#solo archivists

[archivyrep]

Arrogant curators, a pine-cone shaped vault, and a magical scroll in "Tangled" [Part 1]

Rapunzel shows the incomplete, and ripped, Demantis Scroll to Calliope in the episode "Keeper of the Spire"

Building off last month's post, I thought I'd focus on one character in the Tangled animated series in particular: Calliope. She is a keeper of the Spire, a closed-off museum of sorts, who is pretentious and arrogant. But, there is more than meets the eye, which I'll examine in this post, and talk about the role of curators, the difference from archivists, and other related topics, going beyond my past post on the subject.

Reprinted from my Wading Through the Cultural Stacks WordPress blog. Originally published on May 17, 2023.

On the surface, it seems that Calliope (Natalie Palamides), who debuts in the episode "Keeper of the Spire", is full of herself, annoying Rapunzel (Mandy Moore), Eugene (Zachary Levi), Lance (James Monroe Iglehart), and Cassandra (Eden Espinosa), who are hoping to get information on the Demantis Scroll. She also can do magic tricks, as a former street magician, and has a messy library in her house with various artifacts. It turns out, spoilers, that she is only the assistant of the actual keeper (Tony Amendola), who put her on a test to see if she was up to the task, and opens the Spire, a vault filled with artifacts. In the end, Raps gets the scroll she is looking for, and all seems well, as Calliope is now the keeper and presumably becomes more of a scholar. The real keeper is impressed by her perseverance even in adversity.

She is generally stereotypical, wearing oversized glasses, hair tied back in a bun, and wears beige robes. She later helps Raps and Eugene in stopping Cass from acquiring a specific object from within the Spire. In that episode, "Race to the Spire", Cass wants to acquire a spell that can allow her to control those in the brotherhood, even disguising herself as Calliope to trick Raps, Eugene, and Pascal. Her appearance is somewhat in line with librarians in other series, often portrayed as elderly people with glasses. Her hair being tied up could be a hint that she is a spinster, i.e. usually uptight old women who are "sexually undesirable", and rule-mongers, with conservative dress. It is something associated with fictional librarians.

However, in some other ways she goes against stereotypes of fictional librarians as she is not male, with a long beard, or with glasses, even though she is White, common of librarians in animation. These stereotypes are also manifested in elderly White women librarians. While saying all of this, she is not a librarian, and is more of a curator. Specifically, she is described as a keeper in the aforementioned two episodes she appears in. What I wrote about the keepers in my article about Recorded by Arizal is relevant here:

Keepers are curators, guardians, protectors, custodians, caretakers, or guards who visually lay hold onto something, like records, similar to roles that archivists have....the International Council on Archives and archival scholars like Alan Bell, Caroline Brown, Terry Eastwood, and Terry Cook have stated that the words recordkeeper and archivist are synonyms. After all, archivists are more than what Webster’s New World College Dictionary defines: people in charge of archives where public records and documents are kept.

Her name, Calliope, is likely a reference to the Greek mythological muse who presides over epic poetry and eloquence, with so-called harmony coming from her voice. Her character, however, is the opposite of this, or at least it seem that way at first. As noted on her Wikipedia page, in the aforementioned mythology she had two famous songs (Orpheus and Linus), said to be the wisest of the Muses, but also the most assertive, defeated daughters in a singing match. Otherwise, the page notes that she is often shown with a writing tablet, carrying a book or roll of paper, even wearing a gold crown. In his 2020 "Mother of Muses" song, Bob Dylan declares he is "falling in love with Calliope", and says she "doesn't belong to anybody".

Since Calliope becomes the Keeper, she is undoubtedly a curator, what the Dictionary of Archives Terminology calls "the administrative head of a museum or collection". She is not, however, an individual responsible for the "oversight of a collection or an exhibition", the other definition in the dictionary. As the one-and-only Keeper, i.e. effectively a solo archivist or lone arranger, although she has no formal training, she is also responsible for "appraising, acquiring, arranging, describing, preserving, and providing access to a collection of original documents", a manuscript curator, on one level or another.

© 2022 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

Continued in part 2

[foriveloved]

A dear friend gifted me this really nice tarot deck based on The Magnus Archives and I Am Losing My Mind!!!!!

I'm itching to figure out a solo journalling rpg system for them, maybe something that revolves around coming up with statements?!

The artwork is by @fearandramen!

[sixftmp3]

hi, i just realized that its been literal fucking years since i got into the brobecks and not everyone knows that there is a google drive of everything that isnt on spotify. this includes 1000 west, as well as mike gross and matt glass's solo projects if you're into that.

the google drive contains not only all of the brobecks' albums, but also their eps, remixes they made, b-sides, demos, live & radio performances, literally everything any of them have ever touched! if you think it'd be on sledbed's channel, it's there.

... it's also occurred to me not everyone knows who sledbed is. they are the brobecks archivist, and to thank for literally everything we have. go show them some love, we wouldnt have a lot of this stuff without their years of hard work.

[qsmp-resources]

We are looking for more archivists

Hello wonderful qsmp community! Qsmp-resources had to go on hiatus because half of its team (one entire archivist) was struggling with school and had to stop their work at the archive. And thus we have fallen slightly behind. Fortunately, we are back and with summer and ideally more free time for operations to pick back up!

Lessons have been learned, lesson being is kinda precarious trying to keep a project like this going between just two people so, Qsmp-Resources is looking for folks interested in being archivists!

Currently, we remain a bilingual project (ENG/ESP) but it would be wonderful if we can expand to Portuguese and French! Especially since it could mean keeping all community updated with accurate translations.

What does the job of an archivist entail?

Copy the links of cc's streams to the archive and help keep the spreadsheet updated

Download the vods from twitch, youtube and archive.org (when needed) and uploading them to a different platform to ensure a copy of the video exists

Help translate the archive updates to french and portuguese and any future language that gets added to the qsmp

If you are interested in applying feel free to fill this google forms here!

Mods @a-wild-rosette and @ivi-prism will contact you through tumblr or discord to give you acess to the server and the archive

· · ─────── ·★· ─────── · · Estamos buscando archivistas

Buenas a todos bonita comunidad del qsmp! Qsmp-resources tuvo que tomar una pausa porque la mitad de su equipo (una archivista) estaba teniendo problemas academicos y tuvo que dejar su trabajo de archivo temporalmente. Afortunadamante estamos de vuelta gracias al verano que idealmente nos deja mas tiempo para que las operaciones se desatracen!

Hemos aprendido harto, como el hecho de que es algo precario mantener un proyecto de esta naturaleza solo entre dos personas y por eso Qsmp-resources esta buscando personas interesadas en ser archivistas!

Actualmente seguimos siendo un proyecto bilingüe (ENG/ESP) pero seria genial expandirnos a incluir portugues y frances! Especialmente porque eso nos permitira mantener a toda la comunidad actualizada con mejores traducciones.

¿Cuál es el trabajo de un archivista?

Copiar los enlaces de los directos de los streamers en el archivo y ayudar a mantener la hoja de calculo al dia

Descargar los vods de twitch, youtube y archive,org (si llega a faltar) para luego subirlos en distintas plataformas para garantizar que exista una copia del video

Ayudar a traducir las actualizaciones del archivo a portugues y frances, y a cualquier otro idioma que se agregue a qsmp

Si estas interesado en aplicar, llena este formulario de google aqui!

Mods @a-wild-rosette e @ivi-prism te contactaran por discord o tumblr para darte acceso al archivo y a su servidor de discord

[ghost-in-the-corner]

I just finished the Magnus Archives for the first time, and I'm just gonna get my thoughts out

When I started the podcast back in June, I was beginning a solo art installation based on botanical studies. When I say beginning, I mean I had just received the funding for it.

I'm a photographer first and foremost, but I also dabble in painting and creative nonfiction. What I did for the exhibition was take photos of plants in a region that had never been studied from a floral perspective before. I also gathered water from local sources to paint the landscapes, and wrote small prose pieces to go along with it.

