#not that they really needed to convince people to buy a beatles album

[javelinbk]

Paul McCartney and John Lennon talking about the cover of Rubber Soul, The Beatles Anthology (1995)

Paul: And the cover story... you know that... the cover where we looked stretched, the photo's stretched... that was the kinda thing would happen then, which... we were all very into that kind of random, little exciting thing that would happen. The photographer was Bob Freeman and he'd taken some pictures round at John's house in Weybridge and we just had our new gear on, the polo necks, and we were doing straight mugshots, the four of us all posing. And he came... back in London he was, it was in someone's flat, and he was showing us, he had a little carousel of slides and he had a piece of cardboard stuck up on a little chair that was album cover sized, and he was projecting the photographs exactly on to it, cause you could imagine exactly how it would look then as an album cover... it was a kind of good way to do it. But just as he... we'd just chosen the photo, we said, well that one looks good... and we all liked, we all liked ourselves in one particular shot, and he was just winding up when the card it was on just fell backwards a little bit, and it elongated the photo and it stretched, and we went 'Oh!' we went, 'Can we have that! Can you do it like that?' and he said 'Well yeah, I can print it like that' and we said 'Yeah, that's it! Rubber soul! Hey-hey!' John: You see there's no great mysterious meanings behind all of this, it was just four boys, you know, working out what to call their new album

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

when/how did you realize beatles music was amazing and something you couldn't live without?

I'm trying to not start off every answer with "OOF" but you people do keep sending me loaded questions lol. That's fine though, I enjoy it, keep it coming! My close attachment to the bug boys (both their music and them) is new. It more or less started at the beginnng of May of this year.

I've always known about them and known a good handful of songs. We sang Yellow Submarine and Hello Goodbye in school, I have memories of playing Beatles Rockband once at my cousin's house and also the Love album used to be relatively regular car music for my family. Also, I was in class with someone who was obsessed with their music and sometimes she'd be playing songs. My opinion on the music for most of my life has been kind of… middling. There were songs I really liked or loved (like Help! or Eleanor Rigby) songs I thought were fine but didn't take much note of (something like Being For The Benefit of Mr Kite) and ones I just really didn't get the hype for (A Hard Day's Night comes to mind [I love it now]). But I have a sort of kneejerk sceptic reaction to people hyping stuff up for no discernible reason sometimes, and so the more I'd hear older people with little knowledge of music theory and history call them the be-all end-all of music, the more I sort of developed a kind of aversion to them. I just hate being told to respect and/or like things without knowing why, y'know?

PSA to older Beatles fans: you will NOT convince younger people to listen to your music by telling them their music taste sucks actually.

On the other hand, I had also sort of gotten the idea I should maybe go through their entire discography and get behind the myth of it all. I sort of attempted this a few times over the years, like I started listening to Sgt. Pepper once and then for some reason had to stop halfway, and I listened to the This Is The Beatles playlist on spotify a few nights in a row in 2019 lol.

What actually made me commit to doing it was 1) I had seen a LOT of backlash against Taylor for breaking the Beatles' records for 3 number one albums within the least amount of time in the UK last April, and like the sheer stupidity of some of the arguments being made why "Actually She Didn't Break This Record" really set me off (for example talking about it being "more effort" to buy an album back in the day… But the Beatles weren't competing for number one against anyone who had it "easier" to sell their albums and Taylor wasn't competing against anyone who had it "harder" than her. Or talking about absolute pure sales numbers when that's not what going number one means?) and 2) in a Discord I was in, someone shared a link to an 8-Bit version of Sgt. Pepper at the beginning of May, which I decided to listen to cause it seemed like good study music and I rather enjoyed! I found it really let their talent for creating good melodies shine through.

WHY DO I KEEP COMPLETELY EXPOSING MYSELF IN MINIATURE ESSAYS WHEN ASKED STRAIGHTFORWARD QUESTIONS

Anyways, so all of that made me go okay! I'm gonna go through this motherfucking huge discography then I will know this music better than a LOT of the people who hype it up and then I will be able to be objective about all of this.

So I listened to Sgt. Pepper and Please Please Me and then the White Album. The first was enjoyable but I didn't really ~get the immense hype, Please Please Me bored me at first (I think their early style is something you kind of need to get into and need to hear a few times to fully appreciate. But also Love Me Do sucks and why a record label thought it would be a good debut single is absolutely BEYOND ME) and the last one REALLY caught me off guard. There was stuff in there I loved (Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da is actually possibly my very first favourite song that wasn't a kids' song. I used to have to go to these psychomotor education classes and that song played there often and I adored it. Also Piggies slaps, send tweet) but also like a lot of stuff I found pretty weird and off-putting. And I still haven't warmed up to Yer Blues and Why Don't We Do It In The Road. That album did, however, get me very interested in the band. I think the weirdness of the album really just invited me to look into their history. I wanted to understand why they had broken up. That sent me down the rabbithole of the India trip history and I just kept reading more and more wikipedia articles related to all of it.

It was around this point I sort of came to realize that I'd had a lot of wrong preconceived notions about them, especially John. I was never someone like roaming around twitter, yelling for him to be cancelled, but he had simply never seemed sympathetic to me. For instance, IDK if I misunderstood what someone told me or if that person had misunderstood, but the story of John learning chords with Paul left-handed to follow him better (and maybe also Stuart not letting Paul change around the strings on his bass) had somehow been morphed into John finding Paul's left-handed playing off-putting and forcing Paul to play right-handed?? And I was like "Wow, what an asshole!" Also all the 1970 narrative that the two didn't like each other, plus I projected boomers' and gen-xers' Beatle snobism onto them and just got the impression they were pretentious narcissists. (I mean they were kind of that, but not to the extent or in the same way I imagined)

So I think learning these things opened me up to them more. Like I realized Hey! They were my age! And then at some point I found out about the Christmas albums and thought that was so fascinating, that that existed, (a huge part of my initial interest was my fascination with the marketing around them, which is why I watched AHDN and Help! super early on) so I listened to those and was like "Fuck! These guys are endearing!" and then I remember lurking on bug-tumblr and seeing that "Well that was very observant of them, because we aren't American actually" quote and I wanted to find the video of it and ended up finding this legendary video. And starting to actually like these guys and realizing they took all of this ten times less seriously than their Boomer fans do made me more excited to keep listening to the discography and look up more of the stories behind the songs and just kind of… Come to understand them better. I also found that once I accepted that some Boomers are just gonna hype up their fave music too much I'd enjoy it more. Like I'd listen to I Want To Hold Your Hand and get a bit defensive like "why do you love this so much??? the lyrics are so dumb??" but when I just kind of accepted that fact I realized no! It's an amazingly structured bop, which yes, has weak lyrics but it's fine!!! It's the Call Me Maybe of its day and that's NOT a bad thing!!

And in the end they have an amazingly versatile catalogue that covers most things you might be in the mood for. It is kind of hard (for me) not to like it.

There are still sort of two bands in my head: the archetype, the myth, the pretentious group of people who hate each other that I just sort of instinctively want to dislike and the band who sang all those songs I had NO IDEA existed and came into my life without any baggage or expectations from my part. I've pretty much never listened to say Hey Jude in the past months, even though I don't find it bad the outro is too fucking long because it's kind of got too much of that baggage to me still.

This was SUCH a ramble but I hope this makes sense to people to some extent. Anyways I'm a new fan, drag me, but maybe drag me more for how much I seem to know after three months. Seriously, this is a curse.

[timeaftertime-chriscornellfanfic]

Chapter 45 - Hey There, Little Time Traveler

Seattle Washington, December 24 1990

(Andi is 20, Chris is 26)

ANDI: Later on that evening, we arrive at Layne and Demri's for some Christmas drinks and maybe a bit of a jam session. I could tell that Chris just wanted to let lose and have fun after the whole confrontation with his father earlier, so what better way to spend Christmas eve than with friends that we both love an adore.

For as long as I've know Chris, I've never met his father. He just wasn't apart of the picture and he rarely -  if ever -  talked about him at all, and I never asked what happened between them. For Chris to react the way he did, there had to have been issues that are obviously not resolved and I for one, am not going to push anything on him. It's not my place to.

After Chris had stepped outside, Ed was asking me a few more questions about myself and how we met. I didn't tell him in great detail, I just told him that we met through a friend of ours and that we got married back in September. I figure I would leave out the whole time travelling part because that's a whole other conundrum of a topic I don't really care to discuss. I did get a little uncomfortable when he would try and explain what had happened with the family in the past. Again, it's not my place, and I started to get the feeling that maybe Ed was trying to downplay what happened during Chris's childhood and that he really wasn't that bad and that he wanted to make amends. That was when I excused myself to the kitchen and grabbed some pie and went outside. It just didn't feel right. There is no way that Chris would act that way if it didn't affect him and there is no way I'm going to try to convince my husband that his father - who I've only known for an hour - that he had the best intentions. No matter what I'm going to be on Chris's side and there's nothing and no one who can change that.

Right now, Chris and I are sitting in the living room of Layne and Demri's apartment, him leaning against me sipping his beer with his arm across my lap, listening to everyone's laughter. He looks so gorgeous with his curls pulled back, wearing his 90 logo baseball hat, his silver hoop earrings shining in the dim light of the living room.

"...man, just stay with me and Andi," Chris says to Jerry as he takes another sip of his beer, which surprised me for a moment and I glance at Chris with my eyebrow raised. I'll be honest, I was only half hearing the conversation between them as I sip my Jack and Coke, but that statement caught my attention quick.

"No I couldn't do that to you guys, I mean you two just got married..."

"Jerry it's cool... look you can't keep hopping from couch to couch, trust me, I've been there, it sucks," Chris says. He then takes another sip and Jerry glances at me as if to ask me if it's alright.

"Well, if Andi says it's ok?" Jerry says still giving me that look and Chris turns to look at me. Again, I wish I had actually heard the whole conversation but I couldn't say no that face.

"Yea... yea of course you can stay with us. As long as you need to," I say. I mean I wasn't against the idea and I love Jerry. I just wish we talked about it before Chris just offered it.

"Ok, thank you. Thank you guys," He smiles at us and Chris pats him on the shoulder.

"Wait - when were you sleeping on peoples couches?" I ask Chris taking a sip of my drink.

"Um... I was like, 17 or somethin',  just after I left home," Chris says. I furrow my brow for a moment trying to remember but it must have been when he didn't see me for a couple of years -for him anyways.

"Andi, come here, I need your opinion on something," Demri says and flashes me a wink while she nods towards the hallway where the bedrooms were.

"Um... ok?" I raise my eyebrow at her while she continues to nod gesturing to the hallway.

"You better go help her before she ends up getting stuck that way," Chris smirks and I roll my eyes at him with a giggle. I lean forward and set my glass on the coffee table. Just as I rise from the couch, I feel Chris playfully smack my ass which startles me and I turn to look down at him while he sips his beer. "What?" He adds with his eyebrows raised  - as if he didn't know why I was looking at him.

