#no cap i would die for dolly parton

[elsanna-shenanigans]

November/October 2023 Contest Submission #9: Three Things You Can Feel

Words: ca. 4,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: no Content: n/a

1. 

Spring

Twenty minutes before the track meet was set to start, the gleaming metal bleachers rippled with three dozen or so fans—a turnout just low enough, at this point, to keep Elsa’s social anxiety wobbling in the green. She picked her way down the stairs, careful not to rush, fall, and crack her head open. When she arrived at the bottom-most railing, she scanned the track for the figure that made this all worth it.

Elsa easily spotted Anna rounding the south corner. Her sister’s hair shone like molten copper under the late-afternoon sun as she streaked along the track. Elsa crossed her arms and leaned on the partition, admiring Anna’s speed and natural athleticism. 

Elsa didn’t even have to call out. Anna spied her immediately; she veered off towards the finish line and slowed to a halt at the railing.

“What are you doing here?” Anna said, panting through the grin she tossed up at Elsa. “I thought you had your thing.” 

Of all the moments to freeze up entirely for words. Elsa’s breath hitched as she drank in the sight of her younger sister: Anna’s chest heaved, glistening with a slick sheen of sweat. She was a fucking treasure—the best thing in Elsa’s dumb life. How could Elsa possibly think of leaving Anna for college in a few short months? Surely Elsa could take a gap year, loaf around at home while Anna finished her senior year, glom on and hover overhead like a creep while Anna partied and dated like a normal teenager—

Anna stared up expectantly while Elsa wrestled with her mopey internal monologue. Elsa cleared her throat, dug in her backpack, then held out what she’d brought for Anna and blurted the only thing that came to mind:

“Hydrate to dominate.”

Anna accepted the water bottle with the dopey grin she seemed to reserve just for her big sister. 

“And dominate I shall,” Anna said, “now that I’ve got Old Faithful. Seriously, how do you remember this stuff?” She unscrewed the dented cap from her track meet lucky charm—a banged-up metal bottle their parents had bought her from the Yellowstone Park gift shop years ago. The image of the geyser Old Faithful hid behind stickers in various stages of wear and tear: Sanrio’s lazy egg, Gudetama, napping under a slice of bacon; “THE FUTURE IS FEMALE” in tie-dye bubble lettering; a die-cut Dolly Parton sticker Elsa had ordered for her off Etsy. 

Elsa thought it was a hypothetical question, but Anna paused before taking a sip and eyed Elsa expectantly. 

Because you’re the only thing that matters to me in this stupid town. Elsa answered with her usual eloquence: a bashful shrug. 

While Anna gulped down water, Elsa squinted at the tiniest hint of sunburn glowing at Anna’s hairline. She bit her tongue to keep from fretting or lecturing about sunscreen, because despite Anna’s easygoing response to Elsa’s innate protective nature (reserved just for her little sister), Elsa still worried that she was doing too much, always doing too much for Anna, always giving Anna too much time and attention, hovering—her therapist had gently suggested this months ago, and ever since then, Elsa couldn’t stop agonizing over—

“You okay?”

Elsa froze, mouth ajar—caught zoning out at she stared at the long expanses of Anna’s skin, burn and sweat and freckles and all. 

“Yeah,” Elsa said. “Just wondering, um—”

Think of something, think.

“—whether I have enough time to grab coffee on my way to—after this.”

Anna’s expression melted into rueful insecurity—and still she smiled through it, because she was an irrepressible people-pleaser.

“You’re sure you can’t miss your appointment this once? You’ve been so good about not skipping, and it’s my last meet of the season.”

Elsa’s heart wrenched with regret over the hurt that flashed in Anna’s eyes whenever she blew her off. Still, if ever there was a time when Elsa needed to sit in a session with Dr. Green, it would be now: now, as Elsa drowned in the unhealthy thoughts and urges that had flooded in over these past few months; now, as Elsa came to grips with living apart from Anna for the first time in their lives…

…And now, as Elsa’s attachment to Anna began warping into something that both sickened and thrilled her.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa finally said, trying to smuggle every layer of regret and shame she could never truly voice to Anna inside this simple apology over one simple track meet.

I’m sorry I’m such a mediocre sister. I’m sorry I’m such a freak.

Anna scanned Elsa’s expression. “I know you have Dr. Green to talk to,” Anna said carefully, “but if you ever want to talk to your sister about anything, I would love to be there for you.”

“Thanks.” Elsa swallowed around a lump in her throat. Her gaze drifted to the other girls rounding the corner of the track, Anna’s friends—younger girls whose sideways glances had never failed to send Elsa slinking out of any room.

“Well,” Anna said, screwing the lid back on Old Faithful, “I should probably finish warming up.” Before Elsa could react, Anna hopped up, planted her palms on the partition, and pressed a soft kiss to Elsa’s cheek.

“Thanks for always taking care of me,” Anna said, rocking her body forward and back where she balanced just inches from Elsa’s face. Elsa blinked once, twice, at a loss. Her heart soared.

Then, over Anna’s shoulder, Elsa spied Anna’s teammates trudging by, watching them with narrowed, curious eyes. Her heart plummeted to her stomach. 