The areas I went to for this project were very deep within the mountains. So remote, in fact, that the only person I'd see for days on end was the botanist I was working with.

As I write, that exhibition is being taken down. The finished pieces are being placed into storage by my funder after being shown for the past 2 months. I only found out about its ending last night, as I now live in the UK.

I'm writing all this because of the strange coincidence that my exhibition was ended prematurely right as I finish the podcast that got me through it. It's emotional, thinking about how I listened to Angler Fish as I was beginning my preliminary sketches, but I just finished Last Words editing a photo for a completely different project.

The Magnus Archives is, frankly, a lot to chew on. A good bit of food, mind you, but a lot. As someone studying to work in film theory (yes, I do too much, no, I don't sleep, no, I will not stop) it's rare to find any piece of media that is so deeply complex, yet is far more original than most other things today.

I could go on about so many different parts of the podcast. The moral implications of the actions and beliefs of the Archivist. The utilization of experiential creativity to draft a powerful, distinct narrative. The use of the medium to utilize the audience's imagination and force them to project their own experiences onto this concept. The debate over who may have truly had a choice and who had everything determined for them. I'll probably write more about this stuff in the future, and I haven't even begun to think about all the goofy stuff I could say.

The ending of my exhibition itself was rather unsatisfying for a number of reasons. But the ending of the Magnus Archives was anything but. That podcast was a masterfully crafted, uniquely original, and deeply thought-provoking narrative. I, frankly, don't have many words at the moment, and I believe it would be a disservice to my experience of the podcast to try and force anything beyond this out.

So, yeah. The Magnus Archives was phenomenal. This is not the last rant you'll be hearing from me about it.

[pciu3-r]

Stitcher said you do “solo missions”

I was wondering what kinds of things you do during a solo mission?

Archivist Frank @ask-archivist-frank

[temporalarts]

Hello there, I have noticed you’re a well of knowledge when it comes to iDKHOW lore. I’m struggling to find good sources of information and I’d like to learn everything there is to know; do you know how I can do this? Anything I can read/watch? I did a surface-level lore dive a year or two back but I don’t fully remember everything and I’m seeing some stuff around Tumblr I never knew about. Call me Sally Mae because I intend on uncovering everything I can about this band’s lore ;)

hi there! sorry for the late answer, have had tumblr deleted for a while.

important information about idkhow lore first:

it is NOT required to know anything about the lore of idkhow to listen or enjoy idkhow. idkhow's lore is meant to be additional story to the band and is meant for fans to explore only if they are interested. idkhow's songs/lyrics by themselves do not have story meanings. it is hugely important to recognize that idkhow as music and idkhow as a story are separate entities.

idkhow's lore is a metaphorical story for dallon's experience within the music industry and celebrity la/hollywood culture. everything in the lore is symbolic for something in real life (for example, TELLEXX is a metaphor representation of the music industry). i implore anyone getting into the lore of idkhow to treat the lore with gently and respectfully because of that reason.

idkhow's lore has mostly been uncontinued since 2020/2021 since the release of razzmatazz. SRCHPRTY (main character of the lore) has been an abandoned account since june of 2021. this is for a multitude of reasons, including dallon not wanting to have a story line with each album, lack of label support, and lack of time for the lore. because of this, a lot of information about the lore has been lost to time and is no longer available to the public. gloom division (idkhow's most recent album) does have a lore behind it, but has not had a story run like razzmatazz had yet (it could in the future, but gloom division didn't have the time or budget to at this moment). lots of amazing archivists in the community are trying to preserve the lost content over the years (ill link one available one below), but please keep that in mind while looking into the lore.

you may see mentions of ryan seaman (also referred to as subject B) mentioned in the lore and some resources. ryan seaman was the previous drummer of idkhow and is no longer in or involved with idkhow since september 16th, 2023 (due to various reasons i wont go into here, but if you dont know look up the information to why online). idkhow is now and currently a solo project of dallon weekes, but if you see any reference of idkhow being a duo or see him in resources that is why.

that out of the way, here is all the resources I could come up with!

introductory idkhow lore carrd, made by my good friend @fadeyouout! very good start to everything in the lore!

full timeline of all events from current idkhow lore, made by me!

very good place to start with the lore is the srchprty conspiracy video. introductory video to srchprty's research, basic backstory for srchprty, and the main 3 questions in the story.

ALL srchrpty diaries: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6! watch these chronologically as they build off one another.

if you haven't already, look through srchprty's twitter and instagram accounts. look through tweet replies/instagram comments. srchprty regularly interacted with fans while he was active and a lot of story building with TELLEXX comes from those interactions.

physical copy only extras in razzmatazz, lyrics for indoctrination and tomorrow people. razzmatazz physical versions came with two exclusive spoken word tracks, indoctrination and tomorrow people, both directly from TELLEXX.

TELLEXX documents, found in physical copy only extras in razzmatazz lyric book. includes a internal TELLEXX letter and volunteer subject consent forms.

archive of all of idkhow's instagram posts (2017-2022) made by abstracttheart on twitter. most of idkhow posts on instagram has been deleted over the years, so this is a great resource to see those deleted posts. you can most lore related posts from 2020-2021.

the mysterious world of i dont know how but they found me, dork magazine interview with dallon on the razzmatazz lore and its metaphorical meanings to him. VERY important read in my own opinion!

instagram highlights from idkhowindo: part 1, 2, 2.5, 3. their account has since been abandoned, but the archived stories are from the time of srchprty's activity and has a lot of good information in them.

questions i have answered about some idkhow lore topics in detail: what happened to srchprty, what is TELLEXX, and who is subject a. if you have any questions about the lore that you need answers to feel free to shoot me an ask in my inbox! idkhow lore is my special interest and i love answering any questions new fans have.

idkhow.com from 2020-2022 (recommend scrolling through archives of the website from wayback machine from august 2020-december 2020). the idkhow.com website during razzmatazz lore was ran by srchprty and was being recovered during the razzmatazz lore after a previous shutdown by TELLEXX in 1996.

TELLEXX stress evaluation test: may see this referenced around different lore resources, this is the official website for the test. as well as a article from the coder on how the website works to give results which is a very interesting read.

qwerty translator: TELLEXX/srchprty uses a code called QWERTY code throughout the lore, which is a letter substitution code substituting the alphabet for the QWERTY keyboard (ex: A=Q, B=W, etc). very helpful for decoding those codes!

most "niche" idkhow lore information comes from video/text interviews with dallon from 2020/2021! hard to find every single interview he does talk about the lore, but any dive into interviews from 2020 and you can find moments where he talks about razzmatazz lore. some instagram interviews from 2020 have been archived on idkhows youtube for watch.

indie pop, deep lore, and fan theories: how idkhow give there fans more than just music, tone deaf article on lore

i will update whenever i can with whatever i can find, but that is all the available resources for the lore of idkhow currently. if you (or anyone) have any questions about specific things within the lore, feel free to shoot me a question in my inbox and i will try my best to answer! enjoy!

[unsettlingcreature]

Statement Given is a Solo Journalling RPG based on The Magnus Archives. In it, you play as the Head Archivist as you work through statements within the Magnus Institute. As you realise how dangerous your line of work is, you search for a way out of your current employment. This will not be easy however - you're just as likely to fall than you are to fly. Based on the Wretched game, Statement Given uses a deck of cards, a six-sided die and a jenga tower (with alternative options to the block-tower-game being found within the PDF.)

Now available for free on itch.io!

[annemissingshoe]

WTTMV Keeper!Poppy, Stitcher!Julie, Croupier!Howdy, And quick mention of Seamster!Barnaby. Theories post/most just talking . (non WTTMV mentioned Slover!Frank) Part 3

ahhhh, again most of this is just me talking even more so here and I said nothing too interesting in this one. I’m plan on keeping certain things together in the part which this is like this.

We won on the 31st, we got Courier’s blog that day!

The first mention of Coupier’s solo missions, information of what he does.

