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hooked-on-elvis · 3 months

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[BEHIND THE RECORD - Elvis onstage from 1969 to 1977] "I Can't Stop Loving You"

Written and composed by country singer Don Gibson, who first recorded it in 1957, RCA Victor released "I Can't Stop Loving You" in 1958, and it became a country hit single. The song was covered by many artists over the years, most notable one being Ray Charles, in 1962, due to how he turned the tune into a No. 1 single on the Billboard chart.

Elvis Presley performed the song in many iconic concerts of his career - from 1969 into the 70s.

The first time Elvis Presley was recorded singing "I CAN'T STOP LOVING YOU" was during one of the American Sound Studio sessions, on February 1969. It wasn't an official recording tho. A jam version of the tune was recorded while EP was warming up with his musicians so they could cut the songs that would be released in his LPs for the times following — "From Elvis In Memphis" being the album this recording session was intending to create at first.

Not long after this recording session, "I Can't Stop Loving You" was worked up as a number to Elvis' concerts. Rearranged, the song gained a more dramatic tone than we can listen to from how it originally sounded in Elvis' voice at the recording taped at the American Sound Studio previously, so from this moment on Elvis would perform the tune in quite a few iconic concerts of the latter era of his career, the very start being during his comeback to live performances on July/August 1969, onstage at the International Hotel's showroom in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Soundboard audios with "I Can't Stop Loving You" recorded during his concerts, including in 1969, were released on some his live albums throughout the years, such as "FROM MEMPHIS TO VEGAS (IN PERSON)" [recorded in 1969], "ELVIS AS RECORDED AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN" (recorded in 1972) and "ELVIS: RECORDED LIVE ON STAGE IN MEMPHIS" (recorded in 1974).

Live performances of Elvis singing the song were also officially taped, and they are very known to the fans for obvious reasons because they are part of some of the most notable moments of Elvis' history as a performer.

First official taping of EP performing "I Can't Stop Loving You" live took place during one of his engagement seasons at the International Hotel on August, 1970, as released on "Elvis: That's The Way It Is" documentary, then again on April 1972, filmed for "Elvis On Tour" documentary, and not long after that another performance of this tune was filmed during the "Aloha From Hawaii via Satellite" concert, on January 1973.

BUT, BEFORE WE CAN GO TO THOSE FOOTAGES, HAVE YOU LISTENED TO THE JAM VERSION RECORDED IN STUDIO IN 1969?

— NOTE FROM AUTHOR I love sharing Elvis' performances of the same song over the years, but what I would really love you to listen to now is the 1969 jam version of the song we're talking about, for it sounds so different from the live performances the fans are already very familiar with. I didn't knew about this recording until a few days ago and I loved it so much that this track is the reason why I needed to talk about this song. You will read about the moment EP was recording this song soon after.

Elvis Presley in the waiting room of the American Sound Studio, early 1969.

▼ FEBRUARY, 1969: "I CAN'T STOP LOVING YOU", RECORDED AT THE AMERICAN SOUND STUDIO, MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE.

Song starts at 0:35

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Album: American Sound 1969 (2019)

It was an American Studio tradition: paying tribute to the chief with a rendition of “This Time,” a Chips Moman-penned hit for Troy Shondell in 1961. Elvis had heard about the rite, and he serenaded his producer at the start of the February session with the few lines that he knew, segueing into Don Gibson’s “It’s My Way,” a song he had asked Freddy to check out the year before. Plunking along on his acoustic guitar, laughing at his own mistakes but singing his heart out, he drew the band into another Don Gibson number, “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” which he would transform into a dramatic show-stopper six month later in Las Vegas. Excerpt from "Elvis Presley: A Life In Music" by Ernst Jorgensen and Peter Guralnick.

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— NOTE FROM AUTHOR COOL, ISN'T IT? 😍 Have you heard the 1969 jam session version before? Don't know about you but I just can't stop loving it. So, now let's hear how that baby sound onstage.

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[FOOTAGE]

LIVE PERFORMANCES OVER THE YEARS

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REHEARSAL ▼

July, 1970.

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LIVE ONSTAGE ▼

"Elvis: That's The Way It Is" (August 1970) "Elvis On Tour" (April 1972)

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"Aloha From Hawaii via Satellite" (January 14, 1973)

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RECORDED LIVE ▼

Live at Convention Center Arena, San Antonio, TX (April 18, 1972)

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Live at Madison Square Garden (June 10, 1972)

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High Sierra Theatre at the Sahara Tahoe Hotel, Nevada (May 13, 1973)

Live at Mid-South Coliseum, Memphis, TN - March 1974

Song starts at 0:38:

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I can never get enough of how Elvis' history is so amazing. ♥

What are your thoughts about the jam version of "I Can't Stop Loving You" by EP? I'd love to hear from you.

By the way, do you like this track-to-track-history posts? I've written some so far but I have some others I'd like to share too. If you have any requests, any Elvis Presley songs you'd like to know more about the recording sessions or comparisons of the times a same tune was performed live by Elvis over the years, feel free to hit me with it. I sure will have great fun researching it for you.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis the king #elvis fans #elvis history #elvis fandom #60s elvis #70s elvis #elvis music

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vintagelasvegas · 5 months

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"Elvis Presley Suite" at Las Vegas Hilton, c. 1990. The 30th floor penthouse is shown here as a makeshift recording studio used by the hotel's Starlight Express production. Photo from Craig M. Brock.

The 5,000-square-foot penthouse was called the Imperial Suite when the hotel opened. The International Hotel's 30th floor drawing plan by architect Martin Stern Jr. shows the suite with windows facing northeast and south, and on the west side of the top floor a lounge later known as the Crown Room.

See the original 30th floor layout drawing.

The suite was reserved for high rollers and various hotel headline entertainers. Presley used the suite during his twice-a-year residencies at the hotel from '69-'76, during the hotel's transition to the Las Vegas Hilton.

The hotel began using the name "Elvis Presley Suite" in the 80s with the name on a brass plaque outside the room. At the same time, the suite was remodeled to the specs of Bill Cosby, their main headliner at the time.

“I was working for Marnell Carrao," says Jared Rust, “we remodeled the ‘Elvis Suite’ to make it the ‘Cosby Suite.’ It was designed and furnished to match Bill Colby’s house in Connecticut.”

The original penthouse is now gone. It was demolished in the early 1990s by the construction of new “Sky Villa” suites. The villas were built partly on what was once the penthouse, and extended further out onto the former hotel rooftop from where the penthouse had been. According to Hilton's president at the time, “progress required sacrificing The King's quarters.”

Marian Green. Gaming & Tourism in Focus. Las Vegas Review-Journal, 12/4/94.

#Las Vegas Hilton #1990

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jmdbjk · 4 months

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Episode 5: WELCOME!

Beyond the Star, produced by HYBE Media Studio

BTS continues to break records with Butter and Permission to Dance.

Whereas Dynamite was intended to be a feel good song for the fans during trying times, Butter was a little more intentional. BTS did not think they would release another single after Dynamite and the BE album but the pandemic was wearing on so out of many songs that they were sent to consider, they chose Butter. Namjoon rewrote most of the rap and the rest, as we keep saying, is history.

Butter broke Dynamite's Youtube premiere record of peak concurrent viewers with 3.9 million as well as other viewer number records.

Butter debuted at #1 on the BBHot100 and charted at #1 for 10 non-consecutive weeks. "Smooth like butter" became the catch-phrase of the summer of 2021.

And FINALLY, BTS heads to Los Angeles at the end of November 2021 for their first performances with a live audience. The world is still trying to emerge from all the covid restrictions but this is their chance. The U.S. has opened the doors and they go for it.

They will be one of the first artists to perform at the brand new SoFi stadium.

They are going to give it their all because things are still uncertain. Performing concerts with live audiences, being able to perform physically after such a long break and the fear or dread of NOT being able to perform again with an audience was the biggest thing weighing on them. Yoongi seemed optimistic and Namjoon said he hoped so but was afraid of having his feelings hurt again.

They realize their bodies are aging and that before the pandemic, as we know, they were driving their bodies into the ground physically with their grueling schedules.

It was 2 years between performances with a live audience – Love Yourself/Speak Yourself in Seoul, October 2019 to PTD LA, November 27, 2021.

Watching them prepare, as a group, for a major concert is awesome. These behind the scenes are very precious because they now know what it feels like to go through the motions of a live performance WITHOUT an audience.