I say nothing as I pick up my glass from the coffee table, keeping my eyes on him so that he doesn't smack it again.

"It was looking at me, I swear. I couldn't help it," He chuckles with a shrug, then smiles at me.

"Uh huh, yea right," I smirk as I turn away from him taking a sip of my drink while I make my way around the coffee table. Walking over to Demri, I can hear the boys laughing but it's alright. Chris always gets a lot more playful when he's been drinking.

"So, what did you want my opinion on?" I ask once Demri leads me into her and Layne's bedroom.

"What do you think of this jacket?" Demri says as she moves over to the closet and pulls out a box to set it down on the bed. She then pulls out the contents, revealing a black leather moto jacket. "It's for Layne but I wanted to make sure it looked ok. What do you think?" She adds.

"Wow Dem it's cool... really cool. He's gonna love it," I smile as I take a sip of my drink, setting it down on the dresser and walk over to her. The jacket is gorgeous.

"You think? I mean I saved as much as I could to buy it. I tried to find one in some thrift stores but no luck, so I figured it's best to get a new one y'know, then it'll last like... forever - well almost forever," She giggles.

"Awe Dem no this is awesome, he's really gonna love it," I say as I examine the jacket. It even has that new leather smell. I love it and it's not even for me.

"What did you get Chris?" She leans into me and whispers though I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to hear us anyways.

"I feel bad cause it's not much but um... a pair of red Doc's and a Bauhaus record," I wince and Demri giggles.

"Awe, Andi," She says.

" - I know but we spent so much this year on the new house and the wedding, along with the European tour this summer that it sort of left us broke. I just... didn't want to disappoint him"

"Andi, you could never disappoint that boy, he's gonna love whatever you give him. Fuck... you know Chris has never cared about material stuff like that. You just bought him a guitar for his birthday, I'm pretty sure he's not gonna hold it against you if it's just a pair of boots and a record," She chuckles as she sets the jacket back in the box and turns to set it back down on the floor of the closet.

"Yea I know..." I trail off.

"Ugh I hate having to pee a thousand times an hour when I drink, I'll be right back" She says and I giggle as she walks quickly over to her dresser, takes the last sip of her drink and quickly heads out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom.  

While I wait for her, I take a look in her closet at all the different clothes she has. Demri has always sort of had a sixties love child vibe to her style that is the complete opposite of me and when we're together, you wouldn't think we would get along so well, but that just goes to show that you can't judge someone for how they look.  

Her and Xana always seemed to borrow each others clothes when they used to be close. Xana was always trying to push some of her style on me and though sometimes I really did like what she had but I always felt awkward and out of my element wearing flowy skirts and huge belled sleeves.  Like I always say, you'll have to pry my ripped up band shirts and leggings/jeans out of my cold dead hands before you could ever try and change me. I miss Xana sometimes. Don't ask me why, because she wasn't exactly the greatest friend to me. She did take advantage of me a lot but, she did introduce me to the love of my life so...

"I grabbed another bottle from the boys, here take a sip," Demri says as she comes back in the room breaking me out of my reverie. She holds out a bottle of Bushmills Irish Whiskey to me after she takes a sip. I gladly take the bottle from her and take a sip, feeling the warmth trickle down my throat.

Damn that's good.

I hand it back to her and she takes another sip and I can already feel my drunkeness take hold which is weird because I haven't had very much to drink at all. Oh well, the feeling is awesome regardless.

"Andi, you know you can borrow anything you see in there that you like," Demri says as she climbs up on the bed, crossing her legs and pushing her curls out of the way to take a drink from the bottle.

"Nah, it's ok. I mean you have really cute stuff, it's just not me though," I say and climb up on the bed with her sitting across from her as she passes me the bottle and I take another sip.

"Yea, I guess it would be a little weird to see you in this kind of shirt," She says gesturing to her flowy belled sleeves of her cream colored sixties style chiffon blouse crop top.  "You better stick to... um... what band is that?" she adds as she gestures to my tank top underneath my red plaid button up shirt.

"Sepultura," I say as I look down and pull at the shirt so she could see it more. 'It's the cover of their Beneath The Remains album"

"Oh ok," She says as I pass the bottle back to her and she takes another sip.

"Chris was actually the one who got me into them... go figure eh?" I giggle.

"Really? Chrissy is all about weird stuff but I didn't know he was into that," She says and passes the bottle back to me.

"Yea, I know right? He can go from playing The Beatles all day then he'll switch it up to thrash and death metal... sometimes even going from that right into some old blues records which I absolutely love. He's just all over the place sometimes, " I say and take a sip.

"And that's what makes him perfect for you - well obviously there's more than just that but - "

"I know what you mean," I laugh.

As Demri and I continue to hang out in her room, pretty much talking about anything and everything, laughing while we both take sips from the bottle, I was beginning to really feel myself progressively get more inebriated with each sip.

"... and that's how I ended up on the floor completely naked at the back of The Moore and everyone just freaking out, cause Chris was the only one to ever see me come back from a time slip..." I laugh while Demri just looks wide eyed at as she takes the bottle of Bushmills from her lips.

"Wait, ok so I know you time slip but I didn't know you're naked when it happens?" She says incredulously passing me the bottle.

"Well I don't start out that way if I can help it, I just... can't take any material that isn't me though time," I say in between taking a sip from the bottle. "That's why I got this tattoo on my finger as a wedding ring," I add, passing the bottle back to her.

"Oh yeah, let me see, I still haven't seen it all finished yet," She says taking a sip, then passing the bottle back over and taking my hand in hers to study it. "It's so cool, did you design it?"

"Well mostly Chris, but I kinda gave him the idea and he just went with it. Then we just went to a shop the day after the wedding and had it finished," I explain as she runs her finger over mine and I take another sip.

Suddenly the mood begins to change and though I'm feeling pretty drunk at this point, and need to use the bathroom, so I attempt to get up from sitting cross-legged on the bed and I suddenly trip with Demri reaching out for me.

"Oh shit, Andi! " She calls and I suddenly take her down with me and she's on top of me on the floor and we are just laughing our asses off.

"Well, there's all sorts of gravity in here," I laugh and she's laughing and before I knew it, whether it's just because I'm so drunk that I wasn't even paying attention to what was happening, or I completely just couldn't even think about what was going on, Demri was over top of me and her lips were suddenly on mine.

At first I wasn't really paying attention and by a knee jerk reaction I just responded. Why? I don't know. I sort of just got caught up in the moment. I had never kissed another girl before ever, and her lips feel so soft and different. Then after about a minute or so of her lips moving with mine, I quickly pull away and look up at her and she looks down at me and all I wanted to do was get to the bathroom as quickly as possible.

"Um, I really... really need to... um, I need to go to the bathroom-"

"Andi? Andi wait -," She says and I move myself away from her, get to my feet and although I was stumbling just a little, I was able to make it out of the room and down the hall.

I quickly open the door to the bathroom, flick on the light and close the door quickly behind me, leaning against it as I catch my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I slowly walk up to my reflection and to me I look alright, but I'm pretty sure you can tell that I'm pretty drunk at this point.

Fuck, I shouldn't have taken my meds before coming here.

Feeling slightly dizzy, I flip my curls out of my face and steady myself along the sink vanity, finally making it to sit down on the toilet seat. I close my eyes for a moment and take in a long deep breath, trying to steady myself.

Please don't slip, please, please don't slip.

"Andi? You ok?" I hear Demri call from the other side of the door, and I flick my eyes open.

"Yea, I think so... um... can you get Chris? I need Chris," I slur and close my eyes again. I hear her quietly say something and then a few moments later I hear footsteps walking down the hall.

"Babe?" I hear Chris' deep muffled voice on the other side of the door, but at this point the room was spinning so bad I couldn't lift myself from the toilet seat to open the door.

"In - in here," I slur as I hear the door open.

"Shit, you alright?" He asks.

"No," I manage to get out, though I keep my eyes closed.

"What happened babe?" He says and he kneels down in front of me.

"I don't know, I'm trying not to um... freak out, and slip," I slur.

"Babe - here look at me. What's wrong.... what happened?" He says so sweetly as I look at him and he cups my face in his palms.

"Too much... I think I took too much," I slur.

"Too much? Too much what? What did you take?" He asks, his voice rising as he tries to keep me focused but suddenly everything goes dark.

*****

CHRIS: "Whoa... so that's what happens when she slips?" Demri says with a bit of a slur standing in the doorway to the bathroom while I hold Andi's clothes in my hands.

"What happened?" I ask worriedly looking up at Demri.

"Nothing - "

"Dem, she was fine before she went with you in the bedroom... what happened?" I ask rising from kneeling in the bathroom floor.

"Nothing, I swear... we were just sipping some whiskey and having like... girl talk, that's all I swear" Demri says with those big eyes of worry and I realize I might be freaking her out. But I can't help it though, I can't help feeling this way every time she slips away from me.

"Fuck," I sigh as I pick up her clothes and move passed Demri and head back down the hall.

"Chris, hey... wait where are you going, what happened?" Layne asks as I head towards the front door with Andi's clothes in my arms and her boots, trying to grab my own jacket at the same time.

"Andi slipped," I say trying to be calm but I can't help but worry.

"Wait what?" Jerry asks sitting up on the couch in confusion.

"Is it because of me? I did it right? I made her slip," Demri says becoming upset as Layne walks over to her and takes her in his arms, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"No, honey no, why would you think that?" Layne says sweetly to her while I fumble trying to get my jacket on.

"I was the one who made her slip," Demri starts to cry and Layne looks at me.

"What the fuck happened man?" He asks.

"I don't know, ask Dem," I retort, trying to zip up my jacket.

"I kissed her ok? Are you happy? I kissed her it just happened, I don't know why but I just did. I just..." She trails off and I slowly look back at her as Layne looks confused.

"What? What do you mean you kissed her?" Layne asks her

"I mean... ugh, ok we were just drinking in our room and just being silly, but then she said she had to use the washroom, so when she got up, she tripped and I tried to catch her but I fell down on top of her and we just kept laughing and then... I don't know I just kissed her. I don't know why, I just was caught up in the moment and it just happened. But I think I might have freaked her out or something. I didn't mean to freak her out. I didn't mean to make her time travel - time slip or whatever..." Demri says quickly and for some reason I found it sweet that she kissed her. I couldn't help but grin as she explain what happened. I thought I would feel jealous and angry but I actually don't.

"Are you mad?" She asks Layne and he just chuckles.

"No, baby I'm not mad. Surprised but I'm not mad," Layne smiles.

"Are you mad Chrissy?" Demri asks wiping a tear from her cheek.

"No, no Dem I'm not mad," I say quietly with a chuckle.

"Ok good cause I love her - well I mean I love you both and I wouldn't want you mad at me because of my impulsiveness," She giggles and Layne kisses her on her temple.

"No Dem it's ok, I'm not mad. I'm just... I never know what the fuck to do when she slips like this. If I should go home and wait, or... what," I say.