I was quite curious about him for a while.

more information about his about the solo missions and his current solo mission. His interaction with Archivist is quite interesting, I would love to see more between the two.

Conclusion Gay Butterfly/hj I mean have you seen how he looked at Archivist.

We got to see his wings and that they were damaged, we later learned what happened to them. Res ripped a part of it off during a fight they had, this was one of those times where Coupier tries to to make things interesting by added his own little spin to it. I’m curious about what led up to it.

A similar event but a different out come, it makes sense he would act that way considering what happened to him. Also interesting.

Probably the last time I’ll be talking about Solver.

This adds some a small amount of insight about how these two characters interact with each other, I do wish to see something to go more in depth about their interactions one day.

New information: so they spend a lot of time in there, also another mention of the ‘supplies’ that he gets for Stitcher .

Yeah I didn’t have much to say for this one at the moment. I’ll add on when we get more information about him

Part two Part four

[autumnalwalker]

Solarpunk Witch Masterpost

Note: This is mostly just a repost of a prior post of mine, but with a more indicative title regarding its content and thus more suited to future linking and editing should I ever get around to revisiting the project and adding more.

So anyway, back when I was working on @thearchivistsjournal, I made the ambitious-but-perhaps-ill-advised attempt to simultaneously write a second ongoing journal-style story on a fixed chapter schedule. This became what I've referred to from time to time on this blog as the "Untitled Solarpunk Witch Story." It was my first attempt at writing dialogue and proper prose (as opposed to all epistolary journal format) so it came out pretty rough and I put the project on hold indefinitely. It's something I'd like to revisit one day once I feel I can better do the idea justice, but I'm fond enough of the concept that I thought it might be fun to share the couple of chapters that I wrote for that rough draft.

Also, I wrote it as a part of playing the solo journaling game "Village Witch" by Eliot Silvarian. The idea was that each week I'd do a tarot card draw and use the corresponding prompt from that game as my prompt for that week. And, similar to The Archivist's Journal, the time passing IRL would correspond to the time passing in the story, albeit broken up into bigger chunks.

So, anyway, without much further preamble, here are the links to those rough chapters:

Prologue: Setting Out

Vernal Equinox, Five of Pentacles

Spring, Week 1, Seven of Cups

Spring, Week 2, Three of Swords

Spring, Week 3, Ten of Swords

Spring, Week 4, The High Priestess

Spring, Week 5, Five of Swords

See also: The Witches' Testaments, a series of interviews serving as a prequel of sorts regarding how the world made the transition from cyberpunk dystopia to what's seen here.

Also, a bit of worldbuilding trivia as to why the familiars take the form of robotic animals: Link

[officially-nothing]

If being a solo violinist doesn’t work for me, I’m going to become a fucking archivist.

[poplin-kitty]

Los gatochivist y gatollector 😻

Sinceramente nose que decir a este dibujo, solo queria dibujar gatos, y hice a los archivistas y a collector

No hay más historia, solo gatos

The catchivist and kittyllector 😻

I honestly don't know what to say to this drawing, I just wanted to draw cats, and I did the archivists and collector

There is no more history, only cats

[dustedmagazine]

Listening Post:  John Coltrane/Eric Dolphy’s Evenings at the Village Gate

In 1961, John Coltrane was reaching a wider audience via his edited single version of the Sound of Music classic "My Favorite Things.”  He was also, although it seems trite to say given the trajectory of his career, in a state of transition. Moving away from his "sheets of sound" period to exploring modality, non-western scales and polyrhythms which allowed him to improvise more deeply within the constraints of more familiar Jazz tropes.

His personal and musical relationship with Eric Dolphy was an important catalyst for the development of his sound. Dolphy was an important presence on Coltrane's other key album from 1961, Africa/Brass and here officially joins the quartet on alto, bass clarinet and flute. Evenings at the Village Gate was recorded towards the end of a month-long residency with a core band of Coltrane, Dolphy, Jones, McCoy Tyner on piano and Reggie Workman on bass. The other musician featured here, on "Africa,” is bassist Art Davis.

The recording captures the band moving towards the more incandescent sound that made Live at the Village Vanguard, recorded just a few weeks later in November 1961, such a viscerally thrilling album. The hit "My Favorite Things" and traditional English folk tune "Greensleeves"  are extended into long trance-like vamps. Benny Carter's 1936 classic "When Lights Are Low" showcases Dolphy's bass clarinet and in the originals "Impressions" and particularly "Africa"  the quintet hit almost ecstatic grooves. Dolphy's solos push Coltrane further into the spiritual free jazz that so divided later audiences. Dolphy's flute on "My Favorite Things" and especially his clarinet on "When Lights Are Low" are extraordinary, particularly the clarity of his upper register.

The highlight for me is the 22 minute version of "Africa" that closes the set. The two basses, bowed and plucked, Tyner's chordal work and solo, the slow build from the bass solo where the music seems to meander before Jones' explosive solo heralds the return of Dolphy and Coltrane improvising together on the theme, spiralling up the register, contrasting Coltrane's long slurries with Dolphy's staccato bursts which lead to the thunderous conclusion. 

As an archivist, sudden discoveries in forgotten basement boxes never surprises and the excitement never gets old. The tapes of Evenings at the Village Gate were recently unearthed in the NY Public Library sound archive after having been lost, found and lost again. Recorded by the Village Gate's sound engineer Rich Alderson these tapes were not meant for commercial use but rather to test the room's sound and a new ribbon microphone. As Alderson says in his notes, this was the only time he made a live recording with a single mic and, yes, there have been grumblings from fans and critics about the sound quality and mix particularly the dominance of Elvin Jones' drums. For me, one the best things about this is that you hear how integral Jones is not just as a fulcrum for the other soloists but as an inventive polyrhythmic presence, playing within and around his bandmates. I know that many of the Dusted crew are Coltrane fans and would love to hear your takes on the music and whether the single mic recording affects your enjoyment in any way. 

Andrew Forell

Justin Cober-Lake: There's so much to get into here, but I'll respond to your most direct question. The single-mic recording doesn't affect my enjoyment at all. I understand (sort of) the complaints, but I think they overstate the problem. More to the point, when I hear an archival release, I really want to get something new out of it. That doesn't mean I want a bad recording, but there's not too much point in digging up yet-another-nearly-the-same show (and I have nearly unlimited patience for Coltrane releases) or outtakes that give the cuts the same basic idea but just don't do it as well. I was really looking forward to hearing Coltrane and Dolphy interact, and nothing here disappoints. Having Jones so dominant just means I get to hear and think more about the role he plays in this combo. It would sound better to have the other instruments a little more to the fore, but it's not a problem (and actually Tyner's the one I wish I could hear a little better).

I think your topic suggests ideas about what these sorts of recordings — when made publicly available — are for. Is it academic material (the way we might look at a writer's journals or correspondence)? Is it to get truly new and good music out there? Is it a commercial ploy? Is it a time capsule to get us in the moment? The best curating does at least three of those with the commercial aspect a hoped-for benefit. This one probably hits all four, but I suspect the recording pushes it a little more toward that first category.

Bill Meyer: I’m playing this for the first time as I type, and I’m only to track three, so my (ahem) impressions could not be fresher. 

First, I’ll say that, like Justin, I have a lot of time for Coltrane, and especially the quartet/quintet music from the Impulse years. The band’s on point, it sounds like Dolphy is sparking Coltrane, and Jones is firing up the whole band. Tyner’s low in the mix and Workman’s more felt than heard; the recording probably reflects what it was like to actually hear this band most nights, i.e. Jones and the horn(s) were overwhelming. 

How essential is it? If you’re a deep student of Coltrane, there are no inessential records, and the chance to hear him with Dolphy, fairly early on, should not be passed up. But if you’re big fan, not a scholar, then you need to get The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings box and the 7-CD set, Live Trane: The European Tours, before you drop a penny on this album. And if you’re just curious, start with Impressions. This group is hardly under-documented. The sound quality, while tolerable, is compromised enough to make Evenings At The Village Gate less essential than everything I just mentioned. 

