#that and the whole sour album but i digress

[londonfog-chan]

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader: Rite Here, Rite Now Part 1

This two shot fic is dedicated to that poor soul on TikTok getting shitty comments about a headcanon of Eddie liking Ghost. Fandom has become so damn toxic bro. Who cares about what an imaginary character likes or dislikes?? We are cringe, we are legion. We make out of pocket headcanons sometimes. Like come on, Eddie might “theoretically” dislike Mary On A Cross specifically for various reasons, but I could see him having some favorites. You can’t say he would entirely hate Ghost when fucking Year Zero and Mummy Dust exist. Or the whole of Prequelle as an album. I had to laugh at one person saying he liked Avenged Sevenfold (it didn’t exist in the 80’s and neither did Ghost like we are literally arguing about shit he wouldn’t have known about be so serious rn). But I digress. I’ve even gotten a couple hateful comments on a fun little TikTok I made and I honestly have just been deleting them and blocking. Don’t even want to deal with people’s bullshit anymore. Please enjoy this spite fic and continue writing and having fun babes. Go against the flow and make Eddie proud.

Part 1 (You are Here), Part 2

***

Every member of Corroded Coffin could tell when you arrived to a function. Eddie knew the sound of your car like a cat that knows when its owner is home, and he’d be waiting outside the school to greet you first. That and the car make and model. Someone always called it if not Eddie. He’d been off his game today though, definitely the excited nerves. Jeff called out your 1979 Volkswagen Beetle heading up the driveway by slugging Eddie hard on the bicep, Gareth and Dougie immediately following up with calling “no tag backs” as they rushed to hit each other and Eddie like a bunch of middle schoolers. Eddie almost got nailed by Dougie’s beefy fist until he nimbly dodged out of the way, cradling his prized Warlock like it was a newborn.

“God dammit, easy asshole!” Eddie laughed. “Don’t be hitting my baby! I need her intact if I’m going to impress our songstress.”

“Trust me Ed, she doesn’t need more impressing. You had her in a tizzy when you asked her to write a song for you. I wonder what she came up with.” Gareth said, leaning forward so his hands were settled on both his high and medium toms, he was watching your approach intently with a gleam in his eye. “She didn’t even make it to campaign on Friday. Must have really been in the zone.”

You parked the car against the side of the driveway, emerging looking as though you’d just swallowed a whole mouthful of cry baby sour gum. Your lips were pressed tightly together, clutching your fat Trapper Keeper to your chest as you approached the group.

“Hey sweetheart!” Eddie called, waving you over enthusiastically. “You okay?”

“Eddie… God it’s so bad… It’s worse than I thought.” You said, grimacing.

God you looked delicious. He couldn’t help himself but to stare and smile like a dope. With each step your flowing gray skirt swished enticingly side to side, and with a bit of pride Eddie noticed you were wearing the Twisted Sister shirt he’d distressed for you, looking like an adorable snack of a metalhead with your black clothes, black opaque tights and dirty Chucks.

Eddie’s smile faltered only slightly when he heard your self depreciation.

“Oh come on, can’t be that bad. Not with those grades you’ve got in English. Let me see…”

“Fuck no! No seriously… it’s worse than you think.” You insisted, shaking your head and pulling away from his outstretched hand, “It’s so… God dammit! What the hell was I thinking…?”

Gareth, Jeff and Dougie left their instruments to approach you, Eddie putting both hands on your shoulders to comfort you.

“Hey, hey… come on, don’t be like that.” He said, smile gone and a more serious look on his face. “I get it, I really do. It comes with the territory of writing your own songs. Trust me, I’ve done it for years. You won’t pick it up overnight, and whatever you think is weak we can work on it together. I’m a DM honey, I can have my pen out faster than you can blink and help redraft as many times as it takes.”

“Oh… god dammit… okay, fine…”

You reluctantly handed Eddie the trapper keeper, the velcro making a harsh rip as he pulled it open to the first page where your lyrics neatly sat waiting for him to peruse. Eddie’s eyebrow raised when he saw the title, “Square Hammer”, outlined in red ink.