"Chris man, c'mon don't leave, she might come back here, you never know," Jerry says as he rises from the couch.

"But what if she doesn't and I'm here and she's somewhere where.. I don't know," I say.

"Do you know where she is right now?" Jerry asks me taking a sip of his beer.

"No," I sigh.

"Ok well just hang out, relax... she always comes back right?" Jerry asks.

And that's the question I always ask myself every time she leaves me.

[sastrugie]

john entwistle biography review

ok so first: I didnt really like the biography because I thought it would focus on totally different aspects. John was a musical virtuoso and that hardly ever gets mentioned in the book. But we get exact axccounts on how much money he spent on what day and in which pub he bought which champagne. like wow thanks. The other personal stuff is basic who knowledge you can read in any other Who biography. His autobiographical bits were joy and fun! Maybe the only reason to buy the book in my opinion. He writes totally different than the author...

ANYWAYS: here my fav facts from the book that you probably didnt know before

this is the face of a man who -when his father gave him driving lessons for his 21st birthday as a present- decided driving wasnt really his thing and he spent the money on clothes and parties instead. He never had a drivers license ever and also never desired to have one 

the hospital he was born in, was bombarded and destructed one day after his birth

as a child he was really weak and thin and had basically every disease that existed

his family was poor af

his father left the family early and held contact with his son, but soon disappeared with a new family

his stepdad, Gordon, disliked John alot and would ignore him, hated everything John did or said and he let his bad moods out on Johns mother, which caused John to be very silent and observative around the house so that there wouldnt be any trouble

he did everything to please Queenie (his mom) so that there was no fighting, according to Alison

loved drawing and playing but usually alone since he had no friends apart from their dog

he heard a trumpet solo once from a trad jazz band when he was 6 or so and decided he wanted to learn the trumpet

my fav line of the book probably: “despite his own expectations, he passed the exams to go to grammar school” like same

at school he was bullied from the older boys but soon left alone by them because he would fight back with badass comments 

he applied for the school band for the trumpet but the tallest guy in the year was chosen (he was the 2nd tallest)  which made John mad, but he discovered the french horn

soon he found a friend, mickey brown, at last and he gave him the nickname “ent”

he was so terrible in P.E that he was dismissed with other pupils to play somehwere else, they were called “the hockey misfits” and guess who was among them: Pete Townshend.

yeah as you might know they became besties because they loved music and black humour.

he found himself a gf (alison) and Pete & a school gang (like 4 ppl) and his life seemed to finally get where it should.

his worst subjects were geography and german like wow (im a german geography student lmao)

once they played in a pub and johns stepdad was there and was super angry and gave john a list with his fav pubs and told him “these are the places I never want to hear your fucking music playing”.

after walking home pete decided to switch the guitar and john wanted to become a musician more than ever

Roger found him and John kind of convinced him (it took months apparently) to get Pete into the band and then it all started

he judged the beatles because John Lennons harmonica was “out of tune” in love me do, wow ok you nerd

john started smoking with 20 and was the last one to quit his job for the band and he was against drugs at first (bc he had a “civilized” job) but then decided to give a shit, dyed his hair black, bought cigarettes, smoked dope with pete and did speed too

he wanted to step out of himself and feel good about himself and he was always a fashionnerd so he started buying and trading and selling clothes (he once was dismissed from school bc he wore the school uniform incorrectly)

with 18 or so he was still living at home, had a toy soldier collection and a pet budgie

pete and his college friends made fun of john bc he wasnt a student and still lived at home, although john could have gone to college too and he wanted to, but his stepdad again said no and he had no choice.

he was very awkward and introverted but could open up with his music 

he was really into pop art (esp pop art clothes)

was a pseudo mod bc he only liked the fancy clothes and motown music

with the who he found a purpose in his life and finally could be different than ordinary ppl

hated when people touched his hair, he literally hated it

would fuss much about his hair in general

once after a concert they were starving and the room service was alreday home so they had to look on used plates and food wagons and John found a shrimp and said: “who wants to dine with me tonight?” (idk that really made me laugh)

keith moon was john entwistles soulmate and they were the cutest, most iconic and funniest duo ever end of discussion

his amps would soon be called little manhatten bc he had so many bc he wanted to be loud

he actually went to sing at church once when he was like 24 and the band made fun of him then he stopped

in the late 60s he bought a house with alison in a normal neighbourhood and went walking the dogs on sundays and stuff

but he was a party animal and always the last to go

he was really sensitive and cried often according to Alison but only in front of certain people

he would totally step out of his way to please people

when they played at the monterey pop festival they didnt bring their own amps along and john was furious bc he said the american amps are shit and kit was like “no” and john didnt talk to him for the whole festival until their perfomance was over and they had sounded like shit to tell kit “I TOLD YOU SO” thats how extra he was

when he got money he would spend it bc he was so used to being poor that he thought it wouldnt last long and he had to enjoy it NOW

he was always calm and everyone respected him and kit told a story where he entered the room and roger was at keiths throat and and pete was screaming something and john was sitting in the corner cleaning his nails. thats who energy

liked to dance at parties

his fav drink was rémy cognac with 40% and he would drink like 1 bottle alone everyday in his later years...wow dude

he was also gentlemanTM and once paid taxis for girls from london to brighton after a party

once at a wedding the free drinks were out and John just gave the barkeeper his creditcard and said he will pay for all the drinks of the night for everyone (it wasnt his wedding)

Roger once said: “John made smartass comments that deserved a punch in the face” sounds like him yes

he didnt really care about money and always wanted to pay and never told anyone how much things had cost and brought gifts for everyone

soon that ended in a shopping addiction tho and he bought ridiculous things for ridiculous amounts of money

when the who was inactive he sank into depression :(

held the band together during who by numbers & who are you

wrote and played all the quadrophenia horn parts himself

never lost his passion for art and always drawed alot, said Alison

cried when Christopher was born aww

once he saw their manager in an art museum and how he wanted to buy a painting but couldnt afford it, so John bought it secretly and shipped it to said managers home as a gift

We all know John was a huge collector. His most treasured collection was .. wait for it: teapots.

he tried to save Keith from being arrested once and ended up being arrested too lol

wanted to write a scifi concept album but desorted the idea and gave some songs to the who (905) or Pete

was a good cook apparently

When he gave a hug HE was the one who decided when to let go sdfghjk

hated confrontation and would hire other people to tell someone bad news

he spent so much money on dumb shit like wtf

but didnt really care either

probably the master in picking up and seducing girls

he let his stepdad live in the quarwood mansion when he wasnt there but Gordon was still an asshole wtf

the contact to his real dad was really sporadic

when the who ended, it hit him really hard and he didnt know what to do besides partying and buying stuff/hording stuff

was very insecure and selfconscious in the 80s according to Maxene :(

he actually took pete breaking up the who really personal and was sad 24/7

was that kind of guy that said bad stuff about the who but when you said bad stuff he would try to kill you on spot

with cocaine he felt really confident and still like the 60s/70s rockstar he once was but he didnt understand that these times were over and he needed to move on

sometimes went into random pubs with friends and made jam sessions for the guests

he still was generous and loving until he died and tried to play with other bands but it was not the same

he really liked Kenney and hung out with him more than with his wife at some point lmao

was a total giver and people who worked at quarwood would steal money from him but when someone pointed that out he got angry with that person for even suggesting that

was a real softieee (and a huge nerd)

all his friends said that he was shy at first but once you got to know him he would come totally out of himself, was very funny, loved to tell stories, was very very loyal and would try evertyhing to make you laugh aww

all in all a glorious story with a sad ending and he did destroy himself completely, but lets remember that Pete Townshend described old John still as "wonderful, mature and elegant” so lets cling on to that :)

[valhallamercury]

bassist | boh rhap!john deacon x female!reader

Summary: Ever since you’ve met John, you’ve happily thrown yourself down the rabbit hole of falling in love with him. And honestly, how could you resist? He was kind, sweet, and not to mention handsome. Now the only problem: getting to go on a date with  A/N: The requested part two of secretary, so make sure you read that before reading this! This was so much fun to write, tell me if you’d guys would like a part three! :) Warnings: none, except that this is unedited.  Tag list: @lizgarxo @josephhmazzello @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl Word count: 1,994

After your first encounter with the dark-haired man, you had practically thrown yourself into a pit labeled “in love with John Richard Deacon.” Could anyone blame you though? Every time John came in with his friends to record their album, he always made sure to stop by and talk to you. He would tell you about the album and the boys, and you would tell him about how work was going and your pride and joy, which was your cat named Fleur. On bad days, he would make you smile. On some days, he brought you flowers, on others he brought you tea with compliments written on the cup. You dreamed of the day John would ask you out, and each day you would be let down when he didn’t. But you wouldn’t give up.

You sat at the front desk, organizing papers for Mr. Foster that needed to be done before noon. You checked the clock again. 10:34. You’ve got this, Y/N, why are you even worrying about it? You know you’ll have these done in 10 minutes, You thought to yourself. You knew the real reason behind your stress, though you wouldn’t admit it. You hadn’t seen John’s sunshine face in three days, making you worry that you had said something to upset him. A tap tap tap against your desk made your thoughts end. 

You looked up, seeing a familiar smiling face. You’re little sunshine was back. 

“John!” You exclaimed happily, his fond smile becoming contagious against your lips. “I haven’t seen you in a while, I was starting to worry something had happened.” You admitted, resting your head against the palm of your hand. Y/N, your papers, a voice in the back of your head nagged. You decided to ignore it. 

“No, no, I’m perfectly fine. Really. We’ve just been so busy with the album, haven’t had much time to chat.” He explained shyly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

“Well, I’m glad to see your pretty face again. I’ve missed our little talks.” You smiled fondly at John, seeing his face light up to a bright pink color. It was a fun little game you liked to play: see how many times you could get John to blush. It definitely wasn’t one-sided though, for there were many occasions where Mr. Deacon had made your face go hot. 

“I’ve missed them too.” John returned your smile, leaning his elbows against your desk as he conversed with you. You could tell something was off though; he looked as though he was trying to tell you something, but just couldn’t find the words. Finally, he spoke again. 

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering, what time do you get off?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was this finally your moment?

“I’m actually off tomorrow.” You replied, trying to remain ‘nonchalant sounding’ but you could tell that it hadn’t been too convincing. 

“Well, what a coincidence! The boys and I have a day off tomorrow as well from pumping out songs for the album,” His signature dorky smile and pink cheeks returned, “I was wondering... well, I was wondering since we’re both conveniently off, if maybe you’d like to hang out tomorrow. Like, well, a date.” 

It took all the strength in you not to jump up and down in excitement in that very moment. But, you controlled yourself. That didn’t stop the big smile stretching across your face though.

“I would love to go on a date with you tomorrow, Deaky.” You cooed. He grinned, a soft chuckle escaping through his lips. 