I’m only just now starting to play “Africa,” so I’ll check in again after I play that. 

“Africa” might be the best reason for a merely curious listener to get this album. It’s very exploratory, the bass conversation is almost casual (not a phrase I use much when discussing Coltrane), and they manage to tap into the piece’s inherent grandeur by the end. 

“Africa” is a great example of this band working out what they’re doing while they’re doing it. 

Andrew Forell: On Justin’s points about the function of archival releases, I’ve been going back and forth on the academic versus time capsule/good music uncovered question. There is a degree of cynicism and skepticism in these days of multidisc, anniversary box sets in arrays of tastefully colored vinyl which seemed designed for the super(liquid)fan and cater to a mix of nostalgia and fetish. Having said that specialist archival labels have done us a great service unearthing so much "lost" and under-represented music. On one hand I agree with your summation and to Bill’s point, yes this quintet has been pretty thoroughly documented and yes the Vanguard tapes would be the place to start. But purely as a fan I am more interested in live recordings than discs of out- and alternative takes. I’m thinking for example of the 1957 Monk/Coltrane at Carnegie Hall and Dolphy’s 1963 Illinois concert especially his solo rendition of “God Bless the Child," recordings that sat in archives for 48 and 36 years respectively.

By contrast, the other recent Coltrane excavation, Both Directions at Once is wonderful but I’m not listening to it as an academic exercise, taking notes and mulling over the different takes, interesting as they are. I approach Evenings as another opportunity to hear two great musicians, in a live setting, early on in their short partnership. As Justin says, this aspect doesn’t disappoint. I agree with Bill that the mix is close to what you would you hear in the room, the drums and horns to the fore. All this is a long way to a short answer. A moment in time, a band we’ll never experience in person and when all is said and done, 80 minutes of music I’d otherwise not hear.

Jonathan Shaw: As a relative newb to this music, I can't contribute cogently to discussions of this set's relative value. Most of the Coltrane I've listened to closely is from very late in his life, when he was playing wild and free--big fan of the set from Temple University in 1966 and the Live at the Village Vanguard Again! record from the same year. None of that is music I understand, but I feel it and respond to it strongly. The only Dolphy I've listened to closely is Out There. So I'll be the naif here.

I need to listen to these songs another few times before I can say anything about them as songs, but I really love the right-there-ness of the sound. I like being pushed around by the drums and squeezed between the horns (the first few minutes of "Greensleeves" are delightful in that respect). Maybe I'm lucky to come to the music with so little context. It's a thrill to hear the playing of these folks, about whom there is so much talk of collective genius. Perhaps because my ears are so raw to these sounds, I feel like that talk is being fleshed out for me.

Jim Marks: I think that this release has both academic and aesthetic (if that’s the right word) significance for Dolphy’s presence alone. I am more familiar with the original releases than the various re-releases from the period, but it’s my impression that there just isn’t that much Dolphy and Trane out there; for instance, I think Dolphy appears on just one cut of the Village Vanguard recordings (again, at least the original release). In particular, I’ve heard and loved various versions of “Favorite Things,” but this one seems unique for the six-plus-minute flute solo that opens the track. The solo is both brilliant in itself and creates a thrilling contrast with Coltrane when he comes in. This track alone is worth the price of admission for me.

Marc Medwin: I agree concerning Dolphy's importance to these performances, and while there is indeed plenty of Coltrane and Dolphy floating around (he took part in the Africa/Brass sessions that gave us both Africa and a big band version of "Greensleeves") his playing is really edgy here. Bill is right to point toward the sparks Dolphy's playing showers on the music. Yes, the flute on "My Favorite Things" is really stunning. He's all over the instrument, even more so than in those solos I've heard from the group's time in Europe.

Jon, I'd suggest that there's a strong link between the albums you mention and the Village Gate recordings we're discussing, a kind of continuum into which you're tapping when you describe the excitement generated by the playing. The musicians were as excited at the time as we are on hearing it all now! It was all new territory, the descriptors were in the process of forming, and while Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, Sun Ra and a small group of kindred spirits were already exploring the spaceways, they were marginalized. That may be a component of the case today, but it's tempered by a veneration unimaginable at the time. That's part of the reason Dolphy lived in apartments where the snow came through the walls. Coltrane had plenty to lose by alienating the critics, but ultimately, it did not stop his progress. These recordings mark an early stage of that halting but inexorable voyage. With the possible exception of OM, Coltrane's final work never abandoned the tonal and modal extremes at which he was grabbing in the spring and summer of 1961.

Jennifer Kelly: Like Jon, I'm not well enough versed in this stuff to put it context or even really offer an opinion. I'm enjoying it a lot, and I, also, like the roughness and liveness of the mix with the foregrounded drums. But I think mostly what I am drawn to is the idea that this show happened in 1961, the year I was born, and that these sounds were lost for decades, and now you can hear them again, not just the music but the room tone, the people applauding, the shuffling of feet etc. from people who are almost all probably dead now.  It seems incredibly moving, and I am also taken by the part that the library took in this, in conserving this stuff and forgetting it had it and then rediscovering it.  In this age of online everything-available-all-the-time, that seems remarkable to me, and proves that libraries are so crucial to civilization now and always, even as they're under threat.  

Marc Medwin: A real time machine, isn't it? We are fortunate that we have these documents at all, and yes, the story of the tapes resurfacing is a compelling one! To your observations, audience reaction seems pretty enthusiastic to music that would eventually be dubbed anti-jazz by prominent members of the critical establishment!

Bill Meyer: I can imagine this music being more sympathetically received by audiences experiencing its intensity, whereas critics might have fretted because it represented a paradigm shift away from bebop models, so they had to decide if it was jazz or not.

It is amusing, given the knowledge we have of what Coltrane would be playing in five years, that this music is where a lot of critics drew a line in the sane and said, "this is antijazz."

Jon Shaw: Yes, Bill, that seems bonkers to me. I am particularly moved by the minutes in that 1966 set at Temple when Coltrane abandons his horn altogether and starts beating his chest and humming and grunting. Wonder what the chin-stroking jazz authorities made of that.

Given my points of reference, this set sounds so much more musically conventional. But the emotional force of the music is still immediate, viscerally present. Beautifully so.

Andrew Forell: In retrospect, all those arguments seem kind of crazy. Yesterday’s heresies become tomorrow’s orthodoxies but what we’re left with is, as Jonathan says, the visceral beauty of Coltrane’s striving for transcendence and his interplay with Dolphy’s extraordinary talent which we hear here working as a catalyst for Coltrane. As Marc and Jen note the audience is there with them..

Come Shepp, Sanders & Rashid Ali, the inquisitors’ fulminations only increased and you think what weren’t you hearing?

Marc Medwin: I was just listening to a Jaimie Branch interview where she's talking about her visual art, about throwing down a lot of material and finding the forms within it. I think that might be another throughline in Coltrane's and certainly Dolphy's work, a gradual discarding of traditional forms and poossibly structures based on what I hate to call intuition, because it diminishes the process.

Then, I was thinking again about our discussion of the critics. I see their role, or their assessment of that role, as a kind of investment without reward, and yeah, it does seem bonkers now! Bill Dixon once talked about how the writers might spend considerable time and expend commensurate energy learning to pick out "I Got Rhythm" on the piano, and they're suddenly confronted with... well, the sounds we're discussing! What would you do, or have done, in that situation? It's really easy for me, like shooting fish in the proverbial barrel, to disparage critical efforts of the time, especially in light of the ideas and philosophies Branch and so many others are at liberty and encouraged to play and express now, but I wonder how I would have reacted, what my biases and predilections would have involved at that pivotal moment.