“ ‘Square Hammer’? … Huh… I like it, that’s good.” Eddie nodded, and continued to read on.

The lyrics were certainly unique to say the least. It was obvious you’d tried to go with a theme based on the prompt he’d given you: something that oozes the brooding dark metal he envisioned Corroded Coffin would croon to thousands of fans. You certainly had an affinity for the macabre, and he knew he could trust you with everything he wanted in his vision. Then again you could have written the cheesiest, poppy trash in the world and he would have loved it. He was extremely biased, far too sweet on you for his own good. But these weren’t bad at all. The lyrics reminded him of old Hollywood vampire movies, echoing the work of Doctor Faustus with the thematic element in the song. The voice of the lyrics seemed to be coming from an otherworldly entity, one summoned to offer power and prestige to the listener.

And Eddie was obsessed with every word the further he read on.

“Woah, woah…”

His eyes widened with every sentence he read.

“Holy shit…”

Powers clandestine, solving a crooked rhyme… Every line, no matter how simple, packed a lot when combined in the collective.

Eddie finally looked up at you, completely bewildered.

“You wrote this by yourself?!” He croaked.

You were embarrassed to hell, curling in on yourself and looking like you wanted to die.

“Ye… yeah… I… When you asked me to write for you, I got really stuck on what I wanted to do. But I remember you mentioned Black Sabbath was one of your first covers, and then I couldn’t get the image of the coffin out of my head because, you know, “Corroded Coffin”… and then we were reading Faustus in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class and I thought since you asked me to do you this favor and Faustus is all about favors…-“

You were rambling. Not even paying attention to Eddie’s continually growing grin. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet the longer you ranted on, until his untamable outburst silenced you.

“THIS IS AMAZING!” Eddie was screaming, scaring the shit out of everyone. “Holy fuck sweetheart! Are you bullshitting me?! This is… fuck! We’ve been stressing for new material for next month’s gig at The Hideout and you just gave it to us on a silver platter?! Jesus H.!”

“Bwha-?!”

“Check this out…!” Eddie turned away to show his friends while you quietly protested, unable to speak as he passed the paper around. The guys crowded around, each one shouting out when they saw a favorite part, “hammering the nails into the sacred coffin” quickly became a favorite, because they immediately began trying to work out how they could fit the lyrics to sound.

“All we gotta do is work out a melody and we’re in business baby!” Eddie said. “This is bitchin’!”

“But it doesn’t even make any sense!” You argued. “Like seriously? The entrance to the shrine part does not fucking fit, I only wrote it because I couldn’t come up with a better rhyme with clandestine!”

“Who cares?” Eddie cried. “It’s badass as hell! The imagery is absolutely savage… ‘Hiding from the night, sacrificing nothing’, and don’t let me forget about the little tongue in cheek line you added about hammering nails into a sacred coffin!”

“It’s fucking great!” Echoed Jeff.

“You should be proud. You managed to take our style and give it a unique spin, that’s not something anyone can do.” Eddie praised. “God dammit… I’d have been a millionaire by now if I could write like this.”

“You… you really liked those parts?” You asked cautiously.

“Of course I did sweetheart! This is real metal shit right here. And the part with the ‘crooked rhyme’? That really captured the creep factor I was looking for. Shit… what’s more metal than summoning a demon for a deal? That’s exactly what Corroded Coffin needs in its material. I love this little brain of yours!”

“Don’t forget Ed!” Dougie cut in. “ ‘Are you ready to swear right here right now before the devil’?!”

“Bitchin’! Keep this up, and I’m gonna wanna make you write all of Corroded Coffin’s songs from now on!” Eddie beamed happily.

“We gotta get the melody worked out!” Jeff said, “Any ideas? I could come up with a few…”

The boys began gabbing together, Eddie unable to help himself as he began to strum his precious 1984 BC Warlock, his black beauty. Without a doubt he could already envision how he could make his baby purr for you, impress you, take you out finally.

And then you changed his world forever.

“… I had an idea for a melody already…” you said quietly.

All eyes turned to you. The guys were thunderstruck.