The quality of their preparation and rehearsals increased. They had time to talk about the performance and production. They changed some things that they previously did during concerts. They said their energy levels were even higher than ever.

(PTD concert remix of Fire needs to be released this year. Just sayin.)

After they finally perform in front Army, they have mixed feelings. Relief, excitement, trepidation that this might be the last time. It was still a time when they didn't know if they'd get to perform again after PTD LA. One thing we learn is that they realized if they didn't get to perform once back in Seoul, that would be it for three years because of enlistment. Enlistment was the wall they faced every single day.

But as we know, the Seoul shows did go on in March 2022 and the Las Vegas shows in April and we also know how the rest of 2022 went.

We see them enjoying some free time in Los Angeles while in-between concerts, something they never got to do before. I think they made the free time a requirement when doing concerts. Their bodies needed to rest.

We see them win AOTY at the AMAs.

It is more serendipity because Namjoon mentioned a little bit before in this episode that he'd thought about quitting until he realized they belonged on that stage and knew that's what had to happen. Jin says the previous 2 years were a time for them to reorganize themselves and they were able to release Dynamite, Butter, Permission to Dance and reach even more overseas fans and make their concerts even more exciting.

Jungkook says they were not expecting to win AOTY at the AMAs. Winning Artist of the Year at the AMAs enabled them to view it as yet another door opening to their future.

Holding sold out concerts in huge stadiums, performing at the top of their game, winning huge awards at western award shows, these things legitimized them being asked to represent their country at the UN and other global and international diplomatic conferences.

I know... they were asked to do this BEFORE they won the Artist of the Year at the AMAs, and BEFORE the PTD shows, and it is because of what they'd accomplished before those things, but it further drives the point home that BTS will continue in the future to be a big player in the music industry worldwide and they already know this.

Jungkook says they aren't sure what the future holds yet but ignoring what's happened is not an option.

Tae says they want to remain the artists who impart a positive influence.

They have finally realized what their purpose is and they are realizing the influence they wield.

#bts beyond the star #jimin #jungkook #hobi #yoongi #namjoon #jin #taehyung

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shrinestudioslasvegas · 4 months

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#Mastering #Mixdown #recording studios #Las Vegas Mastering

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5h-epilogue · 2 months

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“ . . . and as you’ve grown up, I continued with running my companies, starring in movies, making music, and I produced my play. Everyone else eventually found happiness in one way or another, thank goodness.”

Nia had wondered how her parents were so rich, how she was able to enjoy such comfortable seating out on the patio she glanced around at now that overlooked an enormous pool — the big, outdoor flower and vegetable garden to the right of it — and the patio also had two flat-screen televisions, a gourmet outdoor cooking area with a grill, and, appropriately, ceiling fans and a fire pit.

“Wow, mom. That’s . . . wow.” The young girl was in a bit of shock. She understood why a filmmaker wanted to make a movie about you. A countless amount of questions ran through her mind about you, her mother, who was considered to be a living legend.

Your beloved chef came outdoors and served you and your daughter a bowl of strawberry chicken salad, your favorite summer meal, which she now knew reminded you of your old, deceased lover, Armin Arlert.

“Thank you,” you said to the chef. “Would you mind bringing me my photo album?”

The photo album.

You mentioned it in your story.

Several minutes later, your chef returned with a brown, hardcover book that Nia had seen a countless amount of times in a reserved spot in the library, but never had she touched it. She couldn’t anyway, as it was on a pedestal display underneath protective glass.

Opening the pages, you showed her several photographs of your younger self.

“These were taken by Levi Ackerman,” you said softly.

“You look really pretty,” Nia mumbled, taking the photo album from you, as you were flipping through it too fast for her liking.

She glanced down at a selfie of you and a dark-haired man at the beach, the decades-old date catching her attention.

“Is that Levi?” She asked.

“Yes,” you replied.

Then, she saw the letter Levi had written to you. She only skimmed across it, having already known its contents from your story, and then, she explored the other pages: where Levi told you to continue filling the photo album with pictures from your past, present, and future.

There was a picture of you with a kind-looking, blonde-haired man, standing side by side in a bakery, hands covered in flour.

There was another picture of that same man in a selfie with her father, who seemed so young.

It was clearly Armin. Not only could she gather that from the details your story provided, but he was one of three people in every photo she stared at who she hadn’t seen in her entire life.

There was a photo of you and Jean in a studio together, you writing something down on a notepad as he studiously adjusted something on the soundboard mixer.

“Wait, was this CS Records or Arlert Records?”

You leaned over, looking at the photo.

“CS Records. See the date? Jean and I were more than likely working on my first few songs during the Eldian Devils tour. I can’t remember who took the picture, though.”

Nia hummed in response.

Next, there was a picture of you and Eren getting married for the first time as young artists in Las Vegas. Underneath it, there was a picture of you and Eren getting remarried in Europe.

The other photos consisted of you, Reiner, and his family the night he proposed, you and Mikasa having lunch near a bridge, a group of friends playing cards around a table, a few pictures of you on stage, on film sets, and at awards shows, Eren’s family, and other pictures of you and your friends who she lovingly recognized.

It was odd to know that, as she looked at all of the photographs of people who she had just seen last week, there were two people in some pictures who would never, ever age. The photos of Levi and Armin existed as a permanent reminder of how they will always be known.

Towards the back of the photo album, there was a picture of you with another man she didn’t recognize, but it wasn’t Levi. It wasn’t Armin.

“Is that Connie Springer?” Your daughter leaned over to show you a photograph of you and Connie dressed in suits and gowns for some sort of event.

“Yes,” you said. “That was my album release party. It was the first night Connie let me out of my bedroom after locking me away.”

“Uh,” Nia frowned. “That’s really-”

Nia interrupted her own sentence, distracted by the very last photo in the photo album.

It was a picture that was much older than the other ones. Not only did the date give it away, but the horrible camera quality as well.

It was a photo that couldn’t be found online. A photograph that was worth more than diamonds and gold.

Four young teenagers, standing in front of beautiful trees and bushes, smiling brightly, were photographed by her grandmother, Carla Yeager.

Nia read the little description below the childhood photo of Eren, Jean, Connie, and Marco: The original Eldian Devils. So long & farewell.

Below that, there was a photo of two young children trying to catch fireflies in a patch of high grass underneath a streetlight, photographed by her other grandmother, whom she had never known.

The little description below that childhood photo read: First loves. So long & farewell.

Nia closed the photo album.

“I think I’m gonna cry, Mom,” Nia started to bury her head in her hands. But then, she suddenly perked up and pushed herself out of her seat. “I gotta go see Dad!”

The young girl speed-walked through the enormous home. At this hour, she was certain where to find him.

Opening the door to the family room, there he was, strumming his guitar.

“Hi angel,” Eren smiled, soft wrinkles by his emerald eyes appeared as he greeted his beloved daughter with her favorite nickname, but upon seeing her eyes glistening with sadness, he immediately put down his guitar. “What’s wrong?”

He motioned the girl over, who quickly ran to him and sat down, wrapping her arms around him.

While he didn’t know why she was so upset, he had years of experience soothing her cries.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here,” he repeated.

Nia was a touch more sensitive and incredibly empathetic compared to the average person, that much was true, and right now, she could only think about all the pain her father experienced. The abuse. Almost dying. Losing friends.

And it hurt terribly, especially because she had only known him as the kind-hearted man who was a phenomenal father.

“I’m glad mom picked you,” Nia mumbled. “Thank you for always watching The Parent Trap with me . . . showing up to all of my shows and stuff . . . reading my papers . . . and just . . . you’re a great dad. I love you.”

“Aw, I love you too.” Eren hugged his girl even tighter. “Of course, sweetheart. Always.”

When you stepped into the room, smiling softly, Eren gave you a confused look that silently asked: What’s going on?

You held up the photo album, and he immediately understood.

Eren then motioned you over. Once you sat beside him, he kissed your forehead and wrapped his arm around you as well, holding on to the two people he cherished more than anyone or anything else in the world.

“I love you, mom. You’re so strong, and pretty amazing, too.” Nia reached out, touching your arm. “I hope I can be like you when I’m your age. Older you. Not younger you. You used to be a mess.”

For a while, the three of you sat there, hugging one another, experiencing nothing but pure love and joy.

—

A few months later, it was Thanksgiving.

The heartwarming event was hosted at your house, as it was every year, and familiar faces were gathered around the enormous dining room table covered with warm plates of food.

