made of viruses casually curls around his neck, as if it didn't feel like it was choking him in his sleep.

✖ - a repressed memory

He remembers the cold concrete and gravel ground beneath him. He remembers curling up as tight as he could, hiding his head under his arms to protect himself as best he can. He remembers the feeling of so many people, so many, kicking his downed body as if he were just a sack of sand on the ground. He doesn't remember what they said or who they were, but he knows what they said was horrible. He knows there were a few of his so called friends in that crowd, though they certainly weren't friends now. Why is it taking so long for a teacher to see what's happening? Aren't they supposed to break up fights? Maybe they don't care. Maybe no one cares. He doesn't remember blacking out, but he must have, as all he remembers next is his mother's blurred face as she hugs him close, sobbing and yelling. He's on a stretcher, he's pretty sure. Everything hurts. His vision is in and out, not that he could remember much anyway. He wants to go home.

♚ - a memory of something paranormal

It was definitely paranormal, it had to be. No matter how tired he is, he would notice someone on the street beside him as he walked to the train station, heading home after a long day. He wasn't oblivious, or at the very least he hoped he wasn't. But, he supposed that he did prove himself wrong. It was raining, after all, and he had tried to step out into the road to cross, unknowingly in the path of a bus that had come careening around the corner at a speed that was definitely illegal. He hadn't heard it, and he didn't have time to react, he knew that he would have no time to. And so, he had resigned to his fate of getting turned to street paste by one of the very modes of transport he relies on. However, he's once again proven wrong. A hand grabs the back of his jacket and pulls him back to the sidewalk, the force making him trip and fall on his back. His heart thuds out of his chest as he regains control of his body, scrambling to get up and look around at whoever pulled him back and saved his life, but. . . no one was there. As he looks around, he spots a bouquet of flowers resting against the bus stop, the laminated placard tied to it too blurred by rain to read the purple printed words. Did someone die here? He shudders at the thought that he could have joined them, and even moreso at the idea that they saved him by pulling him back. Snippy pauses, then shakes his head at himself. No, ghosts don't exist. It all had to be a coincidence, right? He was probably just stuck perceiving everything in slow motion and managed to back away from the barrelling bus, then tripped over the curb and landed on his ass. Even though he's come to the conclusion that no one is around, he can't shake the feeling of being watched, even as he safely crosses the road and heads to the train station.

[theindietrumpeter]

Live Auditions pt.2

In 'Live Auditions pt.1' I talked about my cruise and circus audition experiences. In part 2 I'm going to talk about 2 significantly different orchestral auditions.

The first audition I'd like to write about was in Paris, France in February 2013 and the second was here in the UK in February 2014.

Audition 1 (incidentally, the first orchestral audition I ever did) was a bit of an eye-opener for me. In terms of getting an audition, I found the job vacancy on musicalchairs.info (a great place to look if you want to find a job in an orchestra - muvac.com is another although there are often a few duplicate between the sites). I sent my CV to the Artistic Co-ordinator as per the instructions and waited to hear back. As luck would have it, I got an audition and had to report to IRCAM Studio in Paris at 0915 on February 4th 2013. I was also informed that at 0920 we would be drawing lots to determine the order of auditions... As they called out a name from their alphabetical list, that candidate would draw an number from a literal hat... 'Nick Jolly' *picks number* 'Un'... Well, at least I wouldn't have too long to sit in a room with about 30 other trumpet players getting nervous. I was straight into the warm up room, a few minutes in there and then I was called into the audition room. The panel (as expected) were sat behind a curtain and I was instructed to begin when ready. I got through a performance of the first movement of the Haydn on Bb trumpet and had just begun the Henze Sonatina, maybe 7 or 8 notes in when a 'Merci Monsieur' issued from behind the curtain and just like that, my first orchestral audition was over. Back to the holding area to await my fate - the announcements were at 1300, the time now was 0945... After a little while, a number of players had been through their auditions and a couple of guys (an American, a Pole and a German) invited me to go for coffee with them so we spent a lovely couple of hours drinking coffee in a little Parisian square whilst talking about trumpets, teachers and trumpet playing. Back in the holding pen at 1300 the announcements came back - only 3 people had got through to the next round. All that was left to do was meet Mrs J (Or Miss E at this point - we weren't due to get married for 6 months) and spend the rest of her birthday enjoying the sights and sounds of Paris before heading back to good old Blightly the following day.

On the way to Paris with 4 instruments. Or was it 5...?

My second (and, so far, final) audition was a year and 6 days later on the 10th February 2014 in Birmingham. My audition was 1300 so I gave myself plenty of time to get to Birmingham from Hertford where I was living at the time so I didn't have to worry and I had loads of time to find the venue, have lunch and relax before the audition itself. Well, my train from Hertford was late and one of my Underground trains was delayed too so I was on the last minute getting to Euston but luck was on my side and my Birmingham train was also delayed so I didn't miss it. After that my trip went to plan... winner. I arrived at the venue in plenty of time, well fed and as relaxed as an extremely nervous person can be... At this point a number of auditions had taken place already and I was ushered through to the warm up room. After a good warm up and list minute check of the music I was then taken to the auditorium for my audition. In complete contrast to Paris, this one was with a visible panel (the entire trumpet section (I believe) of the orchestra I was auditioning for).

There weren't any pieces to play this time, it was all excerpts. I can't remember everything I had to play but one of excerpts was definitely Humperdinck's Hansel and Gretel Overture transposing from Trumpet in E. The panel were great and offered lots of advice on technique and other bits and pieces - it was basically a 15 minute lesson with them. I knew I hadn't got the job but it definitely hadn't been a waste of time. Sat outside the auditorium waiting my fate once more I realised that anyone sat there could hear the auditions which I'm glad I didn't know at the time otherwise that would've increased the performance anxiety even more... After having it confirmed that I indeed hadn't got the job, myself and a couple of the other candidates went to the pub for a pint and met up with a large number of the morning's candidates. Fast forward a few years and I actually ended up teaching with one of the candidates I'd been chatting to at the bar - small world!

While I never really had any aspirations to be an orchestral player, at the time it seemed like a good avenue to try and I definitely learned things from both auditions.

If you are considering becoming an orchestral player just remember that they're not as daunting as they seem and no panel is ever out to make to fail... they want you to succeed and, if you don't get the job, don't take it personally, use it as a learning point and come back even better next time.

[deadpool-scar-bro]

i don't get how mac can like paris. i mean i never been there so i can't judge just like that. i've seen pictures and yeah some places look really beautiful, but..... i've heard it stinks. and like, horribly so.

my high school teacher told us about one time she went to paris and she said it smelled so fucking bad, she couldn't believe it. next time they offered her a job in france she made sure it was on a city in the south and that she wouldn't have to go to paris.

she even told us "if you're just going for a visit then yeah, paris is great. if you're gonna live there, god help you 'cause it smells really bad"

i'd imagine a man so prim like mac wouldn't like a stinky city but. well. who knows.