“I have to go,” Elsa blurted, lurching back until her shins jammed into the hard bench behind her. Anna hung, suspended for a moment, then vaulted off her palms and landed neatly back on the dirt. 

“Have fun,” Anna said in a sing-song voice. Elsa offered a jerky wave before darting off up the stairs. A steady stream of fans had begun filtering into the bleachers. Elsa forged upstream, blood beating in her ears as she fought to dispel the image of Anna’s friends, their stares burned in her mind. She focused on distracting from her anxiety with a grounding technique Dr. Green had taught her:

Five things you can see: 

Tufts of blue and white tissue paper squeezed in the chain link fence; elongated shadows moseying with their owners; scattered popcorn kernels on the pavement; a candy wrapper bouncing off a trash can; loose blonde hairs falling into her eyes.

Four things you can hear: 

Heels crunching the gravel in the parking lot as she hurried to her car; shouts receding into a faint rumble; car doors slamming on either side; keys jingling as Elsa unlocked the BMW.

Three things you can feel: 

Sun-warmed car door handle burning her palm; steering wheel bumping against her knees as she slid in; hot leather sticking to the stripe of thigh below her skirt.

Two things you can smell: 

Pine-scented air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror; dust from the vents as the air conditioning kicked on.

One thing you can taste: 

Copper on her tongue as she chewed the inside of her lip to pulp.

Something had to change.

2. 

Four years later. Halloween.

Breathless from darting out of the Uber across the street—or from the gilded corset that hugged her ribs—or from the anticipation of what she had planned tonight—Anna stood on the wet, glistening curb outside the Ruby Lounge and waited for her roommate to catch up.

“Do you always have to run straight into traffic?” Rapunzel griped, edging around a parked car to Anna on the curb. She carefully gathered her lacy fairy-princess skirts and stepped over a puddle.

“Always,” Anna said over the bass that oozed out from inside the club. “Come on come on, the night is young.”

They shivered in line for ten minutes, rolled their eyes at the stocky bouncer who ogled Anna’s generous cleavage, accepted the red, gemstone-shaped stamps on their wrists, and finally, finally slipped inside. Anna had been to the Ruby Lounge once—it was your typical weekend ass-shaking meat market—but tonight, the organizers had gone all out to transform the sprawling, two-story venue into a decadent masquerade party, swimming in shadows and teeming with partygoers ranging from Victorian elegance to downright slutty. Anna considered herself somewhere in the middle.

All the dress code required was a mask.

Anna and Rapunzel donned their masks as soon as they crossed into the dark, humid coat check, and suddenly, they were everyone and no one. The anonymity exhilarated Anna. If you wanted to shed your identity for the night, this was the place. But then again, if you were looking for someone…

Rapunzel nudged Anna’s elbow. “Have you heard from—”

“Not yet.” Anna fished her phone from her cleavage. No signal. She stashed it away again and promised herself she wouldn’t go searching straight away. She’d come to dance with her friend, to egg her friend on in talking to cute guys—and she’d come to dance with herself, to shake off the pre-midterm neurosis, maybe even coax herself into battling her own cute guy neurosis. 

It was her senior year, after all, and she was so, so restless.

A sprawling skylight crowned the dim, pulsing lower level. It took Anna and Rapunzel twenty minutes to muscle through the dense crowd, shout their drink orders, and return to the action. Before long, the dance floor swallowed them up entirely. 

Anna loved this part. 

Warm bodies pressed her on all sides, stoking the pleasant heat that raced along her bare arms. It was intoxicating, made doubly so by the intrigue behind the masks that kaleidoscoped around her. She barely noticed when Rapunzel drifted away, laughing and dancing with a guy who wore a prince’s grin and a duelist’s swagger.

Amid the thrumming waves of music, Anna remembered, vaguely, the meeting she had arranged for tonight. She turned on her heel—did she even want to begin her search?—and stumbled into the arms of the woman behind her. The woman held Anna’s elbows steady and laughed, low and throaty next to Anna’s ear. A startling jolt of pleasure coursed across Anna’s skin at the sudden contact. She twisted her head to look at the stranger, all at once dazed and acutely alert. From behind a jeweled mask, curious eyes locked with her own. The stranger wore a royal blue corset buttoned up the front, and a sheer dress of thin blue lace draped from her elegant shoulders. A snowy white plume curled from her temple and swept over the side of her head. Swan Lake, Anna thought distantly. 

The woman’s red lips curled in a smile, a question in itself. She said nothing, and neither did Anna. Purely by instinct Anna remained flush against the other woman, and because a split-second had passed and the woman hadn’t pulled her hands away, Anna followed the natural impulse and arched back into the stranger’s body.

On the dance floor, it may as well have been anyone.

…But, no. Not anyone.

Anna had never felt such electricity from another person’s touch. A searing current raced up her arms as the woman pulled her closer, and sensation blossomed with alarming intensity where the woman’s breasts pressed tight against Anna’s bare shoulder blades. She’d never even felt it with Hans—Hans, whom she’d meant to go looking for, whom she’d forgotten entirely. Instead, she dropped her head back into the crook of the woman’s neck. Time melted into the deafening bass as Anna danced, melded to this stranger in the whirlpool anonymity of the dance floor. 

