#of which henry was the lead singer!

[epicfroggz]

circa 1969

[deforest]

SHE'S CRAZY WITH THE HEAT — 1946 ft. The International Sweethearts of Rhythm

In 1946, William D. Alexander began the production of a series of one-reel shorts, half-hour featurettes and feature films that would serve a dual purpose. These black cast subjects would be released to theaters that welcomed African American audiences; concurrently, the music segments would be excerpted from the films and released as Soundies. Ultimately, sixteen of Alexander’s musical shorts reached the Panoram screen, spotlighting the bands of Lucky Millinder, Billy Eckstine, Henri Woode and the International Sweethearts of Rhythm. (Alexander actually produced four films with the Sweethearts, three ten-minute short subjects and one feature, although some of the performances turns up in more than one film; only three performances saw release as a Soundie.) The International Sweethearts of Rhythm grew out of a band formed in the 1930s at the Piney Woods Country Life School, an institution – in part an orphanage – for poor African American children. A member of the music department had apparently taken note of the success of Ina Ray Hutton’s Melodears and decided that an all-woman band composed of school members might lead to something special. While they performed locally, the ISR did not begin to hit its stride until it left Piney Woods and became a professional touring outfit in 1941. The band was certainly “international” in nature, and its ranks included African American, Latina, Chinese, Indian, White and Puerto Rican musicians. In 1941, Anna Mae Winburn joined the orchestra as front woman and featured vocalist. During the war years Maurice King joined the band as both arranger and band manager. Born Clarence King in 1911, King played reeds and later became a fine swing arranger. While here we recognize his composition and arrangement for the Sweethearts – he called this tune “She’s Crazy with the Heat ” – King is best known for his longtime association with Barry Gordy and Motown Records for which he served as director of artist development. He worked closely with vocal groups, teaching the singers how to voice and phrase together. “Maurice brought sophistication and class to Motown,” said session musician Johnny Trudell. By 1946, the Sweethearts was recognized as one of the finest African-American bands in jazz. They recorded for Guild and RCA Records, broadcast regularly for the Armed Forces Radio Service, and toured Europe entertaining the GIs. While much of the success was due to Maurice King’s arrangements, the band’s musicians were all strong, and a special nod must go to Viola Burnside, one of the most neglected tenor soloists of the 1940s. I chatted with my friend Roz Cron, a member of the Sweetheart’s reed section, shortly before her passing. When I thanked her for her contribution, she paused and said, “Yeah, we were one of the best, one of the very, very best.” (via Jazz on Film)

[thebearme]

heres my human classic freddy band

I just made them this week, so I don't have much but... Heres some ideas I have for this band:

The Freddy crew is a concept/brand made by Willy & Henry, so the performers for each restaurant is different. But these are the most popular ones, because they were from the first diner that opened.

Henry, just like his home life, is kinda neglectful on the business. That means William is more on the management of everything. But when Willy isn't checking on things, then Freddy's actor is in charge.

The performer that plays Freddy seems like a very scary guy by looks (like a mob boss) but he cares ALOT. About the kids, the business and his band members. He's the ONLY one willing to talk up to William. He keeps the band's spirit up and put that bad Foxy in his place when he's going too far with his bully. In return, Foxy reminds him that the reason his top hat is so big is that he's insecure of how short he is. Freddy's actor name is George, and he is 55 y/o

The performer that plays Bonnie is a woman. She doesn't talk, to not break the emersion of Bonnie the Bunny being a guy, but that and the name combine leads kids to this day to think Bonnie was the first character to get a female variant. Bonnie's actor name is Janice, and she is 27 y/o. Her quiet act also converts to an everyday thing, which lets her find out about any work drama. A lot of the time, Janice tries and get mentoring from Willy to be the best Bonnie she could be; It doesn't really work. But as long as Bonnie is this his goofy self like the old fredbear show days, she'll be just fine.

The performer that plays Chica name is Shirley, and she is 34 y/o. She's a damn great back up singer and is good with a tambourine and trumpet. Shirley would love to be on stage more if Willy wasn't rushing her to get back to the kitchen to make the next batch of pizza. Because of the last cook quitting in short notice and the business being low on cash from fighting some recent lawsuits, Shirley, once the head chef, is now the ONLY chef. She has a pet dog, because of her work hours she decided to keep her dog in the back where storage is. One day her dog escaped to the front but was stuck in a little cupcake prop, after that incident, Henry heard of it. Though, it was so funny and interesting that he made her dog apart from the performance.

The performer that plays Foxy is an angry, functional drunk SCOT man. His name if Francis, he's 41 y/o and he'll talk to anyone the way he wants to because to him, he only speaks the truth. Foxy and Bonnie hate each others ... but the actors are cool with each other tho (as long they don't say something offhand that's not on script). He's a snuggling actor who FINALLY got his big break at this diner. He friends with the rats in the back of storage which helps Shirley alot.

^ my friend helped me on the foxy one cuz i had nothin on him.

Not a human au exclusive but the band plays songs like Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, the good swing jazz.

[radiofreederry]

Happy birthday, Paul Robeson! (April 9, 1898)

A celebrated actor and bass-baritone singer with a distinctive booming voice, Paul Robeson was born in Princeton, New Jersey to Reverend William Drew Robeson, a Presbyterian minister who had been born into slavery in North Carolina before escaping in his teens. The younger Robeson began acting in high school, and also excelled at sport. He won an academic scholarship to Rutgers University, which he graduated as class valedictorian in 1919. Robeson was socially conscious from a young age, and became especially concerned with inequality, both racial and economic, in American society. He attended Columbia Law School and worked for a time as a lawyer, but left the legal field behind due to its institutional racism. His talent for acting and singing allowed him to build a career in show business with the backdrop of the Harlem Renaissance, and he became especially known for his portrayal of Joe in Show Boat, with his rendition of "Ol' Man River" becoming iconic. He was also one of the first Black leads in American film history. In the 1930s, Robeson's social consciousness expanded, and he became interested in Africanism, anti-imperialism, and socialism, visiting the Soviet Union in 1934. Robeson would later reflect that his treatment in the Soviet Union was so starkly in contrast with the racism he experienced in America that he had felt like a full human being for the first time in his life. He became a left-wing political activist, supporting the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War and unionization in the United States. He was closely associated with a number of prominent socialists and members of the Communist Party, and supported Henry Wallace's 1948 Presidential campaign. He was also heavily involved in the early phase of the Civil Rights Movement. Robeson's political activities resulted in a backlash as the Cold War opened. He was blacklisted, forced to appear before the House UnAmerican Activities Committee, and his passport was revoked for several years, preventing him from touring. He retained popularity outside of the United States, and he was able to find some success touring in Europe and Australia, where he became the first person to perform at the site of the Sydney Opera House, singing the labor song "Joe Hill" for the workers building it. In poor health for much of his later life, Robeson died in 1976.

"My father was a slave, and my people died to build this country, and I'm going to stay right here and have a part of it, just like you. And no fascist-minded people like you will drive me from it. Is that clear?"

[roseharpermaxwell]

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs - Part Two

I'm such a fan of an AU, and I love how many there are in FirstPrince. Any situation you can put Alex and Henry in, I'm here for it.

Here are many of my favorites so far, 10k+ words. Give the authors some love and let me know if you find something you adore!

And they call it— by @clottedcreamfudge. T, 10k. "You're late, but at least you're wearing a more interesting tie this time," The Dog Sitter says as he opens the door, leaning against the doorframe like he's a GQ model and not a law student slash dog whisperer. Henry's mouth feels incredibly dry.

"Mishap with my socks," he says, then immediately wants to throw himself into oncoming traffic. "I mean, I didn't have any trouble getting them on or anything — I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself."

"Good to know," The Dog Sitter says, looking amused and devastatingly attractive, as always. "David get ahold of them again? He looks at mine like I look at freshly-brewed coffee."

"Yes," Henry says, relieved. "Yes, exactly that."

Creative Differences by @sparklepocalypse. E, 10k. Zahra tilts her head at him, a contemplative expression on her face. “How attached are you to the notion of being a solo artist?”

(AU; Alex is a failed solo musician and Henry's band needs a lead singer.)

Dick, Dick, Dick (You Down) by @everwitch-magiks. E, 10k. It is a truth universally acknowledged that Henry Fox is an absolute dick.

Henry Fox is an A-list movie star, Alex is in charge of the craft services trailer on Henry’s new romcom, and Alex just might be the only person on the crew who has his doubts about the world’s unfavorable assumptions about Henry. Why would Henry be a dick just because he doesn’t stop to talk to his fans every time they crowd him? Henry Fox is probably like most people: not his best self every second of his goddamn life, but decent on the whole.

As filming gets underway, Alex learns both how right and how wrong he is. Henry Fox, much like Alex’s well-stocked buffet at crafty, is a goddamn snack — but he’s definitely not like most people.

(Alex doesn’t feel this specific way about most people.)

You Came Out of Nowhere (And You Cut through All the Noise) by @affectionatelyrs. E, 10k. Alex starts to feel worse about how he reacted to the man earlier — he’s usually all bark and no bite, but how is the bartender supposed to know that? Alex can be snarky, but he’s never cruel.

Allowing his lips to quirk up into a small smile, he replies “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you, really.”

“Well,” he says with a smirk, “in the event that you are lying to me simply to placate our earlier interaction, my shift ends in 15 minutes. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to stick around to chat with a perfect stranger?”

Alex’s brain stutters for a moment at his facade being so transparent that it's all he can do to stutter out a “Yeah—um, yeah. Okay, sure.” Maybe he also gets stuck on the words perfect stranger, and the immediate thought of mmmm, perfect indeed that pops up in his brain as a result. He chooses to ignore that as well.

Or, Alex is feeling insecure after a bad date - Henry shows him that he doesn't have to be

Controlled Experiment by clottedcreamfudge. E, 10k. Basically, what it boils down to is this; Alex is mostly sober when he says - to a group of people he barely knows - "Yeah, I might be a little queer, but who knows? I'd kinda like to experiment though, y'know?"

This statement, which is actually something he's thought about a lot, is met by general bobbing of heads, in the kind of bros-trying-to-be-chill way that usually happens when a bunch of straight guys are trying very hard to be non-toxic. That is to say, it's kind of awkward, but they get mad props for trying.

The only person who isn't nodding is Henry, Pez's best friend and the only known gay man in this circle of people. Alex has no clue about the others, but he knows Henry's gay because Pez once introduced him as, "the most handsome man in all of Christendom — and before you ask, no we've never shagged, which is a damn shame. Not for lack of trying on my part, of course, but Henry's one of those gays who thinks it's bad manners to get drunk and have an inadvisable fumble with your best friend for larks."

kiss my collarbone, found my archetype by uptownwarblerr5. E, 10k. English literature teacher Henry starts a new job, and immediately meets law teacher Alex (and in the process, becomes a little bit obsessed). Alex is a clueless bisexual disaster as per usual. Nora and Pez love their stupid friends. Zahra wants to go home.

Arts and Minds by @orchidscript. T, 11k. Henry felt like he was holding the shreds of his career and dignity all in one. The most profound interaction between Henry and the colleague he respected the most – had respected and looked up to since beginning his master’s degree – was now posted online, trending across Twitter, and was now up to 23 million views. Alex showing off and Henry standing there, mouth open like a fish. He wanted to throw up. He wished he had argued back, had said anything. Instead, he had all but swallowed his tongue and sunk back to his laptop, floundering for how to push forward.

23 million views.

Henry should be angry. He wasn’t.

He was going to die of embarrassment. Zahra would make sure of it.

Art history professors go viral, then go to a conference... and there was only one bed ;) 

Fox Repairs (and Basic Construction) by floatingaway4. T, 11k. “Yes, so let me get your details and I’ll come over whenever it’s convenient for you,” says the voice. It’s dark and soft at the same time, kind of...velvety...and Alex curses his brain that can’t ask a simple question but can come up with a thousand adjectives for this guy’s voice.

“My details,” Alex repeats, while his brain is busy flipping through a list of similes that would get him fired if he ever put them into anything official. ‘Like honey...like molasses….like sunshine on a cloudy day…’ Nope, that’s a song lyric. He’d get charged with plagiarism for that one.

All Booked Up by @three-drink-amy. E, 11k. A book tearing up the Bestseller’s List is quickly shoved into Alex’s hands via June and Nora. Despite his resistance, he’s taken in by the book and its whirlwind romance. When Nora insists they all go to a reading with the mysterious author, Alex is drawn in by H. G. Fox, hanging on his every word. When they meet after the signing, it sets him on a path he’d thought was impossible.

Try Me On For Size by everwitch. E, 11k. "Yeah, I might be a little queer, but who knows? I'd kinda like to experiment though, y'know?"

Henry’s carefully orchestrated nonchalance melts away in an instant.

He’d been about to do what he always does at these shindigs when the topic of hypothetical queerness is brought up; come out. In this strange little pocket of humanity — this full-volume version of reality filled with red solo cups and many a youth exploring their sexuality — making his preferences known has always been Henry’s most successful first step on his path towards getting laid. And Henry does, truly, want to get laid tonight; he didn’t spend well over fifteen minutes on his hair for bloody Instagram clout. His discreet but unmistakable rainbow wristband isn’t meant to signify allyship.

The thing is, though, that Henry’s personal gay agenda for the night may just have taken an interesting turn; Alex wants to experiment.

In which Alex does experiment, and Henry is a most willing participant.

we've been here forever (here's the frozen proof) by @onward--upward. T, 12k. Objectively, I am aware that you – a stranger – cannot tell me my own sexuality any better than I can, however... Can you, please? Tell me? It’s 4am and I have been thinking about this for hours, and I can’t sleep.

Warmest regards,

ACD

It’s four in the morning, and Alex Claremont-Diaz has managed to follow a research spiral straight down into a personal crisis. It isn’t the first time.

Kinda think that I might be his type by @kiwiana-writes. E, 12k. “Bea.” He clambers onto his knees, grabbing her hands in his own. “Bea, take me to Thanksgiving with you.”

Bea blinks. Blinks again. “What?”

“Bea, I could terrorise your gran until she’s begging you to stay single forever.”

Or, Alex agrees to be his friend's fake boyfriend for a weekend. He is not prepared for his friend's brother.

Countermelody by @omgcmere. E, 12k. On an old tour bus, tucked into the corner of a bunk bed, there's a bit of wood that gets covered up when the particleboard shifts back and forth on the road. If you catch it just after the bus has gone over the right kind of bump, you can shine a light up and find a message etched there, with the tip of a key or maybe a Swiss Army knife.

Alex discovered it within his first week of the tour. He's never told anyone about it. It says:

RULE #1: DON'T FUCK YOUR BANDMATE

Luckily for him, as a solo artist, he doesn't really have to worry about it.

Alex is opening for Henry on tour and, uh, hates him. A lot.

Elevator buttons and morning air by dollarstoreannabethchase. E, 12k. Last night, Alex hooked up with the most attractive man to ever exist after getting stuck together in the elevator of his apartment complex. He's incredible, but the second day of the job that will make or break his career is not the time to be starting a relationship; even if he kind of wants to scream every time he thinks about Henry. So you can imagine his fucking surprise when he walks into the office the next day and sees none other than his Henry—elevator Henry, blue-eyed, British, dreamy, with thighs for days Henry—standing and talking to Pez. It’s in that moment that it all clicks, and Alex realizes. He’s Henry, as in, Henry, his other boss. Henry, his boss, a.k.a. the man who was on his knees in Alex’s bedroom last night. He is so fucked.

Or: Alex and Henry get stuck in an elevator together; Chaos ensues.

coyote ugly series by @smc-27. E, 12k. The bartender, in his mesh tank top, towel tucked into the back pocket of a pair of jeans, leans on the bar, eyes twinkling, and asks, “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

You Are the Wave I Could Never Tame by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 12k. That should be it. Henry is doing his job; the pool is getting cleaned, and Alex shouldn’t think anything more of it. Then why does he feel the slightest bit of disappointment when he walks back to the pool house and Henry isn’t there?

Or, the pool boy Henry AU that I couldn't stop thinking about until I wrote it.

Count The Stars And Constellations by everwitch. E, 14k. Alex and Henry meet at their first Partner Summit. After a single night of warm smiles and intriguing conversation, Henry is more than ready to follow his heart and enter a Match with Alex. But Alex is not. 

Meet Your Match by allmylovesatonce. E, 14k. Alex had first learned about soulmarks when he was 10. June had just turned 13 and had woken up that morning with her soulmark. The two of them sat at the dinner table, in awe of the mark on her wrist. It was delicate and pretty. Three hearts intertwined like a triple infinity sign. Alex was almost envious. He wanted to know who his soulmate was so badly and he wouldn't get his mark for another 3 years.

Everybody needs good neighbours by @rmd-writes. E, 14k. To nora(9.37pm):

So a funny thing happened

My hot neighbour brought me the mcflurry i ordered and we fucked

From nora (9.38pm):

WHAT

DETAILS NOW

Which neighbour?

Wait, you only have one hot neighbour. Alex, did you fuck a guy?!?!?!

ALEX 

Alex meets a hot new neighbour. Shenanigans ensue.

Captious (calculated to confuse, entrap or entangle in argument) by lucky (revolutionbarbie). M, 14k. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Alex hadn't intended to be 45-minutes late to his blind date, he really hadn't.

Thankfully Henry - broad-shouldered, blond, British and downright beautiful - didn't seem to mind.

written in the stars by @indomitable-love. G, 15k. Henry has always been entranced by the transformative power of stories; the way a happy ending can heal an ache better than any medicine.

He never set out to run a bookshop, but when he’d ended up with an obscenely large inheritance and an expanding cavity in his chest before he was even old enough to drink, there was only one thing that he wanted to do, only one way he wanted to fill the void: he wanted to be surrounded by the one place that had always felt like home – between the covers of a book. No matter the time period or genre, Henry has always found a home in books.

falling in love (in the cruelest way) by @coffeecatsme. M, 15k. “Alex?”

