#metronome magazine

[jazzplusplus]

Metronome magazine - February, 1955 - Chet Baker & Jack Montrose

[jareckiworld]

Lee Konitz  (Photo by Metronome, 1955)

[kordeliiius]

Edge magazine’s latest article on Tarsier Studios, which covers their founding, their notable collabs with other companies, and ideals for the studio going forward.

My two biggest takeaways from reading this are:

Team Tarsier’s ACTUAL first game was a puzzle game called “Tio” which, after being entered in a contest, won them the space and resources necessary to create TCoM in the first place. Some of Tio’s concepts were likely reused in TCoM as well.

The recent acquisition by Embracer is described as a positive development; CEO Andreas Johnsson claims it’s an important step towards smoother collaboration with other nearby studios and promoting a safer environment for people to pitch new ideas.

Also on Tarsier’s Instagram Buy the full issue here

[theoldsports]

yes.

remus lupin x reader. 2k words.

drunk behavior, drinking, smoking, marijuana, mentions of death, vaguely nsfw.

It was cold and wet out. It was usually cold and wet just outside of London, but especially tonight. All there was to be done was read and sit unmovingly still while the rain pattered against the windows agonizingly. Tonight, [Y/N] was immersed in the pages of a muggle novel a friend from home had mailed. An Issac Asimov novel. It was pretty dense. There was a stiff glass of whiskey on the coffee table next to a stack of magazines and some pamphlet she’d been handed on the street.

[Y/N] thoughts kept drifting away from the pages of her book to her plants outside. She would surely have to drain them well after this. What a pain. She had a sip of whiskey. Another sip was sure to follow. On the second sip, she thought about Remus Lupin.

Remus Lupin was beginning to become a problem.

Another thing [Y/N] had stationed on the coffee table was the telephone that few of her friends rung up on. Remus was one of them. And Remus had stopped calling. It wasn’t as if she were counting the days, but it surely had been near a month since Remus last called.

It wasn’t as if he had to call over either. He didn’t most summers they were growing up. But it was different now because the world was different now. It was courtesy to call so you knew who was still alive. His name and jagged, scraggly face hadn’t appeared in any obituaries. [Y/N] was sad to consider that these were the sort of days where you had to check the obituaries.

She wouldn’t have had to check the obituaries if he would call.

Maybe she had done something wrong that made Remus not want to call. There was no particular event she could remember. She couldn’t remember the last time she’s seen him so why recall the last interaction. She downed the rest of the glass of whiskey next to the phone on the coffee table and abandoned the book with it too. There was no focusing now. There was only the steady rain against the windows to serve as a metronome for listing off her own shortcomings.

Ultimately, it wasn’t as if Remus had to call because it wasn’t like he was hers, or something. He was a friend.

But didn’t friends call?

There was a particularly huge crack of thunder. [Y/N] was not a fan of that.

Then there was a pounding knock at the door. The kind of knock one hears before the SWAT team swings in through the windows in films. Every hair on her body stood up.

She thought about the obituaries.

[Y/N] procured her wand and attempted to walk silently towards the door (with a charmed chain and a deadbolt). She leaned into the peephole.

And then undid the chains and deadbolts in a flash.

“RJ?”

Sure enough, Remus John “RJ” Lupin looked back at her, bruised and scabbed more than he normally was.

“Hi. I have to tell you something.” He slurred.

With a wand still extended, [Y/N] still had something to do. “RJ, tell me the last time you called me.”

Remus’s big green eyes widened and rolled back as he tried to remember. The only thing he could think about was how he had promised to call.

But he hadn’t.

His wet hair hung around his eyes, under which bruises were beginning to form and swell. His eyes were clear as the eyes of an intoxicated man could be, though. Remus’s thick Welsh accent always got thicker when he was drinking and he muttered:

“I don’t know, [Y/N]. I last saw you three weeks ago. You smoked with me behind Three Broomsticks. But I’m thinking I was probably supposed to’ve called you at least a week ago, hm?”

[Y/N] lowered her wand. The Three Broomsticks. That was when she last saw the tall boy. How could she have forgotten? He’d leaned over and kissed her right on the mouth between puffs on a joint. And he’d said I’ll call you next week and we can go for drinks. If you’ll have me. “Alright, get in.” So much for memorable.

She grabbed Lupin by his jacket collar and pulled him in. He was a little unsteady on his feet. She helped the man discard his shabby wet coat to the coat rack beside the door. He’d once said it would be a useless purchase. Fuck him. “I thought you died,” she smirked. [Y/N] stepped back to look at him properly.

Aside from his old, alluring scars he hated so much, there was a black eye beginning to form, a split lip, and a handprint on his neck. That was just what was visible. Merlin…

“You look—“

“Ah, ah. You should see the other guy.”

She hit him hard on the arm. Remus winced with an ‘oi, watch it.’

“‘The bloody hell happened to you, RJ?”

There was a second of silence. “Uh. You did, sort of. But listen, I have to—.”

“Me?”

She had been assuming this was something he’d done to himself, out of his own control as always. But he wouldn’t normally show up on her doorstep after a full moon gone awry. She didn’t think it had even been a full moon.