“Seriously?! Lyrics and a melody?! You’re spoiling the shit out of me sweetheart! Jeff, let her borrow your…-“

“No… no I… I don’t know how to play guitar…” you said, cutting off Eddie sheepishly, “But I… I brought my Casio with me…”

“Where is it?!”

“In the trunk of my bug…”

“Well go get it! Show me whatcha got sweetheart!”

Eddie followed you to the front of the Volkswagen. Everyone always thought the front trunk was the coolest shit ever and he was no exception. The cool car only added to the many things he liked about you. You took out the obnoxiously large keyboard and the stand, fumbling to close the trunk until Eddie stepped in with an “easy… I got it”, slamming the trunk shut and helping you lift the Casio like a gentleman. You were shaking, vibrating with embarrassment so hard that Eddie had to help you plug everything in and adjust the sound, hovering and reaching over you on purpose hoping you’d notice and feel his burn for you.

“Alright sweetheart? Show us what you’ve got.”

You turned on the Casio and fingered the keys gently, warming up with a few chords as you tried to soothe the shaking in your fingers. Fiddling with the settings, you stalled as long as you could while the boys waited patiently. Once you found the setting you wanted, you went for it.

It was like a demon had possessed your body. The melody was quick, but it packed a hell of a punch. It was in the key of D minor, and you had ironically chosen what sounded like a combination of 1960’s psychedelic sticky rhodes and Transylvanian organ to achieve the effect you wanted. The sound overall was eerie, yet enchantingly fun all at the same time. And your singing! You were singing softly under your breath, rocking yourself to the melody on the tips of your worn out sneakers, and you had quite the set of pipes! Despite your shot nerves, you’d clearly come up with something truly special that no one else in the entire world could have conceived of.

It wasn’t the traditional metal Eddie had in mind, more avant-garde, theatrical even. Whereas he had expected a sound more like Black Sabbath, you played something not out of place at a theater performance of Dracula. But this sound… there was something that nagged him about it. It was a sound that Eddie could imagine playing to arenas of screaming, adoring fans.

“Gentlemen… that’s our fucking song!” Eddie cried, “That’s our song, it’s a goddamned masterpiece!”

The Casio halted, and your mouth was hanging open mid play.

“What?! How-…” you began.

“I can already hear the riff, Ed what do you think of following with standard tuning instead of going to D minor?” Jeff picked up his Gibson and began to play, mimicking what he heard on your Casio by ear. “If you move it, the sound is way off from what I’m envisioning. But if you keep it at standard you leave it easier on the fingers with the couple of open notes when you start stretching.”

“Yeah, yeah! If you tune it down it’s going to sound off with her playing when you hit the chords.” Eddie agreed, immediately looking back at you. “Play it one more time sweetheart?”

You cautiously complied, going through the melody one more time as Jeff began to follow with you. Eddie was completely absorbed in your music, listening to both you and Jeff play and following along quietly. The warlock in his hands eventually couldn’t be helped, humming to life when he started playing a chord at a time by ear. As he played, he kept you repeating the melody over and over, both Eddie and Jeff deep in concentration on the sound. It was getting almost exhausting trying to continually repeat the sound until they got it right.

“D minor.” Eddie said, playing a note.

“Then she does B flat there.” Jeff played.

“A minor.” They said in unison.

“C. And that’s what I’m thinking your rhythm guitar can do, meanwhile, I’ll keep the root of the chords for the riff so I can follow her keys.” Eddie said, and he began to perfectly copy your melody. “Okay sweetheart, just one more time… and then let’s bring everything together.”