The name makes Alex stop halfway to the register and look back. Henry is standing in the same spot, shifting from foot to foot, before he juts his chin out. He meets Alex’s eyes.

“Where are you traveling to?”

Or, Alex picks up a stranger on a road trip, only to realize too late he's the missing Prince of Wales.

Financial and Other Instruments by clottedcreamfudge. E, 15k. “I’m Alex,” Alex says quietly, and something in Henry’s stomach jolts. “I’m a trainee financial adviser — I think you know my mom?”

***

Financial instruments are assets that can be traded, or they can also be seen as packages of capital that may be traded... These assets can be cash, a contractual right to deliver or receive cash or another type of financial instrument, or evidence of one's ownership of an entity.

Alex has owned Henry since the second he laid eyes on him, whether Alex knows it or not.

maybe take me into your room by smc_27. T, 15k. “This is kinda boring, ma.”

She pats him on the cheek, leans in a little closer, and says, “Find something to do, darlin’. You live here. You can’t leave.”

She’s not exactly right, but he isn’t going to argue. Plus, her main advisor, Zahra, comes over. Alex is already a little afraid of her, so he doesn’t feel the need to draw attention to himself by smarting off at the mouth.

She’s still talking to him when he spots this really beautiful guy about his age, and fuck, wow. Okay.

“Not him,” his mom says into his ear, and he doesn’t even… Look, if she knows about the few guys he made out with at parties in Madrid last year when the opportunity arose, this is the first he’s hearing of it. “His dad is the British ambassador. I can’t have you breaking hearts and causing an international incident.”

OR: Ellen Claremont is the US ambassador to Canada. Arthur Fox is the British Ambassador to Canada.  

When The Time Is Right by everwitch. E, 16k. “Maybe I could challenge you more,” Henry suggests, his eyes carefully trained on Alex. “And hold you accountable for longer. How does that sound?”

“That sounds fucking amazing,” Alex tells him, the words coming out in a rush. “Yes. That. Please.”

“Alright, then.” Henry offers him a sly grin. “Alex, love. You just gave me a wonderful idea.”

It’s really something, how quickly Alex’s heartbeat picks up. “Oh? Do tell.”

Henry’s grin widens. He looks alarmingly pleased with himself. “How would you feel about a staycation?”

When Alex asks Henry for something a little more intense in the bedroom, they end up taking more than just their sex life to the next level.

you'll be right where i left you by smc_27. M, 17k. He wakes up to a weird noise and - once he realizes he’s not dreaming it - starts trying to figure out where it’s coming from.

He takes a steadying breath and opens the closet door, and the scream he lets out is like, practically not human at all.

He did not fucking expect there to be a man in his closet. A man who is also yelling. Who’s tall, and hot, and wearing what seems like a wool suit, some kind of medal around his neck, and a sash.

OR, a time traveling Henry AU

Tell Me All Your Secrets by everwitch. E, 17k. When Henry dates Liam, he inadvertently learns about June’s brother Alex’s not-so-heterosexual tendencies of the past. But Alex has explicitly told Henry he’s straight. If Alex had the slightest interest in being with Henry, he'd definitely have set the record straight (ha) in regards to his sexuality. Except with pride month just around the corner and Alex making another trip to New York, Henry finds himself reexamining parts of their friendship. Perhaps there is more to their connection than he's ever dared hope for?

Or: the one where Alex and Henry go to New York Pride.

Fate Marks the Spot by @preppymayhem. T, 17k. Alex Claremont-Diaz wants absolutely nothing to do with Prince Henry of Wales and would be completely happy to never speak or be in the same room with him again.

Except for the tiny fact that Henry bears his mark.

A/K/A: What if Alex and Henry were soulmates, literally.

The Art of Falling in Love by floatingaway4. M, 17k. Alex Claremont-Diaz is a struggling actor, but his next role might be his big break. To research the role, his agent connects him with her friend at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The employee assigned to show him around annoys Alex before they even meet.

Will they ever learn to get along?

(Spoiler alert: Yes. Yes they will.)

Cursed is a State of Mind by @dustratcentral and @welcometololaland. E, 17k. Alex Claremont-Diaz is well aware that he’s an absolute catch. He’s intelligent and quick witted, has an ass that absolutely refuses to quit and was once voted ‘most attractive law student’ in a slightly irresponsible and probably unethical NYU student magazine poll.

Which is why he finds it super fucking weird that his new roommate, Henry, thinks his caffeine consumption habits are a bit off-putting. So what if he has some unconventional drink choices? It’s not like Alex can’t vehemently defend all of them.

5 times Henry has something to say about Alex’s coffee choices and 1 time he says nothing at all.

team henesmee series by @coffeecatsme. E, 18k. Henry isn’t home when Alex returns from his weeklong trip to his father’s lakehouse in Texas.

There is, however, a bat hanging from their fan, wings curled around its little body, a drop of drool clinging to his lips. Sleeping.

“Huh,” Alex says, tilting his head. “I didn’t know vampires could actually turn into bats.”

Or, 5 times Alex learns something new about Henry and 1 time Henry learns something new about Alex.

Luck of the Draw by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates). T, 19k. Henry isn’t an artist, but he runs an art studio. Alex isn’t in a bridal party, but he’s arranging a bachelorette.

Neither of them are looking for love, but when life gives you lemons, you throw them in the fruit bowl and find yourself the man of your dreams.

The Beginner's Guide to Floristry by clottedcreamfudge. E, 19k. As if there's anything romantic about it; as if it's not the most humiliating death Alex can imagine. This is why he doesn't do relationships. This is why he never will. The risk, as far as he fucking sees it, is too great.

Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible.

Route 11 by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates). E, 19k. Alex thought the New York City subway was a cursed public transport system. That was before he moved across the Atlantic and took the route 11 bus every day.

A public transport love story told in 11 parts.

My Songs Know Secrets You're Sick of Keeping by ma_lark_ey, paythe_piper. T, 19k. "How about this," Alex offered, "If I win AOTY, I announce Henry and I in my acceptance speech. If I don't, we do it your way."

OR: Alex is a world famous pop punk star, Henry is still the Prince of England, and the public is onto them.

A Practical Arrangement by @kiwiana-writes. E, 19k. “I know.” In fairness, he didn’t ask his mom to delay the wedding after the betrothal was made official when he turned eighteen. It wasn’t that she expected another option to materialise—he’s pretty sure she was trying to give him and Henry more time to get to know each other, maybe move past their open animosity a little. They’ve been pushed together every few months for the last three years, their marriage an inevitability. “I just… I still can’t quite get my head around it, you know? Married. To Henry.”

All the Old Showstoppers by @cha-melodius. E, 20k. “Dunno, kinda looks like you know what you’re doing. Are those macarons?” Alex asks incredulously after a little while, and a moment later Henry sees him start slowly approaching out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t know princes could bake.”

“I’d wager not many of them can,” Henry replies as he works, letting one corner of his mouth tug upward.

(In a universe where Alex didn’t go to the royal wedding, three years later Alex and Henry find themselves both competing on an episode of The Great Celebrity Bake Off. Will old hostilities lead to disaster, or is there something else causing all that tension in the tent?)

i told myself don't get attached (but in my mind i play it back) by coffeecatsme. E, 20k. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Claremont-Diaz,” the woman behind the counter says, eyes wide and apologetic. Alex grits his teeth so he doesn’t say something inappropriate in a lobby full of scared families, crying kids, and the obscenely tall British guy that’s currently giving him a fucking migraine. “Due to the snowstorm warning, all the flights are cancelled, and unfortunately the room you’ve booked is currently occupied.”

“Occupied,” Alex repeats dumbly, nails digging into his palm. “I booked this room three months ago.”

“Yes, well, the previous occupant—”

“Should’ve been out of here by now.” Alex knows he sounds harsh, he knows the stupid blond is hovering somewhere behind him listening to the whole conversation, but he can’t help it. He’s not spending what’s supposed to be his vacation alone with another guy in his room.

Or, Alex and Henry are stuck in the same room in a hotel during a sudden blizzard

For all the world to see by everwitch. E, 20k. Henry Fox — bestselling author, mystery millionaire and infamous recluse — never gives interviews. So when June is tasked with writing a profile on Henry, Alex agrees to help her. How? By posing as Henry’s next-door neighbor, charming his way into Henry’s life for the purpose of obtaining some real substance for June’s article. Eat the rich, right? What could possibly go wrong?

i wake with your memory over me (that's a real fucking legacy) by coffeecatsme. E, 21k. The ski instructor stops in front of him, takes off his goggles, and Henry about stops breathing for another reason. “Hey,” Alexander says with a grin, his face distinctly lacking in wrinkles Henry was expecting from a renowned instructor. There’s a bright grin on his face that rivals the sun, rich brown curls spilling out of a red beanie, and Henry realizes he’s absolutely fucked for a whole other reason than his inability to figure out how to stay upright in skis. 

Or, the one in which Henry is hopeless at skiing despite his family's aspirations, and Mary hires Alex as an instructor to amend that.

we might just get away with it by smc_27. E, 21k. Henry is the most gorgeous man Alex has ever seen. And Alex has seen a lot of gorgeous men. He’s a fucking model.

“This is Henry Fox-Mountchristen,” Prada’s current PR lead says, and Alex smiles and pushes his hand out. “He’s a journalist covering the merger.”

Alex doesn’t know what merger or what it would have to do with Paris Fashion Week. But he does know that Henry holding a glass of champagne as he shakes Alex’s hand is maybe the sexiest thing ever, and there is just no explanation for that.

“Hi. I’m Alex.”

Henry says, “I know,” and then does this weird, forced smile at Bianca and walks away.

Alex doesn’t know how to like, not be completely obsessed with things he wants.

OR, Alex is a model. Henry is a journalist, and a bit of an asshole. Alex wants him anyway, even when it doesn’t feel good.

Fractured by clottedcreamfudge. E, 23k. Alex has been in the New York PPC for seven years, and it's seven years too long. He's not looking for his Half, because he isn't half a person. The Algorithm can kiss his sweet, Texan ass.

He doesn't need anyone - leggy, blond, or otherwise - trying to change that.

The Snow Prince by @orchidscript. M, 24k. Two little boys meet in a dream that isn't quite a dream.

Years later, two young men dance at a ball without touching.

A governor's son falls in love with an isolated prince who cannot be held.

A winter fairytale inspired by folktales, fairytales, and other stories. Alex and Henry meet twice, then fall in love a decades-old curse. When the threatened effects begin to come true, Alex endeavors to break it.

in summer air series by Standinginmoonlight. M, 25k. There’s something magnetic about Henry, though, and his feet feel like they’re rooted to the spot. He opens his mouth again and decides to just go with it. He’s on vacation, after all. Whatever fucking goes.

Or: the one Alex Claremont-Diaz flies halfway around the world to find himself and ends up finding Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor instead.

One Wild and Precious Life by @sprigsofviolets. T, 26k. In 2015, Arthur Fox was diagnosed with cancer. He went into surgery to have a tumor removed from his brain, and fell into a coma.

Nine years later, he wakes up.

Clue Me In by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 27k. Henry and Pez’s new shelter is opening in Brooklyn, and Henry is determined to spend the entire night avoiding Alex, while Alex is determined to do the exact opposite of that.

Cracked Heart by @absoluteaudacitywrites. E, 28k. Liam takes a deep breath in and out. “I’m so sorry, Alex. I’ve thought a lot about this and I don’t want to hurt you but it’s the right thing to do.” He pauses, taking another deep breath. “We need to break up.”

after hours by @dumbpeachjuice. M, 28k. “Spend the night with me. I’ll show you around the city, take you to all my favourite haunts. Give you a sample of what the real New York is like,” Alex explains, altogether far too casually to excuse the speed with which Henry’s heart has set off galloping. “Maybe you’ll even change your opinion that we Americans have no taste.”

Henry’s mouth feels sort of dry, so he swallows a large gulp of his new martini down and immediately chews through both olives to stall for time. “Why on earth would I do that?”

Alex shrugs. “It’ll be fun. I’m an excellent tour guide. I have references.”

The Byline by @rosetintednerdglasses. M, 28k. Press Secretary Alex Claremont-Diaz serves at the pleasure of the President, and he does it excellently until a new White House correspondent darkens his press room: Henry Fox, The Guardian.

Every Star That's Ever Fallen Knows the Way to Where We're Going by @dracowillhearaboutthis. G, 29k. When Henry’s family moved in next door when Alex was four years old, Alex was not a fan. 

In Your Orbit by everwitch. E, 30k. Alex, a third year student at the pilot academy — and more importantly the son of the First Commander of the Unified Systems — finds himself kidnapped by a duo of interstellar smugglers, Henry and Pez. The two space fugitives soon turn out to have a plethora of problems; between a severe illness, a freighter that keeps falling apart, and a meteoroid storm raging outside, they're in quite a pinch. Alex reluctantly comes to their aid, if only to make sure they all get out of this alive.

The thing about Henry, though, is that despite everything, he doesn’t actually seem cruel. He seems the exact opposite of cruel.

muscle memory by stutteringpeach. E, 30k. It's been ten years since Alex was in London to stage a PR friendship with Henry after ruining the royal wedding. It's also been ten years since Alex dropped to his knees in front of Henry in a Kensington Palace kitchen.

But now Henry's in the Hamptons for the summer, and who should he bump into? None other than Alex Claremont-Diaz, who happens to be working in New York all summer long.

Double, Double, Acting Trouble by @welcometololaland. E, 30k. Due to no fault of his own, Alex Claremont-Diaz winds up in a theatre class.

Due to every fault of Percy Okonjo, Henry Fox Mountchristen-Windsor finds himself roped into the very last thing he ever wanted to do - following in his father’s footsteps by being thrust onto the stage. OR

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece as Alex and Henry fall in love while performing the Tragedy of Macfish.

Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come by @sparklepocalypse. E, 30k. "For Christmas this year, all I would like is a best friend who doesn’t mind too much that I’m a prince. Most of my classmates poke fun because of who I am, or treat me like I’m too special to be their friend. I want a best friend who knows me as much as my family does and still likes me. I know that you can’t wrap a best friend up in a box and put it under the tree, but you’re magic so you know the best way to bring one."

(Movieverse canon divergence; Prince Henry, age 8, writes to Father Christmas wishing for a best friend. A few weeks later, he finds one.)

it's you and me by smc_27. M, 31k. He can’t fucking wait to see everyone. To hug Bea. To have Catherine tell him he’s handsome and tap his nose with her index finger like she’s always done. For Arthur to make some inevitably fucking terrible joke about Alex bringing two duffels and a carryon. He also honestly can’t wait to see his mom and Arthur together.

Alex just really needs this summer. He needs time away, outside of Texas, with his family and the people outside his family who know him best.

or, an indulgent summer fic in which Arthur and Ellen are best friends and their families summer together in California

Nebuchad-never had a friend like me by clottedcreamfudge. E, 32k. When the dragons came, it was like nothing the world had ever seen before – and it hadn’t been anything like the movies either. There weren’t great, leathery wings beating up hurricanes and pinpricks growing larger on the horizon until sharp, white teeth became visible; there were no screaming citizens or calls to arms; nobody saw them coming, because they didn’t come the way Hollywood had expected them to.

The dragons had, instead, crawled out of the earth, just hatched and hiccupping smoke, barely old enough to support their own heads.

The world had fallen in love in an instant.

Waiting in the Wings by DracoWillHearAboutThis. M, 33k. Henry had always known he would end up in an arranged marriage.

He had not expected, though, to end up in an arranged marriage with Prince Alex Claremont-Diaz, who he'd secretly been in love with for the past fifteen years.

when i need to get home by smc_27. E, 35k. He drives the car he’s rented up the lane and half wonders if he’s just exhausted or if the place actually looks as bad as it does.

Oh. Oh god. Christ. What’s he gotten himself into?

He can’t help thinking if Jean knew her home had fallen this far, she would’ve been heartbroken. He’s not going to let her home sit like this. He’s going to fix it. For her, yeah, but for him, too.

or: Alex inherits an English country home, and Henry lives in the cottage next door.

Seven Years by @welcometololaland. E, 35k. Seven different places, seven different timelines, seven different meetings, seven different Decembers.

And still, Alex and Henry find each other in every universe.

Take me where I cannot stand by clottedcreamfudge. E, 36k. Henry blinks at him. “Galactapol?”

“Yeah, you know – the Intergalactic Peace Force?”

“Yes, I know them,” Henry says drily, “but you said—”

“We don't have a lot of respect for them around here,” Alex informs him succinctly. “If that's the kind of line you wanna take, then maybe—”

“No, no,” Henry says hurriedly, straightening up. “Galactapol. I like it. Catchy, even.”

“Read the contract or don't, Fox,” Alex says firmly, pressing his own hand to the line of studs between the engine room and the lower corridor. “I can find another engineer if I need to, but you'll never – and I mean never – find a ship like this again in your life. Jackie's one of a kind.”

Space, smuggling, and a ship called Applejack. Everything's shiny.

Before This, After That by @orchidscript. M, 37k. Henry Fox is lost. After suffering a serious injury from horseback, he struggles through the pain, depression, and frustration inherent with long term healing. Giving up is easier.

Discontent to leave him so unmotivated, the Fox siblings go in on a new solution: a private, personal physical therapist. Enter Alex Claremont-Diaz. He comes with glowing referrals, top of his class in all his degree programs, a sparkling personality and dug-in stubbornness to match. If anyone could light a fire in Henry again, it would be him. Right?

Most People Exist by SprigsofViolets. T, 40k. Henry Fox is a nurse at the New York Cancer Center. He’s happy with his job, content enough with his life, but it all gets turned on its head when he connects with a patient with a brain tumor—Alex Claremont-Diaz.

into the spotlight by indomitablelove. E, 40k. Alex Claremont-Diaz is a star on the rise.