“Great! Great.” He coughed, trying to calm his enthusiasm. “There’s this great tea shop I know that we can meet at,” He began, pulling a sticky note from your desk and writing down the address of the shop. He handed it to you, a bright smile across his features. You happily took the sticky note, folding it up and putting it in your jacket pocket. 

“I’ll meet you there around 10-ish?” You asked, practically bubbling over with excitement. He nodded quickly, checking the time on his watch.

“I must be going, but I guess, I guess I’ll see you around?” He guessed giddily, slowly backing up as he walked backwards down the hall. You nodded, giving him a small wave. 

“See you tomorrow, Deaks.” 

He grinned, turning around completely as he ran down the hall. You watched him run, seeing him pump his fist up in delight. You saw his three friends come out from behind some furniture of the main lobby, congratulating him. You giggled behind your hand before looking back down at your paperwork once more. 

☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆

Tap, tap, tap, tap

You blended your base in with your fingers, making sure everything was smooth and even across your face. Even in the most stressful of times, doing makeup had always calmed your nerves. However, you couldn’t stop the butterflies fluttering across your stomach or the way your face would heat up at the thought of John and the date that was in less than an hour.

You tapped a soft powder across your face, setting the base. You smudged a shimmery eyeshadow across the lids of your eyes, brushed mascara through your top and bottom lashes, and ran a clear mascara through your brows to hold them down. You applied a thick clear gloss across your lips, swiping some off your skin when you went a bit over the lines. 

Now the only problem you were faced with: what to wear. Everything you tried on just seemed to either be too much or not enough. You finally decided on denim overalls that were embroidered with elegant pink flowers, a long-sleeved pink and red striped shirt, and red Chuck Taylor All Stars.

“How do I look?” You turned, looking at your cat Fleur, who laid sprawled out across the bed. She lifted her head up, letting out a soft meow, before laying back down. You took that as a sign of approval. 

You only had fifteen minutes or so to get to the tea shop, so you decided to head out early. 

You made your way through the bustling streets of Britain, before finally stopping in front of the quaint little shop. With five minutes to spare, might you add. 

You looked around before spotting John’s familiar long locks. The man had his head in a book, tapping his finger along to the beat of some song as he read. You smiled a bit to yourself, shaking his head. You walked over, standing in front of his booth. 

“Is this seat taken?” You asked playfully. John looked up at you, a fond look appearing across his face. 

“It’s all yours.” He joked back, making you giggle. You sat down across from him, crossing your ankles out of habit. Your Gran had made sure that you always remembered to cross your ankles, not your legs. That was the proper way to do it, you could practically hear her remark. 

“This place is lovely, the scenery is so quaint and cute.” You remarked, smiling as you looked around. The shop was decorated like some sort of Woodstock-esque design. There were posters of the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and many more artists. It had flowers of all sorts of varieties hanging from pots and vases across the store, giving it a lovely dash of color in all the right places. The room smelled of different variations of tea, all of which smelled exceptional. 

“Well, I remembered you telling me so much about how much you loved tea and flowers, so I thought this might be a good place to go.” He said softly, looking back at you shyly through his lashes. You felt your face heat up. No one you had ever been with had been this considerate. 

“You’re sweet, Johnny.” You smiled, resting your hand on your chin as you looked at the flower vase in front of you. “They really should switch the dandelions with those pink asters. The pink would compliment the goldenrods better.” You said, looking at the flowers in front of you. John raised his brows, but his smile never leaving.

“You really know your stuff, huh?”

You looked down at your feet for a moment, letting out a chuckle. “I guess you could say that. I’ve been wanting to be a florist since I was young because my Gran was a florist. She taught me all about different flowers and the way things would compliment each other and all sorts of things. My parents didn’t really think I should become a florist, they said there was no money in it and that people don’t buy flowers anymore.” You shrugged, looking back up at the dark-haired man who had been listening intently. “Besides, if I had been a florist, I would’ve never met you.” 

He smiled at you warmly, glancing at the vase. “Well, I think you should go for it. There’s no shame in trying.” He appealed, looking at you with his soft brown eyes that made you melt. “You’d be perfect at it. You have a cat named Fleur, for God’s sake.” He teased, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggled, rolling your eyes playfully and gently tapping his foot with your own. 

“Do not make fun of my cat, Deacon.” You scolded jokingly, a laugh escaping from the two of you. Once the laughter settled down, it was your turn to listen intently. “Well, since you know everything about me, why don’t you tell me things about you?” You asked, arching one of your brows. 

He raised a brow in return, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Well, what would you like to know?” 

You tapped your chin, thinking for a moment. “Favorite color? Favorite music artist? Hell, you haven’t even told me what instrument you play in your band.” 

“Well, my favorite color is black. Favorite musical artist? Probably Hendrix or the Beatles. And I play bass.” He spoke softly, looking into your eyes as he spoke. 

“That’s all?” You said as you looked at him, gently tapping his foot with your own. “C’mon, Deaks, there’s gotta be more to you than long hair and a pretty face.” 

His cheeks turned pink, tapping your foot with his in return. “Pretty face, huh?” He blushed, your feet now in an all right war with each other. “I was born August 19th,  1951. I have a band with my best mates, Freddie, Brian, and Roger. I like electronics. I love soul and funk music. I love to tinker. Doesn’t really matter with what, but I’m always fiddling with something around the studio. I also know that I’m on a date with the girl of my dreams and talking to her makes me nervous and giddy at the same time.” 

You felt your face heat up, you knew immediately you were giving the man heart-eyes. “You truly are wonderful, Deaky.” You smiled, reaching over and timidly placing your hand over his. He smiled, interlocking your fingers as he returned your fond gaze. 

You turned to face the window, seeing the rain pour down against the window. You took a deep breath, turning back to John with a sad gaze. “I should be going soon, before the rain gets any worse.” 

John frowned, glancing outside. “I’m not letting you walk home in the storm. It’s too awful.” He began, glancing down at your interlocked hands, before looking at you once more. His cheeks had turned an even deeper shade of pink. “My place isn’t far, if you’d like to stay there for the night. Only if you’d like though. Otherwise I could surely walk you home.” He added quickly, looking down at your hands. 

You smiled a bit at him, reaching over with your free hand and grabbing his other. He looked up at you, and you gave him a loving look. “What are we waiting for, Deaks? Let’s go.” 

[rilenerocks]

Every time I travel by car, by train or by air, I always feel like I’m in a time capsule. I’ve always thought about how strange it is to go into a mobilized enclosed space, stay there for varying periods of time and then emerge, still yourself, into a completely different place. Maybe it’s more of a space capsule than a time capsule. I can’t quite decide. Hours definitely tick away while you’re packed in your container. Little change happens inside, especially if you’re responsible for getting yourself where you’re going which is what car travel is like, particularly when you go alone. There are few distractions, no chores or tasks other than the driving itself.

Revery usually occurs in my head when I’m driving between the place where I came from until I arrive at the place where I’m going. Sometimes though, it’s stranger than revery. Despite the speed of travel and the need to focus on the road, I turn on music for a little company. Generally it’s my own music, pre-selected playlists with my favorite artists, sometimes accompanied by AI additions chosen based on my musical taste.

Things get both comfy and evocative inside my rolling container. And there are numerous moments when I feel like I’m not really in my current self, but back in other spaces that the music has released from the storage space of my memory. Last week I took a seven hour drive to visit a dear friend whose time with me goes back 50 years. As I rumbled along, thinking about all we knew about each other and how much of our seminal adult life we’d shared, I didn’t feel like I was doing the rote steering and braking and reading signs, following directions. I felt almost out of my body, back in the vivid memories which are so much a part of how my brain works. I don’t just think my memories. I see them, smell them and touch them. The sensory experience feels alive to me. I talked about this with my friend when I arrived at her home. She told me that she experienced memories in a more one-dimensional way and that one of the things that she thought most about what made me unique to her was that my pain, my joy and my memory were so powerful. And she said she was interested in the fact that I could transcend the emotion of them and use my intellect to override some of the more emotional aspects of those experiences. I appreciated her insight. The truth is that during my long drive to see her, I caught myself feeling that I’d been hallucinating events from long ago, in a good way as opposed to a scary way. I know something about hallucinations.

Back in my youthful days of drug experimentation, I approached the supposed cosmic experiences that people claimed they had with hallucinogens from a skeptical point of view. All around me, people were talking about how if you tried this drug or that drug, you would raise your consciousness or alter it, possibly forever. I never really believed that. Although I wasn’t as knowledgeable about the human body back then as I am today, I figured that whatever happened was just some chemical reaction and that you were who were no matter what drugs you did. Of course there were people who developed habits that were toxic and life-altering. Life damaging is perhaps a better description. Some made it back from those dark places and others didn’t. Other people had few if any side effects from what they ingested. I always believed that a real change in your consciousness was a deliberate intellectual process and I approached drug experimentation in that way.

The first time I decided to try LSD or more commonly, acid, I was armed with a yellow legal pad and a pen as I intended to record everything I was experiencing, using my mind to transcend the drug. I still have the sheet of paper I wrote that first time. It started out pretty clearly but it was obvious that staying focused was going to be tough considering the physiological effects happening in my brain and body. The one line I remember the most from that long night was that all that was happening to me was an exaggerated reality. Nothing was otherworldly. Everything was based on real life. I was, however, quite taken with the hallucinations that came along with tripping.

In my case, sizes and textures were visibly altered and I loved watching things move around in unusual ways. I guess it felt most like Alice going down the rabbit hole.

I remember watching my blue jeans swirl around in a paisley-like wiggly way and being enamored of the patterns. I could barely contain my laughter as I tried buying something, all the while watching my dollar grow and grow until it looked a giant bag. When I listened to music I was convinced I was hearing every instrument individually and simultaneously. For the most part, I had a lot of fun when I did those trips but they took a long time to do and a long time to recover from. And nothing really was any different when they were over. I was still just me. So that was a short-lived period in time.

But my memory hallucinations are a whole other matter. As I drove along, I was suddenly back in the kitchen in Michael’s apartment in 1971. By that time he and I had become the best of friends and although we were each involved with other people, we spent a lot of time together. We were standing side by side at the kitchen sink, washing and drying dishes and laughing at some story or other. He who so much taller than me, bent down on my right side to give me an affectionate kiss on my cheek. But I’d suddenly turned my head so his mouth landed on the corner of mine. And trite as though it may sound, I literally felt electricity course through my body. It was stunning because until that instant, I hadn’t given a moment’s thought to him as anyone other than a friend. I’m surprised I didn’t fall over.

That was an altering moment in my life. And as I zoomed along to Iowa, I was in that memory, from its start to its finish, feeling the same powerful surge in body that I felt then. So what’s up with that? Is it a flashback? Where’s the science behind it? I think there must be some but I have no idea what it might be, as I’ve tried as hard as I can to think how that could happen. And it wasn’t the only incident like that which happened during that car ride. The Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper album came on and I was standing in our family apartment at 2019 East 81st Street in Chicago.