[a-court-of-messy-break-ups]

The afterglow trend on tiktok is giving me Tamlin vibes and I don't know how to feel about it

[jlf23tumble]

You are talking about a sitter where Louis can’t even acknowledge that he has primary custody of his own son. Are you really expecting people to believe that this is Louis’s choice or that Eleanor has it harder? I have seen all the gifs and I have never seen Louis as closed off as he was on the deck of the boat in Formantera or fend someone off out of his personal space like he does with Eleanor. He’s warm and affectionate with the people he likes and that doesn’t include Eleanor.

anon 2:  So Eleanor is done with the stunt, Louis and his family are done, but nobody could find a way to end the relationship and still release Louis’s album? They’ve been together again 3 years now. Are you telling me the relationship couldn’t have quietly ended 6 months ago? I guess if they did they couldn’t have hauled Eleanor out to the airport for a pap walk when Louis got busted returning from Liam’s birthday in Ibiza. Though it begs the question as to why Louis couldn’t have been there publicly.

anon 3:  As though Louis wasn’t high as fuck in Portofino. He wasn’t quite bouncing in the streets like the night with the V for Victory jumper but it was pretty darn close. That’s why they go clubbing so much. The difference between his body language that day and two days later makes it obvious. Then of course in candids she’s always trailing behind him (or vice versa), sitting on the ground ignored, standing next to him at weddings being ignored. He’s never shown her genuine affection this time around.

—————-

I have no idea if these are all from the same team, but I’m gonna group ‘em and give you the shots you want so I can move on with my Forum-venting life. At the end of the day, I don’t care all that much–I’m no hand-wringer–but it really chaps my hide when people go after El for doing her job, so I’ll bite. Ultimately, Louis is in the closet–we can all agree on that point (except for that one harrie I follow, godddd, the times I’ve stared at the wall thanks to her, but I digress). Is it his choice? His team’s? His label’s? All three? Probably! But ultimately, that’s where he is, and that means he has to perform heterosexuality for us all, and god bless him, he’s terrible at it (plus, the smart money is on him dropping an album with at least one ode to long-term love and its struggles), so someone has to play the role of long-term girlfriend. At the moment, this is the lowest-key, lowest-effort girlfriend-for-a-gay-man show in recent memory, but the rancor aimed at ANYONE in this role is, uh, somethin’ else, and the rancor aimed at this girl in particular is, UH, SOMETHIN’ ELSE.  I just ate a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans, which means my ability to weave an articulate narrative for all three of these asks is out the window, so I’ll do this by the numbers instead. Putting it under the cut because I’m probably gonna go long, lmao

anon 1: I have no idea who has primary custody of Louis’s own son, and I have no idea what Louis’s innermost feelings are for Eleanor (spoiler alert: neither do you), but I don’t think you’ve seen gifs or videos or anything past specific edits. And here’s why, check out this evidence of Louis being closed off on the deck of a boat (exhibits a and b). If you want to watch some video in full, you’ll see that the situation seems pretty amiable (cordial, coworkers who don’t hate each other, but hate their current work assignment…if he’s closed off to anything, it’s to the known intrusion of the Daily Mail’s crack video/film/photo squad):

Here we see more proof that Louis isn’t as warm and affectionate with El as he is with other people (again, I read annoying/annoyed sibling vibes, but this was an insane series of photos on every level, you could pick from it all day long):

I get a lot of anons pointing to El’s “sour” disposition and body language (or Louis’s) and reading it as them hating each other. Maybe they hate being filmed for whatever bullshit they’re being filmed for. Maybe they hate all the editing and hand-wringing and social media commentary. But just because you don’t like the overall situation, saying that they hate each other is just as eye-roll-inducing as the Mail saying they’re loved up when they run pictures of them staring in opposite directions. Saying that they aren’t affectionate with each other, yet never looking at pictures beyond those cherry-picked (and tagged) for you is myopic. I guarantee if you watch the full video or set of shots, there’s touching and monkeying around and standing awkwardly and looking pissed off and all of it is done in about five minutes, end of werk assignment, cut and paste as you see fit.

anon 2: A LOT has gone on with Louis’s schedule and album and family, so trying to apply calendars to what “should” have happened (especially since none of us has actually heard the whole album) is the worst kind of speculation (read: wholly uninformed). I’m still gonna bet that this is an album about enduring love in the face of all kinds of struggles, so why would they break up right before it’s released? What sort of promo would that look like? What is Louis gonna say: “Yes, this song is about my girlfriend…Eleanor….who I loved endlessly, we shared a single bed and talked about our hopes and dreams, we truly made it, oh, oops, yeah, we broke up three months ago because my family is “done” with this stunt, stream Walls!” What any of ANY of this has to do with an airport and Ibizia and Liam, I don’t even know, and I’m way too tired to guess.