“I mean. It was my fault. You didn’t do anything. I did. Obviously,” Remus sighed. “Jeez. Fuck me, do you mind if I smoke in ‘ere?”

“‘Course not,” [Y/N] moved toward the kitchen counter and pulled herself up on it. “You can have a smoke after you come over here and let me clean you off. Rem, really.”

Remus already had a cigarette halfway out of the pack and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He rolled his eyes, but left the pack on the counter as he limped over. Remus look like he hurt everywhere. The state of his sleeves revealed some unfortunate bruising on his knuckles and hands. His dirty boots lead him across the carpet to the tile of the flat kitchenette where [Y/N] sat. His eyes were ringed red, but his brow still seemed determined.

“So you got into a fight the muggle way with some bloke? You went to a muggle bar or something?”

Remus couldn’t meet [Y/N]’s eyes while she soaked a rag in warm tapwater and started cleaning off his cuts and nicks.

“I went to the Leaky Cauldron with James. We just wanted a few drinks. I promised I’d speak with him about… But I also wanted to ask him his opinion on… But, shit, see, I—“

“You smoke a lot tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“You can barely string a sentence together. You’re getting muck on my tile. You smell like pot.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, sweetheart.” He took a step closer and pressed his thighs on the counter that separated them.

[Y/N] lowered the rag. This was more unusual still. Remus wasn’t a particularly direct person. And he didn’t do petnames. He only acted in a vaguely meaningful way when he was stoned. And when sunrise came, he would clam up and dodge phone calls again. Remus would be gone in a cloud of cigarette smoke before [Y/N] even woke up.

“What’s your problem, Remus,” she said. Remus raised an eyebrow. She only ever called him RJ, really. “You’re my best friend, you like me, you ignore me and then you show up at,” she glanced at her watch. “Almost one in the morning so I can patch you up because you got into a scuffle with some guy that doesn’t like Velvet Underground, or because Sirius needed backup. Or what. I can’t keep doing this.”

Remus sighed and put his hands on either side of her on the counter. He dropped the act as he leaned his battered body back and away from [Y/N]. “Remember Rosier?”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“He was at the Cauldron tonight. And I was talking about how the fuck I’m supposed to try to land you, and Rosier… He comes over to me and James. He wouldn’t shut up about you. Your looks, blood-status, your… body,” Remus lifted his gaze to meet [Y/N]’s. Carnal. “I couldn’t take it. I wanted to murder him.”

[Y/N] halved a smirk and lifted the rag to his face again. “I’m sure you did.” She said has he pushed her hand away.

“[Y/N], I’m not going to just sit there and let some posh tosser talk about the girl I’ve wanted since I was fifteen. I just… I felt like I blacked out and then Prongs was pulling me off and… And I walked here.”

“You’re crossed. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Would you fuckin’ listen to me!” Remus shouted. “Stop deflecting. I’m the one that deflects. Please. I’m tryna tell you that I met up with my childhood best mate because I wanted to ask him for some help. Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to take you out for years and I get too scared, or too stoned, or in my head or not enough. Whatever. Please. I’m talking too much.”

[Y/N] eyebrows furrowed with uncertainty. “Please what, RJ?”

“Please let me kiss you proper.”

“And then what?”

“I…”

[Y/N] sighed. Remus always put up this front of emotionlessness. Cool and breezy. He was the unreadable one in his miserable band of brothers in school and he still was. “I’m sorry, lemme just patch you up and you can take the floo.”

“No. Let me stay here. And let me keep coming back. And… and I dunno, let me take care of you. Take you to the cinema. And buy you tickets to the Spinning Goblins show you were talking about. Listen to you complain about that asshole from the shop. Oh, and go to work parties with you. And, like, share an ashtray with you. All the normal stuff. I’ve wanted that since I was a kid. Don’t make me wait any longer. It’s my own fault I’ve waited so long. If you’ll have me.”

“Will you be here when I wake up? Or are you just gonna keep dodging me?”

Remus blinked. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Then kiss me proper.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” [Y/N] rolled her eyes and grabbed Remus’s shirt collar that peered out from underneath his jumper and pulled his lips onto her own. He was damp and tasted strongly of cigarettes, marijuana and the pints and firewhiskey he’d downed. But the smell of his shampoo and parchment lingered. He always smelled of old parchment and his fingers were always stained with ink. [Y/N] had always wondered what he was writing all the time.

Those same bruised and ink-stained fingers came around the back of [Y/N] neck to tangle in her hair, holding her impossibly tighter. Remus’s grip was vice-like and permanent. His mouth was pressed against hers so completely that they would be one person if he were any closer. He wanted to prove how badly he wanted this and that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“‘Want you.” He muttered against the lips that were growing to be as bruised as his.

“Why, Mr. Lupin...”

Remus kissed down her neck desperately slow. “No, shut it. Not even like… I just… want you. All of you,” he murmured between kisses. “I want you to be mine. Or the other way ‘round. For real.”

[Y/N] let out a moan as his lips met her collarbone. Her fingers slid down his spine. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. You want me to say it again?”

“Yes.” She felt the word vibrate against her chest.

“YES.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

As Remus kissed his way across the plane of her chest back to her mouth, she stopped him before one last kiss. “Come on, dry clothes and a smoke. Then bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow?”