This year, Nia approached everyone and asked them more specific questions about their lives, wanting more details about the story she heard.

Aunt Hange was more than happy to answer just about everything after having too much wine.

Everyone was lovingly questioned by the teenager, and she shared what you had told her with their children as well.

After having dinner, Jean and his wife were sitting in the living room, playing cards with Erwin and Hange.

Reiner and his wife, who had flown in from Tennessee, were socializing with Annie, her girlfriend, and Sasha — who brought her husband, Niccolo, and their son.

Nia hung out in the recreation room with Reiner’s three children, who both had hair as blonde as his and were slightly younger than she was.

Mikasa, who had settled down in Washington after seeing the world, wanting to be closer to her friends and family, was telling you and Eren about one Thanksgiving year that she had spent lost in the middle of a forest.

A little while afterward, once dinner, laughter, and board games came to an end, Eren found you outside on the patio, staring at the glowing fireplace.

“Hi, baby. Everyone’s gone,” Eren sat down beside you. “Nia’s asleep, or she’s pretending to be, I’m not sure.”

“She’s probably tired, so I’m guessing she's actually asleep,” you said with a grin. “Today was fun. I miss everyone already.”

“Me too,” Eren smiled softly. “I’m glad everyone’s doing well. I hope it stays that way.”

“It will,” you suddenly yawned.

“Come on,” Eren stood up and reached his hand out, and you took it. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

“Someone’s excited to cuddle, huh?” You teased, expecting him to deny it, but proudly, he grinned wider and said, “Of course I am, so hurry up.”

After having a shower together, you and Eren both cuddled up in bed, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

That night, you dreamt of your past — making cinnamon rolls in a bakery and staring at stars from a rooftop.

It was a dream that you often had, but not out of regret. Not out of pain. But out of reflection of just how much you healed. How much your life had changed.

There were some people you wished you could bring back — Armin and Levi.

Some questions went unanswered — who your stalker was all those years ago, and whether it was a stranger or a lover.

But, even so, after having five husbands, and after every beautiful experience and painful memory, you could finally say that you had found contentment, and your one true love was the happiness you experienced as you grew old with your friends and family by your side.

— ONE MONTH LATER —

Five years.

That’s how long Eren had been trying his hardest to visit Connie in prison.

And a month after having Thanksgiving dinner with his family and friends, Connie allowed him to come.

What a stubborn man Connie was, but Eren’s persistence had won.

Eren couldn’t lie. He was nervous. The last time he laid eyes on the CS Records owner, he was testifying against him in court, both of them as young men. Both of them wishing that the other person would simply fall over and die.

But now, as the man in his forties sat in an uncomfortable chair in a private room, waiting for Connie to arrive on the other side of the thick glass, he couldn’t help but wonder what made Connie finally allow him to visit.

But he wouldn’t have to wonder much longer.

His leg, which shook with anticipation, halted its movement when a door opened and a prisoner was escorted out in chains, two correctional officers standing at his side.

It was him. Connie Springer.

Eren’s brows unintentionally furrowed, his face twitching as he fought the urge to both smile and frown.

It was Connie — the same man that tried to take his life. A murderer. Torturer. And yet, it was Connie, his old childhood friend who had aged just as he did, and despite being behind bars, he looked rather well.

If Connie was as shocked to see Eren after years upon years, Eren couldn’t tell, as the prisoner simply blinked at him as he was escorted to his seat on the other side of the glass, his face expressionless. Intimidating.

And he just stared at Eren.

The former musician was the first one to pick up the phone hanging on the wall to communicate. Connie did so as well a few moments later.

Pressing the phone to his ear, Eren’s emotional, shiny eyes darted away from Connie’s, down at the new tattoo on Connie’s left arm, and back up at him.

“Hey,” Eren spoke first.

Connie didn’t respond.

He just stared at Eren.

“I’m here because I wanted to see how you were doing,” Eren spoke yet again.

Connie’s chains rattled as he shifted in his seat.

He just stared at Eren.

With a frown, Eren questioned, “Why did you let me come visit you if you weren’t going to talk to me?”

“You didn’t give me a choice. I thought you’d give up . . . after five fucking years.”

Finally.

Eren couldn’t help but smile a bit. Hearing his voice again after forgetting what it sounded like was rather startling.

“You only said yes so I’d leave you alone?” Eren asked.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll take what I can get,” Eren softly sighed. “I never thought that I’d ever want to see you again, but here I am.”

“You really did all this to check on me?” Connie’s question was fired rather abruptly, nearly cutting off Eren’s sentence. “I put a bullet through your chest. I’m the reason you only have eight fingers left. I killed your friends, and I could keep naming shit I’ve done. Why are you here?”

Eren glanced away, adjusting the dark green phone in his hand.

“Time heals all wounds.”

“That something your therapist came up with?”

“Yeah.”

The corner of Connie’s mouth twitched as, this time, he was the one fighting the urge to smile.

“What I’m trying to say is that I can’t forgive you for what you did to Armin and Levi, and it’s not my place to or not to. But I forgive you for what you did to me.” Eren’s eyes glistened with subtle sadness. “I guess I’m just hoping that after all this time . . . after all we’ve been through . . . I can talk to my friend again. Not CS Records owner, Connie Springer, but my friend. I haven’t spoken to him since I was fifteen, and I woke up with two new gray hairs today.”

It was a soft noise, one that was very brief and vanished as soon as it had arrived, but Connie chuckled.

“You’re saying some corny stuff, man.”

Eren’s smile brightened. “That’s what happens when you have a kid. All I do now is think of dad jokes, and try to-”

“You have a kid?”

Eren’s face faltered in utter confusion, but as he stared at Connie’s slightly shocked face, he could tell that the man wasn’t messing around.

Nia’s birth was worldwide news. It was a steady hot topic for an entire year — one would have thought that a new member of the royal family had been born.

But then, Eren realized that for the most part, behind bars, the outside world ceased to exist. Especially in maximum security facilities.

“Yeah,” Eren said. “I have a daughter. She turned fourteen a month ago.”

“Is her mom around? Who’s she?”

“Her mom is Y/N. And, yeah, she’s around. We’ve been married for years.”

“Seriously?” Connie couldn’t hide the shock and surprise. A look of amusement appeared upon his face as he raised his eyebrows. “Well, uh . . . congratulations. How’s Y/N?”

Eren couldn’t help but smile as he thought about you, his beautiful wife. “She’s good. She’s great. Her companies are still going strong, and she’s finally happy.”

“Didn’t wanna come see me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Connie nodded.

Then, his face fell into a small frown, hazel eyes darting down to the corner of the glass, staring at nothing in particular.

“How’s Jean doing?”

“Jean’s fine. He’s retired from music. He married a pianist.” Eren paused. “Everyone else is doing fine too. Reiner has kids and a wife, and they all have Southern accents — it’s funny to hear. Mikasa finally . . .”

For a while, Connie listened to Eren ramble on about the progressive lives of the people he once knew.

As his old friend spoke, he couldn’t help but wonder how his life would have turned out if he had made different choices.

Sadness pricked at his heart, sending a small ache throughout his body.

If only he wasn’t such an idiot back then.

No. He was worse than an idiot.

He was a monster.

“What about you, Connie? I know you’re locked up, but how are they treating you here? Knowing you, you probably run this place, huh?”

Truth be told, Connie was rather surprised to know Eren cared. It was just as touching as it was shocking.

“Damn right,” Connie said.

And it was true, but not in the way one would imagine.

He intimated who he needed to. Ruined lives when he needed to. But, over the nearly two decades he had been behind bars, he had done it solely to stick up for the defenseless prisoners, both young and old, who didn’t deserve to be treated as he once was when he was locked up the first time.

It wasn’t some change of heart that had occurred over the last several years, either.

From the very first day he entered as a younger man, he was both starting fights and finishing them to protect others.

He couldn’t explain why he did such things. It was no secret that he didn’t mind letting other people get hurt, considering he excelled at harming others, but this was different.

Somehow, it just was.

“Can I ask you something? And be honest with me,” Eren paused, carefully thinking over his words before he dared to utter them. “Do you regret it? Any of it?”

Connie ran his hand down his lower face.

It was a difficult question, and not because he didn’t know the answer, because he did, but rather, he wasn’t sure if the truth was an acceptable response.

Telling the truth meant showing weakness. Losing power.

Letting go of that mentality was rather difficult, especially behind bars where weakness was preyed on.