It was inevitable that Anna had to stop and fan herself, short of breath. Behind her, the stranger gently pressed her hands to the curve of Anna’s waist, a minute gesture of concern (which, of course, only elicited another gasp). A warm puff of air played across Anna’s ear. 

“Let’s get you some water,” came the woman’s voice for the first time, blending into the music so seamlessly that Anna barely caught it. The stranger circled around and squeezed Anna’s hand, then said—what did she say?—Anna lost the words in the hypnotic glimpse of the woman’s delicate white teeth.

The woman slipped away. Anna fully intended to wait—she really did—but two minutes later, Hans and Rapunzel found her. Funny enough, he was the duelist Rapunzel had been cozying up with, And seriously, Anna, isn’t that hilarious that you could be talking to someone you know the entire time? Rapunzel, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. Not so with Hans, who wanted to check out the rooftop right now, and led Anna from the dance floor before she could devise an excuse to protest. She left before the stranger came back.

A stranger, Anna thought to herself, climbing the stairs with her hand in Hans’s, light-headed. It just had to be a stranger who did this to me.

On the roof, Anna stood with Rapunzel at the water cooler while Hans waited at the bar. She pulled off her mask for the first time all night and relished in the soft breeze cooling her flushed cheeks. Leaning on the railing over the massive skylight, Anna scanned the crowd below. Without raising her eyes, she accepted a cup from Rapunzel and murmured, “Hydrate to dominate.”

Rapunzel chuckled. “I haven’t heard you say that since high school.”

“I know, right?” Anna sipped the cold water. Instant relief. “I actually picked it up from my sister. I know literally everyone says it, but for some reason I thought she came up with it on her own.”

“Elsa?” Rapunzel raised her eyebrows. “You haven’t mentioned her for a while, either.”

Anna’s gaze remained fixated on the party below. “We haven’t spoken in a hot minute. D’you know, Elsa actually moved to town a few months ago for grad school? She reached out once to hang out, but left me on read the couple of times I tried to follow up.”

Rapunzel gave a low whistle. “Harsh.”

Anna shrugged. “Elsa has her own life, and she wants to keep it private. Simple as that.” The pang of grief that raced through her was fleeting, confusing. Anna willed the sadness away. Tonight was not the night for this. Not while Hans was edging his way to the railing with her drink; not while the fine hairs on the nape of her neck still stood on end from the stranger’s touch. Before turning away, Anna glanced one last time through the skylight. She thought she glimpsed a sweeping white feather bobbing through the crowd—her heart leaped to her throat—but Hans nudged her elbow with the cold glass, she looked away, and by the time she looked back, whatever she’d thought she saw was gone.

3.

Two years later. Winter.

Elsa hesitated at the entrance to the subway station. She touched a gloved hand to the stair railing. It would be so easy to catch the 8:10 train home, text Anna from the platform with some flimsy excuse about being tired—Anna always accepted with little argument, she didn’t want to encroach and push Elsa away. But Elsa’s heart ached in her chest, a dull flare throbbing in her otherwise numb body. She’d already walked the ten freezing blocks from her office building to Anna’s neighborhood, and right now, Elsa was just a gust of wind away from falling apart. She shuddered, then turned from the subway entrance and retreated from the bustling pedestrian traffic.

Fuck it. This wasn’t high school anymore. They’d been good for an entire year now, so of course Elsa could handle getting close to Anna again. After six years of distance, Elsa was better now. 

The moment Anna’s apartment door swung open, Anna grabbed Elsa by the coat sleeve and dragged her inside, into a fierce bear hug. 

“She’s a dumb bitch,” Anna murmured into Elsa’s hair, “and she’ll realize in about two days how badly she fucked up by letting you go.”

Elsa stood frozen in Anna’s arms, melting into the warmth of her sister’s words and arms—and melting, too, into hot tears and a sniffly nose.

“Maren’s not dumb,” Elsa mumbled. “And I can’t blame her for choosing…” She choked on the words and slumped into Anna’s embrace. 

“Choosing to be a dumb bitch,” Anna supplied. “I’ll kick her ass if I ever see her again.” She began to stroke Elsa’s hair. Despite the harsh words, her murmur was velvety soft, so close to Elsa’s ear that the vibration made her shudder. 

Elsa recognized her body’s response; her stomach turned to ice.

God, no. It had been six long years. They had tentatively picked things up and gotten off to such a good start—she was supposed to be better. 

Elsa squeezed Anna’s arms and pulled back. “This was a mistake.” She tried to sound gentle.

Anna’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“I—” Elsa searched for a painless excuse. “I won’t be any fun. I really just want to go to bed.” 

“Come on, dummy, you know you don’t have to be fun. Just crawl into my guest bed.” Anna absently stroked Elsa’s wrist with her thumb. “After Hans cheated on me, I don’t know what I would have done without you, so just let me return the favo—”

“Sorry.” Elsa twisted her hand away and reached for the doorknob. “I just want my own bed.”

“Elsa, please. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I like it better being alone,” Elsa said, and with a rush of self-loathing she added, “I’m not like you.”

Anna’s shoulders slumped. She looked so lost. “Well—at least let me call you an Uber.”