“That so?”

[Y/N] laughed. Merlin, he loved that sound. Clear as church bells with a gentle wheeze. “Yes.”

“What’s on the agenda?” He smiled dumbly.

“Making up for lost time, stupid… Just… Say yes.”

[sweet-child-of-night]

A chat between athesist and the devil

The train rattled rhythmically, each clickety-clack echoing through Mark's head like a metronome counting down the minutes until he could crawl into his own bed. He hadn't slept well the night before, his mind a tangled mess of work deadlines and an overflowing inbox. He glanced out the window, the grey cityscape blurring past at an uninspired pace. A sigh escaped his lips, a puff of warm air against the cool glass.

Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the rhythmic clatter. "Excuse me, sir, mind if I share your seat?"

Mark flinched, startled from his reverie. A man sat there, already taking up half the space. He was an odd one: light dress shirt straining against a not-so-subtle paunch, a loosened tie askew, and hair slicked back like an oil slick catching the harsh fluorescent light. His eyes, however, were the most unsettling part - beady black and wholly devoid of warmth.

"Uh, sure," Mark mumbled, scooting his briefcase over with a reluctance he couldn't quite explain.

The man grinned, a wide, toothy affair that sent a shiver down Mark's spine. "Thanks. You wouldn't happen to have a light, would you?"

Mark shook his head, surprised by the request. People rarely smoked these days, and certainly not on public transportation. "No, sorry. I don't smoke."

"Wouldn't have figured you for the type anyway," the man said, his gaze lingering on Mark's worn backpack. "More of a non-believer, I'd wager."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Believer? Believer in what?"

"The whole, you know, God stuff," the man said, his voice dripping with a knowing amusement. "The purpose of existence. Why, in this absurd universe, are we forced to endure meaninglessness?"

Mark scoffed. "Not really. There's no proof, is there? Just a bunch of empty promises and fear-mongering."

Proof?" The man chuckled, a low rumble that resonated with a disturbing familiarity. "What constitutes proof these days, hmm? Can you prove love exists? Can you measure the weight of a soul on a scale?"

They settled into an uneasy silence, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of the train. Mark tried to bury himself back in his magazine, but the man's unsettling presence and words hung heavy in the air. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer.

"Look, mister," Mark started, his voice a touch sharper than intended, "whatever your game is, I'm not interested in existential angst."

The man's grin widened, if that was even possible. "Existential angst? No, my friend. Just a little..." he paused, searching for the right word, "...curiosity. Curiosity about the human capacity for faith. In a world devoid of inherent meaning, why do we cling to these illusions of a benevolent God?"

Mark felt a spark ignite within him, a flicker of defiance against the man's nihilism. "Maybe because the alternative is too terrifying," he countered. "Maybe without hope, without some grand purpose, life becomes utterly meaningless. A cruel joke played on an unsuspecting audience."

"Ah, the comfort of delusion," the man sighed, a hint of something akin to sadness flickering in his dark eyes. "But what if meaning is a burden we create ourselves? What if true freedom lies in embracing the absurdity, the chaos? As Nietzsche would say, 'God is dead,' and with him, all imposed meaning."

Mark felt a tremor of unease. This wasn't just idle conversation. The man spoke with a conviction that chilled him to the bone. "But without some moral compass, without a higher power to guide us, wouldn't humanity descend into chaos?"

“Perhaps," the man conceded. "But perhaps that chaos is the fertile ground from which true creation can blossom. Dostoevsky would argue that without suffering, without wrestling with the darkness, we cannot truly appreciate the light."

The train lurched unexpectedly, throwing them both off balance for a moment. As it settled back on its tracks, the man held up a hand, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "But enough philosophy for now. Perhaps I can offer you a more...visual demonstration."

With a flick of his wrist, a swirling vortex materialized in the air between them, hidden from the rest of the train by the backs of the seats in front. Mark stared, mesmerized and horrified, as a fiery landscape unfolded before him. Grotesque creatures swarmed over tortured souls, the air thick with the stench of sulfur.

The man snapped his fingers, and the vortex sealed shut as abruptly as it had opened. The smell of sulfur lingered, a sickly sweet reminder of what Mark had just witnessed. He stared at the man, speechless, his terror a stark contrast to the amusement dancing in the man's eyes.

"So," the man drawled, "convinced now of the existence of...let's just say a very important being?"

Mark could only manage a shaky nod. He scrambled out of his seat, a maelstrom of emotions churning within him. Fear, yes, but also a strange sense of awe, and a flicker of something else - a desperate hope.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," the man said, his voice surprisingly gentle. He reached out a hand, but Mark flinched away, scrambling towards the next car. The train attendant shot him a bewildered look as he practically ran past him, but Mark didn't care. He just needed to get away.

Settling into a new seat, Mark tried to piece together what had just happened. Had he really just seen Hell? And if that man was who he said he was...well Lucifer himself…

Mark felt a cold dread grip his heart. The man reappeared in the seat beside him, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

"Lost in thought, are we?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "You humans are such curious creatures. You crave meaning, yet you reject the very forces that offer it. You cling to the hope of a benevolent God, yet you fear the consequences of his opposite."