anon 3:  I have no doubt that Louis (and the rest of these men, tbh) is high as a kite and/or slightly tipsy to get through more than half the shit he has to get through. The idea that he always has to be pictured clubbing so he has an excuse to be drunk to get through it is hilarious, though, given that all of them have been drunk at all hours of the day, doing innocuous things, without the need for any kind of excuse to do it. I still imagine it’s stressful and anxiety-provoking because of the situation itself, knowing that you’re going to be filmed and dissected from EVERY angle, that you have to perform heterosexuality in some kind of convincing way. Saying things like “He’s never shown her genuine affection this time around” just proves you haven’t bothered to look at video (when it exists), unedited snapchat vids, photos that aren’t cropped. I mean, NEVER? I hate to break it to you, but none of us looks turned on for 100% of a wedding or at a club…we just don’t have all the footage to show the full picture.

[allyouzombies]

I'm trying to stop talking about myself so much but @kaylor gave me an excuse to KEEP DOING IT

"Go on your music, hit shuffle and report with the first 10 songs that pop up! then tag 10 people!" I'm 乇乂ㄒ尺卂, so I'm adding commentary.

Cinderella Story by Plain White T's - ugh one of my ultimate heartbreak angst anthems. Prime lyric: I can't help but feel a little upset about the things you and I never had

Falling Down by Oasis - Look. I have 5,680 songs on my ipod. I'm unfamiliar with SO much of my music library because my version of music discovery is buying CDs with one song I like on 'em. But listening to this? It's fucking rad and I guess I'll have to listen to this whole album later on today. I bought it for The Shock of the Lightning and mostly listen to I'm Outta Time, but I guess I've beeing ~missing out!~

All These Things by Darren Hanlon - Mr. Darren Hanlon has been ruining my life with his music for several years now and I love him and his work SO MUCH. This is one his happier songs and it's so bouncy and light. His lyrics are clever and goofy. I just........LOVE

Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen - A perfect encapsulation of those heady crushes you'd get as a teenager where you'd go WILD with emotions! I say that as if that's not how every ~adult crush~ including my current relationship has gone, but I digress! It swings, WOO WOO

Wish You Well by Bernard Fanning - Guitar at the beginning yessss I love. The whole album is fantastic. The vocal runs in this song in particular are SO fun for shower and car singing. An Lyric: Rolling fog into my room, why'd you give up on me so soon?

All Too Well by Taylor Swift - I have many Swiftie mutuals. I wasn't more than a casual listener of hers until reputation came out. My aforementioned mutuals have been screaming praises about this song and the lyrics and the mystique of the "10-minute version" for years. I never understood it until I elected to listen to all of her albums. This song WRECKED ME and I cried to it on the way home from work several times over the course of a month or two because Josh and I were having issues and I'm dramatic. This song is so worth the hype. MAYBE WE GOT LOST IN TRANSLATION. THERE WE ARE AGAIN, AND I LOVED YOU SO. Kill me!!! Also anybody who says Red doesn't have country music influences at all can suck a sour one because this song ALONE clearly does.

My Everything by Owl City - I downloaded the whole album this is off of and like honestly? I have to laugh. It's too religious, which in all fairness, Adam Young is a dedicated Christian and makes beautiful religious pop songs. But I was thinking I'd be getting lyrics like his older stuff because I don't keep up with him. That aside, it's a really lovely worship song and one I would have loved to do when I was in my youth group's worship band in high school. Harmonies to die for.

Can't Slow Down by Jean-Yves Thibaudet - This is from the Pride & Prejudice (2005) score, and I believe it's from a scene in the first ball (before the one at Netherfield). It's light, airy, exuberant, and so pleasing to the ear! It's my sister's current phone alarm, so I get to hear it each morning and whenever she naps in the afternoons or evenings. No complaints there.