Elsa was already halfway out the door. “I’ll catch the train. It’s fine.”

“Text me to let me know you got home okay,” Anna called down the hallway after her.

Of course, Elsa never texted.

* * *

In fact, days went by with no response from Elsa. Anna must have sent a dozen texts into the void that was her sister’s inbox, efforts ranging from “reach out if you need me,” and “are you remembering to eat?” to TikToks of pizza-stealing subway rats with Anna’s caption, “Maren sighting.”

Nothing but read receipts in return. Anna cursed herself, wondering why she ever believed that anything had changed after six years, that Elsa would let her back in.

By the end of the first week of radio silence, Anna began cursing Elsa instead. Not only was her older sister being a dick for shutting her out, she was seriously worrying Anna. Elsa had a track record of—well, not hurting herself, but self-hating to the point of serious neglect. Anna imagined Elsa curled up in bed for days, rotting away in severe breakup depression. After work on Friday, Anna reached out one more time:

Anna: 5:26 p.m.

please drink some water ok?

Anna grabbed beers with a few coworkers, then checked her phone around nine p.m. while she waited for her train home.

Read: 5:28 p.m.

She nearly threw her phone across the platform. Instead, she set her phone to vibrate—then changed her mind by the time she let herself into her apartment. She switched the ringer back on as she climbed into bed.

You never know.

* * *

In the morning, Anna found herself in the second-floor hallway of Elsa’s building, bag of groceries in one arm, rapping on her sister’s door with a no-nonsense *THOCK-THOCK-THOCK-THOCK.* She was well past the jaunty shave-and-a-haircut knock, and well past irritation with her sister. 

A minute went by. Anna rapped again. Another minute went by. Anna rapped again. She was about to start pounding when the door swung open. 

“Elsa, I’m sorry to wake you up, but—”

Anna closed her mouth. Elsa looked fine. Her hair was combed, her eyes were bright, and her chambray work shirt even appeared to have been ironed. 

“Anna—hey.” 

Anna squinted, confused. “You look… nice.”

Elsa pressed her lips in a thin line (she’d put on lipstick, too), as if trying to trap unruly words inside her mouth. Then: “Thank you?”

Anna shifted the grocery bag from one arm to the other. “You’re—you’re okay, then?”

Elsa leaned against the door jamb with a sigh, then seemed to remember her manners and stepped aside. “Come on in.”

The place was spotless—Anna even caught a whiff of laundry detergent. It was a far cry from the depression nest she had expected. She fought down her growing irritation as she busied herself unloading the groceries for her sister, who apparently was doing just fine, and couldn’t—wouldn’t—answer Anna’s urgent texts for—what reason, exactly?

Anna stewed for a minute. She poured herself a glass of water to buy herself time to simmer down. She held together her self control for a record minute and a half, then whirled around and blurted out, “Why have you been ignoring me?”

Elsa winced. “You know, just…” She gestured vaguely. “Breakup-hibernation. I wanted to be alone.”

Anna’s eyes narrowed as she spotted a red smudge on Elsa’s wrist. She stepped closer and snatched Elsa’s hand midair, then turned it over, revealing a gemstone-shaped stamp. “Alone—at the Ruby Lounge?” Anna said with a scowl. “What, did you rent the club out all to yourself on a Friday night so you could hibernate there?”

Elsa groaned and tilted her head back. “Anna, listen…” She made to pull her hand away. Anna only tightened her grip. 

“Why do you feel the need to lie to me? You don’t have to invite me to do anything with you—I get it, you want to keep your private life separate—but why—” Anna deflated and let Elsa go. “See, this is how little I know about you now. Since when are you the party-the-pain-away type?”

Elsa blinked and spread her arms in a What do you want me to do? gesture. “I can’t get so attached to you, okay? You don’t know how hard I’ve worked to be normal, to meet other people and—”

“Normal?” Anna pulled back with a frown. “So, let me get this straight. You don’t think it’s normal for us to get attached? All those weeks when I was relying on you after my breakup, was that abnormal to you? What, too clingy?”

“I can’t—” Elsa turned away and leaned on the kitchen counter. “You’re fine, Anna.”

Anna scoffed. “So it’s okay for you to have a key to my apartment, but I can only come up here once a year? It’s okay for you sit on my bed and watch me blubber to the point of throwing up, but I can’t even get a text back when youget dumped?” 

“I’m enforcing. My boundaries,” Elsa enunciated through gritted teeth. Restless hands danced along the kitchen counter until she gripped Anna’s glass of water like a mooring in a storm. The therapy-speak triggered a memory. Anna suddenly remembered an early-early root of their distance,  the beginning of the end of their relationship back in high school, when Elsa started to see a therapist and decided she was too cool to spend time with her baby sister. The vivid memory sent a bolt of defiance thundering through Anna. 

“You’re nothing but a walking, talking boundary. Even giving a damn about you seems to cross a boundary.”

Anna could have sworn Elsa’s eyes flashed with vulnerability, and for a moment her heart leaped with fragile hope. Do something. Do anything, Elsa. 

But Elsa let out a terse sigh. “I think boundaries are great.”

Anna had to prod. “You thought that was messy, then? Me knocking on your door?”

“Anna, you don’t have to do so much.” 