A wildcard up-and-coming new actor who finds himself thrust into the Hollywood limelight when he’s nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Actor for his small-budget indie movie. It’s his more than he could have imagined in his wildest dreams. That is, until he discovers that also in his category is his mortal enemy: Henry Fox – generically attractive, completely boring and part of an acting dynasty that stretches back generations. In short, everything Alex hates about Hollywood.

So when a comment Alex makes about Henry in an interview goes viral, and the two find themselves thrust together through awards season, Alex can’t help but think his dream has become his worst nightmare.

Except, maybe – just maybe – Henry isn’t quite what he seems.

Down For the Count by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates). E, 40k. Alex came to Las Vegas to count cards, not feelings. Henry came to win it all.

Is it possible to find something real in Sin City, where nearly everything isn’t as it seems?

Goodbye reality, hello Vegas (the blackjack/poker AU).

What's Up, Danger? series by @cultofsappho. E, 41k. “How thick do you think I am, exactly?”

Alex mumbles something under his breath that sounds like, “Got away with it this long, didn’t I?”

Henry’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “I’m sorry, are you bragging about lying to me?”

After a long pause, Alex says, “...No.” slowly.

“Hm. Thought not.”

In which Henry can’t recognise the sound of his own boyfriend’s voice, Alex isn’t as good of a liar as he thinks he is, and living with a superhero is both exactly, and not at all, what Henry thought it would be.

In Any Universe by SprigsofViolets. T, 54k. Boy Meets Boy.

Boys Become Friends.

Boys Fall in Love.

The Red White and Royal Blue Heartstopper AU that no one asked for.

Camp Llwynywermod by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 56k. The first night of camp with Henry is always weird. Weird in the sense that they haven’t seen each other in nearly eleven months, but Alex knows that Henry has been thinking about him in the months leading up to camp. Alex is guilty of it too; often the first thing he thinks of after applying to be a counselor is seeing Henry, Henry and his stupid blond hair and stupid English accent and stupidly gorgeous face, and thinking about just how he could outdo him in pranks this year.

Alternatively, the camp counselor AU that nobody asked for.

Fall Into You by lucy_in_the_sky. E, 56k. Alex is smart and witty and kind and clever and driven…but graceful, he is not. Several stints in the ER within one semester can confirm this unfortunate fact. The only good thing to come out of wracking up his out of pocket co-pay is the gorgeous nurse with beautiful eyes and a killer smile. Maybe breaking several bones is kinda worth it.

Basically: several times Alex was a clumsy wreck and Henry had to patch him up.

The Arrangement by cmere. E, 58k. “Gran sat me down the day I finished my A levels and made it abundantly clear I was not to let anyone know about any deviant desires I might be beginning to harbor that might reflect poorly upon the crown, and there were appropriate channels to maintain appearances if necessary.”

Shaan approaches Henry with a deal from the Queen: agree to an arranged marriage with a woman to flaunt in public, and he can enjoy the services of a male escort in private. Alex comes storming into Henry’s life with sparkling brown eyes, a mischievous smirk, and a challenge, and Henry struggles to maintain control of his emotions as boundaries begin to blur.

Alex doesn’t actually care about him; it’s just a job. Right?

Down By The Water, I Saw You by @myheartalivewrites. E, 63k. “Henry straightens up, head snapping over to look at the new arrivals. Then there’s the sound of a voice he’s not heard in ten years, a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

“Fuck, I can’t cook tonight. I think I’d rather starve.”

Henry stares, mouth dropped open. A head of curly brown hair turns slowly his way and his heart explodes.

“Henry?” Alex says, and Henry can’t bring himself to reply, so he just keeps staring. Alex looks at him for a few more seconds, eyes wide, blinking furiously, before swiftly turning on the spot and walking away from him and into the woods, but not before Henry can see the distraught look on his face.”

Henry and Alex first met and fell in love as teenagers, while on holiday in Jamaica. Ten years later, they run into each other again, and have to deal with the emotional fallout of how things ended last time. And fall in love again along the way, of course.

With so much of my heart (that none is left to protest) by @kiwiana-writes. E, 65k. Alex is a former child star struggling to make the transition into being seen as a serious actor. He jumps at an opportunity to perform on stage in the UK, seeing it as a way to break free from the typecasting and show what he can really do. But he wasn’t prepared to star alongside someone he hates.

Henry is a recent theatre graduate who accepts an amazing role in a queer reimagining of Much Ado About Nothing. And then it turns out his co-star is none other than the man he’s been hopelessly pining after for years—even though Henry made a terrible first impression when they met.

It’s… well, it’s practically Shakespearean.

You Know I Love a London Boy series by @three-drink-amy. E, 66k. When Alex has a break off of work, he decides to get away and spend that time in London. On his first day there, he meets Henry and sparks immediately fly between them. As they spend the summer together, touring the city and enjoying each other, Alex continues to keep a very big secret about himself: who he really is.

Nova, Baby by chamel. E, 66k. Agent Henry Fox-Mountchristen is an asshole.

Alex is 90% sure those exact words are going in this mission report. Yeah, they’re supposed to be objective when writing this shit up, but that isn’t his opinion. It’s a fact.

(CIA agent Alex Claremont-Diaz and MI6 agent Henry Fox-Mountchristen don’t exactly get along, but that doesn’t keep their respective agencies from insisting they work together as partners. Then a mission in Colombia changes everything, and their relationship begins to shift and grow into something that neither of them ever expected… and something that could have deadly consequences.)

Shatter Me by @historicallysam. M, 67k. Henry is resigned to the life he's meant to lead until he meets a man so full of happiness and life that he's got no choice but to confront the secret he's been keeping for years.

Deep Blue by myheartalive. E, 76k. “I picture myself in a small house by the sea, overlooking the water. Writing and reading all day and taking David on long walks and swimming everyday. Somewhere really quiet, where there’s not a lot of people. And where nobody thinks of me as Henry Mountchristen.”

Fed up of working under his grandmother, Henry quits his job in London, dropping everything for a writer’s life by the sea. He’s desperate to focus on his work and produce something worthy, but a mouthy American with a beautiful smile and a chin dimple has other plans.

But I love him, whether or no. by @leaves-of-laurelin. E, 77k. Henry moves to New York City to help Pez with the opening of his new bar in the East Village. The location—fortunately for business, but unfortunately for Henry’s sanity—is directly across the street from a fire station. The sound of sirens is bad, Alex the gorgeous firefighter is worse. But when Alex helps Henry avoid a near catastrophe the night of the bar’s opening, the two form a tentative friendship that starts to develop into something more.

I'm Taking A Ride With My Best Friend by @cultofsappho. M, 79k. When Zahra, the leader of the Fireflies, makes a deal with Alex to smuggle some guy outside of the D.C. Quarantine Zone’s walls, Alex immediately says no. He doesn’t move people, not anymore. Not since his ridiculous, and definitely past-tense, savior complex got him into hot water with June.

What could possibly be so special about some scrawny refugee? When he had his gun pointed at Henry, the expression on Zahra’s face was not one he’d ever seen on her before. She desperately needs him alive. For once, just this once, Zahra isn’t the savior today. It’s Henry.

“What’s so important about him?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. He’s just cargo, Alex.”

Alternate Universe - The Last of Us

Never a Guarantee by clottedcreamfudge. E, 87k. Henry – Prince Henry, third in line for the throne of Windsor and Alex's goddamn betrothed – has very soft hands. Alex knows this because he is literally holding them in his, both of them standing in front of just about everyone with a title in either of their two kingdoms, while a man in an extremely large hat has them repeat oaths and other things Alex has been learning by heart since he got engaged.

Looking back on their time at the altar, Alex should maybe have read a little more into the way Henry kissed him like it was the last time.

the poem you make of me by cmere. E, 91k. "Just, you know," Henry says. "If your mum weren't the president and you were just a normal bloke living a normal life, what things might be like? What you'd be doing instead?"

After being discovered on Instagram as a teenager, Alex Diaz is thriving as a social media influencer and model who just landed a high profile, high fashion contract with Calvin Klein. Alex can get any girl he wants, and he’s loving it. Meanwhile, British poet Henry Fox has just arrived in L.A. to kick off a North American tour promoting his new, steamy book of gay erotic poetry, and he’s attracting a lot of attention.

Bad blood is immediately sparked between them when Henry blows Alex off at their first meeting. Several tabloid rumors and an Instagram tantrum later, Alex and Henry are reluctantly thrust together to make nice, resulting in a grudging friendship and a magnetism between them that Alex can't explain. Why is Henry's poetry making Alex feel like this? And just what is it about Henry Fox that gets to him so much?

(our last summer) memories that remain by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 91k. Fresh out of law school and fresh out of a relationship, what Alex Claremont-Diaz needs most is a goddamn vacation. He plans to spend his summer on a small island off the coast of Wales, three months of peace and relaxation and figuring out what the hell he actually wants to do with his life. But all that is thrown out the window when he runs into his ex-fling, Henry Fox, who just so happens to be running the hotel he's staying in for the next three months.

Four years prior, Henry Fox meets the most beautiful boy he's ever seen at an NYU party: Alex Claremont-Diaz. Henry soon finds himself whisked away to Texas with Alex, a summer full of poetry and skinny dipping and stolen kisses, and everything is perfect. Almost too perfect for a summer fling. Yet Henry can't stop himself from falling in love with Alex, falling for the lake house and everything Alex loves, even when he knows it's too good to last.

Two summers, two places of falling in love, one filled with memories of the last. It leaves Alex and Henry wondering: is this summer truly going to be their last one together?

A Long Way From the Playground by allmylovesatonce. E, 96k. Henry and Alex were best friends growing up until they went to separate colleges and they grew apart. When they see each other again as adults, against the odds, both living in the same city again, will it be a joyful reunion or will the pain of the years apart get in the way? How do you become friends again when there is so much of the past in the way?

Peaches and Cream do Sexy Murder series by @dumbpeachjuice and @clottedcreamfudge. E, 103k. There are precisely three things Henry knows for absolute certain:

1. There is nothing that can’t be solved by a good cup of tea.

2. His dog, David, is probably the person who loves him most in the world, and that is because Henry is the provider of sausages.

3. His sister would do anything for him, including, but not limited to, murdering his wanker of an ex-boyfriend.

Or, Henry is a witch with a slew of dead ex-boyfriends, and Alex has a badge and a gun.

The Consequences (Of our Actions) series by @anchoredarchangel. E, 135k. "I sort of came out as bisexual to both Nora and myself when we were watching that fucking snoozefest of a Royal Wedding years ago, and I told her with no hesitation that you were on my list.”

Suddenly, Henry looks very present in this previously one-sided conversation, eyes boring into him even if he sounds a little choked as he clarifies, “I was on-”

“My No Consequences sex list,” Alex confirms brazenly, “Yeah."

Or: During an inadvisable spot of dating years back, Alex and Nora made a game out of making extensive lists of celebrities they could hook up with without it being cheating. One breakup and several years later, Alex meets someone on his list for the very first time at a charity gala and decides it's appropriate to tell him all about it.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part One

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part Three

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

[piratefalls]

hi, yes, i'm still very behind on reading, but in my defense i picked up an actual book and did read that, so.

anyway, here's some fic.

masterlist.

(Secret) Santa Baby by indomitablelove

"When it comes to Secret Santa, Alex really does have a reputation to uphold. Everybody wants Alex to get them. Nobody actually wants to get Alex, which is why he usually ends up with novelty socks or a political biography, but he doesn’t care. Ultimately, everybody wants Alex to get their name. And right now, Alex is seconds away from finding out who his new mark is. The person that he’s going to spend the next few weeks learning inside and out to ensure that he gets them the perfect gift." --- Alex gets his work nemesis, Henry, in the office Secret Santa and realises that he doesn't know nearly as much about him as he thought...

Creative Differences by @sparklepocalypse

Zahra tilts her head at him, a contemplative expression on her face. “How attached are you to the notion of being a solo artist?” (AU; Alex is a failed solo musician and Henry's band needs a lead singer.)

just a figure of speech by congee4lunch

“Like I said: Alphas really don’t know how to fuck.” “And like I said,” Alex sets down his mug and steps closer to Henry. “I can fuck and I know how to fuck you so well, you’ll see stars, baby.” henry, an omega, hasn’t had good sex in a long time. as his alpha roommate and friend, alex can help with that. in a totally platonic bro way, of course.

Oxford Days by @myheartalivewrites

"Alex’s new roommate is kind of a slut. No. Strike that. Not kind of. Definitely. Definitely a slut." -- An ode to slutty Henry.

we play all day (and spread holiday cheer) by headabovethewater

Nora guffaws. “You fucked Santa’s Elf?!” “I mean,” Alex pauses and shrugs, “not with the costume on, obviously.” “I can’t fucking believe you,” Nora exclaims, her hands cupping her own face in disbelief. She looks over Alex’s shoulder and cocks an eyebrow, before she lowers her hands and her tone, and asks, “Since when do you have a thing for blondes?”

miles to go, but we're almost home by anincompletelist

Texas is a bit of a last minute decision. As in, at the actual last minute, Henry had begged them at the station for whatever ticket they had left to get out of the city, shoved his credit card at them expeditiously, and promptly boarded the vessel just as the doors slid closed behind him. Turns out it’s the best decision he’s ever made.

If at first you don't succeed by clottedcreamfudge

"Probably straight," Alex says, holding his hand out to Henry, "but you're extremely hot, so like - well done." "Well done?" Henry asks incredulously, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile as he takes Alex's hand in a firm handshake. "Well done on... being extremely hot?" "Hey, man," Alex says easily, taking his hand away after the briefest of shakes. "Take it or leave it." "In that case, I shall update my profile," Henry says as he gets to his feet. "Unsuccessful date with a heterosexual man who, nonetheless, had to admit I was 'extremely hot'."

his soft touch by viciouslyqueer

Alex comes homes and Henry immediately knows something is wrong.

Nocturnal Guilt by somuchworse

Henry hums, and Alex feels the vibration of it more than actually hearing the delicate sound. “What did you do, love?” “I stole Liam’s medication,” he grumbles. The room is still for a moment. “Tonight?” Henry asks, voice sliding into a slightly higher pitch, a memorable indication of his most genuine confusion. Alex groans. Talking is hard. “No,” he says, when Henry applies a little more pressure on the back of his head, like it’s a reward. “When we were kids. I stole a few so I could work on school shit, and he had a total meltdown when a few were missing, and I didn’t even tell him. I’m literally the fucking worst.”

Bukkake Breaky Heart by @kiwiana-writes

Six men surround Alex in a semicircle: blindfolded, tested, NDA’ed to within an inch of their lives even without any idea of who is in the room with them. Alex has a fantasy. Henry makes it happen.

Going Once, Going Twice by allmylovesatonce

“I was supposed to go to this Christmas fundraiser for the NYU symphony,” she explains, “but there’s this event at work that as an intern I really can’t miss.” “What’s the favour?” June grimaces. “I need you to go to the symphony fundraiser for me.” Alex stills. There’s one reason June would be going to something for the symphony. Henry fucking Fox. He’s going to hope that her favour doesn’t involve him, but Alex figures he can’t really be that lucky. -------- Alex wins a date with Henry, but in order to even slightly enjoy it, he'll have to get over his hatred for him.

it's all me (just don't go) by weather_stained

Alex has been trying all summer to manage his grueling internship and other commitments without impacting his relationship with Henry. When he misses a date night, he worries it could be the last straw.

if evil, why so cute? by everwitch

Alex’s cat hates Alex, but loves Henry, the Bookstagram influencer who’s on vacation in Alex’s quiet seaside town. And while Alex is pretty salty about his grumpy cat’s inexplicable affection for a complete stranger, he must admit he can see the appeal; Henry is fucking gorgeous. It’s why Alex follows him on Instagram in the first place. It's just, Alex had never thought he’d be officially introduced to Henry by his own goddamn cat. Or: Henry takes a two-week vacation to a seaside cabin with the intent to read a lot of books. Instead, he has a lot of sex.

Jumped the Gun by lovelythething

"Well,” Henry says, measuring his voice carefully, “there’s a first time for everything.” Alex, in reply, screams into a pillow.

secret moments in a crowded room by HypnosTherapy

Henry smiles, something settling in his expression when he sees Alex. “Hello, darling-” “I felt up your employee,” Alex says, the words rushing out of his mouth. Henry blinks. “I thought Angus was you, and I grabbed him by the hips, and it was weird as shit, I’m sorry.” Henry has the nerve to smirk, rolling his eyes. “He really is an excellent double,” he says, reaching out to pat Alex consolingly on the shoulder. __ After getting a concerned call from the man's PPO, Henry makes an effort to ensure his body double Angus is getting properly socialized. Alex is hesitant to spend time with the Henry-shaped clone, but he quickly finds himself getting charmed by the man. Angus gracefully slides from strange phenomenon to friend. And then something more.

it's you (it's always been you) by coffeecatsme

“You mean to tell me you named your vibrator after another man because you thought the pun would be funny?” Alex names his vibrator after Han Solo and Henry gets jealous.

come pick me up by smc_27

‘I’m here for you’ He can tell that the person will receive that as a text message as well as in the app, which is a relief because sometimes people like, order rides then absolutely pay no fucking attention to the app. It’s really annoying to have to wait forever for folks. ’Thank you. I’m going through a difficult time currently, so this means a lot.’ Alex stares at the message he received, frowning, and then another comes through. ‘Apologies. I’ve lost all my contacts. Who is this?’ Oh, Christ. This is going to be awkward as fuck. ’This is your Uber driver. I’m outside.’ OR, Alex is an Uber driver. Henry needs a ride the airport.

titles are the worst, we refuse by athousandrooms, clottedcreamfudge, everwitch, indomitablelove, railmedaddy

The paparazzi, a friend, their classmates, a true enemy. Alex is no stranger to telling people to fuck off, it’s a daily occurrence; but when it’s Henry who does it? Alex couldn’t be prouder. — 5 times Alex tells someone to fuck off and one time Henry does.