I was waiting for Danny, the boy who I had a mad crush on, who told me he was bringing me a present. The year was 1967 and I’d turned 16 in May. The album was released a week later and I remember my joy, both at having it and having it come from him. I was feeling the quick hug he gave and literally staring down at the album jacket in my hands.

All the while I’m barreling down I-80, Iowa-bound. I had a lot of other moments like these on this journey. I’ve talked with my son-in-law who’s a chemistry professor about what may make someone like me have these odd moments that feel so alive in real time even though they’re long gone.

He talked about the evidence that now supports the idea of wavelengths being real and verifiable. He suggests that we still lack the technology that might answer questions like mine about memory, and others such as why people view certain events as examples of ESP. Maybe there just too much we don’t understand about how the brain works. All I know is that my mind is open to some of the off the beaten path experiences I feel. For example, I think I must emit some pheromone that helps induce sleeping in people. When someone rests against me for awhile, invariably that person will pass out. I come in very handy for crying, irritable babies. My kids nicknamed me “novocaine” for making their little ones numb out from their discomforts and just fall into deep sleep. It works on adults too.

I like my hallucinations. The good news is that they never are reflective of negative memories. I remember those more in black and white and in a cerebral way. Maybe that’s my brain’s way of protecting me. Otherwise, life could be too overwhelming. I don’t expect I’ll live long enough to ever have the answers I long for. But as the song goes, what a long, strange trip it’s been.

Hallucinations from a Time Capsule Every time I travel by car, by train or by air, I always feel like I’m in a time capsule.

[ladyjaneasher-blog]

Wait I'm sorry for being misinformed, but the info about Paul calling Yoko a jap tart is not true? From what i read he sent a letter to john (i think) saying this. So it's not true? (because thank god if it's not true)

it’s okay, anon. let me reiterate: 

the full message – if you believe francie, that is – was “you and your jap tart think you’re hot shit” and the full quote reads:

“John obviously loved Paul enough to let him run wild if it would help ease the tension Paul was creating in the studio and at home. Yoko could see it too.

But Paul was treating them like shit too. He even sent them a hate letter once, unsigned, typed. I brought it in with the morning mail. Paul put most of his fan mail in a big basket and let it sit for weeks, but John and Yoko opened every piece. When they go to the anonymous note, they looked puzzled, looking at each other with genuine pain in their eyes.

‘You and your Jap tart think you’re hot shit’, it said. John put it on the mantle, and in the afternoon, Paul hopped in, prancing much the same self-conscious way he did when we met.

‘Oh I just did that for a lark…’ he said in his most sugar-coated accent.

It was embarrassing. The three of us swiveled around, staring at him. You could see the pain in John. Yoko simply rose above it, feeling only sympathy for John. I was sad to see the Lennons go, even though it took the pressure off of Paul.”

putting aside that you can already read the clear bias between the lines, sometimes in other retellings of the story, it’s said to be a postcard and other times it’s a typewritten message left in an envelope. the discrepancies here alone should tell you something. 

now, where does the claim come from? it comes from an ex-girlfriend of paul’s from the late 60s, who he has parted not on the best terms with: francie schwartz. francie wrote a book about her relationship with paul where francie claims that while john and yoko stayed at cavendish, they received a note saying “you and your jap tart think you’re hot shit”.

why is it bullshit? i have several points to make:

francie schwartz is one of the most unreliable sources in beatles history. ask any beatles researcher worth their salt on their opinion about francie and her book. what’s more important in this particular case: she relies almost exclusively on sensational claims to make her book body count (1972) more palatable and exciting to a general and broad public instead of actual proof. other such claims include paul having been sent love letters from brian; a claim just as insubstantial and without any actual tangible proof. 

first off, to get a more personal picture of francie during the time she wrote and published her book you have to ackowledge her agenda as the scorned ex-lover as is evidenced by the book itself as it displays a great deal of vindictiveness towards paul. read body count and you’ll know what  i mean. it’s absolutely vile in places.

second, the book was published in 1972 – when paul’s critical reputation was possibly at one of its lowest points – and it was published by none other than jann wenner’s rolling stone press, which very obviously chose john’s side in the john versus paul breakup era split and which back in the day had a lot of sway in the music industry. the magazine wasn’t yet the joke it was to become. something else that is interesting and slightly related: jann wenner. paul’s critical acclaim wasn’t at it lowest point because mccartney (the album) was years ahead in its day and the press just didn’t get it, but because wenner directly influenced his reviewers to slam paul for – as wenner saw it – breaking up the beatles. here’s the relevant quote:

“When I became record reviews editor, I made it clear to him after a few months — nobody had done the job before me — that the record review section was an independent republic within the country of Rolling Stone. That meant that nobody else could tell me what to review or what a writer could say. They could argue with me, but ultimately it was my decision. And that worked well. There was one incident where Paul McCartney makes his first solo record and people thought it was wonderful: this rough, homemade one-man-band album. It was accompanied by a press release, a self-interview, about why he no longer needed the Beatles and how little he thought of them … this real obnoxious statement, you know? I assigned it to a friend of mine, Langdon Winner, and Jann saw the piece and said: “We can’t run it this way — he’s just reviewing it as if it’s this nice little record. It’s not just a nice little record, it’s a statement and it’s taking place in a context that we know: it’s one person breaking up the band. This is what needs to be talked about.” I said I didn’t agree and “in any case it’s up to Langdon to say what he wants to say.” Jann said, “We have to talk about this.” So we went to dinner that night and spent three fucking hours arguing about this record review. Finally he convinced me. So I went over to Langdon’s and sat down with him and spent three more hours arguing with him until I convinced him! Now to me this was the essence of great editing, of how you put out a publication that is utterly honest. All that time spent over one 750 word review! And it was worth it.”

—Greil Marcus in conversation with Simon Reynolds,

Los Angeles Review of Books

there are other instances where wenner displays his clear bias against paul, which was especially rampant in the time where paul was hailed as the talentless and flighty hack who did nothing more than book the studio for the beatles and john as the deeply misunderstood true lyrical and musical genius behind the beatles. a narrative that was formed then and persists to this day.

third, a number of writers – including, disappointingly, doggett and carlin – have recounted the “jap tart” episode from paul to john and yoko as fact, but it’s NOT. it’s the unverified retrospective eyewitness testimony years after it happened of a very much biased, secondhand source. we’ve never seen evidence from anyone else that this event occurred. no picture, no copy, nothing. just like any other event francie “remembers”, if i might add. and since other private notes and copies from letters and even journals exist from other and more deeply involved with the beatles people, it is suspicious.

even during “lennon remembers” – also done with involvement from wenner – john himself admits that his examples of the others treating yoko badly in the studio or elsewhere come off as him being paranoid. if he had indeed a clear and very much damning example, such as this “jap tart” postcard or typewritten message or handwritten note, why didn’t he bring it up? or, more glaringly, yoko herself? when discussing why she and john left cavendish in philip norman’s paul bio, she doesn’t mention this incident at all. why didn’t either of them ever bring up this incident in all the years after it supposedly occurred? 

it’s also important to point out that the narrative that paul was an absolute and continuous horror to john and yoko during the let it be era is just that: a narrative. let’s see what yoko has to say:

“After the initial embarrassment, then – um, now Paul is being very nice to me. He’s nice, and a – a very, um, str– on the level, straight sense. Like, um, whenever there’s something happening at Apple, he explains to me, as if I should know, [inaudible] and things like that. And also whenever there’s something like they need a light man or something like that, he asks me if I know of anybody in the art world, and things like that.

And like, um, I can see that he’s just now suddenly changing his attitude, like he’s being – he’s treating me with respect. Not because it’s me – but because I belong to John. I hope that’s what it is, because that would be nice. And I feel like he’s my younger brother or something like that. I’m sure that if he had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat – because there’s something definitely very strong between John and Paul.

And, um – and probably among those three people of George and Ringo and Paul, Paul is the only one that I can sort of feel the vibration [from]. Like, sort of sense it, you know, that something is among that. ‘Cause Ringo and George, I just can’t communicate. I mean, I’m sure that George and – I’m really sure that they’re both very nice people, but that’s not the point… I think that’s because being, uh, [because of John, Paul, and me] being air signs, like Libra, Gemini, and Aquarius.”

[x]

another point is the nature of the source itself: francie didn’t – at least as far as we know – write any of these instances down, be it in her diary, or even in a letter to her mother, with whom she stayed in contact during that time. all of which would have made the claim more credible, as those would have been never intended for public view and subsequent consumption as her book was. 

she wrote them in her memoir, something she wanted people to buy, and there has been discussion that wenner encouraged her to promote the “sex and dissension” between paul and her and paul and the beatles in her work, because that’s what would sell and ensure publicity. 

lasty, i’ve seen another valid point brought up: linguistics. “hot shit” is something that is more an americanism – francie is american – than something used in the late 60s by someone of liverpool descent.

tl;dr: francie’s claim is unfounded and to this very day has zero (0) proof to it. 

i’ll include another good quote about the issue under a read more should you be interested.

While Erin toils in academia with an unusually heavy workload, I thought I would share another unpublished excerpt from The Historian And The Beatles regarding this now infamous statement attributed to Paul by his erstwhile lover, Francie Schwartz:

One example of Doggett’s occasional acceptance of unverified testimony as fact is his use of Francie Schwartz’s claim that the reason Lennon and Ono left McCartney’s London house (where they were temporarily staying) in Summer 1968 is because McCartney left the couple a postcard with the words “You and Your Jap Tart Think You’re Hot Shit” on it. Schwartz, McCartney’s girlfriend at the time, is the only source for this scene, (Body Count, 220) which, Doggett argues in both You Never Give Me Your Money and in a later interview with Oomska, initiated an irreparable wedge between Lennon and McCartney.

However, neither Lennon nor Ono ever mentioned this incident, even during Lennon Remembers, in which Lennon accuses the other Beatles of seriously mistreating Ono but also acknowledges that their offered examples of mistreatment are unconvincing: “Even when it’s written down, it’ll just look like I’m paranoid.” (Lennon Remembers, 44) Given that Schwartz portrays this incident as an extremely painful moment in Lennon’s relationship with McCartney, and that it directly led to Lennon and Ono departing Cavendish, it would presumably have been, for both Lennon and Ono, a particularly memorable moment. More, describing this incident would have heavily reinforced Lennon’s Lennon Remembers interview agenda to portray himself and Ono as victims of McCartney and the other Beatles. His failure to remember and recount the incident in this particular instance casts suspicions on the accuracy of Schwartz’s account.