But he didn’t care about those former beliefs anymore. He was getting too old for such stupidity.

“Telling you I regret it will give you closure, right?”

“Surely you want closure too.”

“I regret everything.” The prisoner looked into his old friend’s eyes as he spoke. “I wish I . . .” He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t speak anymore — but there were, perhaps, no words in the English language that could properly express what he felt in his heart.

“Well, uh, how about this,” The other man sniffled softly as spoke. “You’ll have to be under constant supervision, but, in a few years, how about we work on getting you out of here . . . letting you see the sun again? What do you say?”

Fighting the urge to cry was an incredibly difficult battle. The prisoner nodded, his teary eyes shining with guilt and hope, and the other man nodded along with him.

“Okay, well,” the former musician smiled sadly, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

The visit ended with goodbyes and promises that they both intended to keep. Your dear husband couldn’t be certain what the future held, but as he did the day he first met you all those years ago, approaching you backstage with great curiosity, he’d trust his gut.

For it had led him to his one true love, and he’d listen to it — always.

Thanks for reading! What did you think? Please let me know by like, reblogging, and/or commenting on the last chapter, or in my inbox!

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matttgirlies · 5 days

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Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of guns,, drug use,, threats,, mentions of affairs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 21

Putting together the best musicians, sound and lighting technicians, costumers, and choreographers, he was taking no chances this time. He scoured the music scene for the top sidemen in the business. Auditions were held and he handpicked each player—names such as James Burton, John Wilkinson, Ronny Tutt, Glen D. Hardin, Jerry Scheff. He loved the sound of the Sweet Inspirations, backup group for Aretha Franklin, and he hired them on the spot as a warmup act and to sing backup vocals. He also hired his favorite gospel group, the Imperial Quartet.

Before leaving Los Angeles, Matt rehearsed at RCA Sound Studios for ten days and then polished the act for a full week prior to the opening. It was the event of the summer in Vegas. Colonel Parker brought the preopening publicity to fever pitch. Billboards were up all over town. On the third floor of the International, administrative offices bustled with activity. No other entertainer coming into Vegas had ever stimulated this kind of excitement. The hotel lobby was dominated by Matt paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs. You’d think Barnum and Bailey were coming to town.

Back home there was also excitement as we girls discussed what we’d wear to the opening. “I want you to look extra special, Baby,” Matt said. “This is a big night for all of us.” I hit every boutique in West L.A. before finding just the right outfit.

Though it had been nine years since Matt had given a live performance, you never would have known it from his opening. The audience cheered the moment he stepped onstage and never stopped the entire two hours as Matt sang, “All Shook Up,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” “In the Ghetto,” “Tiger Man,” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He mixed the old with the new, the fast and hot with the lyrical and romantic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Matt perform live. Wanting to surprise me, he had kept me from rehearsals. I was astounded. At the end he left them still cheering and begging for more.

Cary Grant was among the stars who came backstage to congratulate him after the show. But the most touching moment was when Colonel William arrived with tears in his eyes, wanting to know where his boy was. Matt came out of the dressing room and the two men embraced. I believe everyone felt their emotion in that moment of triumph.

I don’t think we slept that night. Nate Doe brought in all the newspapers and we read the rave reviews declaring, “Matt was great” and “He never looked or sang better.” He shared credit for his new success with all of us.

“Well, we did it. It’s going to be a long thirty days, but it’s going to be worth it if we get the reception we got last night. I may have been a real tyrant, but it was well worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” we all agreed, laughing. “You were a tyrant.”

The International Hotel was delirious over Matt’s performance and the box-office receipts. The following day they signed a fiveyear contract with the Colonel for Matt to appear twice a year, usually around the same time, January and August, at the then unheardof salary of one million dollars a year.

Matt literally took over Las Vegas for the entire month he was there, playing to a packed house every show as thousands more were turned away. No matter where we looked, all we could see was the name Matt—on television, newspapers, banners, and billboards. The King had returned.

Initially, Matt’s triumph in Las Vegas brought a new vitality to our marriage. He seemed a different person. Once again, he felt confident about himself as a performer and he continued to watch his weight and work out every day at karate.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Matt jumpsuit belts.

I loved seeing him healthy and happy again, and I especially enjoyed our early days in Vegas. The International provided an elegant three-bedroom suite that we turned into our home away from home. During his show I always sat at the same table down front, never tiring of watching him perform. He was spontaneous and one never knew what to expect from him.

On occasion, after his midnight show, we’d catch lounge acts of other performers playing Vegas or we’d gamble until dawn. Other times we’d relax backstage, visiting with entertainers captivated by his performance. This was the first time I’d been with Matt at a high point in his career.

With the renewed fame came renewed dangers. Offstage he could be guarded by Sonny and Red. Onstage he was a walking target. One night that summer Nate and Sonny were tipped off that a woman in the audience was carrying a gun and had threatened to shoot Matt. A true professional, Matt insisted on going on. Additional precautions were taken and everyone was on the alert. Matt was instructed to stay downstage, making himself a smaller target, and Sonny and Jerry were poised to jump in front of him at the slightest sign of suspicious movement in the audience. Red was positioned in the audience with the FBI agents.

The show seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at Patsy apprehensively and she in turn grasped my hand as we comforted each other, longing for the night to end without incident. James remained backstage, never letting Matt out of his sight and praying, “Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my son.”

Because of this and other threats, extra security was arranged wherever Matt appeared. Entrances through backstages, kitchens, back elevators, and side exits became routine.

Matt had his own theory about assassinations, based on the murders of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy. He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Matt Sturniolo.

Sonny and Red lived in so much tension these days that they were constantly frenzied. Suspicious in crowds of overzealous fans, they were quick to respond to any sign of danger. Compared to Sonny’s diplomacy, Red’s reputation was to act first and ask questions later. Eventually, numerous assault-and-battery charges started piling up against Matt. When James warned him about Sonny and Red’s aggressiveness, Matt said, “Goddamn, Red. I hired you to keep the sons of bitches away from me, not get me in any legal binds. Somehow you’re going to have to control that redheaded temper of yours.”

Although Matt would joke about the death threats—and there would be several more throughout the Vegas commitments—the fear and constant need for security heightened the pressure of nightly performing.

In the beginning when Matt began doing regular Vegas engagements, we girls visited frequently. We’d fly in over the weekend, sometimes bringing our children, spend three or four days, and then return home.

On the days we were apart I’d take hundreds of Polaroids and home movies of Charlotte. She was growing so rapidly I didn’t want him to miss out on her development. Daily he’d receive his “care packages,” as I’d refer to them, including tape recordings of me teaching Charlotte new words and Charlotte mimicking me. Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

During his first couple of engagements he still seemed humbled by lingering doubts of whether the public was fully accepting him. At this point he had no interest in outside affairs or flirtations, his concentration on daily rehearsals and performances every evening excluding everything else.

Later he would become more cocky. The crowds’ admiration took him back to his triumphs in the early fifties and he found it hard to come down to earth after a month of nightly cheers. His name on the International’s huge marquee would be replaced by the next superstar. The offices on the third floor would be cleared out and incoming calls for reservations would stop.

Thriving on all the excitement, glamour, and hysteria, he found it difficult to go home and resume his role as father and husband. And for me the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

At home in Los Angeles, there was just the usual group around—strictly a family atmosphere. This abrupt change was too much for him and soon he developed the habit of lingering in Vegas for days, sometimes weeks, after a show. The boys were finding it increasingly difficult to resolve the conflict between working for Matt and maintaining a home life.

Crazed with inactivity and boredom, Matt became edgy and temperamental, a condition exacerbated by the Dexedrine he was again taking to control his weight.

Sometimes, to ease the transition home, Matt would insist we all pile into cars and head for Palm Springs. Since our marriage we had spent-many weekends there sunning and watching football games and late-night television, but after Charlotte was born, my needs changed. The Palm Springs heat was too much for her, the long drive boring, the idleness of resort life wearying. One weekend I suggested, “Matt, why don’t just you and the guys go down?”

From that time on, the guys developed their own lifestyle in our secluded desert home. Occasionally we wives would be invited to spend the weekend, but by and large, Matt now considered Palm Springs his private refuge.

He made it clear that this time away was good for him, giving him a chance to think, to hang out with the guys. In reality Matt was lost. He did not know what to do with himself after Vegas. He escaped in more powerful, unnecessary prescribed drugs to raise his spirits and ward off boredom.