Gym Buddies by cmere

"I'm Henry," the guy offers. Alex pushes up one rep, then another. The blood is rushing to his face as he powers through more, and seems to be rushing elsewhere as well, because there's undeniable arousal pooling in his groin from the exertion. He struggles slightly for a moment, then, and instead of taking over like Alex expects, his new best friend Henry starts—talking. "That's good, so good. Perfect, can you give me another?" Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sweat pours down Alex's forehead as he pushes the bar back up off his chest. "Beautiful, just beautiful. So good for me. There you are, love." Henry helps Alex settle the bar back on the rack, and Alex exhales in a rush, his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest. Fuck. PUMP Gym is notorious for gay guys cruising, and Alex wants to hook up.

To Show Our Love by bleedingballroomfloor

With Henry and Alex in the midst of moving into their new home together, Henry reflects on Valentine's Day and what the holiday meant to him growing up closeted in the palace, and more so, the new meaning that Alex brings to it.

Cosmos in His Palms by AnchoredArchangel

“I’ve been thinking,” Henry says quietly, “almost constantly, about your list.” Alex blinks because, well, his list hasn’t had this kind of traction in years. The Google trend must be spiking off the charts. Henry bites at his own lower lip, turning the blush pink a tortured white, admits, “About the things you want to do-” Oh. That list. Or: Alex discovers that talking to Henry is just as nice as having sex with him, or at least, pretty close. A perfectly timed revelation when he finds himself in desperate need of a heart-to-heart.

Fox. Henry Fox. by Pondermoniums

Alex had seen the guy around campus, sure. He was hard to miss, but Alex never said out loud why. For everyone else, being the son of the famous James Bond actor made him a celebrity enough. But for Alex, Henry Fox just…stood out.

wanting by rizcriz

It slammed into him with the force of a semi truck out of the blue on a random Tuesday in July. the AC was out; they were sprawled out in the living room in nothing but their boxers, complaining about the heat and threatening to off their landlord in a million different ways. Alex was on the floor, Henry was on the couch, one leg draped over the back, his arms thrown up over his head. Henry had said something; something absurd and hilarious and Alex can’t for the life of him remember what it was, because all he remembers is lifting his head off the floor, and catching sight of that shining head of golden hair caught in a sunbeam and thinking— And thinking. God, I love him.

you all over me by stutteringpeach

When Henry organises an evening of group sex, he never expects to meet a gorgeous man he wants to marry and have children with. Or, a meet-cute at a sex club.

tripped and fell into this bed by @priincebutt

“What, hate sex with my ex who chose his duty to his country over me? I’m not interested.” “Are you sure about that?” Henry’s voice is curious, genuine and raw, because he can hear the hesitation behind Alex’s words, the way his sentence structure is crumbling with wanting to say yes. It hasn’t been long enough for Alex to be moved on, and Henry doesn’t know if he wants Alex back, or if he just wants to have some really fucking good sex, which he’s not had since the last time he’d been with Alex. It had been a bold move, but he doesn’t regret it. And he internally cheers when Alex lets out another dramatic sigh. “Fine. Where are you staying and when should I meet you?” Or, Henry broke up with Alex when he stormed the castle, then booty calls him months later at Paris Fashion Week.

if you want me to tag you in future lists for whatever reason, just let me know, and i'll see you next week!

@starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels

[godinvent]

So I saw this post about how in the books, Dracula is actually an old man and I always imagined Dracula looked like older Christopher Lee, who played him while he was a kid. While looking him up I accidentally discovered that Christopher Lee was the coolest person in the universe and there is a non-zero chance he was actually Dracula in real life

Sir Christopher Frank Carandini Lee CBE CStJ (May 27th 1922 - June 7th 2015), Sir because he was knighted in 2009 for his charity and his contributions to cinema

So first of all, I saw that he actually knew 8 LANGUAGES (English, Spanish, French, Swedish, Italian, German, Russian and Greek) and was also a staggering 6 feet 5 inches in height. Born in Belgravia in London, one of the most Dracula sounding places I’ve ever heard of, here’s some insane facts about him

•His father, Lieutenant Colonel Geoffrey Trollope Lee of the 60th King's Royal Rifle Corps, fought in the Boer War and World War 1

•His mother, Countess Estelle Marie (née Carandini di Sarzano) was an Edwardian beauty who was painted by Sir John Lavery, Oswald Birley, and Olive Snell, and sculpted by Clare Sheridan

•Lee's maternal great-grandfather, Jerome Carandini, the Marquis of Sarzano, was an Italian political refugee

•Jerome’s wife was English-born opera singer Marie Carandini (née Burgess), meaning that Lee is also related to famous opera singer Rosina Palmer

•His parents would divorce when he was four and his mother would marry Harcourt George St-Croix Rose, banker and uncle of Ian Fleming, making the author of the James Bond books Lee’s step cousin. Fleming would then offer him two roles as the antagonist in the film adaptations of his books, though he was only able to land the antagonist role in The Man With the Golden Gun. It’s believed his role in the film is significantly better and more complex than his book counterpart, played as “a dark side of Bond”

•His family would move and they lived next door to famous silent film actor Eric Maturin

•One night, before he was even 9 years old, he was introduced to Prince Yusupov and Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich, THE ASSASSINS OF GRIGORI RASPUTIN, WHOM LEE WOULD GO ON TO PLAY MANY YEARS LATER

•Lee applied for a scholarship to Eton, where his interview was in the presence of the ghost story author M.R. James, who is considered one of the best English language ghost story writers in history and who widely influenced modern horror

•He only missed by King’s Scholar by one place by being bad at math, one of the only flaws God gave him

•Due to lack of working opportunities, Lee was sent to the French Riviera and stayed with his sister and her friends while she was on holiday, and on the way there he stopped briefly in Paris with journalist Webb Miller, a friend of his step father. Webb Miller was an American journalist and war correspondent and was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for his coverage of the execution of the French serial killer Henri Désiré Landru, also known as BLUEBEARD. He also helped turn world opinion against British colonial rule of India

•While staying with Miller he witnessed Eugen Weidmann’s execution by guillotine, the last public execution ever performed in France

•Arriving in Menton, Lee stayed with the Russian Mazirov family, living among exiled princely families

•When World War 2 began, Lee volunteered to fight for the Finnish Army against the Soviet Union in the Winter War, and a year later, Lee would join the Home Guard. After his father died, he would join the Royal Air Force and was an intelligence officer and leading aircraft man and would later retire as a flight lieutenant in 1946

•While spending some time on leave in Naples, Lee climbed Mount Vesuvius, which erupted only three days later

•After nearly dying in an assault on Monte Cassino, Lee was able to visit Rome where he met his mother’s cousin Nicolò Carandini, who had fought in the Italian Resistance Movement. Nicolò would later go on to be the Italian Ambassador to Britain. Nicolò was actually the one to convince Lee to become an actor in the first place

•Oh yeah Christopher Lee was seconded to the Central Registry of War Criminals and Security Suspects where he was tasked with HELPING TRACK DOWN NAZI WAR CRIMINALS

•Lee’s stepfather served as a captain in the Intelligence Corps

•He was actually told he was too tall to be an actor, though that would honestly help him considering one of his first roles was as The Creature in The Curse of Frankenstein

•He was cast in Captain Horatio Hornblower R.N (1951) as a Spanish captain due to not only his fluency in Spanish but also he knew how to fence!

•Lee’s portrayal of Dracula had a crucial aspect of it which Bela Lugosi’s didn’t have: sexuality, a prime aspect of the original novels.

•While being trapped into playing Dracula under Hammer Film Productions, Lee actually hated the script so much that he would try his best to sneak actual lines from the original novel into the script

•Ironically, he was rejected from playing in The Longest Day because “he didn’t look like a military man”

•Christopher Lee was friends with author Dennis Wheatley, who “was responsible for bringing the occult into him”. He would go on to play in two film adaptations of his novels

•His biggest regret in his career is not taking the role of Sam Loomis from Halloween when offered to him

•Christopher Lee was the only person involved with the Lord of the Rings movies to have actually met J.R.R Tolkien

•When playing Count Dooku, he actually did most of the swordsmanship himself

•Christopher Lee was the second oldest living performer to enter the Billboard Top 100 charts with the song “Jingle Hell” at 91 years old. After media attention, he would get No. 18, and Lee became the oldest person to ever hit the Billboard Top 20 chart

I really am leaving some stuff out here and I may go on

[sophie1973]

I was tagged this week by my usual suspects Mel @onthewaytosomewhere, Jamie @stellarmeadow and @iboatedhere

Today I'm offering a little snippet of the Birthday fic I posted yesterday for May @itsmaybitheway

You can also read it HERE on AO3

Tags under the cut

The front door slams with a sudden, jarring bang, and they both startle. Their intimate moment is brutally interrupted, and they regretfully let go of each other. “Dad! Papi!” Emilia June Fox-Claremont-Diaz, their little hurricane, bursts into the kitchen, her curly chestnut hair bouncing with each step and a beaming smile lighting up her pretty face, radiating her excitement. “What’s with the banshee wail? And by the way, you’re paying for that hole you just made in the entry wall," Alex says, a hint of a smile on his lips. Millie completely ignores him. “You’ll never guess who is coming to Austin in July,” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and vibrating with excitement.  “The Queen of England,” Henry quips, and Alex snorts.

In most households, this might be taken as a joke, but not in theirs. The Queen of England was actually coming to spend a fortnight with her son, son-in-law, and granddaughter. Millie rolls her eyes. “Haha. I thought Papi talked to you about the dad jokes. Anyway, I love Grandma, but no, it’s October Sun. Can you get a ticket, please? Please, please, please?” She gives Alex her best puppy eyes and pouty lips, a tactic she knows works better on him than on Henry. To be fair, Henry is far from immune himself, but since Alex always had a hard time refusing his little girl anything, Henry had to step in from time to time and be the reasonable parent. To be even more fair, Henry sometimes couldn’t say no either, and Alex was the level-headed party. Thankfully, they had managed to find a perfect balance over the years. “Wait, which one is October Sun? Is that the band with the lead singer who looks like Dad?” Alex asks, and Henry can't help but sigh. “Yes! Just, you know, much younger.” “Delighted to hear I’m a decrepit version of a boy band singer,” Henry says, taking offense. He is not even 40 years old, for fuck’s sake. But he supposes that it seemed dreadfully ancient in the eye of a 14-year-old girl.

Tagging with no pressure

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @tailsbeth-writes @taste-thewaste @firenati0n

@bitbybitwrites @piratefalls @orchidscript @pridepages

@anincompletelist @blueeyedgrlwrites @theprinceandagcd @happiness-of-the-pursuit

And open tag for anyone who wants :)

[conflictofthemind]

Not saying this means anything especially since TBSOAS (the book) only came out in 2020, more of a “hey this is weird” post but:

I’ve always thought these two looked / were similar as two wavy blond haired blue eyed men, and it definitely helps that they both premiered (in the case of film Corio) within one year of each other . But there’s like, more than that? And some of it is very strange?

First off, they are two characters who since the start of their chronological stories teeter between ‘good’ and ‘evil’ with a lot of forces in their life, including their evil scientist mentor, pushing them towards the dark side by use of manipulation tactics. Henry is much more of a direct victim to this than Corio is though, and the latter also does have more good influences in his life.

“Fueled with the terror of becoming Prey, see how quickly we become Predator?” - Dr. Gaul

“I could restore balance to a broken world… a predator, but for good” - Henry Creel / 001

Also, can I mention how both TBOSAS and TFS are set in the same exact time period? The Hunger Games uses retro futurism since the entire story is set centuries from now, but the era is clearly inspired by the late 50s to early 60s, especially given that it takes place 60 years before the main series.

Now here’s the actual weird part that had me making this post.

Both of their origin stories center on a romance with a female co-lead that ends with them killing her (heavy question mark). That’s not the weird part. It’s the way that the plots of both of these origin stories and said female characters are based off of old European folk-songs that were popular in Appalachia. TFS is based off of ‘The Tale of Barbara Allen’ and TBOSAS is based off of ‘The Ballad of Lucy Gray’ - Stranger Things just bothered to change her name to Patty Newby. Barbara Allen (Patty) appears as a covey sister of Lucy Gray in TBSOAS. Naturally, both of these characters are singers which plays a role in their respective stories.

I just have to say, it’s a very obscure source of inspiration to happen twice like this. There is a little part of me that thinks Kate Trefry and the writing crew on TFS might have been fans of The Hunger Games. But who knows.

Suzanne Collins wrote the TBOSAS prequel to answer the question of ‘nature vs nurture’ and how much choice villains have in becoming their future selves - which is the exact same question that is actively being posed by Stranger Things in regards to Henry.

And then how I got started on this line of thinking again today - the older adult versions of these characters both kidnap the respective sweet boy love interests and hijack them against the main characters. For strategic reasons and, in the case of Peeta, emotionally torturing the main character so she gives up. Will and Peeta are just both so similar as characters; soft and sensitive, traumatized, painters, both the poor underdogs with (seemingly) unrequited love for the protagonist though Mike isn’t really the protagonist.

I’m not sure if there’s actual inspiration being taken here. I typically assume not on the basis that I’m someone who can find connections between any pieces of media I enjoy. But the whole Appalachian folktale angle of it all is strange to me.

While I don’t think Henry was conceived with this in mind, it’s possible the inspiration sprang up during the further fleshing out of his backstory and into writing The First Shadow. Maybe it will even have an impact on the final season.

One of the things I liked about TBOSAS was the theme of the past coming back to haunt Snow in the future through Katniss and the music Lucy Gray created living on through her. If this was in any way inspiration, I’d love to see Vecna haunted by how similar Will is to him and especially the ways that he is different and able to do better.

[daandyli0n]

alright, so! some design fun facts for my versions of the Withered Animatronics

@that-darn-clown if you wanna see these

In General:

the original Freddy's Band was based off of toys from Henry's childhood.

the names have been changed heavily from the plushies, though: Teddy, Theodore, Dawn, and Cooper.

(Un)Withered Freddy:

based off of Teddy, a stuffed bear with buttons pre-sewn in.

has a pencil mustache

general vibes were supposed to be "tough guy that you might mistake for a criminal, but is actually just fatherly boss type of guy."

suffered the least amount of overall damage after being withered

the part of his endoskeleton that controlled his left eye weakened over time, causing the eye to "roll around" a bit.

voice box is very damaged, though: music and voice comes out heavily distorted and glitchy, to the point it's nearly impossible to understand.

(Un)Withered Bonnie:

based off of Theodore (the OG, not the one he made for Sammy), a stuffed rabbit that also had buttons pre-sewn in.

based roughly off of country and rock singers in the 70s (Henry's a southern country dude to me, y'know?)

vibes were "jokester rock star dude who is Definitely not gay for the lead singer (Freddy)." also meant to be kind of a dick. a likeable dick, though.

suffered the most damage after being withered. no one knows how he got that damaged. they think he was likely vandalized, though.

can't speak clearly; think UCN, voice and speech is heavily distorted and nearly unintelligible, but speech can still be made out.

shambles/limps as he walks due to his legs being more rusted, as well as having stability problems in general.

shirt was pinned down using the buttons, and then tore off; what happened is unknown

(Un)Withered Chica:

based off of Dawn, a stuffed rooster that Henry had initially believed was a hen until "corrected." still treated her as a hen though.

due to this, as you can guess, Chica is meant to be canonically transfem.

supposed to give off "young southern woman who takes no shit from anyone and cooks for everyone just because she wants to" vibes.

Henry ignored any questions about Chica being trans for years, and justified the tailfeathers on what's supposed to be a hen as a "design choice" (which isn't wrong, to be clear. he's just purposefully being vague).

eyelids + lashes fell off, giving her a permanently wide-eyed look.

"wrist" joints rusted and "hands" fell off

beak joints became weak and started falling apart, leaving her with a permanently gaping mouth.

apron 🥰🥰

(Un)Withered Foxy:

based off of Cooper, a stuffed Fox that was constantly falling apart when Henry was growing up

yellow eyes and stuff was based off of Henry's mom replacing the eyes with yellow buttons.

pirate because he asked Michael for a theme for the ""antagonist""* and that's what Michael picked.

* not really that much of an antagonist, think Rolfe from the Rock-Afire Explosion but if you mixed him with Doofenshmirtz. basically he'd just annoy everyone with his pirate schemes, but they were all buddies.

nobody knows how Foxy got that damaged.

his peg leg is straight up Ripped Off.

so is his eye

attacks by running through the hall on all fours like a dog and then propelling himself and lunging into the office.

eyes are very sensitive from his time in the dark, more so than the others somehow, which is why the flashlight works so well. no one knows why his eyes are so much more sensitive, though.

people think Foxy tore himself apart somehow (due to his more erratic behavior compared to the others post-MCI), or that someone vandalized him for some reason.

[justforbooks]

Anouk Aimée

Elegant French film actor best known for her roles in the classic films A Man and a Woman, Lola, and La Dolce Vita

Show-business history records how the young Françoise Sorya was walking with her parents in Paris when they were approached by the director Henri Calef, who asked whether the teenager could play a part in his forthcoming production La Maison Sous la Mer (1947). The answer was yes and Françoise took the professional name Anouk after the character she was to play.

A short while later, she accepted a part in La Fleur de l’Age and its director, Marcel Carné, added Aimée to her chosen name. In the event the film was not completed, but its writer, Jacques Prévert, had been captivated by the beauty and natural talent of the young actor and wrote a screenplay indebted to Romeo and Juliet for her. As a result, Anouk Aimée, who has died aged 92, took the role of Juliette in The Lovers of Verona (1949).

The success of the movie launched her career, which included some 70 feature films, stage work and a handful of TV movies and miniseries. Her greatest successes were La Dolce Vita (1960), Lola (1961) and A Man and a Woman (1966), for which she won a Golden Globe and an Oscar nomination, but she chose work erratically and happily sacrificed her career for a private life that included an absence from the screen during the first six years of her marriage to the actor Albert Finney.

Daughter of Geneviève (nee Durand), who acted under the name Geneviève Sorya, and Henri Dreyfus, also an actor, she was born in Paris. During the occupation, her parents moved her to the country for safety and she used her mother’s name rather than that of her Jewish father. He later changed his name to Henry Murray.