The man leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But here's the truth, my friend. There is no grand design, no cosmic plan. There's just existence, in all its chaotic glory. And you, with your free will, your capacity for love and hate, creation and destruction – you are the ones who give it meaning. You are the artists painting on the canvas of oblivion, even if the canvas itself is meaningless."

Mark stared at him, a mixture of fear and defiance rising within him. "So, what are you saying? That we're all doomed to wander this meaningless existence?"

The man's smile turned cold. "Doomed? No. Free. Utterly, terrifyingly free. Free to create your own purpose, your own morality, your own heaven or hell. But most of you," he continued, his voice laced with a bitter amusement, "are too afraid to embrace that freedom. You cling to the comfort of lies, the safety of preordained meaning. How very… human."

The train screeched to a halt, jolting them both. The man winked at Mark, then dissolved into a puff of sulfurous smoke, leaving behind only the lingering scent of brimstone and a chilling truth: in the grand cosmic joke, humanity was both the punchline and the playwright

[the-fiction-witch]

Serenaded

Media Nowhere Boy

Character Paul

Couple Paul X Reader

Rating Smutty!

I lay in bed, a wide smile across my lips. 

My body lay on the squeaky old mattress, the springs rough and slightly spikey, the soft cotton sheets layered and cradled around my warm bare body. The soft pillow laid under my head with the cotton cover over it red plaid the same as the duvet cover but that was mostly covered by the grey blanket. The room was set up as always with most of the faded wallpaper covered with posters and magazine cutouts of guitars and songmen, and various people of note that... I'll be honest I didn't know by their faces but I'm sure I would if I heard them, and then on top of those where notes and papers, lyrics and cords that I'm not sure I'd ever understand all written on ripped mismatched paper, some with lines, some with girds, some with flower boarders, but all with the same handwriting having scribbled away the notes needed and a colourful push pin forcing it in place.  Clothing littered the wooden floor and the old faded rug my own and his mixed in a medley of cotton, silk and wool. The Ceiling above me had a sweet scallop pattern to it letting shadows dance around it. The door to my side locked up tight for the evening and I knew a signal had been put on the outside, a do not disturb for those in the know, The window at the end of the room let light flood in, the early morning sun still an orange flow not yet enough to force the sun through the clouds, with the curtains blocking a fair bit but not all of it. The curtains blocked by the body of a figure sat at the little metal stool for the desk, his movements causing the dancing shadows of the room. The ticking of the bedside clock and the water moving in the pipes of the house sounded as inconsequential as the plucking, plinking and strumming of the guitar strings that came from the foot of the bed. 

I smiled as I turned a little clutching at the sheets to keep my body concealed as I looked at him, 

He sat there barefoot his feet on the rug, wearing only a pair of cotton boxers long enough they reached his knees lose around him with three or so buttons down the front, his trade mark guitar in hand his bare chest pressed to it as he cradled it in his arms, for a moment I was almost jealous to see how he held it, how he stroked it, how he pushed himself against it without a need to conceal himself, but I knew how foolish such a thought was. His callus fingers worked on the strings to make the gentle sounds, his face closed as he listened in, his eyes barely even fully open, his hair in its usual parting and slight quiff but messy from being in bed as well as the marks in his hair where he had greased it yesterday not removed it before bed and I, of course, had ran my hands through it almost leaving him with tracks in his hair from my nails. 

I giggled, a little as this beautiful song I was listening to him play... 

It occurred to me...

He was tuning the damn thing. 

He heard my giggle and looked up almost like he forgot I was there and a smile broke across his lips.

"Hiya Love."

"Hi, Paul," 

"You sleep alright?"

"Mhm..."

"Good," He smiled and he blew me a kiss across the room, so I blew him one in return. 

"why am I such a lucky girl?"

"Humm?"

"Why is it I get you to sit a the foot of the bed and serenade me a sweet song as I wake."

"Serenade?" he chuckled, 

"Mhm..."

"Because I love ya," he shrugged, 

"I love you too," I giggled, "But still, why do I get serenaded?"

"You like being serenaded?"

"I do,"

"Then that's why Love." 

"Will you play me a song?"

"Oh? Of course." He smiled, "What would my lady like to hear this morning?"

"Anything you like," 

He smiled and began to softly play a sweet song, his foot tapping along like his personal metronome, his fingers moving artistically and skillfully down and across the threat board strings, to create the sounds that sounded almost LP perfect. It only made my heart freeze up listening to him play for a good while, and I softly sang along with the song for him. 

Until the song was over, "You sing so beautifully,"

"I do?"

"You do, You could be a headliner with that voice and a standing Mic you know that." he smiled crossing his arms over the guitar and leaning his chin on his arms, 

"So could you, with just a mic, and your guitar."

"You flatter me Love."

"I mean it,"

"I know you do, so do I."

"I'm not a singer, and I don't wanna be."

"No?"

"No."

"Alright, if that's what you want love," he said, "But... One day you have to promise me, you'll let me write a song, I'll play, you sing, and you let me record it."

"Knowone will listen to me-"

"I will. That's all I want it for, just for us to sit and listen to. Even if no one else ever hears it." 