After he had conquered Vegas, it was agreed that Matt should go back on the road. Colonel immediately began booking concert tours around the nation, starting with an impressive run of six sold-out shows in the Houston Astrodome, which earned over one million dollars in three nights.

The night I arrived in Texas to watch the performance, Amber, Judy, and I flew in on a private jet. I looked down on the Astrodome and found it hard to believe my eyes. The length of a football field—and already sold out. It made me nervous. I could imagine how Matt felt.

Matt too found the Astrodome overwhelming. “Goddamn,” he said when he first walked in. “They expect me to sell this son of a bitch out? It’s a goddamn ocean.”

However dwarfed he was by the giant facility, he electrified his audience. Houston was our first run-in with mass hysteria. The limousine was strategically parked by the stage door for Matt’s immediate getaway. Even so, screaming fans surrounded the car, frantically yelling out his name, presenting flowers, and trying to touch him.

If anything, Houston was an even greater victory than Vegas. The King of Rock and Roll was back on top. The strain of sustaining such a hype was just beginning and, for the moment, I could believe that everything would still be all right. I did not realize the extent to which Matt’s touring was going to separate us, that this in fact was the beginning of the end. After Houston Matt began crossing the country, making one-night stands, flying by day, trying to catch some sleep to maintain the high energy level demanded by his performances. From 1971 on, he toured more than any other artist—three weeks at a time with no days off and two shows on Saturdays and Sundays.

I missed him. We talked constantly of being together more, but he knew that if he let me join him, he couldn’t refuse the requests from regulars whose marriages were also feeling the strain of long separations. For a while a group of us would fly in from time to time, but this didn’t last long. Matt noticed that his employees were lax in discharging their duties to him when spouses were present, and he established a new policy: No wives on the road.

I didn’t really miss the one-night stands, a tedious routine at best: Jump off the plane, rush to the hotel, unpack as little as possible, since you had to check out the next day, go to the performance, then back to the hotel for a little rest before heading back to the airport. Everything was the same except for the name of the town.

It was the day Matt suggested I come to Vegas less often that I became really upset and suspicious. He’d decided that we wives would attend opening and closing nights only.

I knew then I’d have to fight for our relationship or accept the fact that we were now gradually going to grow apart as so many couples in show business do. As a couple, we’d never sat down to plan out a future. Matt, individually, was stretching as an artist, but as man and wife we needed a common reality.

The chances of our marriage surviving were slim indeed as long as he continued to live apart from Charlotte and me, and in bachelor quarters at that. It came down to how much longer I could stand the separation. Matt wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And now, as the tours and long engagements took him even further from his family, I realized that we might never reach my dreams of togetherness.

I had trouble believing that Matt was always faithful, and the more he kept us apart, the more my suspicions grew.

Now when we went to Vegas, I felt more comfortable at the openings. He was always preoccupied with the show and I felt he needed me then. On closing nights I always felt uneasy. Too many days had gone by, enough time for suspicions to poison my thoughts. The Vegas maître d’s invariably planted a bevy of beauties in the front rows for the entertainer to play to. Curious, I would scan their faces while watching Matt closely to see if he seemed to direct his songs to any girl in particular. Suspicious of everyone, my heart ached—but we were never able to talk about it. It was to be accepted as part of the job.

Backstage one night James was jokingly negotiating for a key that had been tossed to Matt. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde—James’s type. Matt said, “Dad, you’ve got enough problems at home with one blonde. You certainly don’t need two.”

“Well, okay,” James said. “You’re going to have problems of your own if your wife goes out in the street looking like that.” I had begun wearing skimpy knit dresses and see-through fabrics that were daringly revealing. Steven and Charlie whistled and gave wolfcalls, while Matt proudly showed me off.

The jokes I played on him were also efforts to get his attention. One night, after he’d left early for a show, I put on a black dress with a black hood and an exceptionally low-cut back. When it came time for Matt to give away kisses to the girls in the audience—a regular part of his show—I went up to the stage. Instead of kissing me, he kept on singing his song, leaving me to stand there. With my hair hiding the dress strap around my neck, I appeared from the back to be nude from the waist up. I could hear the “oooh”s and “ahhhh”s of the audience. They were under the impression that a topless girl had cornered Matt and that he couldn’t figure out what to do.

I kept whispering to him, “Kiss me, kiss me, so I can sit down,” but he decided to turn the joke on me, and made me wait in the spotlight for the duration of the song. Planting a big kiss on my lips, he surprisingly introduced me to the audience. I felt a bit embarrassed and made my way back to my seat.

Later in the show he’d strut back and forth onstage, tease his audience, talk to them, tell them stories, even confide in them. “You know,” he’d say, “some people in this town get a little greedy. I know you folks save a long time to come and hear me sing. I just want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any exorbitant raise in price when you come back. I’m here to entertain you and that’s all I care about.”

Matt was having an ongoing love affair with his audience and the next time I was home alone I knew I had no choice but to start more of a life of my own.

It was with that thought in mind that Amber, my sister Michelle, and I planned a short trip to Palm Springs. In the course of the weekend I opened the mailbox to check the mail and found a number of letters from girls who had obviously been to the house, one in particular signed “Lizard Tongue.” My immediate response was disbelief, followed by outrage. I dialed Vegas and demanded that Nate find Matt and bring him to the telephone. When Nate said Matt was sleeping, I told him about the letters and insisted I speak to Matt. Nate promised that he would have Matt call as soon as he woke up. He did, but it was clear that Nate had filled him in on the situation and Matt had his explanation ready. He was totally innocent, the girls were just fans, they were out of their minds if they said they’d ever come to the house, and besides, it was their word against his. As usual, in the end I apologized for putting him on the spot, but things at this point were becoming too obvious.

He said, “Get out and do things while I’m gone, because if you don’t, you’re going to start getting depressed.”

Although my choices were limited—he still objected to my taking a job or enrolling in classes at college—I continued my dancing and started taking private art instruction.

Matt was a born entertainer and although he tried to avoid crowds, disliked restaurants, and complained he “couldn’t get out like a normal person,” this life-style suited him. He handpicked the people he wanted to be around him—to work with and travel withand they adjusted to his routine and his hours and his temperament. It was a pretty close clan throughout the years. A few arguments erupted and a few couples left over some misunderstandings, but they usually returned in a week or two.

My view of life had been fashioned by Matt. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security. He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal. He could never have foreseen what was happening as the consequence of his prolonged absences from home. A major period in my growth was beginning. I still feared our separations but felt that our love had no boundaries, that I was his and if he wanted me to change, I would. For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Over the years of playing Vegas, other pressures began to mount. There were more death threats and lawsuits, including alleged paternity suits and assault-and-battery charges. Jealous husbands claimed they’d seen Matt flirting with their wives, and others continued to charge that Sonny and Red were manhandling them. Matt began to get bored with these nuisances as well as with the sameness of the show. Inevitably, he tried to change the format, but then he felt it just didn’t have the same pacing as the original. He’d add a few songs here and there but then revert to the original. Pointed suggestions that he make changes before the next Vegas date added to the pressure.

Bored and restless, he increased his dependence on chemicals. He thought speed helped him escape from destructive thinking, when in reality it gave him false confidence and unnatural aggressiveness. He started losing perspective on himself and others. To me he became increasingly unreachable.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - welll..🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

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seeminglyranch87 · 5 months

Text

Taylor & Travis Timeline

February 2024 - part 1

February 4 - Taylor Swift cryptically changes her social media profile pics to black & white images sending us Swifties into a frenzy of "what does this mean?" & "Taylor is up to something!"

This is followed by her website going down - people investigate the error code and determine that this was done on purpose and that the letters "hneriergrd" spell "red herring" and 321 is a count down. Many fans expect the announcement of Reputation (Taylor's Version) others are wondering if she will announce the release of TS11?

What is Taylor up to ?????

Travis Kelce arrives in Las Vegas ahead of the Super Bowl. Travis will not be attending the Grammys due to his commitments with the Chiefs.

66th Grammy Awards - Taylor is nominated for 6 awards:

✨ Album of the Year ✨ Record of the Year ✨ Song of the Year ✨ Best Pop Solo Performance ✨ Best Pop Duo/Group Performance ✨ Best Pop Vocal Album

Taylor arrives at the Grammys in a white Schiaparelli gown (x)

Taylor Swift receives her 13th Grammy for Best Pop Vocal Album. Taylor uses the occasion to announce the release of her 11th studio album "The Tortured Poets Department" on April 19, 2024! (x)

Taylor is awarded the history making Album of the Year Grammy for her album "Midnights". This is the 4th time Taylor has received this award - the most for any artist in Grammy's history (x)

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February 4 - Taylor releases the tracklist of The Tortured Poets Department in order to get ahead of leaks. Swifties are collectively floored by the track names.