Aimée studied both drama and dance before her first starring role in The Lovers of Verona, as the would-be actor Juliette, who, while working as an understudy, meets and falls tragically in love with a set carpenter (Serge Reggiani). That success took her to Britain for a part opposite Trevor Howard in The Golden Salamander (1950). Although she was well received in the rather dull film, she subsequently married the Greek director Nico Papatakis and had a daughter, and did not appear on screen again until The Crimson Curtain (1953).

This was a stylishly made period romance, adapted by the writer Alexandre Astruc from a short story as his directorial debut. Despite a duration of 43 minutes and narration rather than dialogue, it proved a critical success. Aimée, cast as a young woman with heart problems who sacrifices herself for her lover, embarked on a busy international career.

She played a prostitute, Jeanne, in an adaptation of a Georges Simenon story, The Man Who Watched the Trains Go By (aka The Paris Express, 1952); co-starred in a somewhat pretentious thriller, Bad Liaisons (1955), directed by Astruc; and played a small role in Lovers of Paris (1957), which starred Gérard Philipe, France’s leading romantic actor.

She was invited to play opposite him in Jacques Becker’s Montparnasse 19 (1958), a biopic of Modigliani in which she took the role of the woman who eventually married the artist. She moved straight to another prestige production for Georges Franju, The Keepers (1959), playing a woman who tries to help a young man wrongly committed to a psychiatric hospital by his father. In Federico Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, starring Marcello Mastroianni, she had the powerful role of a jaded socialite and found in the director a new freedom and vitality that kept her working in Italy for much of the next six years.

However, her best role was in Lola, Jacques Demy’s enchanting debut, dedicated to Max Ophuls and romantic cinema, which it affectionately satirised. Aimée as the not very talented singer waiting for her sailor lover to return made the character, in top hat and feather boa, vivacious yet vulnerable. Sadly, most of the other films in this period were less distinguished, and only Fellini’s 8½ (1963) placed her in a quality movie, as Mastroianni’s girlfriend.

She received the greatest popular acclaim of her long career in Claude Lelouch’s A Man and a Woman. It took the Oscar as best foreign film, and the Cannes festival award as best film, with an Oscar nomination for Aimée as best actress. She did not win, but there was compensation in receiving the equivalent award from Bafta, a Golden Globe and starring in a huge box office hit. Its success led to a sequel, A Man and a Woman – Twenty Years Later (1986).

After starring in the elegant and mysterious Un Soir, Un Train (1968) for the Belgian director André Delvaux, she again played Lola, in Model Shop (1969), which marked Demy’s American debut. The film flopped, not least because Aimée seemed uninterested and unengaged by her role.

The same could be said of The Appointment and Justine (both 1969). The former was a misguided project by the New Yorker Sidney Lumet and suffered from an arty pseudo-European “sophistication” that alienated audiences. Justine was taken over by George Cukor early in the shooting. The director, famous for his rapport with female actors, later remarked that it was his only experience working with “somebody who didn’t try”. It was a commercial failure.

She returned to the screen in 1976 with Second Chance. There was an upturn when she received the best actress award at the 1980 Cannes festival for A Leap in the Dark, an atmospheric work by Marco Bellochio. Aimée took the character role of a spinster sister of a judge (Michel Piccoli), also unmarried, each enduring lives of quiet desperation. This was one of eight films she made with Piccoli, a friend since their days as drama students.

She worked for another distinguished director, Bernardo Bertolucci, in Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man (1981), but her cool talent was swamped by the ebullience of her co-star, Ugo Tognazzi. The political thriller enjoyed little success either critically or commercially. Aimée subsequently worked mainly in France, with occasional sorties into international movies, including a small role in Jerzy Skolimowski’s Success Is the Best Revenge (1984), and a larger one in Bethune: The Making of a Hero (1990), a co-production celebrating the Canadian doctor Norman Bethune, portrayed by Donald Sutherland.

She was among the prestige cast in Robert Altman’s stargazer’s delight, Prêt-à-Porter (1994), which had fun at the expense of the fashion trade. In 2002 she received a lifetime achievement Golden Bear award at the Berlin International film festival.

She continued to work during the following decade, and defended criticisms of her occasional misfires, saying that while some of her choices had been poor, she was still proud of her “not unimpressive” career. She added that actors, too, need to work for money.

She had a pivotal role in The Birch-Tree Meadow (2003), co-written by Jeanne Moreau and directed by Marceline Loridon-Ivens. This sturdy work cast her as a Holocaust survivor returning to the scenes of the atrocities and encountering the photographer grandson of an SS officer.

In lighter mood in the comedy Happily Ever After (2004), she played the mother to the central character Vincent, a role taken by the director Yvan Attal. In 2006, she was attracted to another supporting role as the mother to the lead actor in the intriguing Hotel Harabati.

The amiable The One I Love (2009) was followed by a return to the director who had given her international fame in 1966. Lelouch’s Ces Amours-là was a sad disappointment, however, and Aimée’s following film, Paris Connections (financed by Tesco and sold through their retail outlets), based on a Jackie Collins novel, seems to have fared little better.

She then worked with the novelist and film-maker Philippe Claudel in his second feature, Tous les Soleils (2011), in which she took the role of a dying woman. After Mince Alors! (2012), her 90th screen credit, in which she had a small role, as Maman, she effectively retired, living in Montparnasse, Paris, with her daughter, Manuela.

However, in 2019 she was tempted to return for a final film with Lelouch and the chance to work again with Jean-Louis Trintignant, her co-star from A Man and a Woman. The film The Best Years of a Life was the second follow-up to that famous original and dealt with love and memory in old age. It was celebrated for showing the enduring magnetism of its stars.

Aimée was married and divorced four times. She is survived by Manuela.

🔔 Anouk Aimée (Nicole Françoise Florence Dreyfus), actor, born 27 April 1932; died 18 June 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[wishingicouldfly]

How Books are Published - Some Personal Insight

I have a bit of experience with how the publishing industry works, and I thought some of you might be interested in taking a peek behind the curtain. For the record, I don’t know anything about the veracity of Maya Henry’s novel (Looking Forward) or what she drew from her own life experiences, the quality of her writing, or her individual path to publication. The following is based on my personal knowledge of the industry.

Under the cut for more.

When someone (celeb or otherwise) has a manuscript, generally speaking, they are going to look for the best deal. One of the “Big 5” publishers (or their subsidiaries) are going to be able to offer the biggest advance, the best PR support, etc. While there are reputable publishers that aren’t considered “Big 5” – those smaller entities aren’t going to be able to afford a big advance on royalties. Sometimes publishers will engage in bidding wars to win the opportunity to publish a book that has wide commercial appeal. This would be known publicly, and the deal would be announced with a flourish and a press release.

Even a smaller deal without a bidding war would be announced through Publisher’s Weekly with information about the book, author, and who made the deal (agent), not announced via the authors Instagram account with no information about the publisher or a link on how to pre-order. See examples: Anne Twist’s book announcement on Publisher’s Weekly: Betty and the Mysterious Visitor (publishersweekly.com) and Lottie Tomlinson’s press release for her 7-way bidding war: The Bookseller - Rights - Blink Publishing wins Lottie Tomlinson's 'inspirational' memoir in seven-way auction

For me, it’s telling that Henry’s book appears to be published by a small press (MARS Book Publishing (marsbookspublishing.com) with little to no platform. This is not inherently bad. However, as of May 17, 2024, the website has typos, does not have links to its staff or published works, and both the Instagram and TikTok links on the website lead to accounts with no posts. If you’re a writer, this would be very concerning to say the least. Huge red flag. Even a small press should be able to promote your product. My advice to someone looking to publish a book would be to stay away from this press, as it doesn’t look to be reputable.

That said, if one was going to self-publish, they’d need to have a publisher listed for the business side of things – that’s the way Amazon publishing works. Most self-published authors create a business name for their own published works. Again, this is not inherently bad or wrong, just pulling the curtain back. If you don’t have a book deal with a reputable publisher, then this is the way you can publish your book. From the outside, it appears that there is a publisher attached to the book.

For both traditional and self-published books, authors should have readers prepared with reviews. Currently (as of 5/17/24) there are no reviews on Goodreads, which again, for me, is a flaw if the goal is a longer shelf life and a wider audience.

Ultimately, the quality of the book will be the determining factor. People who read the book will talk about it, recommend it, or not recommend it. Relying on word of mouth, a salacious story, some entertainment magazines interested in a click, and a big-name singer (albeit allegedly fictionalized) attached to the story is certainly helpful to garner interest in a novel. But even on the third day of release (5/17/24) the book isn’t hitting the top marks on Amazon in its selected categories. (Screen shot taken by me on 5/17/24 at 12:06 p.m. ET).

Note: these ratings update and change constantly, this is simply one snapshot in time.

If I were to make an educated guess, the book was shopped around and declined by reputable publishers, leading the author to decide to self-publish. The author created a publishing company name and published via Amazon KDP. In my opinion, it appears to have been done quickly and sloppily, without the amount of professional input it should have had.

Again, I don’t have any first-hand knowledge of this book’s path to publication, so these are educated guesses from personal experience, not personal knowledge of the author’s process.

Not having a deal announced in PW, not having a legitimate publisher website with links to staff and other published works, and not having an author website are all clues to someone wanting to capitalize on something quickly, not someone wanting to take the time to publish with precision.

I don’t have anything against self-publishing, I’ve done it myself. It’s a great way to get a book out if an author doesn't have a book deal and/or the book doesn’t hit traditional niches. However, I think it’s odd for a pseudo-celebrity, with a seemingly compelling story based on life events, to not have a bigger publishing deal with a wider reach.

The reliance on entertainment news outlets for publicity can temporarily raise the interest level; but, not having a book tour, not having books available in bookstores, not having any sort of commercial push for sales will have a detrimental effect on how this book does in the long run, regardless of how many print interviews the author does about her former relationship. Of course, the author could do all of these things at their own expense, so perhaps this is on the horizon.

One last thing to add, a self-published author, with no publishing contract or commitment to a company, has the absolute final decision about everything to do with the book from the content, the packaging, and edits, and the PR.

Self-published books can do quite well in the market, when well written and promoted. I'll be curious to see how this one does.

(For reference, I have professional insight into publishing with Big 5 publishers, smaller independent publishers, educational publishers, and with self-publishing through an independent press).

[sweetdreamsjeff]

RAIDER OF THE LOST ARTS

Jeff Buckley Revisited

by Simeon FlickMarch 2023

Remember me, but oh, forget my fate. ––Henry Purcell, “Dido’s Lament”

Jeff Buckley

When Jeff Buckley drowned in the Wolf River tributary of the Mississippi on May 29, 1997, just as his band was arriving at the Memphis airport to start helping him finally nail down the long-awaited and already agonized-over second album, music lost not only one of its most singular and revolutionary of raw talents, but also the most mythologized—even during his lifetime—since Kurt Cobain’s death just three years prior. Buckley bore the boon and bane of being the scion of an also semi-famous and ill-fated folk/jazz/soul singer named Tim, and spent his entire life and career—following a single week-long reunion just before Tim’s 1975 death from an accidental heroin overdose—futilely trying to distance himself from the wayward father he never knew apart from the music of nine mostly half-baked studio albums. That an ever-growing number of people, the majority having discovered Jeff’s music post-mortem, feel they know the son better than he or anyone else knew his father, and still feel his loss as acutely as one would a dear family member, is a testament to the unparalleled emotional conveyance and lasting legacy of Jeff’s music despite having released only one official studio album during his lifetime (1994’s hauntingly gorgeous, seamlessly diverse Grace, which has found a home on innumerable “Greatest” lists and has been declared a personal favorite by many of his idols). Jeff Buckley’s influence lives on in the burgeoning underground cult of posthumous acolytes, and in the hyper-emotive, falsetto- and vibrato-laden, multi-octave vocal histrionics of so many subsequent singers, which only seem to come off as pale and obvious allusions that smack more of imitation than assimilation, much less embodiment, and we may never see his like again.

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Jeff Buckley entered the world during a meteor shower on the evening of November 17, 1966, the son of an already absent father and a mother, Mary Guibert, who at 18 wasn’t much more than a child herself. Like Cobain, who would arrive only three months later, Jeff had a typical Gen X childhood, replete with divorce, paternal estrangement and maternal domination, often violently reinforced alienation from his formative peers and unstable itinerancy (Mary dragged him through virtually every backwater town in California for all too short stints before he finally put his foot down in Anaheim, where both parents had grown up, and where extended family awaited). The sole refuge, besides the brief but stabilizing presence of the occasional father figure like stepdad Ron Moorhead, was the music men like him turned Jeff onto: Led Zeppelin, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, and countless others who would seemingly become part of his DNA. Music became his north star, his raison d’être, and when things went wrong, which was all too often (Jeff had to be a rock for flighty mother Mary, taking on too many of her responsibilities too young), he would escape into it for hours.

This would compound once he took up the guitar. Like many children of musicians do, in order to carve out a distinct musical identity (and to maintain a healthy generation gap), Jeff—or Scotty, as he was known by his middle name then––gravitated towards Gen-X’s chosen instrument: the electric guitar, to the exclusion of his mother’s classical piano and his father’s acoustic guitar and vocalizations. Aside from the occasional lead vocal in a high school cover band, mostly for the high-ranged prog-rock and new wave classics none of his other bandmates could pull off, he considered himself just a guitar player in the ’80s. But not just any player; with Al DiMeola as one of many paragons, Jeff threw himself headlong into the world of virtuosic technique, teaching himself complicated licks by ear as he worked diligently to master not just the instrument but music itself.

This trajectory was maintained after his 1984 high school graduation with a stint at the derided Los Angeles organization, MIT (Musician’s Institute of Technology), with its many specialized subsidiaries, including GIT (Guitar Institute of Technology), where Jeff continued his musical edification. After obtaining his virtually useless professional certificate from GIT but with his gun-slinging reputation solidified a year later, he gigged in various area bands and worked as a studio rat, arranging and recording demos for other aspiring artists. But the lead vocalist in him remained as of yet dormant.

Jeff’s father, Tim Buckley.

By the late ’80s it was already soul-crushingly evident that Los Angeles was a dead-end cesspool of intolerable immersion in other people’s music, and that a drastic change was required to sweep away the bad influences and external white noise to finally get him in touch with his own muse. New York City beckoned—just as it had to Tim in the ’60s—as a locus were people could become the epitome of themselves, get as weird as they wanted, and be unconditionally accepted or ignored as merely part of the scenery, and reach their full, rewarded potential in whatever their chosen field. Jeff tested the waters for a few months in 1990, but his money and options ran out, and he reluctantly returned to Los Angeles.

It wasn’t until April 26, 1991, when he performed as part of the Hal Willner-curated Greetings from Tim Buckley tribute show at Brooklyn’s St. Ann’s Church that he was able to lay the groundwork for a permanent relocation, having garnered the interest of several music industry types offering tangible professional succor, not to mention his first real girlfriend. That night marked the beginning of Jeff’s mythology-building not only as an artist in his own right, but also as an inextricable extension of his father’s legacy; many of the concert’s attendees were blown away not just by Jeff’s supposedly similar voice and delivery, but also by his physical resemblance (apparently there were some eerie backlit cheekbone shadows cast against the church hall walls that heightened the drama).

That there was so much defensiveness and/or mandated avoidance in so many subsequent interviews seems very bite-the-hand-that-feeds, but everyone has to break free from their parents at some point; that it often requires the assistance of those selfsame parents is a frustratingly ironic aspect of adulthood most of us have to face and embrace. Jeff simply had the misfortune of doing it in a highly scrutinized industry with zero—or even negative—expectations or tolerance of rock star progeny. He was also not only abandoned by his father, to whose funeral he was not even invited, but also projected on by Tim-obsessed fans and former love interests expecting the son to deliver on the father’s failed promise(s).

Jeff set up shop, and with the assistance of a demo tape of original songs he had recorded while still languishing in Los Angeles (courtesy of father Tim’s old manager, Herb Cohen), and a threadbare press kit (the only news clipping being a photocopied review of the Tim memorial show), he began beating the Manhattan pavement to drum up gigs and busk on the streets.

As of yet, short on original material, he leaned on sophisticated covers that resonated with his emphatically empathic and emotive spirit as he wall-pasta’d in search of a unique artistic identity. Songs by more recently assimilated influences like Nina Simone, Edith Piaf, and Leonard Cohen stood side by side with pitch-perfect deep-cut gems by Van Morrison and the beloved Zeppelin, with all-inclusive guitar arrangements that cast his different-every-time performances in full-blown Technicolor. His self-accompaniment on electric guitar as opposed to the acoustic form usually favored by the often excessively earnest—if not outright cheesy—solo folk artists of the past (including early-phase Tim), differentiated him from obsolete traditions, and it also broadcast the implicit message that this lone performer would eventually have a band behind him.

But the comprehensive guitar skill was just a tripod for the potent weapon his voice was becoming.

It’s difficult for most laypeople to differentiate between learned technique and natural timbre. Jeff didn’t inherit his father’s vocal gift; his was high-ranged and effeminate instead, with a thick palate and some huskiness occasionally muddying up his tone production. But what he did with it despite or because of the confines of those “limitations” is absolutely astounding. Instead of self-consciously diluting his delivery, he threw the book at it, almost as a diversionary tactic, like a magician smoke-and-mirror distracting his audience from an otherwise debunkable prestige move. With his uncanny imitative abilities and concomitant penchant for self-pedagogy, he adopted a rapid vibrato in accordance with essential influences (Simone, Piaf, Garland, and even father Tim, as was his undeniable birthright), nicked tricky classical and R&B trills and phrasing, turned his angelic upper register into a strength by frequently, often breathily leaning into his falsetto, incorporated various operatic (chromatic glissandos) and jazz (scatting) effects, learned how to push a full chest voice into his higher register like Robert Plant (and Tim) and to raggedly scream like Cobain and others of his generation. He ran sustain drills as he traveled across the city in cabs or on foot, drawing out his notes as long as possible to hone his deftly rationed breath support (just try holding out along with the 25-second E4 at the end of Grace’s “Hallelujah”). Tim had set the bar high for the younger Buckley, and Jeff rose mightily to the challenge, developing a comprehensive technique that kept pace with his guitar mastery, which had been pared down to unassailable jazz progressions and Hendrixian blues tropes and, like Cobain, would feature downplayed––if any––solos for the duration. If Jeff’s musical continuo was a haunted house, his voice had become the ghost that lingered within it.