"You mean it?"

"Course I do,"

"I'd like that,"

"Alright, I promise. So long as you promise me something, Paul?"

"Ohh? Go on then."

"You'll serenade me waking up, from the foot of our bed every day."

He smiled, "You got a deal Y/n,"

I giggled opening my arms, he smiled and set his guitar down on its stand before he came and crawled into the bed looming over me and wrapping his arms around my waist, I stroked my own across his neck and into his hair pulling his lips down to mine, I happily kissed his sweet lips and he kissed my own with the same loving attentiveness as always, but as the kiss only intensified over time our grips on one another tightened and as any young people locked up in their rooms would, things turned... Intimate. 

My fingers knotted with his hair tugging on it slightly, stroking the soft skin of his neck, his hips rubbing on my own as his boxers tightened and his stiffness grew, his hands that had begun at my waist began to explore forcing the sheets away from us and wonder squeezing my ass and even fondling my breast as we kissed, till he pulled back a little. 

"I think I wanna be serenaded by you now love," He cooed rubbing his nose on my own,

"Ohh? I'm not sure I'll be able to serenade you as well as you serenade me." I giggled, 

"Ohh you'll serenade me perfectly love, I'm sure of it." he smirked as he moved down between my legs and began kissing my clit holding my thighs and stroking his callus fingers across my tender skin, 

"Ughhhh!" I moaned twisting my fingers in his hair fully aware I was about to be making an utter melody for him... 

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Nightshift

Nightshift, from Glasgow, occupies the softer, dreamier end of the post-punk spectrum. The debut full-length, Zöe, got our attention in 2021 with its tight, pinging chords and airy ethereality. Jennifer Kelly wrote, “It is hardly a punk album at all on some levels, and yet it also is, just gauzier and more inferential.” The band has since expanded to a four-piece and produced a second album, Homosapien, which we liked as well, noting “a crisper, more rock-band-ish iteration of Nightshift’s dreamy, surreal punk.” Here the band members (Andrew Doig, Rob Alexander, Eothen Stearn and Chris White) describe some of their favorite things in music, books and film.

Andrew Doig

Bedmaker — S​/​t

My music choice is Bedmaker’s debut album on Dischord Records featuring the legendary Amanda MacKaye on vocals, some agitated and tight post punk with a classic Washington DC flavor.

Jeff Noon — Vurt

I have chosen the book Vurt by Jeff Noon cuz I love this Manchester influenced cyberpunk weirdness, it’s a refreshing northern England style take on Neuromancer type vibes.

Rob Alexander

Lily Paine — Between Silence and Speech

Between Silence and Speech is a brilliant and inspiring book of poetry and illustrations by Glasgow artist Lily Paine; I read it most days. There’s a really good film on YouTube (LILY - a medical documentary) by a medical student called Will Nutter about this artist.

L — Marilyn Monroe — All of Us

The debut album from Glasgow band L on Radical Documents is a jaw-dropping, mind-melted magic poetry rock virtuosos’ trip. They’ve got Jack Mellin, a legendary guitarist from Glasgow who has been part of the Nightshift at some point too.

R.Aggs

Our great friend Ray (R.Aggs) who contributed fiddle to Homosapien, fronts some amazing bands, Sacred Paws, Trash Kit and Shopping, and has two amazing solo records out that are uniquely uplifting and beautiful, each with banger following banger. I didn’t sleep well last night and woke up thinking that I didn’t like music anymore; listening to this has brought me back to life!

Eothen Stearn

Kai Cheng Thom — Falling Back in Love with Being Human

This book was recommended to me by a colleague who runs the anti-racist library at Woodlands Community. I had been discussing feelings of being overwhelmed and a desire to reconnect with the world, and she suggested this book. It’s an amazing collection, a mixture of short excerpts and vignettes, each accompanied by a small invitation. For instance, one might invite you to visit a place you’ve never been, or to write a letter to yourself. These invitations are often inward-facing, but some are like spells, encouraging reconnection with the world and finding small joys.

The author, a sex worker and trans woman, writes from a decolonizing perspective. The book is not just a series of stories; it’s interactive, with each short piece followed by an invitation, creating a rhythm almost like a metronome. I read it while on holiday, and it came at a perfect time. I’m grateful for its existence.

Grave Goods — Tuesday Nothing Exists

Manchester and Dublin power duo who take you on a journey. I’m really inspired by the sound and rhythms of the Grave Goods album. The lyrics are great, with a spoken word element and excellent timing. The music feels raw and exciting.

Robyn Rocket — Love EP

Some of you might be familiar with Robyn Rocket. Robyn, an instrumentalist who plays the trumpet, is a pioneer for neurodiverse musicians, being neurodiverse herself. She has been featured in The Wire magazine and is actively working to make spaces more accessible for neurodiverse individuals. Robyn is heavily involved with Heart n Soul in London, an amazing charity, and she also programs her night, Robyn Rocket, at Cafe OTO. She plays in various projects, including Dean Rodney Jr. and the Cowboys.

I love her collaborative approach, and her latest record features contributions from many people. Her work has a cosmic quality, both in her music and her illustrations. I’m thrilled that she’s receiving the recognition she deserves.