Ian Mathers: The points about historical reception are really interesting, I think. There's a famous (in Canada!) bunch of Canadian painters called the Group of Seven, hugely influential on Canadian art in the 20th century and still well known today. In all the major museums, reproductions everywhere, etc. They were largely landscape painters, and while I think most of the work is beautiful, it's so culturally prominent that it runs the risk of seeming boring or staid. I literally grew up with it being around! So it was a delightful shock to read a group biography of them (Ross King's Defiant Spirits: The Modernist Revolution of the Group of Seven, if anyone is hankering for some CanCon) and see from contemporary reviews that people were so shocked and appalled by the vividness of their colour palettes and other aesthetic choices that they were practically called anti-art at the time. It's not surprising to me that this music would both attract similar furore at the time and, from the vantage point of a new listener in 2022 who loves A Love Supreme and some of the other obvious works but hasn't delved particularly far into Dolphy, Coltrane live, or this era in jazz in general (that would be me), be heard and felt as great, exciting, but not exactly formally radical stuff.

I don't think I would have noticed much about the recording quality were people not talking about it. "My Favorite Things" seems to have the overall volume down a bit, but still seemed pretty clear to me (agree with the assessments above; Coltrane, Dolphy, and Jones very forward, others further back although even when less prominent I find myself 'following' Tyner's work through these tracks more often than not), and starting with "When Lights Are Low" that seems to be corrected. It actually sounds pretty great to me! Although I absolutely defer to Bill's recommendations for better starting places for serious investigations, I can also say as a casual but interested fan who tends to quail in the face of box sets and other similarly lengthy efforts this feels from my relatively ignorant vantage like a perfectly nice place to start. I like Justin's rubric for why these releases might come about (or be valuable), but if I hadn't heard any Coltrane and you just gave me this one, my unnuanced perspective would just be something like "wow, this is great!" But maybe I'm underthinking it. And having that reaction doesn't mean that others aren't right to recommend better/more edifying entry points, or that having that reaction shouldn't lead one to educate oneself.

Jonathan Shaw: Maybe it's a lucky thing for me to be so poorly versed in Coltrane's music, not just in the sense of having listened to precious little of it. I am even less familiar with the catalog of music criticism, which in jazz seems to me voluminous, archival in scale. But even with music I'm extensively engaged with — historically, critically — I try to understand it and also to feel it. I can't imagine not feeling what's exciting in this music, energizing and challenging in equal measure.

Like Marc, I don't want to recursively impugn the critical writing of folks working in very different contexts. But I don't like it when the thinking gets in the way of the music's emotional and aesthetic force, which to me feels unmistakably powerful here.

Ian Mathers: Yeah, maybe that's a good distinction to draw; I can imagine in a different time and place feeling like the music here is more radical or challenging than it sounds to us now. But I can't quite imagine not getting a visceral thrill out of it.

Marc Medwin: And doesn't this contradiction get at the essence of what we're trying to do? Those of us who've chosen to write about music are absolutely stuck grasping at the ephemeral in whatever way we're able! How do we balance the ordering of considerations and explanations in unfolding sentences with the  spontaneity of action and reaction that made us pick up a pen in the first place?! We add and subtract layers of whatever that alchemical intersection of meaning and energy involves that hits so hard and compels us to write! In fact, the more time I'm spending with these snapshots of summer 1961, the more I decamp from my own philosophizing about critical relativity to sit beside Ian. The stuff is powerful and original, and the fact that so much of what we're hearing now is a direct result of those modal explorations and harmonically inventive interventions says that the dissenting voices were fundamentally, if understandably, wrong! It could be that the musician can be inclusive in a way the writer simply can't.

I'm listening to "Africa" again, which is for me the disc's biggest single revelation in that it's the only concert version we have, so far as I know. How exciting is that Jones solo, and how much does it say about his art and the group's collective art?!! He starts out in this kind of "Latin" groove with layers of swing and syncopation over it, he goes into a melodic/motivic thing like you'd eventually hear Ginger Baker doing on Toad, and then eases back into the groove, all (if no editing has occured) in about two minutes. He's got the music's history summed up in the time it would take somebody to get through a proper hello!! Took me longer to scribble about it than for him to play it!!

Justin Cober-Lake: I'm not sure if Marc is making me want to put down or pick up a pen, but he's definitely making me want to listen to "Africa" again. (Not that I needed much encouragement.)

Andrew Forell: Africa/Brass was the first jazz album I bought. Coming from post-punk, I found it immediately the most exciting and challenging music I’d heard and it set me off on my exploration of Coltrane, Dolphy, Coleman and their contemporaries. This version of “Africa” is a highlight for me also for all the reasons Marc, Ian and Jon have talked about.

Bill Meyer: Yeah, "Africa" is quite the jam! 

A thought about critical perspective — our discussion has gotten me thinking, not for the first time, about the impacts of measures upon experience, and the limits of critical thinking when I’m also an avid listener. If I’m listening for “the best” Coltrane/Dolphy, in terms of sound quality or most focused performances,  this album isn’t it. But if I’m looking for excitement, this album has loads of it, and that might be enhanced by the drums-forward mix. 

[foundtherightwords]

All Our Yesterdays - Chapter 5

Pairing: Ralph (Timewasters) x OFC

Summary: Thu, a museum archivist, only wants to escape her dull life in 21st-century Hanoi. The last thing she expects is to end up in 1929 Indochina via a time-traveling elevator and cross paths with Ralph, an Englishman on the run from the French Foreign Legion. Romance blossoms between them, but in a colonized country, unrest is always looming on the horizon, and Thu must decide if she wants to stay with Ralph in the past or return to the safety of the future.

Warnings: outdated/period-typical attitudes about women, mentions of war, mentions of pregnancy and abortion (involving a supporting character), some angst, some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 4.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Chapter 5

After a week, Thu was still struggling to settle down in 1929. On the outside, everything was going well for her. She had a job, she had her era-appropriate clothes, she had some money, and she had even found a place to stay - a room in a two-story boarding house on a quiet lane not far from the newspaper office. The landlady had looked at her with narrowed eyes, suspicious that a young woman was renting a room for herself, but when Thu slipped her a few extra coins and proved to be a model tenant, the landlady left her alone.

She quickly settled into a routine. Get up in the morning, buy a to-go breakfast from one of the many street vendors and hawkers, and walk to the office. Her work at the newspaper was quite simple but never boring. She was some sort of office manager slash secretary slash errand girl, placing orders for stationery, picking up manuscripts from correspondents, dropping off proofs at the printing house. It allowed her to roam over the city. Sometimes, she was accompanied by Mai. Thu was afraid Mai would resent her for taking her job, but it seemed Mai was happy to have someone to share the work with. Thu also had a sneaking suspicion she was sent along as some sort of chaperone for the girl. She learned that Mai was Madame Phuong's distant cousin, and her parents had sent her to work at the newspaper in the hope that Madame Phuong's strict discipline might prevent her from forming an attachment with an undesirable man. From what Thu had seen though, that hope was in vain, for Mai was likely to form an attachment with any man who gave her the slightest bit of attention.

Then it was lunch, which was often eaten at the office, work again, home and dinner, and sleep. It was similar enough to her routine back home that Thu could sometimes forget she was in another time and simply pretend she was on a work trip in another city. Only when she saw the familiar landmarks, or found herself turning down a side street that wasn't opened yet, or looking for a shop that wasn't built yet, that she got slammed back into reality, and the derealization feel would threaten to overwhelm her again.

To combat that, she started exploring the city, getting to know it once more. In this, she probably had Ralph to thank. Following the success of the photos he took of the staff of Women's Weekly, which were printed at the back of their special first issue, he had had a steady stream of clients looking for more informal portraits; he had also sold some street photographs to a French-language newspaper and was hoping to print them into postcards. It was only a short walk from his studio to her office, so whenever Thu had errands to run, she would often drop by and ask Ralph if he would like to come along, for a chance to catch more interesting street scenes. He was always happy to accept. He loved the food—now he could use the chopsticks as well as she did—and he was so interested in everything. Thu had enjoyed her solo traveling, but she had to admit, it was much more fun to have someone to share the trip with. With Ralph, it was as if she was seeing Hanoi with new eyes, and she fell in love with the city all over again.