(There’s something more compelling about the resulting output of singer/songwriters who start out exclusively as instrumentalists; it makes for more effective and meaningful musical accompaniment and better structured songs, and they tend to work more diligently and eruditely at mastering vocal technique. Tim leaned almost exclusively on his phenomenal voice, and insufficient thought was given to structure and harmony in his songs, and the lyrics were by turns predominantly unremarkable or unwieldy, the main drawback of being able to sing the phonebook. The resulting chord changes and accompaniment were more limited, derivative, yet ironically more obtrusive. Jeff had harnessed hooks, vivid and compelling lyrical imagery, and upper harmony into underlying works that left room for everything important, but especially the vocals. Thus, Jeff managed to achieve with one album what Tim failed to do in nine; he produced a timeless classic.)

Jeff’s most crucial influence––his self-declared Elvis––was the Qawwali singer Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Qawwali singing introduced Jeff not only to its mystical eastern harmony, which was a subtle but unmistakable undercurrent in his guitar parts and his music in general, but also to a highly freeing ilk of vocal improvisation he would use to sparing but profound effect in his live performances, most notably in his wordless vocal warm-ups for things like “Mojo Pin” and “Dream Brother,” and in the way he would subtly tweak the songs’ melodies from show to show.

With all of this gelling within and beginning to burst out of him, Jeff flogged his wares at many a Manhattan venue, but he would find his symbiotic Shangri La at Sin-é, a hole-in-the-wall café run by a fellow man of Irish descent, ex-pat Shane Doyle. Jeff crystalized into the self-accompanying male diva he had been striving to become there at Sin-é and found a home away from home not only on the small stage, where he reveled in an unparalleled, as-of-yet anonymous freedom within the material, but also behind the counter, where he could often be found washing dishes.

This is where Jeff’s buzz began to build, thanks to his Monday night residency, the impression he had made on the industry folk at Tim’s memorial concert (including several Columbia employees who started showing up on the regular), and the steadily growing crowds comprised predominantly of young women. As word of mouth spread and audiences began to overflow onto the sidewalk, the higher-ups at several major labels started circling to investigate the fresh blood in the water. A hilarious bidding war ensued, with record company execs actually trying to make table reservations at the tiny walk-in café, and the street’s curbs clogging with limousines. Jeff would end up signing with Columbia, a Sony subsidiary that was home to many of his heroes, and that made all the right overtures and promises to this hot young talent who was desperately intent on accomplishing the impossible feat of using and defeating the music industry from the inside, as opposed to being consumed by it like his father had been.

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Jeff’s “million dollar” deal––consisting of a $100,000 advance, a higher than normal royalty rate, and a three-album guarantee––was unusual for a solo artist of that time, considering there were scant few original songs, no band, and no official demo tape to speak of (the L.A. recordings, which Jeff in his humorously nihilistic cups had dubbed The Babylon Dungeon Sessions, technically fulfilled the applicable criteria but weren’t aurally suitable). Columbia knew they had a hot property on their hands, the Gen-X manifestation of a Dylan or Springsteen-esque heritage artist, and Jeff made sure they knew, mostly through intentional late arrivals to countless business meetings. But because his talents spanned so deep and wide, everyone was initially at a loss as to what form his recorded output should take. What the hell do you do with an artist that has the chops and versatility to go in any direction??

The logical first step was to try and capture the solo version of Jeff on tape and issue it as a soft introduction. Live At Sin-é was culled from two performances recorded during the summer of 1993 and released on November 23 as a perfunctory, slightly disappointing four-song EP consisting of two originals (“Mojo Pin,” and “Eternal Life,” both of which would get definitive, full-band versions on Grace), and two covers (a rhapsodically incendiary rendition of Van Morrison’s “The Way Young Lovers Do” and a transcendent reading of Edith Piaf’s “Je N’en Connais Pas La Fin,” complete with a fingerpicked merry-go-round guitar waltz for the French-sung refrain).

In Columbia’s posthumous ambition to exploit remaining vault caches to continue paying down Jeff’s sizable debt to the label, the original release’s felonious dearth was rectified with 2003’s Legacy Edition, a two-disc, one DVD set that was a much more complete representation of Jeff not just as an artist during that pre-fame period, but as a person. Along with scads more songs from the same shows, the expanded set includes between-song banter that manages to do what his scant, more visceral studio work couldn’t: put his pronouncedly nerdy, madcap, sometimes salacious sense of humor on full display.

Meanwhile, Jeff had also begun working toward his only completed studio LP. Sony had brought him in to record the lion’s share of his repertoire in February of ’93 as a way to gently kick off the A&R cataloguing and selection process for the album (these were later released as part of the 2016 compilation You And I), and recording sessions were scheduled for September at Bearsville Studios, which was located near Woodstock in upstate New York. The only problem––and it was a big one––was that he didn’t have a band. Like so many other aspects of Jeff’s career, this got rectified at the last possible moment; he met and connected with bassist Mick Grondahl first, then drummer Matt Johnson less than a month out from the initial recording dates.

A tall, dark, and handsome Dane, Grondahl had an ideal combination of low-key receptiveness and musical adventurousness that allowed him to be the perfect on- and offstage wingman: he was interesting in an unobtrusive way. Johnson was a wet-eared Texan who had the ideal balance of power and precision (a slight and diminutive presence, Johnson’s physicality was bolstered by his construction day job) and the breadth of taste and experience to match the extreme dynamic variations of Jeff’s sonic palette (Johnson could crush it like Bonzo or play pindrop-soft like a seasoned jazz pro––whatever the music required).

Columbia was less than pleased that Jeff had recruited a rhythm section with virtually no stage or studio experience, but he would eventually be proven right in his selection of introverted, lump-of-clay rookies that doubled as a gang of friends who could hang with him in every sense, especially through all the spontaneous twists and turns he threw at them. This was one of many battles he would actually win for the better against Sony, though he would initially come off as the loser (it took a few months for the band to get up to speed on the Grace repertoire, because they rarely if ever played the album’s songs during rehearsals or soundchecks, preferring to fill that time with “jamming,” since they needed to build an intuitive rapport. They also knew they would be playing the same emotionally demanding songs night after night for the next year or two).

The trio began work on Grace at Bearsville Studios, which had been pre-rigged with several different recording environments to spontaneously capture whatever came out of Jeff and his band in any permutation and style, whether it was solo, low-key jazz combo or full-on rock group. Andy Wallace, who had dialed in the mixes for Nirvana’s Nevermind, wore the coproducing and engineering hats for these sessions, along with providing a regimented lens through which to focus and refract Jeff’s chaotic genius. Recording proceeded slowly and steadily, without too much fanfare, but then, again at the last minute there was an explosion of prodigious productivity. Among other developments, German vibraphone prodigy Karl Berger was in town, and with the assistance of a local quartet, he and Jeff co-arranged string parts for “Grace,” “Last Goodbye,” and “Eternal Life.”

The eleventh-hour burst of creativity suddenly began transforming Jeff’s modest debut into something more akin to the fully produced masterpiece that usually doesn’t happen until later in a discography. More studio time was booked for intensive overdubbing of additional layers, which pushed costs beyond the initial budget, and though Columbia held Jeff in high esteem and generally handled him with kid gloves (full artistic control was implicit), the majority of expenses went into his recoupable fund, which had to be paid down by Jeff through album sale royalties. Though Grace would eventually prove itself beyond worthy of the investment, this was one of the first major manifestations of Jeff’s Sony-sourced headache that would plague him for the duration.

Grace, which was finally released on August 23, 1994, tends to vex the neophyte at first blush. There’s so much to unpack, the resulting bottleneck can be off-putting. Only through repeated listens will it reward those who “wait in the fire,” as the title track has it. Once that rote assimilation has inured you to Jeff’s eccentric voice and anachronistically innovative affectations, and Grace has dilated your emotional receptivity wider than you ever thought possible, you will tend to listen obsessively for a while before you realize you need to take a break so your strung-out, wrung-out heart can snap back to normal. You will probably only be able to listen to it every once in a while thereafter, as the lachrymose music makes demands of your psyche that require exceptional equanimity to withstand (the irony is that while Grace might help you grieve a breakup or death, listening to its ten tracks can also exhume that grief long past the time you have worked through it). The fact that Jeff is no longer here but still sounds undeniably alive in the speakers, and that the making of this album led to insurmountable expectations for a satisfactory follow-up that added to his pre-death stress, only augments the album’s haunting intensity.

The sonic progeny of Robert Johnson, Nina Simone, Edgar Allan Poe, and John Dowland, Jeff comes off as the wide-amplitude, tragic-romantic, card-carrying Scorpio that he was, irresistibly obsessed with love and death, singing often of the moon and rain (and yet also of burning and fire), and bedroom-as-sanctuary-and-wellspring, and a melancholic, nearly heart-rending yearning for absent lovers past and present. All of this can’t help but feed into his steadily growing mythology, not to mention strike he’s-all-alone-and-vulnerable-go-save-him reverberations of longing through the heartstrings of every heterosexual female within earshot, while also getting straight men of all walks gratefully as in touch with their feminine side as he was. In the age of grunge––which force-fed emotion through intimidating volume and distortion––Grace was an anomaly, delivering a wider range of feeling through a listener’s induced surrender to its heightened peaks and valleys, with Jeff’s by turns angelic and demonic voice keeping pace, and, unlike Cobain, with absolutely no irony to lean on, hide behind, or use as disclaimer.

“Mojo Pin” is the perfect overture for an audiophile quality album with such wide yet still somehow cohesive style and dynamic oscillations, with softly looping guitar harmonics fading in, followed by a wordless melody delicately sung over a fingerpicked folk/jazz guitar pattern. The music rollercoasters from there, with dramatic stops featuring vocal melismas that proceed into straight 4/4 time, finally crescendoing in a loud, climactic buildup, and a ragged scream from Jeff that tapers seamlessly back into the jazz feel.

The first stanzas tell us so much about the author:

I’m lying in my bed, the blanket is warm This body will never be safe from harm Still feel your hair, black ribbons of coal Touch my skin to keep me whole

Oh, if only you’d come back to me If you laid at my side I wouldn’t need no mojo pin To keep me satisfied

Here we find a vividly lovelorn artist who tends to compose from the subconscious (as with many of his original songs, “Mojo Pin” was inspired by a dream he had had) has already begun confronting his mortality, equates love with addiction like so many troubadours before him (“mojo pin” is a euphemism for a shot of heroin, which, inspired in part by his father, Jeff used for a short time during the tour in support of Grace), and feels hopelessly separated from it all, with a heightened sense of longing that can’t help but garner the listener’s sympathies.

The title track picks up the thread in more ways than one; along with “Mojo Pin” it is the second of two pre-Sony songwriting collaborations with former Captain Beefheart guitarist Gary Lucas—as part of his short-lived Gods and Monsters project (that’s Lucas’s guitar-noodle wizardry on both). And with lines like “Oh, drink a bit of wine––we both might go tomorrow,” it ups the mortality-as-enabler-and-aphrodisiac ante.

With its churning 6/8 groove, and with Jeff starting the song in typical fashion––toward the bottom of his discernable vocal range (D3), “Grace” culminates cathartically on a sustained, heavily vibrato’d, full-chest E5 bad-assedly blasting from his manic larynx and also marks the first of several ominous allusions to being harmed by water (“…And I feel them drown my name…”).

“Last Goodbye” was supposed to be the big first single. It even got an MTV video treatment (just look at his dour expression as he and the exhausted band take a precious day off from a European tour to do this exorbitantly expensive production of a compromised artistic concept in a despised medium), but with no real chorus to speak of, its chart success was modest at best. A Delta blues slide glides across an open-tuned electric 12-string guitar before dropping into a mid-tempo dance groove and a lyric full of bittersweet memories of a failed relationship with an older woman in L.A.

Not only was Jeff a bit shorthanded when it came to filling an entire 52-minute album with originals, but it also would have been a shame not to round out the running order with some well-chosen and interpreted covers in emulation of the intimate immediacy of Jeff’s Sin-é days. The first of these appearing on Grace is “Lilac Wine,” a torch-song standard written by James Shelton and adopted by Nina Simone. Jeff gives the distant-lover-as-intoxicant lyrics the hyper-emotive treatment, with perfectly sustained vibrato on the drawn-out notes and with his voice occasionally breaking into a heartrending sob, especially on the line, “…Isn’t that she, or am I just going crazy, dear?”

“Lilac Wine” is a significant indication of the barely fathomable depth of Jeff’s––and by extension, the band’s––versatility and their ability to do exactly right by the artist and repertoire (it’s difficult, in that sense, to listen to any of Tim’s records without taking umbrage with the musicians in the various band incarnations smothering Tim’s voice and stepping all over his 12-string guitar with their ego-fulfilling and poorly––if at all––thought-out parts).

“So Real” represents not only the successful search for a second guitarist, but also a tenacious battle fought and won against Columbia for the very soul of the album.

Michael Tighe, a mutual friend of Jeff and his ex Rebecca Moore (the one he had met and fallen in love with at the Tim tribute, and whom “Grace”s lyrics supposedly feature) joined the band on second guitar after most of the work on the album had been completed, and he brought an intriguing set of chord changes with him. When it came time to record B-sides and possible non-album singles (a cover of Big Star’s “Kangaroo”, which, to Sony’s consternation would often stretch out to 15 or 20 minutes in concert, was also laid down), Tighe’s progressions, which were inordinately sophisticated considering he hadn’t been playing guitar for very long, were dusted off, tracked with engineer Cliff Norrell, and Jeff did the lead vocal in one take after a last-minute walk to finish the lyric.

Distinguished by the verses’ seamless changes in meter (back and forth from duple to triple time), its by-now standard mélange of tragic-romantic imagery in the lyrics (“I love you / But I’m afraid to love you,” and the foreboding “And I couldn’t awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under…”), another wildly climactic E5 at the end, and a massive chorus hook, the song fit Jeff’s MO––accessible innovation and wide-amplitude expression––perfectly.

So much so that it quickly shed its B-side status and usurped a coveted spot on the record from another, highly contested original: The excessively personal and harsh “Forget Her,” which in retrospect would have been the sole manifestation of irony on the album. Jeff was justifiably dissatisfied with this disingenuously caustic 12/8 blues-pop dirge waltz he had allegedly penned about the aforementioned, hapless Moore, upon whom the lyric displaced Jeff’s own culpability for the relationship’s dissolution. But the label was head over heels with it, as the song’s melodramatic, Michael Bolton-esque chorus made it the one and only potential crossover smash in their minds. Columbia exec Don Ienner, who was essentially Jeff’s boss, tried everything short of bribery to futilely sweet-talk Jeff into keeping it on the album, which, in itself, was a tangible reason for Jeff to dig in, though he also feared that the slightly smarmy song would be a one-way ticket to One-Hit-Wonder-ville. As it turned out, “So Real”s chorus was hookier anyway, enough to warrant its own video treatment, though its subsequent commercial impact was also negligible.

A plaintive sigh kicks off what is now widely regarded as the definitive recording of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah,” the second cover of the album, performed solo and glued together from multiple takes into a solemn paean to the ecstatic pain of long-term relationships. Inspired by John Cale’s 1991 reading, Jeff sticks to the ultra-romantic verses that find love and suffering linked in paradox, and the guitar tone and reverb augment the song’s church hymn vibe, almost as though it was recorded at a service or funeral. If you’ve heard this recording or noticed it in myriad movies and TV shows and haven’t cried at least once, you’re not human.

“Lover, You Should Have Come Over” is a classic swinging blues adagio, perhaps the best known and most covered original on the album. Water and death are linked once again (“Looking out the door, I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners / Parading in a wake of sad relations as their shoes fill up with water…”), and then Jeff abruptly breaks that train of thought to do right by Moore in recognizing his role in their breakup (“…Maybe I’m too young / To keep good love from going wrong”). Again, his vocal starts low and builds to another E5 at the end. In the hands of another artist, all of this would have sounded forced and over the top, but somehow Jeff was able to make it work. That’s his genius/madness; he himself was fully dilated and committed in a way that wasn’t healthy or sustainable, but damn, did it make for visceral listening.

“Corpus Christi Carol” reaches even further back than 1950’s “Lilac Wine” and completely blows the listener away with its expectation-defying display of musical depth. He becomes a bona fide classical singer here, exhibiting total immersion in the anonymous 16th-century lyric that the aptly named English composer Benjamin Britten incorporated into 1933’s Choral Variations for Mixed Voices (“A Boy Was Born”), Op. 3, finally arriving at Jeff’s adolescent ears through the version for high voice recorded by Janet Baker in 1967. Jeff completely inhabits the allegory of a bedridden, Christ-like knight endlessly bleeding, witnessed by love and the purity of his cause, with the empathic delicacy that was already his trademark. The stark arrangement for electric guitar and scant overdubs is superbly matched by the lamenting vocal, which ends on a ghostly, falsetto’d E5 that is utterly cathartic in its climactic glory.

Jeff wanted to make an album that compelled rock fans to forget about Zeppelin II, and “Eternal Life” delivers on the heavier side of that promise. Written during his time in L.A., the creepy intro stops on a dime before a bludgeoning, yet highly danceable groove drops in and a reactive lyric confronts applicable listeners to wake up and smell the mortal coffee:

Eternal life is now on my trail Got my red-glitter coffin, man––just need one last nail While all these ugly gentlemen play out their foolish games There’s a flaming red horizon that screams our names…

Racist everyman, what have you done? Man, you made a killer of your unborn son Oh, crown my fear your king at the point of a gun All I want to do is love everyone…

There’s no time for hatred––only questions What is love, where is happiness What is alive, where is peace? When will I find the strength to bring me release?