TTPD Tracklist:

1. Fortnight (ft. Post Malone)

2. The Tortured Poets Department

3. My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toy

4. Down Bad

5. So Long, London

6. But Daddy I Love Him

7. Fresh Out the Slammer

8. Florida!!! (ft. Florence + the Machine)

9. Guilty as Sin?

10. Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

11. I Can Fix Him (No Really | Can)

12. loml

13. I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

14. The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

15. The Alchemy

16. Clara Bow

17. The Manuscript

February 5 - Travis likes NPR IG post (x)

February 6 - Travis Kelce attending pre Super Bowl promotion and being interviewed. He handles SO many questions about Taylor (x)

February 7, 8, 9, 10 - The Eras Tour, Tokyo Dome, Tokyo, Japan

Dear Reader (guitar) & Holy Ground (piano)

Eyes Open (guitar) & Electric Touch (piano)

Superman (guitar) & The Outside (piano)

Come in with the rain (guitar), You're on your own kid (piano)

February 10 - Taylor departs Japan to fly back to USA to attend the Super Bowl with Jet renamed (The football Era).

Ed Kelce speaks to People Magazine ahead of the Super Bowl (x)

Sirius XM Sports interview Andy Reid (x) and ask if Taylor is a distraction for Travis? Chiefs head coach Andy Reid replies

"...it's a tribute how [Taylor] has handled it, how Kelce has handled it. It hasn't been a distraction so there haven't been any problems with it... She loves the game and she obviously loves Kelce, I'm happy for both of them..."

February 11 - NFL Super Bowl LVIII, Allegiant Stadium, Las Vegas NV

Chiefs v 49ers

Travis up early and liking a post by Sportscenter where Shaq expresses his interest to meet Taylor (x)

Chiefs defeat 49ers 25 - 22 in a nail biting game that went to overtime. This is Travis Kelce's 3rd Super Bowl victory within 5 years.

Taylor is joined by Blake Lively, Ice Spice, her parents Scott & Andrea Swift, Travis' parents Ed & Donna Kelce, Jason & Kylie Kelce, Ashley Avignon, Austin Swift & girlfriend Sydney, Miles & Keleigh Teller, Aric Jones, Ross Travis & Lana Del Ray & others in a private suite at Allegiant Stadium, Las Vegas. She wears a corset top by an Australian designer, quite possibly a nod to her next tour stop...

Blake telling Taylor “He is going to win for you” (x)

Celebrating the Super Bowl win together!

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"Thank you for making it half way across the world, you're the best baby, the absolute best. Was it electric?" says Travis to Taylor

*take special note of the caption!

Post Super Bowl press conference (x) Travis is asked "Has any couple had a better week than Grammys to Super Bowl cleaning up?"

Taylor, Travis and their friends attend various after parties to celebrate the Chiefs win. The Chainsmokers play multiple Taylor Swift songs, including You Belong With Me (x) Travis and Taylor are spotted singing along together at Zouk Nightclub, Resorts World.

Taylor says "that was the most romantic thing that ever happened" and then Travis kisses her on the cheek (x)

Taylor posts a tiktok about the event...

There is lots of PDA (x)

Travis gives his jacket to Taylor (x) on their way into XS at Wynn Resort, Las Vegas to continue celebrating.

Travis and Taylor dance together when Love Story is played (x) (x) (x)

February 12 - CBS Sports air Travis Kelce Super Bowl Interview with Tracy Wolfson (x 1:35)

Tracy asks what it is like to have Taylor alongside him on this journey?

"It's been nothing but fun. We've both been learning about this lifestyle, knowing that I brought her into the football world. It's been an unexpected ride that I've just been having a blast with."

Travis also addressed fan conspiracies that the relationship is a fraud. "You're all crazy," he said with a laugh. "Every last one of you is crazy."

February 14 - the Chiefs post-Super Bowl win parade in Kansas City.

Go to previous update -> January 2024 Part 2

Go to next update -> February 2024 part 2

Return to the timeline

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originallandlockedmariner · 5 months

Text

2023

Pickleball. Generative AI. Lula takes office in Brazil, Amazon Rainforest throws a party. Prince Harry refusing to stop talking about his frozen penis no matter how many times society begged him to stop. UFOs are real. Viral cat dubbed ‘largest cat anyone has ever seen’ gets adopted. Pee-Wee’s big adventure ends. Musk & X. Turkey-Syria earthquake kills thousands. India surpasses China as ‘country squeezing in the most peeps’. Tucker Carlson ousted. Miss USA and her 30 lbs moon costume. Wildfires in Kelowna and Hawaii. Macron tinkers with retirement age of the French. Paltrow can’t ski. Big Red Boots. Bob Barker leaves us. Alabama mom delivers 2 babies from her 2 uteruses in 2 days. Charles III. Ukrainian counteroffensive against Russian forces as the war drags on. Taylor Swift is Time’s Person of the Year. African ‘coup belt’. Flo-Jo dies in her sleep. Chinese spy balloon shot down. Hollywood writers strike. Human ‘nice mugshot’ Shitstain and his 91 indictments. Highest interest rates in 2 decades. The Bear’s Christmas episode. War in Gaza. Shinzo Abe is assassinated. Alex Murdaugh. Ocean Cleanup removes 25 000 lbs of trash from the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. Vase purchased for $3.99 sells for $100 000 at auction. Barbenheimer. A third of Pakistan is flooded. Lionel Messi is the GOAT. Travis Kelce. The Sphere opens in Las Vegas. Regulators seized Silicon Valley Bank and Signature Bank, resulting in two of the three largest bank failures in U.S. history. “The Woman In Me”. WHO declares COVID ain’t a thing no more. Titan sub sinks, rich people die. Matthew Perry drowns. Dumbledore Dies (again). Massive sales of ‘Fuck Trudeau’ flags for jacked-up micro-dick trucks. Everything Everywhere All At Once. June-August was the hottest three-month period in recorded history across the Earth. Tina Turner dies. And the Beatles release a new song?! Wow… You got big shoes to fill 2024.

Archives for context:

2020

Kobe. Pandemic. Lockdown. Koalas on fire. Harry and Meg retire. Toilet paper hoarding. Alcoholism. Impeach the f*cker. Parasite. Bonnie Henry. Tiger King. Working from home. Sourdough bread. Harvey Weinstein guilty. Zoom overdose. Dip your body in sanitizer. 6 feet. Quarantine. OK Boomer. Home schooling (everyone passes). Murder hornets. Dolly Parton. Don’t hug, kiss or see anybody, especially your family. Chris Evans’ junk. TikTok. Glory holes. Face masks. CERB. West Coast wildfires. Stay home. Small Businesses lose, big box stores win. F*ck Bozos. ‘Dreams’ and cranberry juice. Close yoga studios, but thumbs up to your local gym. Speak moistly to me. George Floyd. BLM. F*ck Trump. Phase 2, 3 and Summer. RBG. Baby Yoda. Biden wins. Bond and Black Panther die. No more lockdown. Back to school and work. Just kidding... giddy up round 2. Giuliani leaks shit from his head. Resurgence of chess. UFOs are real. Restrictions. Dave Grohl admits defeat. Monolith. “F*ck... forgot my mask in the car”. No Christmas shenanigans allowed. Bubbles. Alex Trebek. Use the term ‘dumpster fire’ one too many times. Jupiter and Saturn form 'Christmas Star'. Happy New Year Bitches!!!! 2021... you better not sh*t the bed!!