While Garraghan declares that “the testimony of a single witness whose competence in every respect is above suspicion may be accepted as true,” (Garraghan, A Guide to Historical Method, 244) Schwartz does not qualify as a competent witness. Her brief relationship with McCartney ended badly when he told her to move out and Schwartz quickly sold articles about her time with McCartney to Rolling Stone and later produced a book, Body Count, in which Schwartz details the postcard scene. The Beatles Bibliography (which repeatedly discredits those pro-Lennon sources promoting the “Lennon Remembers” and Shout! versions of Beatles history) describes Body Count as “a travesty of a memoir,” in part because of its “self-serving and non-reflexive tone.” In credibility terms, Schwartz’s unverified eyewitness testimony is equal to that of the Apple Scruff claiming that Lennon once attempted to hit a pregnant Linda McCartney. While both Schwartz and the Apple Scruff’s claims are generally reinforced by circumstantial evidence (Schwartz by Beatles insider Derek Taylor’s claims that McCartney was sending him anonymous but ominous postcards in that same time period, the Scruff’s by Lennon’s admitted acts of occasional violence against women) Beatles writers who recount both scenes should explain that they are unverified testimony presented by an unreliable source.

Anyone still questioning whether Francie Schwartz is being truthful about the “jap tart” comment need only consider the point which Erin makes here: that J&Y would have been been screaming about this to the press to bolster their position that the rest of the band mistreated them/Yoko, had it been true.  I would also add that the vernacular–calling something or someone “hot shit”– sounds far more American than late 60’s British.  I think Schwartz gave herself away with that one.

I’m shocked that Doggett didn’t come up with those same, very simple observations.

What say ye, commentators?

(source)

i’ve also incorporated a lot of the points from the beatlesbible here.

[newyorktheater]

I recently saw Hamilton again on Broadway, during a rare open captioned performance, and it was a revelation in several ways.

Austin Scott as Alexander Hamilton and Carvens Lissaint as George Washington, the new cast members of “Hamilton” on Broadway.

Two audience members signing before the open captioned performance of Hamilton (captioning display board behind them)

Anthony Lee Medina as John Laurens (and Philip Hamilton)

James Monroe Iglehart as Marquis de Lafayette and Thayne Jasperson as Samuel Seabury

Daniel Breaker as Aaron Burr

Evan Morton as King George

Austin Scott as Alexander Hamilton

Joanna A. Jones as Maria Reynolds (and Peggy Schuyler)

Mandy Gonzales as Angelica Schuyler

James Monroe Iglehart as Thomas Jefferson

Daniel Breaker

Hamilton on night when 125 audience members attended at discounted rate for open captioned performance

  When I had last seen Hamilton, about two years ago, the last remaining original principal cast member was just about to depart, and I was full of questions:

How would the show change with new leads?

Would the replacement cast members generate some of the same excitement as the original leads, whose roles brought them awards, fame, fandom and a promising future?

What would be the future of the show? Would it wind up being a Broadway institution like “Phantom of the Opera,” or would the seeming indestructible juggernaut simply peter out, like “In The Heights,” Lin-Manuel Miranda’s last big success on Broadway, which was a critical and popular hit, but lasted only three years?

Four years after its debut, some of the answers have become clearer. About 125 people, out of an audience of some 1,300, were able to buy tickets at discounted rates to attend Hamilton as part of TAP, the TDF Accessibility Programs, which has provided just such services for people with disabilities since 1979.  Many of the audience members at the Hamilton open captioned performance were Deaf, and vigorously signing with one another before the show began.

In my first review of Hamilton, when it opened Off-Broadway in February, 2015, I found it groundbreaking and breathtaking, an astonishing show. But I also had a concern, which I expressed, half jokingly, as being part of my civic duty to make sure expectations weren’t raised too high: “Swirling with characters, crowded with incident, full of dense language, it’s simply too much to take in at a single sitting.” Why, I asked, was it necessary to have tworap battles about 18thcentury public policy, and threeSchuyler Sisters, and threesimilar numbers by King George?

Four years later, I’ve had many sittings — watching the musical on stage, listening to the album, and reading the libretto — and I get the show in a way I did not initially. The reason for three Schuyler Sisters, even though Peggy doesn’t really figure in the plot, is so that the number “The Schuyler Sisters” evokes R&B/Soul girl trios like Destiny’s Child or the Supremes. And I now see it as part of the show’s genius that Miranda found several ways to unfold the larger history of the early years of the American experiment. The King George ditties serve as entertaining reference points in the timeline. The most memorable of his songs, “You’ll be Back,”

uses a Beatles-like melody to present Great Britain humorously as a spurned lover reacting to America’s declaration of separation:

…when push comes to shove, I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love!

  But then this is followed by “What Comes Next,” after the Americans have won the revolution, with an important question:

  You’re on your own. Awesome. Wow. Do you have a clue what happens now?

  And finally, “I Know Him”:

George Washington’s yielding his power and stepping away.

‘Zat true? I wasn’t aware that was something a person could do.

  The lyrics make fun of the second president John Adams (“That poor man, they’re gonna eat him alive!”) but it emphasizes what historians generally see as the most important action George Washington took as president on behalf of the fledgling democracy – quitting.

   Having the same character sing the same tune is a way of orienting us,  and the recurring phrase “Oceans rise/Empires fall” in all three iterations reminds us that the survival of the United States was not a given.

However, there is still the matter of the dense language. It’s only by reading along to the album that an ear untrained in rapid rap (e.g. my ear) could make out each and every word that Angelica Schuyler raps in “Satisfied,”  or the 19 words within three seconds that Lafayette reportedly raps in “Guns and Ships.”

This is why the open captioning,  scrolling on a LED screen beneath the stage at the far right corner of the auditorium, provided a level of clarity that might well make it possible to absorb the show’s layers in a single sitting.  Finally getting every word during a performance makes Hamilton’s  storytelling feel much more of a whole. It’s curious that audiences don’t push to make such captioning a more frequent occurrence.

The 2019 cast, too, is a revelation, though perhaps somewhat double-edged.

Some of the performers couldn’t be better. James Monroe Iglehart, who took over as the Marquis de Lafayette and Thomas Jefferson in April, 2017, after a Tony-winning three year run as the Genie in “Aladdin,” is spectacular. He has a beautiful deep voice, and a playful nature that draws us in.  Mandy Gonzalez, whose performance already bowled me over when I first saw it a few months after she assumed the role as Angelica Schuyler, has grown in assurance. Jenny Harding-Fleming, who is usually the standby for all three Schuyler Sisters, performed as Eliza Hamilton on the night I saw the show, and was spot-on in her mixture of anger and heartache in “Burn.” I like Euan Morton as King George; he’s toned down the campiness (which struck me in past performances as gratuitously and uncomfortably reading as gay) without losing the humor. Daniel Breaker is the latest of a baker’s dozen of Aaron Burrs (including standbys and understudies.) If he doesn’t particularly stand out compared to originator Leslie Odom Jr. or Brandon Victor Dixon, he continues the tradition of having the clearest diction in the cast, which is to the good, since he serves most frequently as the narrator.

Christopher Jackson as George Washington (in foreground)

It was seeing Christopher Jackson in “In The Heights” that reportedly  convinced Carvens Lissaint, the son of Haitian immigrants, to become a performer. Jackson went on to originate the role of George Washington in “Hamilton” that Lissaint now portrays – first as a standby in the Broadway production, then full-time on the national tour, and since October at the Richard Rodgers. This is a compelling enough biography that I was disappointed how much Jackson’s performance overshadowed Lissaint’s. There’s less of a sense of natural ease and authority. Perhaps it’s a conscious choice to interpret Washington as more readily expressing his frustration, and I just needed to open my mind to a different conception of the first president of the United States.

I don’t think it helped that the new Washington is shorter than the new Alexander Hamilton.

In his Broadway debut, Austin Scott began last month as the bastard orphan born in squalor who became a hero and a scholar. Scott is a tall, handsome leading man with a fine voice. But he is the blandest of the Alexander Hamiltons I’ve seen so far, especially coming immediately after Michael Luwoye, who played the immigrant Founding Father with a fierce level of intensity, along with a look of hurt in his eyes that helped explain the man’s recklessness and his drive.

Perhaps the memory of the original cast will fade. Perhaps the new leads will grow into their roles.  But one of the things the latest performance of “Hamilton” on Broadway made clear to me is that the replacement cast members don’t have to give star quality performances for the show to shine.

For more photographs, videos and writing on this show over the years, check out “Everything Hamilton”

Hamilton Off-Broadway in February, 2015 with original cast members top left to right:Renée Elise Goldsberry as Angelica Schuyler, Leslie Odom Jr. as Aaron Burr, Phillipa Soo as Eliza Hamilton Bottom left to right: Okieriete Onaodowan Hercules Mulligan (later James Madison) , Lin-Manuel Miranda as Alexander Hamilton, Daveed Diggs as Marquis de Lafayette (later Thomas Jefferson), Anthony Ramos as John Laurens (later Philip Hamilton)

  Buy Hamilton (Original Broadway Cast Recording) [Explicit]

Buy Hamilton: The Revolution

Buy The Hamilton Mixtape [Explicit]

Hamilton on Broadway 2019: New Cast, New Clarity I recently saw Hamilton again on Broadway, during a rare open captioned performance, and it was a revelation in several ways. 1,318 more words

[19rubbersoul65-blog]

Hello internet people.

Rubber Soul is the best Beatles album. Fact. Actually, it’s one of the best albums ever made. There’s just something about transitions, going from mop-top boys in tidy suits to experimental, fuck-you-we’re-bigger-than-Jesus out-thereism. I guess that’s why transition periods are the most interesting parts of history. So much possibility, so many roads not taken.

I guess that’s where I am now. In transition. I graduated, I have to start figuring my life out, I have to start adulting, I need to figure out what I’m gonna do with my degree. My life is finally starting and at 23 I have no fucking clue what to do with it.

Also I’m gay. Or maybe bi, but probably gay. Whatever. I have aspergers, and I guess that kinda confused things for me. The thing about having aspergers is that you tend to blame everything odd or unusual about yourself on the aspergers. I guess I always thought that the reason I can’t get it up around a woman is because of some sort of shame spiral of self-hatred (a requisite feature of having what amounts to dyslexia for social skills, along with depression and anxiety) and god fucking knows what. The actual reason is simply that I like dick better than pussy.

Which is why it’s honestly kind of sad that it took me 23 years to figure this out. I blew right by my extremely progressive east coast suburban elitist Fake America public high school with it’s extremely active GSA chapter and its retinue of gays ranging from extremely fem to extremely butch, my college where it was kind of just whatever, and now I’m on my ownsome, finally coming to the realization that I am so fucking gay.

It’s funny how it happened, too. I was watching an old episode of Glee (okay, maybe that should have been a sign, too) and was watching Blaine complain to Kurt that it seemed like NYADA was all they ever talked about and how it hurt him that it seemed like Kurt couldn’t wait to be hundreds of miles away from him, and it hit me: I want that. I want a guy that my voice breaks and that I’d be on the verge of tears talking about how it hurts that he’s gonna be hundreds of miles away soon. I want a guy who being away from them hurts badly enough that I make a puppet of them to pretend they’re still with me. And then it hit me that specifically I wanted a guy like that (incidentally Darren Criss is a hot piece of mancandy even if he is straight IRL) and that’s when it finally hit me: I’m gay. I’m so, so fucking gay.