With distorted bass as well as guitar alongside complementary strings and a killer groove featuring a highly effective, accelerating hi-hat pattern from Johnson on the verses, the song successfully proselytizes for universally incontestable causes, and reinforces Jeff’s projected mythology as a doomed soul whose seemingly relished fate awaits him sooner rather than later.

“Dream Brother” may be the last song on the album, but it was the very first idea Jeff and the band had worked up together. At the risk of overusing the word, and just like the album as a whole, it is haunting from start to finish, with a droney, string-cranking intro giving way to an eastern-inflected guitar motif. Jeff’s more static but no less sublime vocal melody goes beyond complementary; it builds tension by hanging on or around the fifth for most of the verse stanzas before resolving to the tonic on the last note of the phrase. Grondahl’s bass line, as with all his work on the album, is a sublime treat; here we find him working his way through the exotic Phrygian mode, recasting the guitar parts into a harmonically complex, emotionally compelling accompaniment that perfectly underpins the vocal.

The song features another penned-and-sung-at-the-last-possible-minute lyric, the chorus of which admonishes dear L.A. friend Chris Dowd (of Fishbone) not to abandon his new family like Tim had Jeff and Mary: “Don’t be like the one who made me so old / Don’t be like the one who left behind his name / ‘Cause they’re waiting for you like I waited for mine / And nobody ever came.” Grace’s only allusion to Jeff’s father builds in intensity to an instrumental bridge with wordless Qawwali wailings that are utterly bone chilling in their echoing-into-eternity saturation. The album’s final line puts an ominous capstone on the pyramid of the untimely-death-by-water preoccupation: “Asleep in the sand, with the ocean washing over…”

PART TWO

Jeff Buckley

From ’94 to ’96, both solo and with the band, Jeff Buckley toured the world and elsewhere. Those two years were highly transformative; he met and/or was lauded by so many of his personal heroes (including Zeppelin’s Page and Plant, Paul and Linda McCartney, U2’s Bono and The Edge, David Bowie, and he had a brief affair with Elizabeth Fraser of Cocteau Twins and This Mortal Coil, who had covered Tim’s “Song to the Siren” [for aural proof of the romance, go to YouTube and check out their unfinished, embarrassingly smitten PDA duet on “All Flowers in Time”]), picked up an all but unshakeable smoking habit as a late-blooming extension of delayed formative-year rebellion and as a temporary, self-harming relief from the stresses of touring and just-shy-of-A-list fame (he managed to make People magazine’s 50 most beautiful list in May of ’95, which mostly appalled him, and also had an eye-opening night out with Courtney Love), turned down numerous primetime opportunities—SNL, Letterman, and acting roles and commercial placements—in favor of “underground” platforms like MTV’s “120 Minutes,” and was constantly at odds with his record label.

Australia and France embraced him like a returning hero, with the latter country’s Académie Charles Cros presenting Jeff with the rarely-awarded-to-an-American Grand Prix International Du Disque in honor of Grace on April 13, 1995 (two live shows, the second representing a career peak, were recorded during a French leg of the tour and later released as 1995’s Live at the Bataclan EP and 2001’s Live à l’Olympia).

The tank ran dry on March 1, 1996, which marked not only the final date of a hastily booked Australian/New Zealand tour to capitalize on Jeff’s surging popularity there and subsequently the last in official support of Grace, but also the final show with percussionist Matt Johnson, who had reached his hard limit with the band leader’s exacerbated lifestyle excesses and reckless behavior, not to mention Jeff’s escalating hazing of him.

Drummerless and exhausted, a different Jeff Buckley returned to a different New York. Though it suited his dysfunctionally nomadic, reactively noncommittal spirit, touring is not conducive to one’s mental or physical well-being nor is any level of fame, which is unfortunately what moves the units at the cost of anonymous normalcy. As a result, Jeff could no longer frequent any of his old haunts without being recognized and approached by strangers who thought they knew and deserved a piece of him beyond his timeless music. But then even his friends couldn’t help but feel jilted in their wanting a less ephemeral friendship with him, as he made them feel like the undeniably corroborated center of the universe when he was around, having given of himself interpersonally as completely and unadvisedly as he did in his music.

With inchoate fame now cutting him off from his usual decompression options, Jeff couldn’t recharge his psychic batteries. That coupled with the fact that Columbia and the press had been persistently hounding him regarding a follow-up to Grace piled even more pressure on the stress heap, further hampering his creative process and making The Big Apple taste more of the cyanide within the seeds than the once novel fruit of clandestine self-discovery.

There’s an industry saying: a recording artist has their entire life to make the first album and six months to make the second. Already no stranger to writer’s block under normal circumstances (he was inherently a better interpreter than a composer and understandably loath to commit to locked-in versions of anything), Jeff found himself hitting the creative wall in the midst of his increasingly stifling paradigm. The new songs were coming, albeit more slowly than everyone preferred, and in a different, more current vein than Grace. Having kept an ever-vigilant ear to the cultural ground, Jeff had met the Grifters and the Dambuilders while on tour, gaining a new love interest—Joan Wasser, to whom he related early on that he was going to die young—from the latter band and befriended Nathan Larson of Shudder to Think, and their contemporary alternative rock vibes ignited a light bulb over Jeff’s head, giving him the inspiration to pursue a rawer sound, much as Cobain had for Nevermind’s 1993 follow-up—In Utero.

It wasn’t necessarily Sony’s cup of tea. Though the label was by no means dead-set on putting out Son of Grace, they were a bit befuddled by the significant shift in musical mores away from the classic heritage artist sound toward the aural marriage of the Smiths and Soundgarden evident in the newer material. His sagacious selection of classic solo repertoire, and Grace by extension, had gotten Jeff’s foot in the door, as their sophisticated old-school values were arguably a premeditated affectation on Jeff’s part to woo the industry’s boho Boomer gatekeepers into signing and unconditionally supporting him. Now that he was more or less ensconced on the inside, and having gained more than a little leverage from all the hard work of the past year and a half, Jeff wanted to change things up to reflect more of what he’d been listening to and writing as an artist of his own generation. Though jumping high through Jeff’s hoops was by now second nature, Columbia was nevertheless befuddled.

This vexation next manifested as bewilderment over the choice of legendary Television alum Tom Verlaine (RIP) to aid and abet his alt-rock vision as the inexperienced coproducer for the second album. No one at Sony thought Verlaine was the right man for the job; they would just as soon have gone with Andy Wallace again rather than someone who, as with Grondahl, Johnson, and Tighe, didn’t have a track record to speak of. Whether or not Jeff’s choice was ill informed was irrelevant; it became his new crusade against the label, a pyrrhic war waged solely on the principle of getting his way even if it ended up biting him in the ass.

Columbia green-lit some bet-hedging recording with Verlaine to humor Jeff, but also to surreptitiously gather leverage as a failed, debt-enlarging investment, as the odds were slim that he could pull another rabbit out of his hat within the limited, impossible-for-Jeff parameters. Two brief as they were dissatisfying sessions occurred at various New York studios in 1996 and then a third at Memphis’s Easley McCain studios with Johnson’s permanent replacement, Parker Kindred, in early 1997. Jeff had become interested in recording at Easley through Grifters guitarist and Memphis resident Dave Shouse, and in relocating to that hallowed town for its legendary status in the history of blues and rock ‘n roll, and yet also as an escape from the lost anonymity, label pressure, and detrimental distractions of New York.

Jeff began striving for—and was at least able to temporarily reclaim—some semblance of a normal life in Memphis; he settled in at 91 Rembert Street, where he could often be found lying in the overgrown grass of his front yard, staked out all the good local restaurants, got a Sin-é-reminiscent Monday night residency at a downtown venue called Barrister’s, proposed marriage to Joan Wasser, and spent time with local friends who didn’t treat him like a rock star. At the time of his death, and as this evidence indicates, Jeff was trying to settle down, but he also felt ready to finally nail the landing on the second album, which he earnestly hoped would not only eclipse Grace but would frighten people as well. He was also noticeably uneasy.

The iteration of what was going to be called My Sweetheart the Drunk that came out almost too soon in May of 1998, not the barely attainable one Jeff would have overworked himself to complete had he lived, is the version the label should have agreed to put out had he been willing and able to play the long game. Though disc 2, with the exception of “Haven’t You Heard” and the cover of “Satisfied Mind,” is mainly for diehards (it contains sloppily recorded and produced home recordings that only hint at greatness, as well as superfluous original mixes of select disc 1 material), the ten Verlaine tracks are nothing to scoff at. In fact, the minimally but still excellently arranged and produced songs not only sound surprisingly finished, but would have also found Jeff paving the way for the future of alternative rock/pop in a manner that was more in touch with the times but still rang true to Jeff’s old-school tragic-romantic sophistication. Hindsight finds these recordings nothing to be ashamed of, the natural, expectation-managing and yet still promise-fulfilling continuation of Jeff’s artistic journey, though he didn’t—and wouldn’t—agree with that assessment (the tracks probably could have used just a little more tightening up… At the very least, and as it stands, disc 1 of My Sweetheart the Drunk could have been a highly respectable and acceptable “sophomore flop”). Jeff would have had to ease up on the malignant perfectionism had he lived, and in that light it both does and doesn’t seem strange that he continued massaging these recordings—with additional overdubs and polishing occurring at Easley after the band’s return to New York—despite his clearly declared intention to abandon what he had already recorded, concede defeat regarding Verlaine (who urged Jeff to erase the tapes), and start from scratch with Andy Wallace.

Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk has plenty of wide-amplitude thrills (“Vancouver,” which started life as an instrumental break on the Grace tour, now featured a soaring vocal that found him suddenly clued in to the detriments of giving too much of himself: “I need to be alone / To heal this bleeding stone…”), lots of tragic-romantic flair (the beautiful, minimally orchestrated ballads “Morning Theft” and “Opened Once,” the swinging caveat “Witches Rave,” and the macabre, “Come as You Are”-ish “Nightmares by the Sea” are by turns self-castigating and wary), more struggle over suitable repertoire (Jeff harbored hypocritical paranoia that the set-apart, slinky R&B slow-jam, “Everybody Here Wants You” would be chosen as a single against his wishes [it was], even though the song is an instant classic, and the album could have done without the cover of the Nymphs’ “Yard of Blonde Girls,” though he didn’t trust Columbia to agree), two Qawwali nods (the mantra jam “New Year’s Prayer”, and the utterly harrowing “You And I”), and plenty of fodder for precognition-of-untimely-death speculators (“Stay with me under these waves tonight / Be free for once in your life tonight…” from “Nightmares By The Sea”, and “Ah, the calm below that poisoned river wild…” from the goosebump-evincing “You And I”).

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

Recording contracts have always been a Faustian bargain for the artist, especially at the onset, when it is weighted heavily in the card-holding label’s favor. Art and commerce often meet in the cultural-industrial ring as irreconcilable spouses who stay together for the kids, with the artist wanting to make a unique, challenging, and hopefully timeless statement for theirs and successive generations, and the label needing to make a profit, not lose their shirt, or just break even. The latter often requires innocuous music that has been dumbed down or otherwise compromised for mass consumption, usually the antithesis of the former. The artist, though, according to the standard contract they signed, is legally beholden to the label, which owns the master recordings and the right to exploit them until such a time, often years or even decades down the road, when the artist has gained enough cachet through account-balancing sales and accumulated cultural pertinence to renegotiate the contract into a more equitable form that befits their too-hard-earned stature. As with life in general, and back when labels were still labels, one had to play a patient, penitent, somewhat circumspect long game, with eyes intent on the future prize in order to succeed as a recording and touring artist, and to eventually win out over the label.

Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell, now in or on the cusp of their 80s respectively, managed to successfully undergo and even control their fame-reconciling heritage artist transformations and break through to the other side. Jeff Buckley, who realized too late and too far out to sea that he had given up essential access to a normal life, and whose DNA and hardship-forged personality was geared for fleeting, heightened moments of impulsive escape and unrealistic levels of emotional outpouring during which there was no tomorrow, did not. After an itinerant childhood in a chaotic, single-parent household, neither of which allowed him any bonded, bolstering long-term friendships or gave him the necessary emotional support to instill enough confidence to enable him to pace, self-nurture, and recharge as an adult, Jeff was predestined for burnout. Add to this the looming legacy of his father’s similarly self-inflicted and untimely doom, the demoralizing fiscal and creative debt to—and incongruent association with—a major label, and pervasive generational nihilism, and you have the recipe for a death by misadventure.

The world generally eats pure-heart-on-sleeve empaths like Jeff Buckley for breakfast, and just like house-always-wins Vegas casinos, record labels are particularly good at exploiting, devouring, and then remorselessly shitting out their charges no matter how vigilant the artist may have been to the contrary. In Jeff and Columbia’s case, it’s difficult to pick a winner; dying got him out of both having to deliver on a second album and pay off his way-in-the-red recoupable, but his absence-generated popularity and Sony’s dogged determination to monetize ample vault caches in the aftermath may have balanced the ledger by now anyway. Either way you slice it, and for what it’s worth, the artist is gone, and Columbia is a tawdry shadow of its former self, but Jeff’s timeless music remains.

Trying to imagine how Jeff would have navigated the post-5/29/97 waters is not challenging, considering the comprehensive changes already in motion that would herald not only the end of his generation’s all-too-brief moment in the sun, but also the beginning of the end of the record industry as he had known it. Jeff probably would have seen Sony’s support slowly dwindle, becoming even more isolated until his contract came up for renewal and he was then most likely dropped from the label, as its various employee archetypes, which were industry-wide revolving doors, would have inevitably jumped ship for higher positions elsewhere. This exodus would have severed nurtured—and nurturing—connections, leaving Jeff in the hands of green, bottom-line-focused reps that had had nothing to do with scouting or signing him and were subsequently less inclined to offer the kind of largesse and preferential treatment to which he had been accustomed.

A new generation was also coming of age, one that sought shallower, more effervescent thrills to match their innate, well-nurtured ebullience. Soundgarden, Jeff’s now fellow-in-untimely-death friend Chris Cornell’s band, which was the first of the Seattle grunge era to sign to a major label, broke up almost on cue that year. Groups like Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys, N’Sync, Hanson, and solo artists like Brittney Spears, Ricky Martin, and Christina Aguilera were prepared to replace grunge’s locked-up engine in the zeitgeist car, with already emergent, transitionally mellower sounds from the likes of Dave Matthews Band, Blues Traveler, Phish, Spin Doctors, and Hootie and the Blowfish having paved the way. Autotune was introduced that year, with computer-based digital recording having begun its ascendant journey to becoming the analog-supplanting, music-devaluing standard.

Within a decade, for better and worse, the industry as Jeff knew it would no longer exist, nor would the focus on organically profound music on which he had been brought up and of which he had become a part. With no plan B (he endearingly applied for what would have been a meagerly if at all remunerated position at the Memphis zoo’s butterfly exhibit), Jeff would have been hard-pressed to maintain a subsistent income—let alone pay down his debt to Columbia—inside or outside the new, less tolerant manifestation of the industry, which would have scoffed derisively and dismissively at his to-date album sales. And he probably would have recoiled from the rising popularity of bubblegum pop and nü-metal buffoonery in disgust.

Kurt Cobain once said he wished he had paced himself better, played more of a long game by holding back some of Nevermind’s material for subsequent albums, and a general feeling persists that Jeff had similarly neglected any thought of the future by putting everything he had into Grace, and there wasn’t enough left to create something new to match its grandeur, at least not within his unsustainable paradigm. It seems as though he was done, that his music’s true moment in the sun could only begin after he had disappeared somehow. Amassing cachet would have to rely on his premature-demise-as-career-move absence, the removal of his chronic perfectionism that allowed Sony to put out whatever was in the vaults without his opposition (albeit in full, duly diligent cooperation with next-of-kin trustee, supposed legacy preserver / promoter, and posthumous stage mother Mary), and amassing fin de siècle malaise that would find solace in Grace. But Jeff’s death feels wrong as well, redolent of the same sense of tragedy as JFK’s assassination, as if we had truly lost one of the good ones, and the subsequent sensation of all hope for a fair and just future having been annihilated in a flash, regardless of whether or not either of them actually deserved that idolization.

The grief-sourced application of culpability gets complicated when someone who has deeply affected strangers and loved ones alike is directly responsible for their own death, but it can’t exactly be called a suicide. And though we have plenty of lyrical and anecdotal evidence that could easily be construed as self-fulfilling prophecy (like Cobain, Jeff had consistently and insistently telegraphed his denouement), it is otherwise difficult to substantiate rumors that Jeff had been dreaming of his demise just weeks—if not longer—beforehand. But as with the cinematic portrayal of Mozart obsessively composing what would become his own requiem in Amadeus, if someone persistently gives thought and voice to fatal intent, walks that fine line long enough, the border between this world and the next will begin to blur and smudge until it finally wears thin enough for one to cross over without even noticing. Freud may have said it best: “Until you make the subconscious conscious, it will direct your life, and you will call it fate.”

Unlike influencee Rufus Wainwright, whose songs are also emotive but restrained in comparison, Jeff never developed the necessary filters to mitigate the harmful aspects of his heightened sensitivity and permeability, preferring instead to empty his emotional ballast onstage night after night to the adulation of interchangeable, undemanding strangers (though some of them often clamored annoyingly for renditions of Tim’s songs), as if each show were his last (which he had hypocritically accused Tim of in a 1993 interview). In all of Jeff’s 30 years, he had never learned the kind of self-love that would awaken and bolster the basic long-term survival instincts to enable him to throw off the chains of his deeply ingrained fatalism. With his pallid, fey appearance, alluring gender-balanced charisma, heart-rending empathy, unregulated outflow of emotional energy, and foolhardily unshielded vulnerability, he seemed to many as though he was marked for an early end no matter what evasive action he might’ve taken.