2021

“We love you, you’re very special”. Failed coup attempt at the Capital. Twitter, FB and IG ban Donny. Hammerin’ Hank goes to the Field of Dreams. Bozo no longer richest man but still a twat. Leachman, Tyson, and Holbrook pass. The economy is worse than expected. Kim and Kanye split. Brood X cicadas. Dre has an aneurysm and nearly has his home broken into. Bridgerton. MyPillow CEO is a douche. Covid restrictions extended indefinitely. Captain Von Trapp dies. Proud Boys officially a Terrorist Organization. Richard Ramirez. Cancer takes Screech. Travel bans. Impeachment trial (again?… oh and this was barely February? WTF??!!) Suez Canal blockage. Myanmar protest. Kong dukes it out with Godzilla, while Raya watches. Olympics. Friends compare elective surgeries. F9. Canada Women’s Soccer Gold. Free Britney. Multiverses. Residential Schools in Canada unearth children’s bodies. Kate is Mare of Easttown. Cuomo resigns. Disney and Dwayne cruise together. Wildfires. Delta variants. Musk passes Bezos. Candyman x 5. Capt. Kirk goes to space. F*ck Kyle Rittenhouse. Astros didn’t win. Squid Game. Goodbye Bond. Dune is redone. Angelina is Eternal. Astroworld deaths. Meta. Omicron. Three Spidermen. Tornados in December? World Juniors cancelled. Pills against Covid. School opening delayed. And Betty White dies. 2022… my expectations are ridiculously low…

2022

Wow… eight billion people. Queen Elizabeth II passes away after ruling the Commonwealth before dirt was invented. The monkeypox. Russia plays the role of global a**hole. Wordle. Mother Nature rocks Afghanistan. Hover bike. Styles spits on Pine. Olivia Newton John, Kristie Alley, and Coolio leave us. Pele was traded to team Heaven. FTX implodes. Madonna and the 3-D model of her vagina. Pig gives his heart to a human. Beijing can brag that it is the first city ever to host both the Summer Olympics and Winter Olympics. Uvalde. $3 trillion Apple. Keith Raniere gets 120 years. The Whisky War ends with Canada and Denmark going halfsies. Mar-a-Lago. Nick Cannon brood hits a dozen. Shinzo Abe is assassinated. Inflation goes through the roof (if you can actually afford to put a roof over your head). Volodymyr Zelensky. European heat wave. Bennifer. Salman Rushdie is stabbed on stage, Dave Chappelle tackled, and Chris Rock is only slapped. Thích Nhất Hạnh. Heidi Klum goes full slug. Cuba knocked out by Ian. Liz Truss and 4.1 Scaramuccis. Taylor Swift breaks Ticketmaster. Human shitstain Elon Musk ignores helping mankind and buys Twitter instead. Riri becomes a mommy. NASA launches Artemis 1. Trump still a whiny little b*tch. Music lost Loretta Lynn, Christine McVie, and Meat Loaf. Democracy died at least three times. Pete Davidson continues to date hottest women on the planet (no one understands how?!) Microplastics in our blood. Alex Jones is a c*nt. So is DeSantis. Argentina wins the World Cup. Meghan and Harry. Eddie Munson rips Metallica in the Upside Down. tWitch. Roe vs Wade is overturned by the micro dick energy of the Supreme Court. CODA. James Corden shows he is a "tiny Cretin of a man". Amber (and the sh*t on the bed) Heard (round the world). Sebastian Bear-McClard proves he’s one of the f*cking dumbest men alive. Latin America's ‘pink tide’. Anti-Semitic rants by Ye. Bob Saget. A verified blue checkmark. Godmother of punk Vivienne dies. And, Tom Cruise feels the need for speed yet again. 2023… whatcha got for us?!? Nothing shocks me anymore.

@daily-esprit-descalier

#me #my words #doodles

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dreamy625 · 20 days

Text

One-shot - Barbie

Content: Casual drinking and smoking

Words: 2670

-----------------------------

Steve is considering a third drink and determinedly ignoring the clock over the bar as it ticks on from fashionably late to may-as-well-not-bother when he hears in a throaty drawl from behind him:

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns…”

His face breaks into a broad grin, “Barbie!”

“Don’t…” she kisses him on one cheek, “...call me Barbie...” and then the other, “Stevie.”

She hops up on the neighbouring bar stool and reaches for the pack of cigarettes in front of him.

“I knew it was you the second I saw your hair; still bulk-buying the peroxide I see!”

“Still putting your lipstick on with a trowel I see!” he counters, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand before waving to the bartender. “Gin and tonic, no ice, lime not lemon. And another one of these please.”

“So what brings you to my part of town? Do they not have pubs in Chelsea?”

“I’m supposed to be at a party. Industry bigwigs. Journalists. Mensch is making me go.”

“To prove you haven’t been kicked out of the band?”

“You’ve heard the rumours then?”

“Oh yes. But then I also heard you married a stripper and moved to Vegas, so…” she shrugs.

“That sounds more fun. Nah, it just goes on like it always does - do this, do that, don’t do that. The same old merry-go-round. Ages to go on the new record before we can get back out on the road again.” Their drinks arrive and he pushes a five-pound note across the bar. “And you’ve been conspicuous by your absence this past year, what have you been up to?”

“Oh you know, bit of writing, bit of design work. Plying my trade wherever they’ll have me.”

“How many countries this time?”

“Only three so far this year - Greece, Japan, and LA of course.”

“Ahh, jealous, I loved Japan. I’ve just gone back and forth to Dublin about four million times. Joe built his own studio,” he explains.

“Convenient.”

“For Joe it is. Phil’s in the US and Rick’s back in Holland, so the rest of us are clocking up a lot of airmiles.”

“You’ve not considered moving?”

“Nah, I’m settled where I am. Travelling’s good, but I want somewhere to come home to, somewhere that speaks proper English.”

There’s something he’s carefully not saying and Barbara, of course, hears it loud and clear. “So where’s that American girlfriend of yours?”

“Which one?” asks Steve, lighting another cigarette and offering the packet to his companion. “Don’t matter anyway, answer’s the same - gone, got sick of me and buggered off to pastures new.”

“Oh sweetheart,” She pats his hand before reaching for the matches. “Always unlucky in love.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Inexplicable really,” he looks down at the countertop before flicking his eyes up to hers, “when I have such good taste in women.”

Barbara laughs, not quite the reaction he’d been hoping for. “Very good Clarkie, have you been practising that?”

“Whaddya mean, works every time.” He turns his head to hide the blush threatening to colour his cheeks and motions to the barman for more drinks. Serves him right for assuming. Changing tack, he asks, “Are you here on your own?”

“Are you about to ask what a nice girl like me is doing in a place like this?”

“I know what you’re doing in here - chatting up strange men so you can pinch their cigarettes! I merely wished to enquire about your social arrangements.”

“Ah, very proper. I came in with some people from the magazine I’ve been writing for, but they’re going for a curry, so I guess I’m footloose and fancy free.”

“Good to know, thank you kindly.” He stubs out the cigarette, pondering his next move…

“Do you want to drink that?” She nods at the double brandy the bartender has just placed in front of him. “Or do you want to come home with me?”

“Can’t I do both?”

“From past experience, no,” smirks Barbara with a flick of her eyes down to his lap.

Steve blinks once before making the fastest decision of his life, pushing the glass back across the bar and dropping down from the bar stool almost in one movement.

A short walk brings them to a three-storey townhouse, not unlike his own, but this one, and the others in the terrace, has been split into flats and has the slightly dilapidated, uncared-for look common to buildings housing an ever-changing population of tenants. Barbara’s flat is on the third floor; high ceilings and fancy wallpaper, but just two rooms. Almost every time he saw her, she was living in a different short-term rental, squat, or half-empty house-sitting gig. The perpetual rolling stone, wherever she lay her hat was her home; although in Barbara’s case the ‘hat’ was three tea chests full of books and records, scarves and tapestries from far-flung places to cover every surface, and a stuffed parrot on a perch. Which meant that every place looked and smelt the same - like a poorly-kept antique store - and Steve would always feel himself being watched by a beady avian eye as he stumbled around in the middle of the night looking for yet another unfamiliar bathroom.

“So let me give you the tour.” Barbara takes three steps into the middle of the living room and does a slow twirl with her arms out. “This concludes our tour.”

“Nice. Frank’s looking well.” He waves to the parrot, so-named for its uncanny resemblance to Frank Zappa, receiving the usual glass-eyed stare in return.

“So, d’you want a drink?”

Steve shakes his head.

“Or coffee?”

Another shake.

“Or…”

Steve smiles a lazy smile. “C’mere.”

Barbara tilts her chin up in mock defiance, but walks towards his open arms, peeling her coat off as she goes.

“I’ve missed you, Barbie.”

“Don’t call me…” The rest of the sentence dissolves into a muffled ‘mmph’ as Steve presses his lips to hers.

Her eager response is both exciting and warmly familiar - hers is a body he knows so well and returns to with delight - and as he works on ridding them both of extraneous clothing on the way to the bedroom, his only concern is picking the correct closed door and not ending up in a broom cupboard!