I Can Make You Happy by Davy Jones - Josh has an album of songs used in Scooby-Doo, and this is one of them. The whole album is just like murderously nostalgic and great. I've never actually listened to this particular song, but it's so peppy and cute! And I love Davy Jones. He was the singer for The Monkees, his voice is comfort food for the soul, and he was adorable and I totally would have been in love with him if he was bit during my childhood.

Unforgetful You by Jars of Clay - QUINTESSENTIAL ALTERNATIVE CHRISTIAN SOFT ROCK! They're so fucking good and jammy. I've never listened to this song (like I said, huge music library), but it'd make a nice summer running song.

Tags! Uhhh anyone who'd like to do it. Let me know if you do and I don't tag you! @tswizzledude @appalachianetiquette @mielnette @emmmathompson @ashestoashesjc random bag of folks

[un-nmd]

Recent listening—

In which the past 8 months of digression into (for lack of a better word—and note the literary tongs) “Classical” music comes to an end. Not that henceforth the theme will be dropped; only that the consistency of the trend will here be broken.

Steeping in one sphere of music for an extended time results in a complete recalibration in taste, as well as, in this case, the subsequent need for some gateway album or albums to facilitate a reintroduction to (again for lack of a better word) “Popular” music. These albums, now found, and listed in part below, are presently catalysing a frenzied exploration into some of the more difficult niches of the Western output, necessitating future reports.

———

Ween, GodWeenSatan: The Oneness (1990) Followers of the Boognish cite Gener and Deaner’s blood-scrawled makeshift license to do whatever the fuck they want in defence for why Ween’s the greatest band in the world and there’s no-one else like ‘em. One flaw though: yeah you set out to make a farce of all borne from formulae but go too far in the other direction and the once-sweet chaos over-saturates somewhat; you get a blunting of what begun so ideologically incisive. Even vulgarity becomes rather banal especially when you preach it for 9 or so minutes on a rather uninteresting directionless jam like they do on, for example, “L.M.L.Y.P.” (which a certain regent’s probably rolling in his grave because of). And see also “Blackjack” for the same type of creative dearth—which, however, there’s admittedly less of in this, their debut, than on later efforts The Pod and Pure Guava. Generally, those two atrocities aside (those quoted), there’s plenty evidence of songwriting ability—but still, most of it’s hindered in shallow aleatory because they’re too insecure to just let it speak for itself. Reject all pretension and you end up fearing anything that hints of seriousness—and this is what you’re left with. On the other hand I can agree that very few things approach the level of energy they sustain for the better part of 76 minutes. An admirable failure. Subsequent efforts aren’t deserving of equal sympathy—but note I’ve yet to hear The Mollusk. In conclusion, here’s the moral: anarchy in moderation, kids.

Captain Beefheart and The Magic Band, Lick My Decals Off, Baby (1970) The right descriptors are beyond me anyhow, but nothing beats just hearing the eponymous opener with fresh ears and it slowly dawning on you that every lick, every groan, every gesture and outburst in Van Vliet’s (not Igor’s) introductory asymmetric racket was deliberate; predestined, if you will, or just the regular ‘composed’ if you won’t, yes and clinically so, calculatedly so; meticulous in the manner of an archetypal mastermind murderer, of a disturbed psyche wreaking its alien order on social norms, a jagged mind-scape dragging its violent peaks across all we held sacred, all we thought true. For Beefheart in purest form derives from none, takes no catechism; that which was borne from Trout Mask hailed from no familiar land or mapped territory. Here there be dragons—but navigate through with your visionary crew (magic band of brethren) and you’ll find a bit of genius as well. And also you’ll find that the native vocabulary’s somewhat adaptable to your own: take the first vocal cue on “Doctor Dark” (”…mmmmMMMAMA, mama, here come Doctor Da-ark…”) which is every bit as thrilling as a swing band horn entry over a tight groove, only the groove’s been recently diagnosed with cardiac arrythmia and is missing a beat every couple of bars like: 1-2-3-4, 1-2-upbeat!—DOWNbeat! (an old trick but a good one); or later on in the same hear Beefheart’s devilishly sweet break into free-verse at “Black leather lady Lord carried her bags the hell horn hell horn hell horn horn rim crimped“ which likens to Coltrane dropping the head and descending into his sheets of sound only here the backing’s also done the same; or have at the libretto to “Bellerin’ Plain” and tell me it ain’t poetry:

Parapliers the willow dipped Rolled roots gnarled like rakers This hollow hole don’t hold no jokers or fakers … Mah cowcatcher whistled like uh steel flash scream Hose sucked out for water ‘n the wheeldriver sparkled like an Indian flint ‘n the fireman ‘n the brakeman Bent ‘n waved his long red underwear arm all aboard ‘n the lantern flared ‘n the caboose waved uh green gone on

U.S. Maple, Talker (1999) I’m convinced that amidst these black ramblings there lies a thing of beauty. For in the sculpting of time that we call composition, to work the rough away requires cruel chisel, dark magic, a vision unrelenting and its vicious execution; in short, brutality, as opposed to that charlatan’s art which polishes the rough but leaves the true diamond unfound. Hence the dissonance, the noise continuum, the mutant syllables—more horror, indeed, but at each offence to the prude’s ear another veil is torn asunder; dogma’s defeat at the hands of the mysteries of the macabre. Reconsidered, the terrifying turns tranquil and nightmare becomes nocturne; a qualitative inversion via catharsis. And should you cross, it is there on the other side where you’ll find beauty.

Polvo, Today’s Active Lifestyles (1993) Not as drastically subversive as others we’ve seen so far; hear it half-mindedly with ears set to “post-punk” and it’ll pass without impression—but on closer inspection all is not well. There’s qualities amiss, something slightly warped, slightly unsettling; a sour taste creeping just above the threshold. Try and follow the first song for form and it’ll be elusive. How did we get here? You can’t remember. It’s episodic like Mahler but at least in Mahler you usually can discern some sort of mutant sonata-allegro. With this: no such comfort. Question the harmony and you’ll find no answers there either. Out of tune? Perhaps—or perhaps microtonal. Was that a tritone? Yes but not as you know them, not with any rules of approach and resolution, for they make noise for the fun of it, for the feel of it. Whitewashed jams aren’t there to prove some theory about static harmony but rather just because they’re appealing sonic scapes to dwell in. If a certain major triad tastes nice, sure, they’ll put it in, but since they don’t discriminate except by immediate effect, choose any unrelated clashy dissonance and it’ll hold an equal chance of being drafted (perhaps even for right after the triad if they’re feeling particularly whimsical). So the poles mingle haphazardly and in all this ends up lying in an awkward niche between the all-out avant-garde and the regulation math-rock/post-punk of, for example, Preoccupations (f.k.a. Viet Cong) or Omni. But compared to those two this is so much more rewarding.

Sonic Youth, Bad Moon Rising (1985) First four pass mostly without incident then at “Ghost Bitch” night falls and Mrs. Gordon invokes those industrial demons they’ve been wailing on about who awake to an awful pounding and wreak their havoc; mellow jams (or as close to as Moore & Co. can ever get) such as on “I Love Her All the Time” decompose to the unstructured interludes that surround “I’m Insane” which if you are I’d guess it’s because of that bad moon (ya loony). Then the drunkard’s rant outside the kangaroo court that is the first half of “Justice is Might” and the latter half surrendering to a slow-shuffling hazed-out procession of sorts (riff tolling like a bell through thick ashes) with destination: “Death Valley ‘69” where the cute-named Lydia Lunch groans and shrieks like a woman possessed. Hear it and the image that springs to mind involves her buffeting about in some primal dance, in motion sympathetic to inner rage that’s either borrowed or stolen or forced upon her, and she’ll need it all, plus Thurston’s, for what’s for sure the most brutal hook on the whole thing, that at “Coming down / Sadie, I love it / Now, now, now / Death Valley ‘69"—and after those rollicking five minutes there’s really nothing to be said; nothing that would satisfactorily follow them up, which is why nothing did, at least, on the original release.