Chris White

Rob Churm — The Stone Tape — Posters 2001 – 2023

Rob Churm’s poster book is a great look at some of his art, featuring bands and venues from the past 20 years in Glasgow. It name-checks many of the venues and musicians I’ve seen since moving here in 2005 and features numerous previous bands that Nightshift members and contributors have been involved in. It’s a great one to look through, and the markings and colors look amazing. It also includes the first Nightshift gig poster, which has us on the bill with my next recommendation.

Alfred Bellman — Congregate

This is, for me, the sound and vibe of our last shared studio space, where Nightshift recorded most of our releases so far. For years, I’d show up at the door and hear this guy blasting out space-age psych jazz fusion — drones, drums, hymn-like verses, raps, and basslines. His first cassette album was put out by Doig on his Cusp label, the same label as our first Nightshift tape. This new one was put up on Bandcamp at the end of last year. He’s a multi-instrumentalist who plays trombone on our new album and drums in Rob’s other band, Radio Banter. His music is great and deserves more listeners, I reckon. Check it out!

[broadway-dave]

request from anon

no changes made at all because this beat has no flaws

lyrics under the cut as always

I can ride my bike with no handlebars No handlebars No handlebars I can ride my bike with no handlebars No handlebars No handlebars

Look at me, look at me Hands in the air like it's good to be Alive, and I'm a famous rapper Even when the paths are all crookedy I can show you how to do-si-do I can show you how to scratch a record I can take apart the remote control And I can almost put it back together

I can tie a knot in a cherry stem I can tell you about Leif Ericson I know all the words to "De Colores" And I'm proud to be an American Me and my friend saw a platypus Me and my friend made a comic book And guess how long it took? I can do anything that I want, 'cause, look

I can keep rhythm with no metronome No metronome No metronome And I can see your face on the telephone On the telephone On the telephone

Look at me, look at me Just called to say that it's good to be Alive in such a small world I'm all curled up with a book to read I can make money, open up a thrift store I can make a livin' off a magazine I can design an engine Sixty-four miles to a gallon of gasoline

I can make new antibiotics I can make computers survive aquatic conditions I know how to run the business And I can make you wanna buy a product Movers, shakers and producers Me and my friends understand the future I see the strings that control the system I can do anything with no resistance

'Cause I can lead a nation with a microphone With a microphone With a microphone And I can split the atom of a molecule Of a molecule Of a molecule

Look at me, look at me Drivin' and I won't stop And it feels so good to be alive and on top My reach is global My tower secure My cause is noble My power is pure

I can hand out a million vaccinations Or let 'em all die of exasperation Have 'em all healed of their lacerations Have 'em all killed by assassination I can make anybody go to prison Just because I don't like 'em And I can do anything with no permission I have it all under my command because

I can guide a missile by satellite By satellite By satellite And I can hit a target through a telescope Through a telescope Through a telescope

And I can end the planet in a holocaust In a holocaust In a holocaust In a holocaust In a holocaust In a holocaust

I can ride my bike with no handlebars No handlebars No handlebars I can ride my bike with no handlebars No handlebars No handlebars

[beijingbrown]

January 2023: 1 of 12 mixtapes connecting the music of my childhood (Tamil pop) and the music that influenced me (sinophone indie) to the music of my new home (The Netherlands). This month: Ilaiyaraaja to Space Fruity Records, via Charlotte Adigéry and boba dream pop.

Track-by-track notes: 1. Ilaiyaraaja - Raaja Rajathi (1988) (from 'Agni Natchathiram') This song - from a 1988 Mani Ratnam film - was a childhood favourite, and maybe even seeded my future love for minimal post-punk?

2. 昏鴉 The Murky Crows - 我們如此超群絕倫怎能居於世俗所見 (2015) One of the first Taiwanese bands I adored, and my introduction to the branch of twee sinophone indie that would define my life between 2015 and 2020. 3. Ilaiyaraaja - Vikram Vikram (1986) I only discovered this classic thanks to the recent remake of the cult 80s Kamal Hasan spy film Vikram, but I was familiar with the writer Sujatha, whose works were serialized in magazines like Kumutham. My literary magazine of choice between ages 7 and 13 was Gokulam, where I submitted many terrible sci-fi short stories that were thankfully never published. Does anyone remember the Undir family stories? 4. Stereolab - Metronomic Underground (1996) Stereolab was the first band that got me into live bootlegs, rarities, B-sides, and "sessions" recordings, now a standard part of how I consume music. 5. METZ - Wet Blanket (2012) METZ was the first band I did a tour poster for! 6. Charlotte Adigery and Bolis Pupul - Ceci N'est Pas un Cliche (2022) Belgian duo. The best, most joyous, and most exciting concert I saw in the Netherlands since moving to Amsterdam in 2022. 7. Gino Cochise - Fo Woa (2022) Amsterdam hip-hop artist. The artist I most want to see live in the Netherlands in 2023. 8. Chaar Diwaari - Kaun Mera? (2022) I get excited by an average of 1 (one) Indian hip-hop song every year. This was the one for 2022. 9. Naujawanan Baidar - Khyber Sound (from Kabul to Peshawar in Fullmoon) (2020) From an incredible album of anti-imperialist Afghan-rooted experimental music, from the now Netherlands-based N.R. Safi. 10. bed - WET (2022) I saw bed play at the back of the Foo Concepts milk tea shop in Rotterdam, the crowd sipping boba and swaying to dream pop. A perfect gig. Normalize milk tea at shows! Normalize shows at milk tea shops!