“Heaven forbid, me double-texting you?” 

Elsa’s long fingers tightened around the glass. It lasted only a moment, but the notch of frustration that twitched between her brows was enough to send Anna careening over the edge. 

What’s the messiest thing I could do?

“You haven’t seen anything. What about this?” 

Anna grabbed Elsa’s face in both hands and crashed their lips together. Electricity erupted where their lips met, motionless with wet shock. Anna hadn’t planned on this—she only wanted to provoke a reaction, Jesus, and what the hell was this? Through some ungodly impulse, Anna breathed hot jets of air from her nostrils—and was that a whine that escaped Elsa’s throat?

SPLASH. 

Anna stood completely drenched, her mouth hanging open. Elsa held the empty glass in midair. The water dripping on the tile was deafening in the sudden silence.

Slowly, Elsa set the glass on the counter and raised trembling fingers to touch her lips. “Oh, god,” she murmured, cheeks flaming. 

They decided to talk.

* * *

…Well, first, Elsa had to rein in her reeling surge of anxiety. Immediately after dousing Anna, Elsa teetered against the counter, woozy, and counted: Five things she could see—Don’t look at the curves under Anna’s soaked T-shirt, that won’t help—four things she could hear—Except the erratic pounding of my heart is drowning out everything else—three things she could feel—Not the throbbing low in my stomach, pick something external—and so on.

Anna was terrific with her—all she wanted wasa chance to prove she could be terrific in a crisis—rubbing Elsa’s back and meeting her profuse apologies with soothing words: “It’s okay, Elsa, it’s my fault, do you want me to leave? Okay, I’ll stay, you’re okay.”

Eventually Elsa regained her bearings, fetched Anna some dry clothes, and beckoned her sheepish little sister to sit down. They sat together on Elsa’s couch, Anna curled up in one of Elsa’s threadworn college hoodies, Elsa hugging her knees and wondering how the fuck they would proceed from this. 

Anna didn’t waste time cutting to the quick of her feelings.

“Do you know why I got so upset?”

Elsa waited.

“Because I need you,” Anna went on, “and it makes me feel stupid. Because I wish you needed me, too.”

“I do,” Elsa said quietly. Anna glanced at her in surprise.

“I need you,” Elsa went on, “to make me give a shit about someone besides myself. Caring about you makes me feel human.”

Anna eyed her for a minute. “You know,” she said finally, “it’s that logic that compels lots of people to adopt a kitten.”

Elsa hmmm’ed and her eyes swept up to the ceiling. “I see very little difference.”

“Rude.” 

Elsa shifted her weight and moved to reach around Anna’s shoulder—then hesitated, doubt clouding her expression. The withdrawal was obvious. Anna’s face fell. 

I’m sorry I’m such a mediocre sister. 

Screwing up her courage, Elsa reached around Anna’s shoulder and pulled her sister into her chest. Anna melted into Elsa’s side with a sigh of, what—weariness? Relief? Disbelief?

“I’m sorry,” Elsa murmured. 

It was Anna’s turn to wait while Elsa searched for words. She couldn’t help herself: “For?”

“For, um…” Elsa looked away. Her arm tightened around Anna’s shoulders. “For not inviting you out to the Ruby Lounge.”

Anna snorted. “Try again.”

“For being a freak.”

“You’re—”

“By that I mean, for trying to be someone who doesn’t need you. It’s—” Elsa cast her gaze around the apartment for inspiration. “It’s—complicated, Anna.” 

Anna examined Elsa closely, her eyes shining with open curiosity. She opened her mouth to press some more—then shut it again and relaxed into Elsa’s side, relishing in this miraculous opportunity to do so.

“I’m sure it is,” Anna said. She picked at a stray thread on the knee of Elsa’s leggings. “Lucky for us, we have time to figure it out.”

Elsa’s chuckle ruffled Anna’s hair. Her voice dropped to a murmur: “You’re a fucking treasure, you know that?”

[phillipcole]

Post-AGT Appearance 815: Scott Shannon in the Morning June 5

Once again I need to clarify that this saga takes place in a parallel world that started differing from our own only when the alternate version of myself made it to the final 24 on America’s Got Talent in 2014.  The real me never got past the first audition with a guy with a laptop.  My alternate version’s rising fame minimally impacted the world until the 2016 Presidential race.  There my support nearly tripled the popular vote for Gary Johnson, causing a few states to go the other way, more recounts and a delay in Trump’s narrower Electoral College victory.  That would have caused a delay in the appointment of Trump’s staff, including Michael Flynn, who would have just last week resigned as National Security Adviser.  Last week’s James Comey joke would have come while he remained as FBI Director.  The other big difference is that the obvious fraud in New Hampshire, though not changing Trump’s victory, would have resulted in former Governor Maggie Hassan being removed from the US Senate pending charges that she as Governor tampered with her own election.  Other things, such as the bombings in England would have gone as they did.

My pop songs would have finished 27, 31 and 35 while the new country duet with Dolly Parton debuted at 38 on the country chart.

On Monday I would be resting at a friend’s home in Atlanta when Shannon called for the morning interview.