Almost every day, and sometimes even at night as well, they wandered through the streets while Thu pointed things out to Ralph. Here was the archeology school that would become the museum where she worked (both blushed when they remembered how their first meeting had transpired outside its gate)—the ancient cotton tree and banyan tree, each growing on either side of the gate, were now just saplings; here was Godard's department store, where Ralph bough his French food, which remained a luxurious shopping mall in modern day; here was Sword Lake with its red bridge and temple that still stood nearly a hundred years later. Everything was so familiar yet so strange to her. The contrast between the bustling little traditional streets and the wide, stately Parisian-style avenues was more pronounced than it was in her time, but these were the same buildings, except their paint was fresh and bright, the same streets, without the traffic clogging them up and polluting the air, and perhaps even the same people, walking on foot instead of riding their mopeds, but selling the same things, with the same eagerness and friendliness.

They hadn't ventured outside the 36 Streets—Thu kept thinking of the city center as the Old Quarter before correcting herself; in 1929 it wasn't old yet—but she could imagine what the surrounding areas were like. There was no suburb. West of the city, where her parents' home would be one day, was probably still full of rice fields as far as the eye could see. Whenever she thought about it, her head would feel like it was being squeezed by a vice, and the funny, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach would return, so she stopped thinking about it and focused on enjoying the city with Ralph.

But there was more to why she enjoyed hanging out with Ralph so much. Though her face still got hot with embarrassment whenever she remembered how they'd first met, she realized she was comfortable around him. She could be herself with him. With others, she had to watch herself, making sure she didn't say anything or do anything that made them question her origin or, Heavens forbid, her sanity, but with him, she could talk freely about life in 2023 - in which he also showed an interest - and dropped as many modern references as she wanted, even though he had no idea what she meant. And she suspected it was the same for him. To others, he was Alphonse Davinier, a suave French photographer; only with her that he could be Ralph Penbury again and tell her about his life back in London, the wild parties he and his sister Victoria used to throw, and his distant parents, both of whom were dead.

The only thing that blemished Thu's enjoyment of her time travel was the uncertainty about the end of the journey. She and Ralph always kept an eye out for Homeless Pete, but so far, the mysterious man remained elusive. She tried not to think too much about it. Blend in and have fun. Well, she was having fun, and that was all that mattered.

Sometimes, though, the memories of her modern life would hit her so hard and so unexpectedly, she almost thought she couldn't stay in 1929 for a day longer.

It was late September, a few weeks after she'd arrived. Thu and Ralph were returning to the office after she dropped off the proofs for next week's issue at the printing house. Ralph had just ordered some autochrome plates and was playing around with color photography, but he was pouting a little, as the drab shades of the locals' clothes didn't make for very interesting color photos. Thu tried to explain to him that only the rich could afford to wear bright colors; ordinary folks had to be content with black and brown because they didn't stain.

Then, while he was telling her about the autochrome process, Ralph suddenly twisted his head around and ran down Hemp Street, as excitedly as a little boy who just saw a shiny new toy.

Which, in this case, wasn't too far from the truth. Thu followed him in bewilderment and saw what had caught his eyes - it was several toy shops displaying lanterns made from colorful paper and glassine, in the shapes of stars, rabbits, fish, crabs, and other animals, swinging lightly in the breeze, as well as intricate toys and models made from tin and paper, and papier-mâché masks, all brightly painted. The shops were an explosion of colors amidst the brown brick walls and brown roof tiles. A crowd of children surrounded these shops, gaping at the toys in wonder and enthrallment, like Ali Baba as he discovered the treasure cave.

"What's all this?" Ralph asked, positively giddy with delight. "Why haven't I seen it before? Oh, this will look fantastic on autochrome—" He loaded a plate into his camera.

"They're toys for the Trung Thu Festival," Thu explained.

"Hey, that sounds like your name!"

"It is. I suppose you would know it as the Mid-Autumn Festival. My name means autumn."

She caught sight of a calendar inside the shop, which showed it was the 14th of the eighth lunar month, meaning the festival was the next day. In all the fuss of time travel, she had completely forgotten about it. Back in her time, about a month before, makeshift stalls selling moon cakes would spring up along every street, and there would be vendors carrying all sorts of toys, so there was no mistaking that it was coming.

In a daze, she came closer to the shops, reaching out to touch the lanterns. They were so delicate and pretty, a far cry from the cheap, mass-produced plastic toys of the 21st century.

Hearing Ralph laugh, she looked back. The kids had turned away from the toys to focus their attention on a more fascinating thing—his camera—and were crowding around him, trying to look inside the lens with an eagerness quite different from their usual reticence with the French. Perhaps, just like her, they were reassured by Ralph's friendly face and manner. She came to his rescue. "Hey, hey, watch it, you'll break it," she said to them in Vietnamese. "Go on. Let him take your photo, maybe you'll end up in the newspaper."

The kids eagerly lined up in front of the shop. Once Thu explained to Ralph what she'd told them, he grinned and held up the camera. "You get in too," he said.

Thu shyly stood to the edge of the frame, thinking she must tell Ralph not to send this to any newspaper. Suppose it got printed and one of her co-workers came across it in modern day? Before she could chase that thought further, Ralph had snapped the photo. As soon as they heard the shutter click, the kids screamed in excitement and scattered off, apparently satisfied, leaving the two of them in front of the shops.

"So were you born in autumn?" Ralph asked, lining up another shot.

"No, that's the kicker," she said, chuckling. "I was born in July, in one of the hottest months of summer. But my mom didn't want the heat to burn me, so she named me Tân Thu, meaning new autumn."

"That's sweet."

"It is."

Perhaps it was the combination of seeing all the childhood toys, sharing the excitement of the kids as they looked forward to the festival, and talking about her mom, but Thu suddenly felt a lump forming in her throat. She had managed to avoid feeling homesick until now, but at that moment, she would've given anything to have her mom nag her again, to see her dad hiding his face behind his phone, and to hear her brother whine to her about his schoolwork.  

Ralph asked, "So what's the festival exactly?", but she could only sniff pitifully in reply. He turned to her in alarm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. Seeing this, Ralph pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gave it to her. She took it gratefully. This was one personal item that she forgot to add to her list. She must remember to rectify that the next time she went shopping. No 1920s lady went out without a handkerchief in her handbag.

"Do you think I've gone missing in the present and they're all searching for me now?" Thu asked. "Or did the timeline break off into a new branch after I left, like in Avengers Endgame, and I never existed in that timeline at all?"

Ralph's face was blank. "Uh, I don't know what that means."

"No, of course not. I'm just thinking out loud." She gave a shaky laugh. "It's no use, is it? I just have to come to terms with the fact that I may never go home again."

"Come now, don't lose heart," Ralph said, reaching out as if to give her a hug, but then he thought better of it and settled for an awkward squeeze of her shoulder instead. "I'm sure when Homeless Pete turns up, he'll take you right back to where—I mean, to when you left, and nobody will even notice."

"You sure about that?" She wiped her nose with his handkerchief. It, too, smelled of Palmolive soap, and as usual, the scent calmed her down.

He shrugged. "No. But it doesn't hurt to hope, does it?"

She had to smile at that. He was right, of course. There was no use getting herself into a tizzy over something she couldn't control. She just had to keep an eye out for Homeless Pete and hope for the best.

"If you want to know what the festival is like," she said, picking up a clown mask and holding it over her face, "we can go together. I'll stop by tomorrow evening at seven."

***

A fat full moon was rising over the horizon when Thu made her way to the photo studio. She was wearing her men's clothes again, as she often did whenever she walked out at night—in them, she was much less likely to be accosted—and bringing with her the mask she had bought as well as a couple of moon cakes she'd picked up from Sugar Street, one baked and one steamed. Truth be told, she had never been a fan of them, even as a kid - they were too sweet for her. She could still remember the pain shooting through her teeth when she bit into a wedge. However, if Ralph wanted the full Mid-Autumn Festival experience, then he must have moon cakes as well. She also had her phone in her pocket, but that was more for herself.