Not like super stereotypical or fem, either. More like Nick Robinson’s character in Love, Simon- someone you wouldn’t expect to be gay just on first sight. I guess in hindsight I should have realized it when the overwhelming majority of the porn I watch is gay porn and I can get hard at the sight of a nice male ass at the drop of a hat, but the human capacity for self-deception is endless.   

I wanna be sure, though. To do that to a degree that satisfies my STEM Lord standards requires experimentation. With both sexes. Gimme data, goddammit! As they said in that one West Wing episode “if you wanna convince me, give me numbers.” How I accomplish that… who knows? I’m hopeless with women. Cannot read signs- it’s a symptom of my brain being wired differently (that and what some people call my “robot voice.” Hmm, maybe I should start acting fem just so I have some default inflection for my voice). Got my date stolen by my drunk friend who blacked-out barely remembers it, apparently (I mean, he could be lying, but still. And on that note can I just point out that she was okay to drive like an hour later? If the genders were swapped that would totally be considered date-rape. Fucking double standards. The more I think about it the less I envy him.)

Question is, who do I come out to? Not my parents, not at first. I could never have them be the first. I mean, they’re great, but I need someone my age to know first. My best friend is an option. He’s the one I usually dump my shit on, but at the same time… I don’t know. I’m in a frat, so I have a bunch of guys I could tell. It’s funny- when you think about a frat you imagine something like SAE or Pike or Teke, but we’re… not that. Just a bunch of fucking misfits who were mostly secretly losers in high school and need some guy friends. It’s not buying friends- it’s friends pooling money for booze and weed and the occasional trip to some godforsaken part of the country for a conference where you ignore whatever National crams down your throat and then get shitfaced with guys from all over the country. It’s a second family.

Option B is my best friend from home. I only see him a couple times a year nowadays, and he goes to a college a couple hours from here (yes, as a dirty Ameeeeerikan, I’m using hours as a unit of distance.) I know he’s, like, super Catholic (at least compared to my dirty heathen ex-Catholic atheist self. Hail Satan/the FSM), but he’s also one of the nicest people I know and I know he’d understand.

I’m not really sure where I’m taking this. Maybe this is a one-off thing, just me shouting to the heavens and the pajama people on the internet, maybe it’s the start of some kind of an actual blog. Right now, I’m just figuring things out. It’s a funny thing: once you graduate high school you get two chances at a reboot of who you are, once when you start college and once when you graduate. Two opportunities to put the past away and look forwards. I’m on the second reboot: Me 3.0.

It’s like the problem of the Ship of Theseus: when you replace every part of a ship, is it the same ship as before?

[thesnhuup]

Pop Picks – April 27, 2018

April 27, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I mentioned John Prine in a recent post and then on the heels of that mention, he has released a new album, The Tree of Forgiveness, his first new album in ten years. Prine is beloved by other singer songwriters and often praised by the inscrutable God that is Bob Dylan.  Indeed, Prine was frequently said to be the “next Bob Dylan” in the early part of his career, though he instead carved out his own respectable career and voice, if never with the dizzying success of Dylan. The new album reflects a man in his 70s, a cancer survivor, who reflects on life and its end, but with the good humor and empathy that are hallmarks of Prine’s music. “When I Get To Heaven” is a rollicking, fun vision of what comes next and a pure delight. A charming, warm, and often terrific album.

What I’m reading:

I recently read Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, on many people’s Top Ten lists for last year and for good reason. It is sprawling, multi-generational, and based in the world of Japanese occupied Korea and then in the Korean immigrant’s world of Oaska, so our key characters become “tweeners,” accepted in neither world. It’s often unspeakably sad, and yet there is resiliency and love. There is also intimacy, despite the time and geographic span of the novel. It’s breathtakingly good and like all good novels, transporting.

What I’m watching:

I adore Guillermo del Toro’s 2006 film, Pan’s Labyrinth, and while I’m not sure his Shape of Water is better, it is a worthy follow up to the earlier masterpiece (and more of a commercial success). Lots of critics dislike the film, but I’m okay with a simple retelling of a Beauty and the Beast love story, as predictable as it might be. The acting is terrific, it is visually stunning, and there are layers of pain as well as social and political commentary (the setting is the US during the Cold War) and, no real spoiler here, the real monsters are humans, the military officer who sees over the captured aquatic creature. It is hauntingly beautiful and its depiction of hatred to those who are different or “other” is painfully resonant with the time in which we live. Put this on your “must see” list.

Archive

March 18, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Sitting on a plane for hours (and many more to go; geez, Australia is far away) is a great opportunity to listen to new music and to revisit old favorites. This time, it is Lucy Dacus and her album Historians, the new sophomore release from a 22-year old indie artist that writes with relatable, real-life lyrics. Just on a second listen and while she insists this isn’t a break up record (as we know, 50% of all great songs are break up songs), it is full of loss and pain. Worth the listen so far. For the way back machine, it’s John Prine and In Spite of Ourselves (that title track is one of the great love songs of all time), a collection of duets with some of his “favorite girl singers” as he once described them. I have a crush on Iris Dement (for a really righteously angry song try her Wasteland of the Free), but there is also EmmyLou Harris, the incomparable Dolores Keane, and Lucinda Williams. Very different albums, both wonderful.

What I’m reading:

Jane Mayer’s New Yorker piece on Christopher Steele presents little that is new, but she pulls it together in a terrific and coherent whole that is illuminating and troubling at the same time. Not only for what is happening, but for the complicity of the far right in trying to discredit that which should be setting off alarm bells everywhere. Bob Mueller may be the most important defender of the democracy at this time. A must read.

What I’m watching:

Homeland is killing it this season and is prescient, hauntingly so. Russian election interference, a Bannon-style hate radio demagogue, alienated and gun toting militia types, and a president out of control. It’s fabulous, even if it feels awfully close to the evening news. 

March 8, 2018

What I’m listening to:

We have a family challenge to compile our Top 100 songs. It is painful. Only 100? No more than three songs by one artist? Wait, why is M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes” on my list? Should it just be The Clash from whom she samples? Can I admit to guilty pleasure songs? Hey, it’s my list and I can put anything I want on it. So I’m listening to the list while I work and the song playing right now is Tom Petty’s “The Wild One, Forever,” a B-side single that was never a hit and that remains my favorite Petty song. Also, “Evangeline” by Los Lobos. It evokes a night many years ago, with friends at Pearl Street in Northampton, MA, when everyone danced well past 1AM in a hot, sweaty, packed club and the band was a revelation. Maybe the best music night of our lives and a reminder that one’s 100 Favorite Songs list is as much about what you were doing and where you were in your life when those songs were playing as it is about the music. It’s not a list. It’s a soundtrack for this journey.

What I’m reading:

Patricia Lockwood’s Priestdaddy was in the NY Times top ten books of 2017 list and it is easy to see why. Lockwood brings remarkable and often surprising imagery, metaphor, and language to her prose memoir and it actually threw me off at first. It then all became clear when someone told me she is a poet. The book is laugh aloud funny, which masks (or makes safer anyway) some pretty dark territory. Anyone who grew up Catholic, whether lapsed or not, will resonate with her story. She can’t resist a bawdy anecdote and her family provides some of the most memorable characters possible, especially her father, her sister, and her mother, who I came to adore. Best thing I’ve read in ages.

What I’m watching:

The Florida Project, a profoundly good movie on so many levels. Start with the central character, six-year old (at the time of the filming) Brooklynn Prince, who owns – I mean really owns – the screen. This is pure acting genius and at that age? Astounding. Almost as astounding is Bria Vinaite, who plays her mother. She was discovered on Instagram and had never acted before this role, which she did with just three weeks of acting lessons. She is utterly convincing and the tension between the child’s absolute wonder and joy in the world with her mother’s struggle to provide, to be a mother, is heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once. Willem Dafoe rightly received an Oscar nomination for his supporting role. This is a terrific movie.

February 12, 2018

What I’m listening to:

So, I have a lot of friends of age (I know you’re thinking 40s, but I just turned 60) who are frozen in whatever era of music they enjoyed in college or maybe even in their thirties. There are lots of times when I reach back into the catalog, since music is one of those really powerful and transporting senses that can take you through time (smell is the other one, though often underappreciated for that power). Hell, I just bought a turntable and now spending time in vintage vinyl shops. But I’m trying to take a lesson from Pat, who revels in new music and can as easily talk about North African rap music and the latest National album as Meet the Beatles, her first ever album. So, I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy winning Damn. While it may not be the first thing I’ll reach for on a winter night in Maine, by the fire, I was taken with it. It’s layered, political, and weirdly sensitive and misogynist at the same time, and it feels fresh and authentic and smart at the same time, with music that often pulled me from what I was doing. In short, everything music should do. I’m not a bit cooler for listening to Damn, but when I followed it with Steely Dan, I felt like I was listening to Lawrence Welk. A good sign, I think.

What I’m reading:

I am reading Walter Isaacson’s new biography of Leonardo da Vinci. I’m not usually a reader of biographies, but I’ve always been taken with Leonardo. Isaacson does not disappoint (does he ever?), and his subject is at once more human and accessible and more awe-inspiring in Isaacson’s capable hands. Gay, left-handed, vegetarian, incapable of finishing things, a wonderful conversationalist, kind, and perhaps the most relentlessly curious human being who has ever lived. Like his biographies of Steve Jobs and Albert Einstein, Isaacson’s project here is to show that genius lives at the intersection of science and art, of rationality and creativity. Highly recommend it.

What I’m watching:

We watched the This Is Us post-Super Bowl episode, the one where Jack finally buys the farm. I really want to hate this show. It is melodramatic and manipulative, with characters that mostly never change or grow, and it hooks me every damn time we watch it. The episode last Sunday was a tear jerker, a double whammy intended to render into a blubbering, tissue-crumbling pathetic mess anyone who has lost a parent or who is a parent. Sterling K. Brown, Ron Cephas Jones, the surprising Mandy Moore, and Milo Ventimiglia are hard not to love and last season’s episode that had only Brown and Cephas going to Memphis was the show at its best (they are by far the two best actors). Last week was the show at its best worst. In other words, I want to hate it, but I love it. If you haven’t seen it, don’t binge watch it. You’ll need therapy and insulin.

January 15, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Drive-By Truckers. Chris Stapleton has me on an unusual (for me) country theme and I discovered these guys to my great delight. They’ve been around, with some 11 albums, but the newest one is fascinating. It’s a deep dive into Southern alienation and the white working-class world often associated with our current president. I admire the willingness to lay bare, in kick ass rock songs, the complexities and pain at work among people we too quickly place into overly simple categories. These guys are brave, bold, and thoughtful as hell, while producing songs I didn’t expect to like, but that I keep playing. And they are coming to NH.