Shannon: That of course was none other than the great Dolly Parton singing the new song Avonelle with 11 As, one of our friend Phil Cole’s many hits for his cousin-in-law from Trinidad.  Phil joins us this morning as usual.  Where are you today, Phil?

PBC: Atlanta, Georgia.

Shannon: Just wrapping up your brief southern tour.  Howe do you feel?

PBC: Exhausted.

Shannon: And how did the tour go?

PBC: Sellouts everywhere, lots of sales, including merchandise.

Shannon: What kind of merchandise?

PBC: Well, we went all out for this one!  In addition to tapes and videos we sold belt buckles, baseball caps actually worn by Cole on past tours, personal items dating back to my childhood and autographed albums from decades ago my dad once owned.

Shannon: Autographed by...

PBC: Myself, of course, but we also sold forgeries of the original artists separately. 

Shannon: How’s that work?

PBC: You tape the forgery to the album cover, display it on your shelf and...only you know for sure.

Shannon: Ha ha ha.

PBC: This was better than a garage sale ha ha.

Shannon: And Dolly Parton was with you?

PBC: Only at Dollywood, but there were lots of guests at every stop and the big surprise.

Shannon: Yes?

PBC: My wife and son joined us in Atlanta.  She’s got a great voice and led a Gospel singalong at the end last night.

Shannon: That’s wonderful.  Is she with you now?

PBC: Sleeping.

Shannon: Alright, so you’ll be heading home today?

PBC: Tomorrow.

Shannon: And do you have the rest of the Time Magazine routine ready?

PBC: Yes, and it’s really complete now.  We performed it in Virginia and the Carolinas-mixed reviews.

Shannon: You left off last week with Theresa May, a very busy lady just now.

PBC: They’re testing her iron aren’t they?

Shannon: A pun about the iron lady Margaret Thatcher.

PBC: Yes, she May prove worth her mettle.

Shannon: Bad news doesn’t really upset you, does it?

PBC: It does!  These attacks hurt.  It could be us.  Still, never let the facts or emotion get in the way of a good joke.

Shannon: Or a bad one.

PBC: I don’t make judgments.

Shannon: Not even about the other comics getting in trouble these days?

PBC: You want me to continue with Time Magazine or start on those guys?

Shannon: Time Magazine.  The rest can wait a week.

PBC: Thank you.  Next we have Wang Qishan.  Isn’t that a dirty word?

Shannon: I believe so ha ha.

PBC: Then I’ll move on.  Chuck Schumer-big surprise-a New Yorker!  He’s a minority leader.  Shouldn’t they wait 2 years in case he becomes majority leader?  Of course not!  That might never happen.

Kim Jung Un is influential, especially if you’re a North Korean who wants to die of old age.

Shannon: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

PBC: He makes Phillip sick.  That’s all the influence I need: influenza.

Shannon: Perhaps I should say one thing.  Kathy Griffin is not the last name on Phillip’s list.  You make that list not just by being bad but being in his face everywhere.  She was on the B-list and will never crack an A.

Stephen Bannon is next.  I thought they already had a guy from the yogurt business.

General James Mattis is next.  Generally speaking, I’m glad there’s an American soldier on the list.  Then comes King Maha of Thailand.  I guess that means Anna Leonowens would have made the list in the 1860s.

Shannon: I don’t get it.

PBC: You should be getting to know her, getting to know all about her

Shannon: The King and I ha ha.

Cole: I knewd Yul get it sooner or later.

Shannon: Ha ha ha.

PBC: Next comes Xi Jinping.  Gee, I didn’t know he was important.  That spelled Xi so I guess he’s one tenth more important than Malcolm X ever was.

Next comes Jeff Bezos.  I keep forgetting what he does, but based on the picture I’d say he’s into razors.

Apparently James Allison is an immunotherapy pioneer.  That means he’s sticking his needles in some new places.  Keep him away from me.

LeBron James made it.  This year he influenced 3 teams to lake a longer vacation.

Rebekah Mercer’s cute, so they made the picture too small to see. 

Vijay Shekhar Sharma, great name for a rapper. 

Cole: Do ya reckon he celebrates VJ Day?

PBC: Bernard Tyson.

Cole: I could use some fried chicken about now.

Janet Yellen!  If they didn’t put her on the list she’d be Yellen.

They call Jean Liu China’s ride sharing innovator.

Brad: She can ride in my car pool anytime.

Cole: George Church; nice to have a religious feller on the list.

PBC: Don’t miss Daniel Ek in the corner.  He only gets 113 words, shortest writeup and it’s written by Ed Sheeran.

Cole: That’s on accounta he wants to get his hands back on his fans.

Shannon: We’ve run out of time again, guys.

Cole: Aw shucks.

Shannon: Until next Monday.

PBC: Bye.

Shannon: Stay tuned.

:

[shuabert]

Top 50 Albums of 2016

Despite all the ways 2016 was terrible (Brexit, the Syrian humanitarian crisis, extremist violence worldwide, Donald Trump, the deaths of so many of our heroes), one area where 2016 was a success was in terms of the quality of music released. Many of this year’s best albums were a direct response to the state of the world, some angry, some resolved, and some comforting. And others just allowed us to tune it all out and get lost in the sounds. Here is my 2016 year in review. 