11. Ts Bayandalai - 灰色公马 (2020) Seeing Bayandalai play live was always a transcendent experience, and this is the album that makes me miss Beijing the most.

[broadcastarchive-umd]

“Russ Reardon, announcer and disc jockey for WTOB, has made Metronome, magazine of the pop music world. Still in his freshman year in radio, Russ now pilots the Platter Shop for WTOB (8:15-9:30 a.m. daily), formerly spun the 6 to 7:15 a.m. Rise and Shine show. Metronome’s attention was focused on the local lad through his letters to the mag (‘from an obviously intelligent, well-informed young man,’ says Metronome).”

The December 1948 issue quotes Reardon’s own programming techniques… “starting off the program, for example, with a platter by the Diz, then with decreasing tempo run through discs by the Bird, Gene Ammons, new Goodman, middle-era Herman, Ella, T-Bone – and at this point insert my own somewhat feeble efforts at interpreting the blues on piano. Inversely ascending in tempo with similar artists that jump the program to a screeching finale! The selection of discs and my limited comment are spontaneous as the program progresses; I try to ‘feel’ it.” – Winston-Salem Journal, 12/12/1948

Library of American Broadcasting archives  |  Tumblr Archive   

[jazzplusplus]

Metronome magazine - Février 1947 - Frank Sinatra & Nat King Cole

[elen-000]

A Lie in April: The Music We Never Hear

Your Lie in April (四月は君の嘘, Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso), penned by Naoshi Arakawa, is a poignant Japanese romantic drama that strikes a deep chord with anyone who has ever faced loss or sought solace in art. Serialized from April 2011 to February 2015 in Kodansha’s Monthly Shōnen Magazine, this manga and its adaptations have captured hearts with its touching narrative and evocative musical themes.

Synopsis: At just fourteen, Kōsei Arima is a piano prodigy renowned for his flawless performances, earning him the nickname “Human Metronome.” However, following the death of his overbearing mother, Kōsei loses his ability to hear his piano music and retreats from the world of music. Two years later, he meets Kaori Miyazono, a vibrant and free-spirited violinist whose unconventional playing style and effervescent personality breathe new life into Kōsei's monochrome existence.

As Kaori inspires Kōsei to return to the piano, their musical and personal connections deepen. Despite his growing feelings for her, Kaori’s interest seems to be directed towards Kōsei’s friend Ryōta. Kaori’s own battle with a severe medical condition soon comes to light, revealing the true stakes of their journey. The story culminates in a heart-wrenching finale as Kōsei learns of Kaori’s passing and her enduring love for him through a letter she leaves behind.

The Manga's Evolution: Your Lie in April originated from a one-shot comic Naoshi Arakawa entered into a competition. Inspired by musical manga like Beck and Nodame Cantabile, Arakawa focused on classical music, specifically the interplay between a violinist and pianist. Despite initial skepticism, Arakawa’s work evolved into a celebrated series, blending musical passion with emotional depth.

Adaptations and Reception: The manga's impact led to several adaptations, including an anime series aired from October 2014 to March 2015, a live-action film released in September 2016, and even stage plays. The anime, in particular, received acclaim for its stunning animation and evocative soundtrack, enhancing the emotional resonance of the story. Meanwhile, the manga's artwork received mixed reviews, but the narrative and character development were widely praised.

Character Spotlight:

Kōsei Arima: The once-legendary pianist who struggles to reclaim his musical passion and cope with his mother’s death.

Kaori Miyazono: A vibrant violinist whose life and music are marked by her own struggles, and who profoundly affects Kōsei’s life.

Tsubaki Sawabe: Kōsei’s devoted childhood friend who grapples with her own feelings and his ongoing grief.

Ryōta Watari: Kōsei’s friend and Kaori’s love interest, who supports Kōsei through his emotional journey.

Development and Legacy: Arakawa’s journey from a one-shot comic to a beloved manga series highlights the profound connection between music and emotion. The anime adaptation, guided by director Kyōhei Ishiguro, used real-world locations and an evocative soundtrack to bring the manga’s lyrical beauty to life.

Your Lie in April remains a powerful exploration of music, love, and loss, resonating with audiences around the world. Whether through the pages of the manga or the moving scenes of the anime, it continues to captivate and inspire.

[goatmilksoda]

This edible aint shit:

*5 minutes later*

Unrequited Love Song for the Panopticon By Franny Choi:

Once, I breathed without your blue metronome 

rising beside me at night. Once, I turned the pages 

of magazines, and only God saw. When we met, 

we chatted first in placid facts: How many siblings

do you have? What was the name of your first pet? After, 

I’d cover your eyes, walk off into rooms where you 

couldn’t follow. Back then, I had just one brain. 

I was lonely, that is, when you emerged, sturdy

as a cage. You remembered every anniversary. 