She found him emerging from the dark room, triumphantly brandishing the autochromes he'd taken the previous days. "They turned out fantastic!" he exclaimed.

Thu picked one up and was dismayed to see that it was so dark, the colors drab and gloomy. "Is it supposed to look like that?" she asked.

"Wait, you have to hold it to the light—here, I'll show you." He stood behind her and held the plate up to the light overhead. Like magic, the light brightened the colors and brought the image to life. Thu was reminded of those hand-tinted old photos that always looked so much more life-like than the black-and-white ones.

"In modern day, we're so used to seeing the past in black and white that sometimes, I think the world must be all sepia-toned back then," she said. "But when you're actually in it..."

"It just looks normal, doesn't it?" Ralph said.

"Yes, exactly—"

She half-turned her head and abruptly became aware that they were practically standing cheek-to-cheek, with his chest to her back and his arms around her. They both froze for a moment—a moment too long, or perhaps not long enough. Then both stepped away. Thu busied herself with unwrapping the cakes, trying not to look at Ralph, not wanting to see if his face was as red as hers.

Ralph actually liked the cakes, bless him. "They're not too sweet for you?" she said, staring as he wolfed down the wedges.

"I have a massive sweet tooth," he replied with a grin.

"Clearly," she said, shaking her head. Hopefully, he wouldn't develop cavities. She imagined that going to the dentist was even less fun in 1929.

Ralph was still munching on some cake as they strolled toward Sword Lake, the epicenter of the festivities. People were putting displays of fruits and moon cakes outside their front doors to wait for Chang'e, the Moon Goddess, and Uncle Cuoi, the Man on the Moon. Dangling over these displays were strings of grapefruit seeds, dried and lit, so they sparkled like fairy lights and gave off a citrusy fragrance. More lit lanterns were hung over shop doors and windows, competing with the night sky in glitter and radiance. The streets were alive with children, all wearing masks and carrying lanterns gleaming with candles, and their excited shrieks mixed with the drums from a group of lion dancers gave the city the feel of one giant street party.

Thu and Ralph put their masks on as well. None of the grown-ups, who were either supervising the kids or joining in the celebration, were wearing masks, but Thu thought it would be safer to hide their faces. The streets were much more crowded than usual, and who knew, Ralph might have another unfortunate run-in with his old legionnaire friends. She doubted pretending to be a prostitute would work twice.

After a while, though, Thu stopped worrying about legionnaires. She had something more important in mind - the phone in the pocket of her waistcoat. In the past weeks, that phone had been her crutch. Sometimes, when she was alone in her room, she would turn it on and scroll through her gallery and even play a game of Candy Crush or two, all just to remind herself of where—or rather, when—she came from. But she had no way of charging it except for a portable charger, and since the plug was not compatible with any sockets of this era, it would last her a month or two at the most. So she had been very conservative with the battery, saving it for an occasion like this.

"Cover for me," she whispered to Ralph.

"What?"

"Just walk a little ahead of me and act normal."

"What are you—"

"Act normal!"

Acting normal, apparently, was the cue for Ralph to fix his eyes straight ahead and walked stiffly like a puppet on a string. Thu ducked behind him and fumbled to turn her phone camera on, then slipped the phone back into her pocket, with only the camera lens peeking out. Ever since her arrival in 1929, she had wanted to do this. She had to have some proof that this really did happen, so she could look back at it after she went home and convinced herself that she had not gone crazy. But it was too risky to bring out her phone during the day, and at night, the streets were so dark that she would need her flash on, and that would risk discovery too. The Mid-Autumn lantern procession was the perfect opportunity. It was just dark enough so no one would notice the phone unless they looked very closely, and the light from the full moon and the candles was just enough to illuminate the scene.

Ralph glanced back at her, clearly baffled, but he continued his stroll down Sword Lake, while around them, the kids scampered and shouted with joy. An informal procession had formed along the lake shore, and the two of them went with it, swept forward by a sea of flickering stars coming from the children's lanterns or the moonlight reflected on the rippling surface of the Lake or both, it was impossible to tell.

Up ahead, the lanterns congregated into a mass of dancing flames. The dancers were putting on their red and gold papier-mâché lion heads.

"But they don't look like lions at all," Ralph said, confused.

"They're not lions exactly," Thu tried to explain. "They're more like... this mythical mix between lions and dragons. There's no English equivalent."

The drum started up again, its beats reverberating throughout the streets, and the dancers began whirling around each other, like two lions at play. Someone started clapping in time with the drum, and soon the entire crowd, children and grown-ups alike, was clapping, drowning out even the drum, while the dancers moved faster and faster, their tinsel manes reflecting the candles into a thousand glittering rays, so it looked almost as if the lions were painted in flames.

"This is amazing!" Ralph said over the noise. "It's like Halloween!"

"I guess the celebration is kind of similar," Thu replied, nodding at the masks. "We have our own day dedicated to remembering the dead, a month before this. This is for worshipping the moon."

"And you still have this, in your time?"

"Of course. But it's not quite as—authentic."

The truth was that she hadn't been to such a Mid-Autumn Festival since she was little and visiting her grandparents in Hue - like most everything else, the festival in modern-day Hanoi had become too commercialized. Here, it was pure and simple. Suddenly, she no longer felt that derealization. All the lights and sounds she was seeing and hearing around her, all these people, including the young man clapping enthusiastically next to her, were real. She felt like throwing her arms in the air and laughing and running with the kids down the lake shore, and for the first time in weeks, she was glad that she had decided to stay.

***

After the lion dance was over, the kids scattered back to their houses to "break" the feast of moon cakes and fruits, but some grown-ups, either without families of their own or were still enchanted by the sight of the moon over the water, lingered by the lake. Thu and Ralph were amongst these. They found their way to a quiet place by the edge of the water and sat down on the grass, their masks pushed up over their foreheads. After checking to make sure nobody was looking their way, Thu pulled her phone out to watch the video back.  The image was shaky, but at least it was clear. That was all she needed.

"What's that?" Ralph asked.

Thu hesitated. But Homeless Pete's rules made no mention of modern devices; besides, she had told Ralph enough about modern life to ruin several space-time continuums already.

"It's a phone."

"A telephone? Where's the wire? And where do you speak into?"

"It's wireless. It's called a smartphone."

"It does look pretty sharp," Ralph said, eyeing the slick phone case.

Right. He's British. Thu chuckled. "No, 'smart' as in 'clever'," she said. "It can do... well, pretty much everything. You can call people, send messages, take photos, film stuff... Here, I'll show you."

She turned her camera to front-facing, held the phone out, and tilted her head toward Ralph. His eyes went wide at the screen.

"That's us!"

"Yes, now smile."

Ralph gave a startled grin. Thu snapped the photo and showed it to him.

"But where do you put the film?" he asked.

"There's no film."

"It's even in color!" His eyes were sparkling as they were fixed on the photo, like a child who had just seen Santa Claus for the first time. "This is so wizard..." He looked up at her with sudden worry. "But if everybody has cameras with them, are there photographers in the future anymore?" he asked. "Or is it one of those obsolete professions, like the Victorian knockers-up, before they had alarm clocks?"

"Of course, there are still photographers! Just because people all have cameras on their phones, doesn't mean that they can take professional-looking photos."

That seemed to cheer him up.

Thu switched to video. "Say something."

"Uh, what should I say?"

"I don't know, anything."

"Hello, my name is Ralph Penbury. It's September 17th, 1929, and we're in Hanoi."

That would have to do. Biting back a grin, she panned a little to show the lake and its recognizable Turtle Tower behind him, before stopping the recording and playing it back. Ralph's jaw dropped. "You don't even need a projector to see it!" he exclaimed.

His excitement was contagious. "No, it's all digital," she said with a laugh.

"What is... digital?" he asked.

"It's... uh, it's something to do with computers and..." Thu trailed off when she remembered he didn't even know what a computer was. "It's just—technology," she finished lamely. "I don't know how it works, really."