Best Soundtrack/Score: Stranger Things Soundtrack (Kyle Dixon and Michael Stein)

Best Soundtrack/Compilation: Jack White - Acoustic Recordings: 1998-2016 (runner up goes to Carly Rae Jepsen for Emotion Side B, which is catchier than any b-sides record should be)

Best Live Album: (It was probably that massive Kate Bush box set, but I didn’t listen to that yet, so let’s go with...) Lissie - Live at Union Chapel

Best EP: Dan Mangan - Unmake

Worst Comeback Attempt: Blink-182 - California

The Carly Rae Jepsen Emotion Award for Most Bangers for your Buck: The Weeknd - Starboy (runners up: Kaytranada - 99.9% and Ariana Grande - Dangerous Woman)

And, my top 50 albums of the year (out of the 134 I listened to)

50 - 41

50. Savages - Adore Life 49. Sarah Neufeld - The Ridge 48. Loretta Lynn – Full Circle 47. Låpsley - Long Way Home 46. Kendrick Lamar – Untitled.Unmastered 45. Crystal Castles - Amnesty (I) 44. Car Seat Headrest – Teens of Denial 43. James Blake - The Colour in Anything 42. Swans - The Glowing Man 41. Swet Shop Boys - Cashmere

40 - 31

40. Mitski – Puberty 2 39. Laser - Night Driver 38. PJ Harvey - The Hope Six Demolition Project 37. River Tiber - Indigo 36. Dolly Parton - Pure & Simple 35. Jessy Lanza - Oh No 34. Drake – VIEWS 33. Angel Olsen – My Woman 32. Gord Downie -  Secret Path 31. Andy Shauf -  The Party

30 - 21

30. Santigold - 99¢ 29. Wintersleep -  The Great Detachment 28. Michael Kiwanuka -  Love & Hate 27. Majid Jordan - Majid Jordan 26. Blood Orange – Freetown Sound 25. Rihanna - Anti 24. Danny Brown -  Atrocity Exhibition 23. Radiohead - A Moon Shaped Pool 22. Lissie - My Wild West 21. Alicia Keys - Here

20 - 11

20. Run the Jewels – Run the Jewels 3 19. Pup - The Dream Is Over 18. Case/Lang/Viers - Case/Lang/Viers  17. Kanye West - The Life of Pablo 16. Kaytranada - 99.9% 15. Hannah Georgas - For Evelyn 14. A Tribe Called Red - We Are the Halluci Nation 13. Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds - Skeleton Tree 12. Solange - A Seat at the Table 11. The Weeknd - Starboy

10 - 01

10. Anohni – Hopelessness

“I wanna burn the sky, I wanna burn the breeze / I wanna see the animals die in the trees / Ooh, let’s go, let’s go, it’s only four degrees”

Lines like “Let me be the one…you choose from above,” sound painfully romantic until they come in a song about drone warfare. And that’s only one example of the way Anohni’s Hopelessness blends the beautiful and the horrific. The album reads as the love letter to state-sanctioned violence (geopolitical, environmental, physical) that most of us won’t admit we’re living. Ahnohni’s dizzy croons over blissful electronics are more beautiful than something called “Hopelessness” has any right to be. 

09. A Tribe Called Quest - We Got It from Here... Thank You 4 Your Service

“You bastards overlooking street art / Better yet, street smarts, but you keep us off the charts / So motherfuck your numbers and your statisticians / Fuck y’all know about true competition?”

This never-expected final album from ATCQ exemplifies the phrase, “rolling in their graves,” like a legend resurrected (literally, in the case of Phife Dawg, who appears here posthumously) by a dark present. Making explicit reference to the campaign rhetoric of Donald Trump (even going as far as to sample the Oompa Loompa song from Willy Wonka), the album was timed as a middle finger to a candidate expected to lose. That he won makes it is a necessary balm to the political lesions of the next term. Effortless and full of life, We Got It… shows a group that feels like they never left at all. Legends never die.  

08. Leonard Cohen -  You Want It Darker

“I heard the snake was baffled by his sin / He shed his scales to find the snake within / But born again is born without a skin / The poison enters into everything”

The opening title track on Leonard Cohen’s final album feels prescient, a potent exploration of God and death from a poet who saw both on the horizon. “Hineni, Hineni, I’m ready my Lord,” he sings wearily, but it feels ambivalent. Shit, who wouldn’t be? The instrumentations from Cohen’s son Adam act as a guide for Cohen’s minimalist vocals, here at their most powerful and tired. The blending of romance and religion, the physical and the spiritual are classic Cohen. “I’m leaving the table / I’m out of the game” he says on “Leaving the Table.” You can’t help imagine him tip that iconic fedora with a subtle grin on the way out. You Want It Darker is a stellar album to cap off an unassailable legacy. 

07. Thrice - To Be Everywhere Is to be Nowhere 

“Would you stay with me / if you thought the war was over / and everything made right? / Would you still believe in us? / And would your love for me grow colder / with no one left to fight?”