Though Jeff had been exhibiting unstable, borderline bipolar behavior in the weeks prior to his drowning, he didn’t consciously intend to die that night (a nearby witness apparently heard a single cry for help), but his willful ignorance of the dangers of his impulsive and fatalistic nature and the whimsical flouting of the perils of his immediate surroundings would be the co-conspirators of his mortal undoing.

Fully clothed at twilight, Jeff waded backward into a notoriously dangerous river despite a lifetime aversion to water—and in denial of all the overt signals his subconscious and conscious had sent him. Doing the recently learned backstroke to the braggadocio boom-box strains of Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” in a roiling river all but universally avoided for its severe, passing-boat-generated undercurrents was supposed to be a spontaneous trip to and from the edge to take his mind off of life’s untenable pressures for a short while. But instead, and to his torch-carrying fans’, friends’, and family’s ongoing bereavement, it lasted forever.

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

England’s annual Meltdown Festival consists of a series of concerts given over several days by contemporary artists and is curated by a celebrity participant with an ear toward the high-minded performance of unconventional repertoire. Jeff was invited by 1995’s chosen Master of Ceremonies—Elvis Costello—to take part on July 1, which serendipitously coincided with that year’s European tour in support of Grace, though it was inconveniently sandwiched between concert dates across the channel.

Along with collaborations in mixed ensembles comprised of co-billed artists, Jeff did a four-song solo set that featured the apropos “Corpus Christi Carol” (the song that had originally piqued Costello’s interest), Nina Simone’s “The Other Woman,” and “Grace.”

He began with an absolutely devastating rendition of “Dido’s Lament,” which Costello had personally requested from the setting of Dido and Aeneas by 16th century British composer Henry Purcell. Jeff was indistinguishable from a fully trained, operatic countertenor as he delivered the moribund lines with innate familiarity:

Thy hand, Belinda, darkness shades me On thy bosom let me rest More I would, but Death invades me Death is now a welcome guest

When I am laid in earth May my wrongs create No trouble in thy breast Remember me, but oh, forget my fate

Costello came out after the last of the four songs and accompanying ovation had died down and following some gracious comments recognizing the young artist’s overflowing docket, he essentially summed up Jeff’s contribution—and the debt of gratitude music owes him—with his closing salutation that now stands as a fitting epitaph:

“He gave everything. Thanks, Jeff.”

[hawkinspostnewspaper]

STRANGER THINGS: THE FIRST SHADOW SPOILERS - PATTY NEWBY

here is a compilation of all things I can recall from the play involving Patty Newby

also to note: some things I am still a little confused about and will need to verify when I see it again soon. I will update as I remember things!

Adopted daughter or Mr and Mrs Newby

Doesn't know who her mother was or where she is - feels like an outcast in Hawkins - this is what she eventually bonds with Henry about

Bob a loving brother to her but tease just as any siblings would

Mr Newby, the principal of the high school and a leading figure of the Church/local community, has clear bias against her - stricter on rules and regulations for her than Bob and other students

Revealed that Mrs Newby ran off with TED WHEELER'S FATHER - reason for Mr Newby's bitterness (no excuse, sir. leave her alone)

Mr Newby thought adopting a girl/another child into the family would strengthen the relationship with his wife, as they were clearly struggling and growing apart - he failed. lol.

Patty is a fan of comic books - she is seen multiple times praying to Wonder Woman (she's a real cutie guys, you'll love her)

Patty and Henry bond over their outcasting from others and enjoyment of comics, particularly the Captain Midnight series, on his first day at the high school

Patty has a talent for singing, something she believes could be from her mother, and her dream is to do it professionally someday

Patty auditions for the lead in Joyce's directed play, Henry steps up to read in for the part opposite her - they are then told they will need to kiss in the scene which is interrupted but it is clear they like each other from this

There is a brief scene where Walter Henderson makes a racially charged jab at her not belonging, to which Charles Sinclair stands and glares to get him to back down

Patty follows after Henry when he is distressed, assuring him she is there and cares

He reveals about his powers to her though does not admit all about hurting the boy at his last school in Nevada or killing the local pets recently - he shows Patty his ability to alter dreams and make them feel real (I saw this as his understanding of his powers, he thinks it is about controlling dreams and doe snot realise they are actually affecting reality until he learns the cat he killed in his dream was actually killed in reality and he is responsible for it)

In Patty's dream that Henry helps her to see, she is the lead singer and others form the town are her backup singers/dancer - yeah, guys, there's a whole musical number with pink sparkles and feathers and all

She then asks Henry to use his powers to find her mother - he finds her in Vegas as a singer - unfortunately, things go wrong and he can't control the evil

Mr Newby has been told by Victor that Patty is with Henry at the house and he storms over, Henry then trapping him with his powers, breaking his legs and blinding his eyes - he only breaks out before killing him completely when Patty shouts out that she loves him

In hospital, Mr Newby confesses his reasoning for her adoption to her and, of course, she is rightfully upset

Henry has been missing since the incident (with Brenner) - she sees him again during the play where Henry confronts Brenner, who tells her Henry is violent and responsible for everything - despite feeling betrayed Henry was untruthful to her, she tries to defend him against Brenner

However, Henry's powers are untamed and he lashes out with anger - Patty falls from the rafters of the school theatre stage and is presumed dead

Henry is taken by Brenner and told that she has died

It is not revealed to him until the end of the show when Henry (tied in a straight jacket and wheelchair) is in the in-between world (with the water, like in the series) and sees her alive with a walking stick - she has travelled to Vegas to be reunited with her mother

This means she is still out there and could make an appearance in ST5 - perhaps, the gang find her to appeal to Henry's more human, compassionate side - defeat evil with the power of love and friendship and all that

[thestylesindependent]

When I was being crushed by a crowd of sweaty singing drunks under the Slane stage in 1987 to a soundtrack of David Bowie’s Absolute Beginners, I hadn’t a notion I’d be back one day shepherding three daughters as they went wild for a musical chameleon of their own.

But that’s as it was 37 years later and I found myself draped in the ultimate sign of the times - a moulting feather boa - with 80,000 people around me dancing all night to the best songs ever.

The crowd gathered for Harry’s house party could scarcely have been more different to the one that had stormed the castle last time Lord Henry Mountcharles threw open his gates in 2019 to let tens of thousands of Metallica fans in to bang their heads and pump their fists to raging metal.

This time it was more fluorescent and female and family-friendly.

As the day started, parents hoisted children onto shoulders ahead of the long march from the wildly expensive car parks to the castle gate, following a rainbow trail of boa feathers.

There were stewards offering wrist bands to minors “and to the adults who might get lost at the bar”, the woman policing the table said as she scribbled my name and number on a band for my smallest child.

The road led past blocks of portable toilets where enterprising children sold rolls of toilet paper to anxious looking customers.

When asked about prices a child said they were “only €2″.

For the packet?

“No, per roll.”

They cost the kids 20 cent. The future of the rip-off Republic is in safe hands.

Once inside, the challenge was to find a space to sit for the hours before Harry. Tens of thousands of people were ahead in the race for that space so we struggled to find a patch of grass even three quarters of the way back from the front.

We ended up beside a super-organised group of families who had spread a network of picnic blankets across a small area having arrived at midday, a full two hours before the gates opened.

Dave Ellis from Carlow was the sole man in the group. He’d been sitting for more than two hours by the time we interrupted him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get up,” he said. “I’ve lost the feeling in my legs and I don’t think they work any more.”

He laughed when asked if he was a big Harry Styles fan. “I was kind of roped into coming.”

Roped or not, he’d embraced the Styles spirit with zeal. “I spent last night putting hairspray on the boas to hold them together,” he said. “That is what we were told to do.”

And?

“It didn’t work.”

Beside him was Serena Carney. “We’ve been sitting here for hours and we are not moving,” she said with the firmness of an Irish mammy.

The last time she was here was for Guns and Roses in 1992. “It was a bit a different, I suppose. The atmosphere was different for sure.”

She certainly didn’t have a picnic including feta cheese sprinkled with crumbled bacon at that gig.

We didn’t even have feta in Ireland back then.

Annie Mac took to the stage to play some tunes and if Slane had a roof she’d have lifted it off when she played a snippet of Abba’s Gimme Gimme Gimme (a man after midnight) and started a wild singalong.

Jenny Murphy from Limerick was another concertgoer in the parent trap. “I’m here with my daughters,” she said. “I’m not a big fan. The last time I was here was in 1995 for REM.”

How did then compare with now? “There is a lot more pink today and the crowd is so different. We took the bus up and there were three people over 25 on it. Me, my friend and the bus driver. But it’s great and there is such a happy vibe and people are so stylish.”

She did have one gripe though. “The prices! They’re mad. The t-shirts are 40 quid and the hoodies are 80. And I am just after buying a scoop of ice cream for a fiver.”

As the support act Wet Leg embarked on a scream therapy session which lead singer Rhian Teasdale promised would make everyone feel better, a man stumbled past carrying two hard-won crepes from one of the food stalls where insanely long queues formed for most of the day.

When asked if he was okay, he sighed heavily and said “I just f**king want to go home.”

Only four hours to go, I thought, but said nothing.

Not everyone wanted to go home. In fact virtually no-one else did. Grainne Gleeson from Downpatrick and Caoimhe Daly from Warrenpoint didn’t care about prices or queues or feta and were all about Harry.

“She’s his number one fan,” Gleeson said gesturing to her friend. “She’s seen him twice already on this tour and this is her third time. And she’s going to London to see him.”

Daly nodded enthusiastically. When asked why she’d want to see anyone play four times in a matter of weeks, she said that while “it might be the same songs every night it is a different vibe. And I had to come to Slane because it is such an iconic venue.”

Aoife Sheehan from Limerick said she wasn’t such a die-hard fan and was here because she got a ticket for her birthday. “I was a big One Direction fan but forgot about him until I heard his last album and was blown away by it. And look around you, isn’t the atmosphere just brilliant?

She wasn’t wrong.

Then Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody blared out of the speakers, a sign that Styles was ready for us. After that it was all screams and shrieks and singalongs and as I marvelled at the energy and the enthusiasm of the crowd it dawned on me that REM, Oasis, the Rolling Stones or even Bowie who I’d seen play this field had not come close to matching the joy, excitement and showmanship Harry Styles brought to Slane.

Hats off to him.

[piratefalls]

a bonus list! for the longest time i did not read wips because it seemed like the second i hit subscribe they stopped updating, but! this fandom has, for the millionth time, awakened something in me, so here's a super delayed wip wednesday in which i tell you the wips i've been following and enjoying.

masterlist.

(make me) misbehave by r_holland

Alex Claremont-Diaz has done it again. The Texas-born singer-songwriter released his fourth studio album second skin Thursday at midnight. Full of Claremont-Diaz’s signature lyricism, critics are praising the album for the cohesive image it paints. second skin is the result of a young writer at the top of his game, and every lyric depicts for the listener a picture of a sun-drenched secret romance. Fans are clamoring to be the first to uncover the mystery girl at the center of it all, although Claremont-Diaz remains tight-lipped on the subject… *** Or: Alex Claremont-Diaz is a singer-songwriter rising up in the music industry. Henry Fox is the shining star of an acting empire. This is a love story.

A Man Born To Lead A Nation by BisexualChaosDemon

Henry was born to be a spare. A spare of a spare, in fact. He would never need to wear the Crown, so he was allowed to build his life with Alex in the States. New York, Texas, marriage and soon maybe kids, it is everything Henry throught he would never have and better than he could have ever dreamed. But, what will happen when Philip tells them he won't take the Throne after Catherine and the line of succession ends up in tatters?

Binary Light by Leaves_of_Laurelin

In the sci-fi smash-hit movie Binary Light, Dev Creehil (played by Alex Claremont-Diaz) and Qindeli (played by Henry Fox) go from enemies to reluctant allies to friends. While a legion of on-line fans believe that arc should have included a ‘to lovers’ at the end, the behind the scenes truth is that the lead actors stayed firmly enemies to enemies throughout filming. Fresh off a brutal breakup, Alex is back for the sequel and back to dealing with Henry—the asshole Hollywood nepo baby who has failed to conceal his disdain for Alex ever since their first chemistry read. In the script the shippers will finally be getting what they’ve always wanted, but, as some of Henry’s ice begins to thaw, what Alex wants has become decidedly more confusing.

Burning Love by absoluteaudacity

“You’re such a wanker,” Henry says emphatically, but there’s no heat in it. “You love me,” Alex counters, because Henry does and he knows it, but Henry makes sure to roll his eyes anyway so Alex’s already impressive ego doesn’t get too much bigger. -- The Ignite My Heart sequel

Every Time My Heart Swings Back to You by TheLastKnownSurvivor

"Promise me," James says, gaze firm as he looks into Gabriel's eyes. "Promise me. Let's meet again." Hundreds of years ago, Prince James and Sir Gabriel fell in love following several chance encounters despite their very different stations in life. Unfortunately, it wasn't long before the two star-crossed lovers met a tragic end due to the anti-sodomy laws of the time, desperately wishing for the chance to meet once more. In the modern day, Alex and Henry are college students who have been haunted by mysterious visions for years. Despite a poor first meeting, the two are inexplicably drawn to each other and the visions grow in number and intensity. Slowly, they try to piece together the story and discover it is that of their past lives. Yet the question remains as to whether it's a past worth remembering and if they can disentangle themselves from the tragedy in this life.

Heist Society by OrchidScript

“Don’t sound too giddy, sweetheart,” Alex answered. They turned a corner up onto Fifth and descended the first set of stairs down onto the F line, the bright orange bubble a welcome sight. “I have half a mind to put your hands in cuffs where I can see them before letting you into that store.” “That threat is more tired with every turn, Alex.” Henry followed, hands in his pockets and a half step behind. “You know as well as I do that diamonds don’t interest me.” “But they are a girl’s best friend.” “If Marilyn is to be believed,” Henry hummed. “I also hear gentlemen prefer blondes.” “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Alex rolled his eyes. ____________________________________________________________ After two months of proving their partnership's value, Alex and Henry are asked to consult on a jewel heist by Alex's mentor, Rafael Luna. Facing unfamiliar territory and a questionable undercover plan, will their effort make or break their burgeoning relationship -- or turn it in a new direction entirely? Part of the Portrait of a Thief series

Ho, Then Make It Fashion by TuppingLiberty

Alex is an in-demand model who has been modeling since his teens. He knows how to use his body, he knows how to wear clothes. But he has barely any time for friends or anything else. He and Henry cross paths a different way, but still end up in the same place. ;)

my every road leads to you (it's to you, i'll always belong) by blackrose1002

Right there, on the other side of the room, sipping something that looks like gin and tonic, watching the room just as discreetly as Alex, is an MI6 agent. One that Alex last saw about a year ago, during a mission in Madrid – a mission Alex would very much like to forget. Henry Monte Cristo fucking something. The ridiculously attractive British spy that screwed Alex over so spectacularly he thought both Zahra and his mother were going to kill him. (Or the one where agent Alex Claremont-Diaz needs to work with agent Henry Mountchristen-Fox, but there's just one little problem. Alex can't fucking stand him.)

Salt Follows the Moon by Pondermoniums

Vampires exist, and it's no secret. What is a secret, is that Henry Hanover-Stuart Windsor needs a blood donor. Alex Claremont-Diaz just can't leave well enough alone.

Rule Britannia by DuchessdePolignac

“Understand what? Are you anticipating there being an interview question on the number of men Prince Henry has gone out with since he came out? Or do you think the Ambassador is going to ask you questions like, ‘Hey, Alex, why do you think he’s such a serial dater who can’t keep a relationship? Do you think he cheated on his age-appropriate hunky Brazilian boyfriend with that sixty year old oil tycoon with a face like raw leather? Is he a greedy gold digger or does he just have questionable taste?” ** Philip is King and Prince Henry is living his best, openly gay, tabloid-fodder life. But something doesn't feel right to Alex about the progressive fantasy the Hanover-Stuart-Fox's are selling. Or: where Henry is a political courtesan fucking for King and Country, and Alex is the diplomat who foolishly and earnestly falls in love with him. Can Alex understand Henry's motivations, and can he live with the reality of being in love with a high-power courtesan with dangerous clientele? Or: A long and long-winded meditation on sex and power, and power and sex.

Something Borrowed, Something Blue by anincompletelist

When June gets engaged, Alex, her brother, and Henry, her best friend, are asked to be the official Guys Of Honor. There’s a month to plan the whole thing, which would be near impossible anyway, only made worse by the fact that being around each other the last several years has only ever led to petty fights and useless competition. Unfortunately, as the two most important men in her life - aside from her fiancé - they don’t really have much of a choice. Alex has a lot of feelings about this. As it turns out, Henry does too.

The Haunting of Cursed Hearts by wordscavenger

Moving to a new city can be difficult. Moving to a new city known for its tragic history involving witchcraft and murder can sometimes involve more difficulties than one bargains for. When Alex takes a job in Salem, Massachusetts to teach law classes at a local university, he ends up renting a room above a lovely little bookstore run by his very handsome, and very British, landlord. The more time he spends in this quaint New England town that is more popular than he had ever realized, and the deeper he gets into its haunting season, the more he can’t help falling for the secretive man with a sweet little dog and even sweeter kisses. If only a centuries old curse wasn’t hell-bent on keeping the two apart. -- Or, a cozy seasonal supernatural mystery about new beginnings, falling in love, and learning that magic may be more real than one would think.

The Story of Us by princebutt

Henry Fox is only attending this American football game as a PR stunt. That's all it is. He's definitely not fatally attracted to the brash quarterback Alex Claremont-Diaz who had the audacity to publicly call him out for not taking his number at a concert... that would be absolutely idiotic of him.

as always, if you want to be tagged in the future just let me know! i am uncomfortable taking tagging liberties - especially if we have never interacted - because i am horrifically shy lol.