But Ralph's attention was on something else. "Who's that?" he asked, pointing at her lock screen, still set to a photo of herself and Hoang from the previous Lunar New Year. She'd never bothered to change it.

"That's my—uh, my boyfriend," she said. "Or ex-boyfriend. I don't know. We had a huge fight before—before I came here." Her conscience prickled when she realized she hadn't thought of Hoang once since she'd arrived in 1929. She'd worried about her parents and her brother missing her; hell, she'd even worried about her co-workers, yet about her boyfriend, nothing. Perhaps the fight had been for the best.

"Why'd you fight?" Ralph asked, then blushed. "Sorry. None of my business."

"No, it's OK," Thu replied. "It's—he wants to get married, I don't."

A guilty look flashed across Ralph's face, almost too quickly for her to catch. "Did he propose?" he asked.

Thu snorted. "That's the irony. If he had actually proposed, I might have considered it." Ralph gave her a questioning look, and she shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a girl; we're easily swayed by grand romantic gestures."

"Not all girls are," Ralph said, not looking at her.

This time, his guilty look was plainly visible on his face.

"Why'd you say that?" Thu asked. It was obvious that he wanted to tell her something.

"I never told you why I joined the Legion, did I?" She shook her head. She had been wondering about it and simply assumed he was a rich, bored playboy looking for adventures. Now she looked at him curiously as he took the mask off completely and fiddled with it, avoiding her eyes. "Well, I—I proposed to Lauren. And she rejected me," he said, his voice breaking. "They all laughed at me. So I left."

So she'd guessed right. There was something between him and Lauren after all. "I'm sorry," she said. It seemed the right thing to say.

Ralph's hand plucked at the mask's elastic strap. "I know that proposing after only a week might be too soon—"

She stared at him. "You knew her for one week, and you proposed?!"

"I was afraid she would go back to her time!"

"And what, you think she would've stayed if she knew you were madly in love with her?"

He looked back down. "Something like that."

Thu shook her head again, but this time it was more at his folly. She also wondered if Lauren knew—or even cared—what had happened to him, what she had driven him to. "You still love her?" she asked, after a while. She never used to ask such personal questions, but something about Ralph's frank and open countenance invited it. He was clearly looking for someone to confide in, and she was happy to listen.

"I don't know if it was love in the first place," he said, looking despondent. "I simply found her—fascinating. I wanted to know her better."

"Then get to know her! Don't scare her off with proposals and declarations of love!"

"That was three years ago, I was stupid!"

Yes, and now you're stuck here. Thu reached out and awkwardly patted his arm. "Cheer up," she said. "If we find Homeless Pete, maybe you can come back to 2023 with me and look for Lauren then."

"Thank you," he said, looking at her with a sad smile. "But I don't even know if she did go back to her time or not. And perhaps I should respect her rejection, like you said."

At least he's learning, Thu thought and tried not to take it personally that he'd turned her down.

Chapter 6

[beantothemax]

INCOMING INBOX FIC!!! Also SMT IVA spoilers. But you can look, i'm not your mom. Its super Vauge.

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

Curtains draw upon a bleak square. Crossroads framed by towering buildings line the area. A large rock is in the foreground, illuminated by the waxing moon above. It is quiet on set.

A man enters stage left. He is young, but he has an air about him. Restless shadows gather and curl around his silhouette. He carries the visage of a previous Emperor, one who fought death with his bare hands. Eying the ground, he approaches center stage at a slow pace.

The young man looks up at the grave and sighs. A small movement of his hand, and Shadows within the rock pour out in a dancing smoke; coalescing into a beautiful grand piano. He sits down at the ornate stool that appeared alongside it, places calloused fingers above the keys, and begins to play.

The piano echoes around the deserted crosswalk. Staying solo for a few measures, it lets a quiet melancholy seep into the air. A horn joins in, playing a few notes to highlight the ivory keys. Strings fade in, letting their presence be known before the pianist whistles and dominates the melody. Piano ends the suite, ending on a bittersweet note while the whistle peeters out. The young man takes a shaky breath, and sings a single word. Letting it echo among the broken buildings and shining moon.

Alone…

Humming joins him in the song, they match his voice, despite his solitude.

…At the edge of the universe humming a tune. With sparkling crystal souls aglow…

The pianist joins the others, turning the hums into a choir highlighted by four weak notes. He begins again, letting the choir hum behind him.

A part of thee, In the key of what we know to be every part without me… Knows only two can make it right.

The choir moves on without him, letting the man look forlornly at a spot to his left. The voices are silent. He is alone again.

You’ll live forever tonight.

He leans into the keys, letting the first notes echo with catharsis onto the streets with a continuation of the melody from earlier. A glockenspiel joins, letting its notes ripple across the melody. The piano vanishes, letting its partner finish the dance on an unsatisfying note.

The pianist stands. Letting his constructs dissolve into mist. He looks down at a rusty spot on the ground and grits his teeth. His breath hitches before drops of darkness stream down his face. Barely audible if not for the pervasive silence, a simple phrase cuts through.

“I’m sorry.”

An apology for stone. For a grave that cannot hear. He wipes his tears and moves on, walking past the stone.

A cascade of bells gently roll across the scene, heralding a newcomer. The man notices her, turning and watching her chase a wheel for a few moments before looking at her guardian.

He is an unassuming man, dressed in a clean red suit and gray shoes. The man in red sits in a wheelchair and smiles at the man in black.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Kuzé?”

He scowls at him, “What do you want, Stephen?”

“She mourns with you, you know.”

“I… Of course she does. To follow him from the beginning-“ His eyes widen. “She was there. Wasn’t she?”

“Yes. I think she enjoyed your song.”

A smile eases onto his face. “I’m glad she did. It’s not exactly the happiest, but I feel like I needed something to offer.” Kuzé looks back up at the stone, and huffs a laugh, devoid of joy. “Heh, it’s funny.”

“Mm?”

“It all started with that damned Spiral.”

Kuzé shakes his head,“He used to say something about me whenever I used to talk about that Archivist. A ‘Sentiment-tainted thing.’” He scoffs, “It’s been stuck in my mind recently, should I really have gotten myself involved in this? Or should I just… step back a little?”

“I don’t think that’s possible at this point. Both Dagda and Lucifer watch you closely.”

“Of course they do. I’ve made quite the impression on them.”

“So why bother stopping? You’ve shown that you care for the boy.”

“I didn’t say I would be stopping outright. Just… not involving myself any more than I have to.” Kuzé sighs. “But that kid reminds me of someone. And I can’t let that go.”

“You see yourself in him?”

“No, I…” Kuze looks at the pale spotlight, and back at the city. “Shit, I need to get back to Kinshicho. He’s a heavy sleeper, but I don’t think the others would let him sleep in.”

“Goodbye Kuzé.” Stephen says.

“Seeya. Maybe we can talk again sometime."

He waves, and with a blink, Kuzé is gone. Leaving Stephen alone with the grave. The gentle smile he holds doesn’t waver. Soft bells chime, the girl from before runs back to him from stage right.

Curtains close on this scene, but the next act comes soon later. A revelation will come, once tenuous binds will snap, and barriers will be broken.

STEPHEN JUMPSCARE???????? EEK???????? WHO LET THE OLD MAN IN HERE

that aside oo……… very good music for the kuro scene which was just,,, REALLY good. there are Themes and Motifs going on here huh. I fear I may not survive them

also, curious: who’s the ‘she’ that stephen mentions?

BUT THAT ASIDE YET ANOTHER BANGER VIN

[pciu3-r]

So...You're back and since you are mind telling us your actual feelings for the archivist? 🤔

“No extra��aba lo chismosos que pueden ser…

As I stated before I’m only ‘working’ in the Archives as my mission solo, but there’s nothing to report back, there’s nothing happening aside of sorting books, over and over and over again and the people who work there they just hang around…

Archivist is just my ‘temporal’ boss if you want to put a name on it. But I guess he’s rather nice to be around.”