Thrice’s first album in five years after announcing an indefinite hiatus in 2012 couldn’t have come at a better time. Steeped in politics and apocalyptic imagery, TBEITBN recalls some of the band’s best work while sounding like a perfect encapsulation of the tumult and fear of the past 18 months. With songs about drone bombing, whistleblowing, and foreign policy, this is an album wholly concerned with the state of geopolitics today, though not without its songs of love and hope, however tenuous. It is a blues-rock-meets-post-hardcore manifesto exploring reluctant complicity in state-sanctioned terror, abuse of power, and the fear of self-destruction. All of this with the tight creative energy of a band of best friends who have played together for almost two decades. 

06. David Bowie - Blackstar

“Just like that bluebird / oh, I’ll be free / Ain’t that just like me?”

It is difficult to separate Blackstar from David Bowie’s death, because the album was calibrated and timed so much to be a part of it, a final confrontation to mortality and the legacy of fame. For the first few days it almost felt like his alleged death might be part of some grand performance art piece — that’s so Bowie. A year later Blackstar feels, as it should, like a David Bowie album, full of cryptic imagery, bewildering lyrics, inspired musical flourishes, and emotional resonance. “Blackstar” is the best Radiohead song of the year, jazz inflections and unexpected absurdist turns of lyrical phrase demand repeated, concentrated listening, and the haunting “Lazarus” perfectly  denotes the way in which Bowie’s consistent reinvention has made him an artist outside of time and beyond death. “Everybody knows me now,” he sings on Lazarus. And they always will. 

05. White Lung - Paradise

“I’ve got a basic need / Kiss me when I bleed / They say I split my pride in two / when I became a bride for you / But what do they know?” 

 As deliriously melodic and powerful a punk rock racket as you’ll ever find, Paradise finds Vancouver’s White Lung sharpening their skills and their teeth. Mish Barber-Way’s vocals are more refined but no less sneeringly powerful as she spits over meticulously-arranged and elegantly-produced instrumentations that average under 3 minutes in length. Clocking in at 28 minutes, “Paradise” is the tightest and most purposeful rock record of the year, which is impressive considering how deeply the record explores the body horror inherent in being a woman in a patriarchal society. 

04. Frank Ocean - Blonde

“You showed me love / Glory from above / Regard, my dear / it’s all downhill from here.” 

 Frank Ocean’s long-anticipated follow up to Channel Orange is a challenging first listen, less immediate and more thoughtful than its predecessor. “RIP Trayvon. That nigga look just like me,” Ocean sings on the album opener “Nikes,” a disarmingly down-tempo number whose bittersweetness creeps up and sets the tone for a contemplative and deeply personal album of tonal lethargy and spare instrumentations. References to “pink and white” skies and “black and yellow” streets are prescriptive: this is an album for the fading days of summer, the fading hours of the day, when a twilight drive brings pains of nostalgia and regret to light. 

03. Beyonce - Lemonade

“They say true love’s the greatest weapon / to win the war caused by pain / But every diamond has imperfections / But my love’s too pure to watch it chip away”

Lemonade is the stuff of great drama, a kitchen sink story by way of an epic as it spins out a relationship story without a neat conclusion. It is a master-work of rage and heartbreak and, ultimately, hope, blind as it may be. But that pain is more alive for how Lemonade makes the personal political. This is about more than just Beyoncé and Jay Z, it is about fathers making their daughters tough and setting them up to be betrayed by men just like them. It is about survival and resilience in a world that doesn't care about you. It is a testament to the vision and production that Lemonade mines so many disparate genres (pop, blues, country, r&b, reggae) yet feels so cohesive. Beyoncé was a career milestone, a pop album about the thrills and joy of marriage, but Lemonade is transcendent, a genre-defying album about betrayal and the challenges of marriage as a metaphor for the ways relationships of all kinds destroy and sustain us. 

02. Tanya Tagaq - Retribution

“Sacrifice / Our blood goes back into the earth / In. Out. Womb. Core.” 

 If Mother Earth groaned in pain on Tanya Tagaq’s 2014 album, Animism, then she delights in the destruction of humanity on Retribution, an album that finds the Inuk throat singer croon with a trickster’s smirk that “Gaia likes it cold.” Here, at her most metal, she asserts that “the retribution will be swift” if humanity continues down a path of ecological devastation. Her most sonically-diverse album in vocal and collaborative terms (featuring producer Jesse Zubot’s haunting strings, Christine Duncan and the Element Choir, a cover of Nirvana’s “Rape Me” and a collaboration with rapper Shad), Retribution is a career milestone and the most stunning work of Indigenous art of the year. 

01. Chance the Rapper - Coloring Book

“I don’t make songs for free, I make ‘em for freedom.”

Coloring Book plays like the kind of album that could only have been written by someone experiencing the life-changing miracle of childbirth for the first time. Gospel choirs and horns back an album of ebullient joy that in sound and title suggests a blank space full of possibility. The religious fervor of Chance’s unabashed positivity was just what we needed in 2016. Chance’s desire to “give Satan a swirlie” reminded us not to take ourselves too seriously while fighting evil, and “All Night” might be the year’s hardest banger this side of Drake’s “One Dance.” Coloring Book was like a big hug in the face of a cruel year, an invitation for us all to be with family, to remember the good times and to help one another through the bad. By the time the album closes with the refrain “are you ready for your blessings; are you ready for your miracle?” it feels like both a challenge and a plea. Bring on 2017.