Later, satisfied and spent, with his girl curled up next to him and tracing drowsy circles on his chest, he lets his mind wander through memories of their long and convoluted relationship.

Barbara had always roused a mixture of emotions. She was beautiful, charming, clever, and had a worldly sophistication that had been incredibly exotic to a boy who’d barely left Yorkshire. He’d been mesmerised by her from the first meeting, and the years of chance encounters and brief liaisons had done little to diminish her allure. On one hand, she was easy to be with, probably one of, no, the only, person he felt completely comfortable with. She didn’t expect anything of him, or want anything from him. Other than the obvious, which he gave gladly and enthusiastically. Even then, on the few occasions too much booze had made that impossible, she seemed equally happy to sort herself out (which in itself had been a notable lesson in his education in the ways of the modern woman). But on the other hand, why didn’t she want more? Why did she always slip from his grasp just when he’d started to believe that this was more than a dalliance? For Steve, who’d always fallen in love so easily and so completely, the only conclusion was that there was something wrong with him - why else would you so willingly let someone into your bed, but be so unwilling to let them into your heart? His only comfort was that she was, at least, consistent in her inconsistency; each time she would wriggle free but, eventually, there would be another postcard, another message on the answerphone. And each time there would be a tiny spark of hope; this time, maybe this time, she was tired of wandering…

Steve woke to the sound of a lorry reversing, watery sunlight sneaking through the gap in the curtains, and absolutely no idea where he was. Then he registered the warmth of another body loosely spooned against his back and the familiar scent of Yves Saint Laurent Opium. Oh yeah. With a smile on his face he drifts back to sleep.

The second time he wakes is less peaceful - it sounds like someone in the street repeatedly throwing a tin bath down a flight of stairs.

Beside him, Barbara yawns and mutters, “Bin day.” And then, “What time is it?”

He gropes for his watch discarded on the bedside table and squints at the dial. “Just gone nine.”

She groans and rolls out of bed, lifting a silk dressing gown from its hook on the back of the door before vanishing through it. Steve hears the protesting grumble of an old cistern and then running water. Sliding reluctantly from under the warm heavy quilt, he picks up his shirt from the floor and, pulling it on, follows the sound to a tiny bathroom housed in what he can only assume was originally, before the advent of indoor plumbing, a cupboard. Manoeuvring past Barbara - standing at the sink squeezing toothpaste from a crumpled tube - he pisses in the practically antique toilet and pulls the chain. Putting an arm around either side of her, he rinses his hands under the running tap, giving an involuntary shudder at the icy temperature. He shakes off the water, ‘accidentally’ flicking a few drops at Barbara’s face, which makes her wrinkle up her nose, then wraps his arms around her. She squeaks as his cold hands make contact, but he just hugs tighter. Looking in the mirror above the basin, and trying to ignore whatever sticking-up tangle his hair has knitted itself into overnight, he studies their combined reflection.

When they first got together they’d seemed an ill-suited pairing - he, younger in both looks and life experience than his nineteen years, and she, at thirty, a woman in her prime living a life packed with travel and culture. To the casual observer they may have appeared more like teacher and student than lovers. But they shared the same slightly off-the-wall sense of humour, and the same hunger to see the world and devour all it had to offer, and they had been instantly compatible in the bedroom, so it had worked well enough in the short snatches of time they had together. Now, time and, let’s be honest, a less-than-healthy lifestyle, had turned Steve’s once boyish features into something still handsome but more weathered than one might expect at twenty-nine, while Barbara, aside from a few deepened lines around her eyes, had barely aged in the intervening ten years. Their faces in the mirror matched, they looked like a real couple.

“Do you have to go to work?” When she shakes her head, the brush still in her mouth, he ducks his head and kisses her neck just beneath her ear. “Come back to bed then.”

Afterwards, propped up against crumpled pillows and sharing the last cigarette in the packet, Steve feels a rare sense of calm and contentment, clear-headed and with a pleasant ache in a few muscles he hadn’t given that kind of workout in a while.

“We could go out for breakfast? Or do anything really. What would you like to do?”

“What I’d like to do is lie on a chaise longue sipping a mimosa, but what I actually have to do is pack and fly to Buenos Aires at six o’clock.”

Steve’s face falls. “Buenos Aires? What for?”

“An editing job. One of those Rough Guide-type things.”

“When will you be back?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a one-way ticket.” She glances around the once-grand but now rather tatty bedroom. “I’m subletting my sublet, so there’s nothing I need to come back for.”

“Nothing?” asks Steve, trying not to pout.

“Oh darling,” she reaches out a hand and presses her finger against the protruding lip, “don’t look at me like that. I’ll always be there for you, you know that. It’ll just be on the other end of a phone line for a while. Or you’re bound to be in Argentina sooner or later.”

Steve drops his head onto her shoulder. He knows how this will go, how it always goes, but he can’t stop himself. “But what if I want more than the occasional phone call?”

He feels more than hears her sigh. “You can’t always have what you want.”

“But why not?”

“Because you don’t just want more, you want everything - the wife waiting at home with your dinner on the table, the 2.4 apple-cheeked children, a lawn to mow on a Sunday morning. You want happy ever after. And that’s not what I want. I couldn’t do that if I tried.”

“But it must mean something, that we keep ending up together? Maybe you are meant to be my fairytale ending.”

“Sweetie, we shagged in a closet the night we met, that’s not a fairytale, that’s a Jackie Collins novel!”

“That was your idea! I was nineteen, I’d never met anyone like you, what was I going to do? Say no? I’d’ve bought you a candlelit dinner if you’d let me!”

“You would as well. You were such a sweet little thing.”

Steve attempts to refute this with a growling sneer, but Barbara just laughs and pats his leg.

“Anyway, my big tough rockstar, unless you’re going to help me pack, I think it’s time for you to get going. There’s probably still a couple of teabags left. I will forgo my usual disdain of domesticity and make you a cup of tea while you get dressed?”

“Ohh-kaay,” he agrees reluctantly, shivering as she throws back the duvet.

In the kitchenette, she hands him a mug of dark brown liquid. “Sorry, the milk was making a determined effort to become cheese. But it is Yorkshire tea so…”

“Aye, that’ll do. Glad you got something from me at least.”

“Everything else cleared up with penicillin.”

“Cheeky!”

Barbara starts to load plates, washed and unwashed, into a cardboard box. “Pass me those spoons would you.” She drops them haphazardly on top of the crockery. “That girlfriend of yours, is it really over?”

“Yeah. She went off with someone else. Bit of a relief if I’m honest. Not my best decision ever.”

“Not her, the other one, the model.”

“Lorelei.” Steve leans back against the fridge and gazes at the flaking paint on the ceiling. “I royally fucked that one up. No way back there.”

“That’s sad. She seemed nice.”

“She is nice. Too nice. She deserves better.”

Barbara moves to stand in front of him. There is love in her expression, but also something steely.

She reaches up and strokes his cheek. “You’re too hard on yourself. Your perfect girl is out there somewhere, I know it.”

“In Argentina?” he asks plaintively.

She shakes her head, “Don’t.” She takes the mug from his hand, pours the dregs down the sink, and adds it to the box.

Steve understands that he’s being dismissed and picks up his jacket from the back of the chair.

“Now, do you want custody of Frank? I’m not sure the new tenants will appreciate him.”

Steve eyes the slightly moth-eaten bird without enthusiasm. “No offence Frank, but you’re not much of a substitute.”

By the door, he bends to pull on his boots, then pats his pockets - keys, wallet, matches, must remember to get more ciggies on the way home.

“Bye then. Have a good trip.”

“I’ll write. Promise.”

“You’d better.” He pulls her into a tight hug and drops a kiss on her forehead. “Look after yourself, okay.”

“Don’t worry, I always do.”

She slides back the bolt and opens the door wide onto the shabby, faintly cabbagey-smelling, landing. Steve looks back as he reaches the stairs, but the door is already closed.

-----------------------------

I’m sorry, I had to break his heart just a tiny bit :/

For context, irl Barbara Salisbury was Steve’s on and off lover from the very early days (she was a publicist for their first record company) until, well, it’s not clear if they ever stopped seeing each other. She was described as very independent and free-spirited and I often wonder how our romantic traditionalist coped with that.

#steve clark #steve clark fanfic #steve clark fanfiction #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction

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