What I’m reading:

A textual analog to Drive-By Truckers by Chris Stapleton in many ways is Tony Horowitz’s 1998 Pulitzer Prize winning Confederates in the Attic. Ostensibly about the Civil War and the South’s ongoing attachment to it, it is prescient and speaks eloquently to the times in which we live (where every southern state but Virginia voted for President Trump). Often hilarious, it too surfaces complexities and nuance that escape a more recent, and widely acclaimed, book like Hillbilly Elegy. As a Civil War fan, it was also astonishing in many instances, especially when it blows apart long-held “truths” about the war, such as the degree to which Sherman burned down the south (he did not). Like D-B Truckers, Horowitz loves the South and the people he encounters, even as he grapples with its myths of victimhood and exceptionalism (and racism, which may be no more than the racism in the north, but of a different kind). Everyone should read this book and I’m embarrassed I’m so late to it.

What I’m watching:

David Letterman has a new Netflix show called “My Next Guest Needs No Introduction” and we watched the first episode, in which Letterman interviewed Barack Obama. It was extraordinary (if you don’t have Netflix, get it just to watch this show); not only because we were reminded of Obama’s smarts, grace, and humanity (and humor), but because we saw a side of Letterman we didn’t know existed. His personal reflections on Selma were raw and powerful, almost painful. He will do five more episodes with “extraordinary individuals” and if they are anything like the first, this might be the very best work of his career and one of the best things on television.

December 22, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished Sunjeev Sahota’s Year of the Runaways, a painful inside look at the plight of illegal Indian immigrant workers in Britain. It was shortlisted for 2015 Man Booker Prize and its transporting, often to a dark and painful universe, and it is impossible not to think about the American version of this story and the terrible way we treat the undocumented in our own country, especially now.

What I’m watching:

Season II of The Crown is even better than Season I. Elizabeth’s character is becoming more three-dimensional, the modern world is catching up with tradition-bound Britain, and Cold War politics offer more context and tension than we saw in Season I. Claire Foy, in her last season, is just terrific – one arched eye brow can send a message.

What I’m listening to:

A lot of Christmas music, but needing a break from the schmaltz, I’ve discovered Over the Rhine and their Christmas album, Snow Angels. God, these guys are good.

  November 14, 2017

What I’m watching:

Guiltily, I watch the Patriots play every weekend, often building my schedule and plans around seeing the game. Why the guilt? I don’t know how morally defensible is football anymore, as we now know the severe damage it does to the players. We can’t pretend it’s all okay anymore. Is this our version of late decadent Rome, watching mostly young Black men take a terrible toll on each other for our mere entertainment?

What I’m reading:

Recently finished J.G. Ballard’s 2000 novel Super-Cannes, a powerful depiction of a corporate-tech ex-pat community taken over by a kind of psychopathology, in which all social norms and responsibilities are surrendered to residents of the new world community. Kept thinking about Silicon Valley when reading it. Pretty dark, dystopian view of the modern world and centered around a mass killing, troublingly prescient.

What I’m listening to:

Was never really a Lorde fan, only knowing her catchy (and smarter than you might first guess) pop hit “Royals” from her debut album. But her new album, Melodrama, is terrific and it doesn’t feel quite right to call this “pop.” There is something way more substantial going on with Lorde and I can see why many critics put this album at the top of their Best in 2017 list. Count me in as a huge fan.

  November 3, 2017

What I’m reading: Just finished Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, her breathtakingly good second novel. How is someone so young so wise? Her writing is near perfection and I read the book in two days, setting my alarm for 4:30AM so I could finish it before work.

What I’m watching: We just binge watched season two of Stranger Things and it was worth it just to watch Millie Bobbie Brown, the transcendent young actor who plays Eleven. The series is a delightful mash up of every great eighties horror genre you can imagine and while pretty dark, an absolute joy to watch.

What I’m listening to: I’m not a lover of country music (to say the least), but I love Chris Stapleton. His “The Last Thing I Needed, First Thing This Morning” is heartbreakingly good and reminds me of the old school country that played in my house as a kid. He has a new album and I can’t wait, but his From A Room: Volume 1 is on repeat for now.

  September 26, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished George Saunder’s Lincoln in the Bardo. It took me a while to accept its cadence and sheer weirdness, but loved it in the end. A painful meditation on loss and grief, and a genuinely beautiful exploration of the intersection of life and death, the difficulty of letting go of what was, good and bad, and what never came to be.

What I’m watching:

HBO’s The Deuce. Times Square and the beginning of the porn industry in the 1970s, the setting made me wonder if this was really something I’d want to see. But David Simon is the writer and I’d read a menu if he wrote it. It does not disappoint so far and there is nothing prurient about it.

What I’m listening to:

The National’s new album Sleep Well Beast. I love this band. The opening piano notes of the first song, “Nobody Else Will Be There,” seize me & I’m reminded that no one else in music today matches their arrangement & musicianship. I’m adding “Born to Beg,” “Slow Show,” “I Need My Girl,” and “Runaway” to my list of favorite love songs.

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[rilenerocks]

Every time I travel by car, by train or by air, I always feel like I’m in a time capsule. I’ve always thought about how strange it is to go into a mobilized enclosed space, stay there for varying periods of time and then emerge, still yourself, into a completely different place. Maybe it’s more of a space capsule than a time capsule. I can’t quite decide. Hours definitely tick away while you’re packed in your container. Little change happens inside, especially if you’re responsible for getting yourself where you’re going which is what car travel is like, particularly when you go alone. There are few distractions, no chores or tasks other than the driving itself.

Revery usually occurs in my head when I’m driving between the place where I came from until I arrive at the place where I’m going. Sometimes though, it’s stranger than revery. Despite the speed of travel and the need to focus on the road, I turn on music for a little company. Generally it’s my own music, pre-selected playlists with my favorite artists, sometimes accompanied by AI additions chosen based on my musical taste.

Things get both comfy and evocative inside my rolling container. And there are numerous moments when I feel like I’m not really in my current self, but back in other spaces that the music has released from the storage space of my memory. Last week I took a seven hour drive to visit a dear friend whose time with me goes back 50 years. As I rumbled along, thinking about all we knew about each other and how much of our seminal adult life we’d shared, I didn’t feel like I was doing the rote steering and braking and reading signs, following directions. I felt almost out of my body, back in the vivid memories which are so much a part of how my brain works. I don’t just think my memories. I see them, smell them and touch them. The sensory experience feels alive to me. I talked about this with my friend when I arrived at her home. She told me that she experienced memories in a more one-dimensional way and that one of the things that she thought most about what made me unique to her was that my pain, my joy and my memory were so powerful. And she said she was interested in the fact that I could transcend the emotion of them and use my intellect to override some of the more emotional aspects of those experiences. I appreciated her insight. The truth is that during my long drive to see her, I caught myself feeling that I’d been hallucinating events from long ago, in a good way as opposed to a scary way. I know something about hallucinations.

Back in my youthful days of drug experimentation, I approached the supposed cosmic experiences that people claimed they had with hallucinogens from a skeptical point of view. All around me, people were talking about how if you tried this drug or that drug, you would raise your consciousness or alter it, possibly forever. I never really believed that. Although I wasn’t as knowledgeable about the human body back then as I am today, I figured that whatever happened was just some chemical reaction and that you were who were no matter what drugs you did. Of course there were people who developed habits that were toxic and life-altering. Life damaging is perhaps a better description. Some made it back from those dark places and others didn’t. Other people had few if any side effects from what they ingested. I always believed that a real change in your consciousness was a deliberate intellectual process and I approached drug experimentation in that way.

The first time I decided to try LSD or more commonly, acid, I was armed with a yellow legal pad and a pen as I intended to record everything I was experiencing, using my mind to transcend the drug. I still have the sheet of paper I wrote that first time. It started out pretty clearly but it was obvious that staying focused was going to be tough considering the physiological effects happening in my brain and body. The one line I remember the most from that long night was that all that was happening to me was an exaggerated reality. Nothing was otherworldly. Everything was based on real life. I was, however, quite taken with the hallucinations that came along with tripping.

In my case, sizes and textures were visibly altered and I loved watching things move around in unusual ways. I guess it felt most like Alice going down the rabbit hole.

I remember watching my blue jeans swirl around in a paisley-like wiggly way and being enamored of the patterns. I could barely contain my laughter as I tried buying something, all the while watching my dollar grow and grow until it looked a giant bag. When I listened to music I was convinced I was hearing every instrument individually and simultaneously. For the most part, I had a lot of fun when I did those trips but they took a long time to do and a long time to recover from. And nothing really was any different when they were over. I was still just me. So that was a short-lived period in time.

But my memory hallucinations are a whole other matter. As I drove along, I was suddenly back in the kitchen in Michael’s apartment in 1971. By that time he and I had become the best of friends and although we were each involved with other people, we spent a lot of time together. We were standing side by side at the kitchen sink, washing and drying dishes and laughing at some story or other. He who so much taller than me, bent down on my right side to give me an affectionate kiss on my cheek. But I’d suddenly turned my head so his mouth landed on the corner of mine. And trite as though it may sound, I literally felt electricity course through my body. It was stunning because until that instant, I hadn’t given a moment’s thought to him as anyone other than a friend. I’m surprised I didn’t fall over.

That was an altering moment in my life. And as I zoomed along to Iowa, I was in that memory, from its start to its finish, feeling the same powerful surge in body that I felt then. So what’s up with that? Is it a flashback? Where’s the science behind it? I think there must be some but I have no idea what it might be, as I’ve tried as hard as I can to think how that could happen. And it wasn’t the only incident like that which happened during that car ride. The Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper album came on and I was standing in our family apartment at 2019 East 81st Street in Chicago.

I was waiting for Danny, the boy who I had a mad crush on, who told me he was bringing me a present. The year was 1967 and I’d turned 16 in May. The album was released a week later and I remember my joy, both at having it and having it come from him. I was feeling the quick hug he gave and literally staring down at the album jacket in my hands.

All the while I’m barreling down I-80, Iowa-bound. I had a lot of other moments like these on this journey. I’ve talked with my son-in-law who’s a chemistry professor about what may make someone like me have these odd moments that feel so alive in real time even though they’re long gone.

He talked about the evidence that now supports the idea of wavelengths being real and verifiable. He suggests that we still lack the technology that might answer questions like mine about memory, and others such as why people view certain events as examples of ESP. Maybe there just too much we don’t understand about how the brain works. All I know is that my mind is open to some of the off the beaten path experiences I feel. For example, I think I must emit some pheromone that helps induce sleeping in people. When someone rests against me for awhile, invariably that person will pass out. I come in very handy for crying, irritable babies. My kids nicknamed me “novocaine” for making their little ones numb out from their discomforts and just fall into deep sleep. It works on adults too.

I like my hallucinations. The good news is that they never are reflective of negative memories. I remember those more in black and white and in a cerebral way. Maybe that’s my brain’s way of protecting me. Otherwise, life could be too overwhelming. I don’t expect I’ll live long enough to ever have the answers I long for. But as the song goes, what a long, strange trip it’s been.

Hallucinations from a Time Capsule Every time I travel by car, by train or by air, I always feel like I’m in a time capsule.