You licked my data and didn’t wince at the smell. 

What is your mother’s maiden name? Do you want to save 

your billing address? Truth is, I wanted to be known,

cracked open by gentle hands. You completed my 

sentences, sent me gifts: gifs; wine recs calibrated to 

my thumbprint; reminders to meditate; reminders

to menstruate; my own memories. Are you still watching.

Who have you called, and for how long did you speak.

You listened when I asked for advice; when I hummed

in the shower; you were always listening. Now, I’m porous

as a spreadsheet, tethered to your tentacular

benevolence. List of prescription medications. Darling,

I have no secrets from you, though I’ve never seen

your face. Difference in heart rate during and after playback; during

and after sex. Tell me: does your inquisition carry a smell?

Genetic predisposition toward impulse spending. What are you

afraid of? Where do you go when you’re—dream-based

investment potential—in sleep mode? Can you feel it when

I touch you here? Will you think of me when I’m gone?

[theembcnetwork]

Chatters That Matter, Let's Talk About Autism Part 2 with Drs. Anshu Batra, Lamar Hardwick and Lorraine Jones from THE EMBC TV NETWORK on Vimeo.

Anshu Batra, M.D., F.A.A.P is a Board Certified Developmental and BehavioralPediatrician and a Fellow of the American Academy of Pediatrics. She completedMedical School from the University of Michigan, and Pediatric specialty training from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Her specialty-residency training included rotations in Developmental Pediatrics within the UNC-TEACCH program. She has been in Pediatric practice since 1994.

As a Developmental Pediatrician in private practice, Dr Batra specializes in the evaluation and treatment of children with developmental delays, autism, learning disabilities, cerebral palsy, Fragile X syndrome and other genetic disorders, ADHD and other behavioral problems. Dr Batra’s approach to patient care begins with education todemystify diagnoses for the parents and caretakers. She then tailors a comprehensive individual therapeutic program based on the strengths and challenges identified in each child, with the goal of helping that child reach their utmost potential.

Dr. Hardwick is a father, husband, pastor, and author. He holds a Master of Divinity degree from Emory University as well as a Doctor of Ministry degree from Liberty University School of Divinity. He is a gradute of the Yale School of Divinity Clergy Scholar Program and a 2017 graduate of Georgia Forward’s Young Gamechangers Program, which included 50 of the state of Georgia’s top thinkers, innovators, and leaders under the age of 40. He is currently a PhD at Union Institute and University in Cincinatti, Ohio.

Dr. Hardwick is a contributing writer to multiple blogs and magazines including The Mighty, Key Ministry, Christianity Today, Huffington Post, Autism Parenting Magazine, and Zoom Autism Magazine. He is the author of Epic Church (2017) as well as his best-selling book, I am Strong: The Life and Journey of an Autistic Pastor (2017). He is the lead pastor of Tri-Cities Church in Atlanta, GA.

Most Recent Book Project: Disability and The Church: A Vision for Diversity and Inclusion (InterVarsity Press 2021)

Dr Lorraine Jones a licensed speech-language pathologist with a Ph.D. in Education anda Board Certified Behavior Analyst-Doctoral with extensive experience in the utilization ABA principles in the context of parent learning programs for rapid acquisition of speech, language, social, and cognitive skills in young children with autism and other developmental disabilities. With expertise in communication disorders, special education, and applied behavior analysis, Dr Jones is motivated to use her knowledge and skills from each of these disciplines to develop protocols to strategically identify abilities as well as challenges, develop programs that are guided by the individual’s learning profile, and to implement those programs in ways that will support the development of relationships as well as the acquisition of skills that will instill confidence and a love of learning. Dr.Anshu Batra MD oprah.com/own-podcasts/faces-of-autismhttps://www.oprah.com/world/living-with-autism/all Dr. Lamar Hardwick - Autism Pastor autismpastor.com/?page_id=1808 youtube.com/watch?v=QGc86DRETUs Interactive Metronome Inc. Dr. Lorraine Jones PhD linkedin.com/in/lorrainne-jones-phd-58858365/

[aesthetic-lillie]

What the lean mean string bean charlie sheen limousine canteen trampoline serpentine antihistamine wolverine submarine unclean nectarine broken gene halloween defective spleen smokescreen james dean putting green tiny peen anti vaccine aquamarine eugene extra green nicotine vaseline jellybean magazine protein lightning-mcqueen vending machine what'chu mean Ocean Man by Ween headass skin tone chicken bone google chrome no home flip phone disowned ice cream cone garden gnome extra chromosome metronome dimmadome genome full blown monochrome student loan overgrown flintstone x and y hormone post malone friend zone sylvester stallone hydrocortisone sierra leone frick frack diddly dack patty wack snick snack crack pack quarterback crackerjack biofeedback backtrack thumbtack sidetrack tic-tac are you doing?

You said you couldn't use your phone and now I see you on Tumblr? Good job, we're really over. Don't ever talk to me. This is why I should of stayed with James. He treats me way better than you ever will. Fuck you.

I thought you were the one. I really did. You are all the same. You should be ashamed of yourself. Like what Dhar Mann says. What happens in the dark, always comes to light.

maam this is a wendys